Chapter 9
9
F riday
Aurelia woke to a dawn that seemed both sluggish and ominous, as if even the Florida sun hesitated to shine too brightly on Michalis Giannopoulos’s estate. Pale gold light touched the plush carpet of her bedroom as she blinked against the muted rays. The air inside was thick, not just from humidity but also from her simmering resentment. She’d tried to get the ropes off her wrists when she got back to her room Monday night, but they wouldn’t budge. That was four days ago.
Since she couldn’t get both arms through the sleeves, her clothing options had shrunk from men’s clothing to bath towels or the dress she’d been wearing when she got there. Her mood had darkened with every passing hour of every day.
She rose from the canopy bed—a decadent piece of furniture draped in pale silks, so luxurious, even royalty wouldn’t complain. Walking to the window overlooking the courtyard in nothing but a peach towel, she pressed her palm against the windowpane. Down below, she noted the guard––he had introduced himself as Ryan the previous day. His rifle glinted under the sun’s uncertain glow. He appeared sharp, tense, his expression unreadable from this distance.
She set her jaw, stomach twisting. She also hadn’t eaten in more than thirty-six hours. It was both an act of rebellion and a testament to her anxiety.
Since the “lesson” in the limo, she’d purposely walked around the house like she belonged there, just waiting for Michalis to show up so that she could start implementing her plan to do everything she could to get under his skin. To drive him crazy. But he never appeared.
She was beginning to wonder if he’d left town, which would piss her off even more if he left without telling her he was going somewhere.
He wants to control everyone and everything around him. Be the big boss. Well, he doesn’t get to control me. Whatever that man wants, he’s going to get the opposite.
A gentle rap at the door made her tense. A faint voice followed: “Mrs. Giannopoulos? May I come in?”
Aurelia scowled at the formal address—she despised his last name attached to her. “Enter,” she snapped.
The door swung open, revealing Gita, a slim young woman in a crisp gray uniform with beautiful olive skin, dark, concerned eyes, and braided hair wrapped in a neat coil. She carried a wooden tray laden with an omelet, toast, grapefruit, coffee and a glass of orange juice that glowed under the room’s subdued light.
Gita dipped her head, stepping softly over the rug. A mild citrus scent wafted from the fresh oranges on the tray, and the smell of the freshly made omelet had her mouth watering.
“Good morning,” Gita murmured, avoiding looking directly at Aurelia––and the ropes. “Chef Eliana said you missed dinner again. She thought maybe you’d feel better if?—”
“I’m not hungry,” Aurelia cut in, crossing her arms over her chest. She had just enough slack in the rope to do it.
Gita blinked, an apologetic flicker crossing her face. “Shall I leave the tray on the table, ma’am?”
Aurelia considered snapping, but the raw fear in Gita’s eyes made her falter. “Fine,” she said, voice softer. “Please tell Chef I said it smells delicious.”
Gita set the tray down, stepping back. An enticing swirl of aromas teased Aurelia’s nose—making her mouth water. Her stomach growled traitorously.
No. I’ll drink, but I won’t eat. I refuse to submit like a trained dog.
Gita lingered. “I’ll be in the hall if you need anything, Mrs. Giannopoulos.” She turned, leaving quietly.
Alone again, Aurelia fumed. Let it sit there, uneaten. I don’t care if it’s petty.
By mid-morning, she was climbing the walls. She’d spent the last two days wandering around the house and introducing herself to the household staff, including the guards. There were areas she remembered, like the main living room and kitchen, but her memories of the rest of the house, the rooms she’d only toured when she and her mother moved in, had faded.
Now that she was a little more mature, she noticed every room was crammed with antique furniture, carpets, and artwork that Michalis’s mother and father had brought over from Greece or collected during their marriage. If she didn’t resent being trapped there, she could easily see herself falling in love with the house. Well, I suppose I could check out the east wing today. I don’t think I’ve ever been over there.
With that thought in her mind, she dropped the towel and wiggled back into her dress. She’d begun washing it in the sink at night, along with her panties, then letting them air dry. The alternative was to keep wearing them dirty. As soon as she saw Michalis again, she was going to give him a piece of her mind. If he was going to make her stay there, the least he could do was give her some clothes. And untie me!
The moment she stepped into the hallway, she was blasted with stifling heat, despite the air conditioning. She didn’t let that stop her, focusing on exploring, instead. The walls bore Renaissance-inspired paintings—lush forests, tranquil lakes, Grecian columns. The faint whir of vents provided a monotonous backdrop. She inhaled deeply, taking note of the lemony scent of polished wood, the faint smell of cleaning agents, and a subtle floral perfume that drifted from several large floral arrangements. Every home had a unique smell. Yes, and this one smells like money. Don’t get used to it.
At the corridor’s end, she spotted Darios , a middle-aged guard with a thick mustache and formal bearing. He wore a black suit jacket over a tactical vest, arms folded. As she approached, he dipped his head in a guarded greeting.
She paused, noticing how his mustache twitched as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it. “Morning… ma’am,” he finally muttered, voice gruff.
“Good morning,” she offered stiffly, brushing past him.
An undercurrent of tension swept through every staff member she encountered, from the slightest twitch in their body language to the way they avoided her eyes. Something was going on.
She decided to cut through the breakfast nook where Chef Eliana—a tall, broad-shouldered woman with silver-threaded braids—stood arranging pastries on ornate silver platters. The air was rich with the smell of baking dough, oranges and grapefruit, and freshly brewed coffee, reminding Aurelia she still hadn’t eaten.
The table itself was an expanse of polished mahogany that could seat six people comfortably. She walked in, then immediately stopped short. At the table on the far end sat Michalis .
A tailored black suit clung to his large, muscular frame. He didn’t glance up from his phone immediately, giving Aurelia a moment to observe him—the square cut of his jaw, the tension in his brows. When he finally raised his eyes, they locked onto her with the intensity of a lion sizing up prey. He took his time looking at her, his gaze trailing down over every inch of her, then back up. By the time he was done, she felt like he’d stripped her naked. Not hard, considering the dress hugged every curve .
She maintained her composure, though a heavy dose of adrenaline coursed through her veins. She balled her fists at her sides and turned away, fully intending to leave, her earlier bravado abandoning her now that she’d come face to face with the beast.
He set his phone down. “Eat,” he said, voice a quiet command. “You’ve been skipping meals.”
She lifted her chin, ignoring the mouthwatering scents of pastries and fresh fruit. “So kind of you to notice, but I’ll eat when I’m hungry.”
A flicker of annoyance stirred in his dark gaze. “Suit yourself,” he said, each syllable clipped.
He reached into his jacket, tossing a small cell phone onto the table. “A monitored line. Don’t bother trying to contact David. My men will cut you off anyway. There should be a laptop in your room when you get back as well. Same thing applies.”
Her heart lurched at David’s name, a pang of guilt mixing with longing. She forced her expression to remain bland while internally she scrambled to formulate a plan. Michalis was giving her a phone? Was this his way of apologizing?
“Wouldn’t dream of calling him. You already gave him the good news anyway, didn’t you? I doubt he’ll ever want to speak to me again.” She lazily took the phone like she didn’t care one way or the other, which wasn’t that far from the truth. She had no one else to call.
She glanced at Chef Eliana, who stood silently nearby, her eyes big round saucers. She looked like a deer caught in headlights.
Aurelia took pity on her. “Whenever you’re finished, Eliana, I think Gita was looking for you.”
“I’m done. Thank you, Mrs. Giannopoulos. I’ll go find her right now,” she squeaked, and left the two of them alone together.
Gathering her courage, Aurelia walked casually around the table, deliberately stopping directly behind Michalis’s left shoulder. She leaned forward, brushing her chest against his sleeve, leaning seductively into him as she reached past him to steal a strawberry from his plate. She was practically draped on top of him. She looked back over her shoulder, all sunshine and innocence, and batted her lashes. “You know, I think you’re right. Maybe I should eat a little something. You don’t mind if I steal a few of your strawberries, do you? They look so,” she paused to look him up and down, “delicious.”
Michalis didn’t move a muscle as she proceeded to eat all three of his strawberries, still leaning over him, “accidentally” rubbing against him. She smirked. His eyes were glued to her lips as she licked the strawberry juice off. “Mmm.”
She slowly straightened, leaning into him as much as she dared, silently laughing. “Thank you.”
He looked at her suspiciously, but all he said was, “Any time.”
“Good to know.” She wanted to laugh, but held it in. Next, she meandered over to the beverage tray, carefully took the lid off the coffee carafe and dropped the phone into the steaming liquid. “Oops.” Without another word, she sauntered away, ignoring the storm brewing in his eyes.
She made it all the way to the next room before she let out a satisfied chuckle. Bet you’re not going to be feeling so smug about your little “lesson” a few hours from now.
She patted the bodice of her dress where she’d shoved Michalis’s credit card. Fixing up cars wasn’t the only thing her mother taught her when she was growing up. She was an excellent pickpocket. The ropes had made it a lot more difficult, but not impossible. We’ll see who’s laughing when I spend all your money on a new wardrobe. And shoes. Louis Vuitton, here I come.
As she walked back to her room, east wing forgotten, she was still mad as hell about what Michalis had done, but her step had a new spring to it.
Michalis watched Aurelia depart, a storm brewing under a calm exterior. She was up to something, that much was obvious, but she was still in the house, and as expected, her wrists were still bound. If she tried to find a knife to cut herself loose, she would discover that they were stored in locked drawers, not to mention she had guards trailing her everywhere she went.
Still, he would have said they were making progress, but her little act of defiance––tossing the cell phone into the hot coffee, made him think otherwise. He rose from the table and headed toward the east wing.
Each step reverberated with controlled anger. She defied him at every turn, refusing to eat while he was gone, and wasn’t the least bit grateful for the phone or other freedoms she had.
He felt no remorse for what he’d done in the limo. She’d turned them into enemies with her ridiculous demand for an annulment. Well, that was too damn bad, because he was never going to let her go. Would she understand the significance of the ropes? He’d bound them together seven years ago, but that didn’t mean she had no freedom.
The year she’d been in Switzerland, she’d written letters to him. Sometimes they were angry, other times full of sadness. He’d gotten to know her through those letters. He’d never answered, but he’d kept them all. Then she tried to disappear, and he'd let her think she’d succeeded, careful to keep her security team close enough to help if needed, but not so close that she suspected their presence. He’d purposely tried to give her the time and space she needed to come back on her own. He’d even refused to read the reports about her each month other than her basic whereabouts and general safety; nothing personal. But now, the thought of spending one more day without her was unacceptable. He could admit he was obsessed with her, couldn’t live without her.
She just needed recognize what was between them. It was volatile. Explosive. He lived in a dangerous world, and she could fit perfectly in it, by his side, if she let herself. All she had to do was stop fighting. He knew the moment she showed up, mature and full of fire, shoved those ridiculous papers at him, that he would do whatever it took to keep her.
Pushing open a heavy door, Michalis entered the estate’s small surveillance hub. Leon , a slim man with short, messy hair and anxious eyes, manned the monitors. He jumped to attention.
“Boss,” Leon muttered, stepping aside from the main console.
Michalis took the seat, eyes scanning the feeds. He found Aurelia quickly, catching her striding down a corridor toward the library. Her posture was taut, lips pressed in that stubborn line he’d come to both resent and crave. She was obviously still fighting mad. What was behind the performance just now, with the strawberries? He didn’t believe for a second that she was actually trying to seduce him; not when she was still angry.
He zoomed in, letting the camera’s clarity sharpen each detail. You want to fight? Come on, baby. I’m ready.
She paused by a painting, maybe considering another route to slip away? He smirked. That was never going to happen again, either. He’d given instructions to have special locks on the doors installed while he was away. The house was secure. To get out, she would need one of the electronic badges to release the locks.
Someone knocked at the door, even though it was open. Vasilios, old and steady, shuffled in. His graying hair matched the worry lines on his brow. He was too old to go out in the field anymore, but his mind was as sharp as ever. He could never quite retire. That was fine with Michalis. He respected the old man, and he’d been with the family as long as Michalis could remember. Vasilios knew everything there was to know about their dark criminal world.
“Boss, we have fresh intel from an informant near the docks. The Romanians have rerouted more shipments.”
Michalis nodded curtly, gaze never leaving Aurelia’s figure on-screen. “Track it down. Double men at the perimeter. If they try crossing our gates, put them down.”
Vasilios hesitated, glancing at the monitor. Aurelia flicked her hair over her shoulder. She seemed irritated about something. “They might be tracking your new…guest.”
Michalis’s jaw clenched. “Keep your eyes and ears open.” A feral glint sparked in his eyes. “He’s never getting anywhere near my wife again. I’ll bury him first.”
Vasilios inclined his head. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell the boys.” He shuffled out, his wrinkle lined face full of purpose.
Finally, alone with the video feeds, Michalis rewound the footage to watch Aurelia in the dining room. He homed in on the curve of her lips as she ate the strawberries, leaning into him, the faint tremor as she turned away. A savage hunger had gripped him the moment she’d leaned over him. He’d thought about taking her there, bent over the dining table.
Whatever her game was, she was playing with fire. Let her skip meals. Let her toss away the cell phone––his peace offering. She wanted a war? He’d let her see how pointless her resistance was. He rose, stepping away from the console.
He stalked to a control panel in the next room, typed in a few commands. Lights in her corridor dimmed. The kitchen staff would be instructed to bring her only minimal, bland food. If she threw out the laptop, too, he’d take away her ability to roam around the house. If she kept pushing, he’d keep taking.
A smirk tugged at his mouth. She’d learn the cost of crossing him. And if that stoked the fire in her eyes, all the better. Leaning back in his chair, he waited for the moment she noticed what he’d done. She may loathe him for it, but she was in his domain now and he was the king.