Chapter 34 Niko
NIKO
Idon't know how many sons think about killing their father.
Sure, you get angry. Disagree. Maybe you say shit you don't mean. But kill? Fuck, that's twisted and I know it. You don’t just walk away from something like that.
And yet, here I am.
Thing is, I understand now that you don't arrive at this point by accident. You don't wake up one morning and decide to end a life, especially not the one that gave you yours. No. You get dragged here. Kicked. Beaten. Broken down until you can't see things clearly anymore.
Or maybe, seeing clearly is exactly what's happening now. Where the only way forward is to remove what's been poisoning everything.
Since Calli told me she was pregnant, I've thought a lot about what it means to be a "father." And not just the title, the real meaning behind it.
It means things like being there for them. Teaching them right and wrong. Supporting them. Helping them. Encouraging them.
Any man can become a father by the simple act of sex, but to be a real father, that title has to be earned.
And Stavros never fucking earned that.
So as I walk through the grounds under the guise of doing a final security check for tomorrow's gala, it's not as shocking as it might seem that it's come to this.
My footsteps tap against the stone path connecting the three mansions that make up the estate. It's quiet now, but tomorrow it'll be anything but.
I told Calli I'd been in Athens. That was half true.
I did have to take care of some things there, but I also had to stop by here.
I'm still arriving at the hotel in Kosta this evening, just as planned.
The boat I hired is waiting for me at the private dock, ready to ferry me back as soon as I finish what I came to do.
She'll never know I was here until I tell her after this is all over. She'll know everything once Stavros is rotting cold in his casket.
The cool night air carries the familiar smells of the sea as I try to push out the fact that my heart is heavy.
Not because I doubt what must be done, but because I wish I didn't have to be the one to do it.
Wish the man who raised me, if you can call it that, had done even one fucking thing to to show me love. To earn that title.
But he didn't. He never wanted a son. He wanted a weapon. Something he could mold and use until I either broke or became just like him. And even if I did, I'm not sure he'd ever accept me.
And I know something's up. The way he changed his normal callus ways when I told him about the pregnancy. The way he had me invite her here. It's part of a larger plot, one that I know I won't like and one that could end with Calli, or me, dead.
I will not let that fucking happen.
A guard nods as I pass, recognizing me but not questioning my presence. That's the advantage of being Stavros's son: access without suspicion.
Tomorrow, that advantage becomes my opportunity.
The kitchen house sits next to the main ballroom mansion, connected by a covered walkway lined with bougainvillea arches. I slip inside through the staff entrance.
Inside, the industrial kitchen gleams with stainless steel and polished marble. A few night staff move around, too busy to pay me much attention.
"Mr. Petrou," one of the kitchen managers nods respectfully, stepping out from an office.
"Just checking the preparations," I reply smoothly. "My father wants everything perfect."
The man nods again and returns to his work, leaving me to move freely through the space.
I make my way to the far corner where a small cleaning room is located. Inside is a shelf with supplies and a deep sink, below it a cabinet. I look over my shoulder to ensure I'm alone. I kneel down and slide the cabinet door open.
From inside my jacket, I pull out a small silenced pistol. I wrap it in a towel and tape it to the underside of the sink, between it and the wall.
This gun is backup. Insurance. If things go sideways and I need to get away fast, I have something.
I shuffle the cleaning supplies back in place so it looks undisturbed and leave.
My destination is the largest study on the second floor of the mansion next door, where my father will host his meetings, including asking to meet Calli and me privately.
I step into the study and close the door behind me. It's dark, but I don't turn on the light. Instead, I pull out my phone and turn on my flashlight.
I glance around and see the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A massive mahogany desk. Persian rugs. A fully stocked bar cart and chairs positioned in a half circle in the middle of the room.
It's nice. I remember it from last year's gala, and I also remember the room had an old-school ventilation grate near the window. That's of interest to me now.
It's positioned at knee height, and I bend down to remove the decorative grate and place another gun, this one larger, with more stopping power, inside the duct, securing it with tape.
When the moment comes, and it will come, this is where I'll make my stand. This is the one I think I'll use.
I replace the vent cover, adjusting it to ensure it looks like it did before I stepped in here.
I don't trust this will go cleanly. Best-case scenario, I get a moment alone with my father, pull the trigger, and escape through the window.
There's a balcony, twelve feet down. Risky, but I can do it.
By the time anyone notices him, I'll be back on the dance floor with Calli, drink in hand. My alibi sealed. My face unreadable.
I leave quietly, and as I walk back through the grounds, playing the part of dutiful son conducting security checks, I think about how Stavros was always going to die at the hands of someone he underestimated.
Maybe that's why he's so reactive, but he knows it too.
I remember summers when I was a kid, back when he and Vasilis Kastaris used to pretend they were friends. Genuine friends, it seemed.
Our families would sit by the sea, grill lamb until sunset, talk about legacy, about sons. I watched Calli and her brothers race barefoot on the beach. Back then, it felt like something good could grow between our families.
But Stavros wanted more. Power was his only addiction, and there was never enough of it to satisfy him.
I remember the shift. When the first comments about the Kastaris family came flowing freely from his mouth. Envy ate away at him until he snapped.
He hated how respected Vasilis was, questioned his relationship with the Bonventi family. How the Kastaris family was able to thrive in Chicago and establish such a solid foothold in American markets.
While Stavros ruled through fear, Vasilis commanded loyalty. While Stavros grasped for more territory, Vasilis cultivated profitable relationships.
My father wanted everything, and then wanted more. Vasilis tried to build an empire. Stavros only thought about stealing it from underneath him
He killed a business friend. For leverage. For a chance to seize what he felt he deserved.
And he'll try to do it again if I let him. This time, with Calli.
I know it. I've felt it in the pit of my stomach since he first smiled that smug, hollow smile and told me to bring her here. He's not just testing me. He's hunting her.
And if I let him win again, if I let him get to her or our child, then I'm no better than he is.
My jaw clenches as I move through the gardens. The same one that will be glittering with lights and laughter tomorrow. The same one where she'll be smiling, holding my arm, trusting me to protect her.
I think about her hands, the curve of her lips when she laughs, the way she rolls her eyes when she knows I'm being cocky. I think about the way she's fought for us, even when I didn't deserve it.
And I think about our child, growing right now inside her.
I never thought I'd be a father.
And she's given me that option.
Maybe that's what makes this decision so easy.
Because I'm not doing this just for me. I'm doing it so our baby doesn't grow up afraid of shadows. Never learns fear from the same man who taught it to me.
Calli doesn't know what I've planned, but I know she senses something. I'm worried I've been off, totally consumed with the thoughts of what I have to do. She's perceptive, one of the many things I love about her. But I can't tell her. Can't risk her trying to stop me or, worse, trying to help.
She's already done more than enough. She's already lost more than enough. Let our child have at least one parent without blood on them.
And if this is the debt her brothers are coming for, I'll take it for them, and maybe this will prove to them what she means to me and what I'll do to protect her.
I can live with pulling the trigger.
And it's true. The things I've done for my father, the orders I've carried out, they left marks on my soul long ago. What's one more stain if it means protecting what matters?
I take one last look at the mansions where tomorrow hundreds of people will be gathered, drinking expensive champagne and making empty small talk while deals are struck in corners and alliances are formed and broken over appetizers.
"You won't leave this island alive, old man," I say under my breath.
The words hang in the air, a promise carried away by the Mediterranean breeze. I turn and head back toward the dock, where my boat waits to return me to Kosta, to Calli, who believes I'm just arriving from Athens. By morning, I'll be the dutiful son again, escorting her to my father's gala.
And by midnight, one of us will be dead.