Chapter Thirty-Cecilia
The cousin chaos only escalates.
“Okay, Cece,” Lee-Lee says, breathless with excitement, “rank the sex. Like—on a scale from one to Remy-and-Andrea-level life-ruining.”
Andrea snorts. “HEY—why are we the measuring stick?”
“Because your husband literally carried you away from a party over his shoulder once,” Lee-Lee fires back. “And Cece? Did Atlas do that? Has he done that yet?”
Jade jumps in, her voice loud enough to distort.
“OH MY GOD, DID HE PIN YOU AGAINST A WALL? DO GREEK PRINCES DO WALL SEX?”
Shelly cackles.
“Forget the wall—tell us about that yacht. Girl, did you do the thing? You know the thing—where the waves make the rhythm extra—”
“STOP.” I cover my face with my pillow. “YOU ARE ALL FERAL. F-E-R-A-L.”
“Answer the questions!” Clementine’s tone is pure evil glee.
“No,” I lie weakly.
Every cousin on the call:
“LIAR.”
I groan.
“If I tell you one thing—ONE—you all have to stop.”
Jade nods. “Promise.”
Clementine lies, “Fine, but you have to swear on your pussy tattoo that you mean it.”
I gasp. “LOW BLOW.”
But then the screen splits again—my heart drops as my mother and three aunts join the call.
“Did she just say pussy tattoo? Cece, what else don’t I know?!” Maria Batiste, aka my Mom, queen of all Bad Bitches, leans into her camera with a knowing smirk.
Holy. Shit.
“Who added my mo?” I whisper-scream.
Jade looks around guiltily then raises her hand.
“Hello, my darling,” she says too sweetly, “So, your father is in the doghouse and I heard there was yet another family wedding we were not invited to? Explain.”
“Mom—”
Aunt Sofia waves a hand.
“Yes, yes, second that, I demand an explanation. And also—how was the sex? Scale of one to ten.”
“Mama! Aunt Sofia!” I nearly shriek.
“I heard Greeks aren’t circumcised. Is that true? I am asking for research purposes,” she continues—using her alter ego the infamous author Z. Wolff, as an excuse for her intrusive questions.
“Okay,” I inhale then I shout, “EVERYONE STOP TALKING ABOUT MY SEX LIFE!”
They absolutely do not stop.
Aunt Destiny leans closer to her phone. “Cecilia, sweet girl, it’s okay to admit when the dicking is divine.”
“MOM. AUNTIES. PLEASE.”
I stand up from the couch, pacing in front of the massive glass doors overlooking the sea.
“HE HAS SERVANTS HERE. THEY CAN HEAR YOU.”
Aunt Sofia shrugs. “Then they’ll learn something.”
“No. Absolutely not. This call is over—”
And that’s when the front door slams open so hard the walls shake.
My cousins scream through the phone,
“CECE? CECE?! WHAT WAS THAT?”
But I barely hear them because gunshots explode through the hall.
Shouting.
Boots pounding.
The sound of bodies hitting marble.
“Mom, tell Dad!” I shout, eyes flicking to my phone one last time.
I whirl toward the doorway just as one of Atlas’s guards is thrown face-first across the floor, blood streaking behind him.
“NO—NO—STOP!” I scream, backing up.
But they’re already coming.
Huge men in all-black tactical gear—faces covered, movements precise, brutal, professional.
Not amateurs.
Not thieves.
A hit squad.
One grabs me around the waist, wrenching my arms behind me.
“LET GO OF ME!” I fight like hell—kicking, twisting, biting—but they don’t even grunt.
My phone crashes to the floor, cousins and aunts still shrieking,
“CECE?!? ANSWER US!!”
Another man slams a hand over my mouth.
I try to scream anyway.
“Move,” one of them grunts in accented Greek.
They drag me toward the door, my heels skidding on marble as I try to brace myself.
Another gunshot rings out—closer.
Too close.
I twist—one last try—my elbow connecting with someone’s ribs.
“Bitch,” a man snaps, and something hard cracks against the side of my skull.
Pain bursts behind my eyes.
The world tilts.
My knees buckle.
He lifts me up, throwing me over his shoulder and bile rises in my throat.
I see Maria, the maid, her lifeless eyes staring at me.
And just as everything goes dark, one last thought screams through me—Atlas.
Then nothing.