Chapter Twelve
Dinner was stilted. They went their separate ways after. Zervou buried himself in work the next day—Ari in training by herself.
Zervou felt distracted and restless, but there were no other options here. He had work, plans. She did, too. Whatever that moment had been yesterday…it was nothing. And tonight, they had a group of partygoers to convince they were seconds away from becoming engaged.
No matter what he told himself, though, he didn’t feel like himself. Perhaps he was coming down with something.
Still, he got ready for the party, reminding himself of the plan. Show up, not just with Ari but never take his eyes off her. Drop hints about an upcoming engagement. Turn the screws on Erjon. Make him pressured into making a move.
Zervou felt more settled in that, more sure. Determined.
And then Ariadne appeared, ready to leave for the party.
The gown was white. It draped over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. The fabric nipped in at the waist, skimmed her hips. Her hair had been left curly and loose, and gold winked up her ears and around her neck.
She was a vision, and for too many moments, that was it. The vision of her and this strange riot inside of him.
She looked like a bride.
Something inside his chest clutched once before he iced it away, reminding himself who he was and that her beauty suited his purposes. And meant absolutely nothing else.
He did not meet her gaze—or maybe she did not meet his.
They exchanged no pleasantries, simply left the estate and headed for his car.
Bacchus drove them into the city and the party that would be full of socialites, royalty and the like.
Ari’s face and name would be splashed across all media, linked with his.
The satisfaction he had over that came from knowing Erjon would see it.
He told himself this. Repeatedly.
Inside the party, there were people watching, talking. He’d seen more than one intrepid young person sneak a photo or video from their phones. He would need to dance with Ari at least once to get the appropriate photographs circulating.
At the moment, they were in an ancient ballroom all gilded gold and bright. It nearly gave him a headache, all this wealth on display. Ari in the middle of it.
She had been swept away by a small group of women who were asking her all sorts of questions about her boxing.
She was handling them well enough, enough Zervou had felt comfortable letting her be swept away from him for a time.
But right now, he couldn’t seem to occupy himself in any other way other than to watch her from where he stood on the other side of the dancing.
He wondered why he’d thought to dress her in white.
The color of the gown made her skin seem like gold in candlelight.
It seemed to add a richness to the sable curls and dark eyes.
The gold in her ears glittered, and he could momentarily distract himself by questioning whether or not her bellybutton ring was being worn under all that white silk.
But then he would think of the boxing ring.
She had frustrated him, not willing to land any blow—real or otherwise. At first he had been offended. Perhaps felt as though his manhood was being impinged. She may be a boxer, but he’d grown up on the streets and scrabbled for everything he had. He could take a damn punch.
But then he’d come to a worse realization, because he’d seen it in her face. This was not arrogance. She just didn’t want to cause him pain. Which spoke to something…soft.
She couldn’t afford soft. And he wanted nothing to do with it.
His phone chimed from deep in his pocket. Normally he would not answer in such a situation, but he’d set his phone for only Bacchus to get through, and if Bacchus was contacting him, it was important.
He pulled the phone out of his pocket, read the text message.
We have traced the Petrov to Athens. He met with a man—not Hyseni—whom we will look further into.
Athens. Promising. Zervou had long believed Erjon had found a hiding place on the outskirts of Athens or Svilengrad or both. That had been a hunch he’d never been able to prove, but the Petrov spy meeting with someone in Athens was certainly interesting.
Steps. Steps toward everything he wanted. Finally.
He glanced at Ari. They would need to dance. They needed some photo ops. Now was the time.
He crossed the dance floor, made a beeline for her. He didn’t bother to look at the women talking to Ari. He only had eyes for her. A ruse. of course.
“You will have to excuse me. I would like to dance with my… Excuse us.” He’d said it on purpose. The my… and then let it trail off. Stir up questions and glances.
The engagement would be sooner rather than later, and he wanted some speculation surrounding it. He wanted Erjon infuriated enough to make a mistake, to stop using his lackeys.
He pulled her into his arms and ignored the sudden tightness in his own skin.
“Is everything all right?” she asked him, letting herself be led in the dance. “You look angry.”
He tried to smooth out his expression. Of course he wasn’t angry. He had next steps in their plan. He was…determined.
He swept her in a turn and ignored the punch of lust and feeling at the smell of her waving over him like a restful cloud.
“There has been someone keeping tabs on you,” he told her, matter-of-fact. “A member of the Petrov family. A family your father worked with years ago. He was watching you back in Corfu at the gym, and since we left, he headed to Athens to meet with another unknown. It is a lead.”
He could feel her gaze on his, but he kept his on the room around them.
“Years ago, as when he killed your father?” she asked softly.
He couldn’t wonder at how easily she put together that connection, but still he stiffened against it. “Yes.”
“And you did not eradicate them?”
Ah, she knew him well. “I undercut much of the Petrov family’s influence.
The main perpetrators are behind bars, and one was killed in some in-fighting during a raid.
Perhaps they were who Erjon worked for, but he made the choice to kill my father in the shakedown.
So he is my main target. Everyone else of import has been taken care of. ”
She was quiet for a few moments, and he dared a glance down at her. Her expression was pensive.
“If someone is keeping tabs on me,” she said thoughtfully, “that means Erjon has sent someone to do his dirty work.”
“Yes, perhaps more than one. But we are on the trail now. Erjon is eating up the crumbs we’re leaving him. It is forward movement.”
Ari nodded, then looked up at him. “Will you pull him out of hiding if he doesn’t come himself?”
“I believe he won’t be able to resist coming himself, but even if he doesn’t do it of his own volition, we will drag him into the light.”
“You would go on the attack without drawing him out?”
Zervou shrugged. Truth be told, his plans all seemed oddly nebulous now.
But he knew the steps. He’d plotted them out before he’d even discovered Ari’s existence.
“It is not attack, per se. I have the evidence needed to put him away forever. The money to ensure justice is served regardless of the system. If we have to go into his lair and drag him out, it will be done. We only need to find him. And we are that much closer.”
The song ended, and dessert was served in the grand dining room. They sat down, and Zervou forced himself to speak with a couple who had some questions about his holdings in Marseille. He put the businessman mask on. He did his duty.
Ari did not. She spent her time looking off in the distance. She toyed with her dessert without eating, and he didn’t think this time it had anything to do with worry over her upcoming fight.
When some of the people had filtered away, and they were alone at their end of the table, he leaned toward her. Bystanders would see a couple sharing an intimate conversation. He supposed they wouldn’t be wrong.
“What is on your mind?”
Her gaze moved from the window to her plate. She set down the fork. “It’s strange. Ever since I was a teen, I dreamed of revenge, of retribution. But now that it is seemingly within reach, I wonder…”
“Wonder what?”
Her eyes lifted to his now. Her expression serious, perhaps…lost. She looked young and in need of direction. He had never seen that from her before. But her words weren’t naive or youthful. They were more mature than anything he’d been thinking.
“What is on the other side of revenge? Of him finally seeing a jail cell? I try to picture it, feel some satisfaction, but it is just…blank. What changes if he’s put away forever? What’s different than the past decade?”
What if. Zervou did not like what-ifs. He did not like these feelings inside of him. So he made sure his mouth curved, even if it was more grimace than smile. “Second thoughts, Ari?”
“No, it isn’t like that.” She shook her head. “He deserves to rot in jail. It isn’t so much about him. I’m just…thinking aloud. Beyond.”
“Why should we think beyond our revenge?” he demanded, quietly but intensely. Revenge had been moving him forward for years. Revenge and taking care of what had been left in wreckage. What more could there be?
But now she’d introduced this strange, murky after. Where he would have avenged everything.
And still, his mother would not accept his help.
Ari would go on her way.
And then…what?
She sighed, sounding sad and lost again. “Why indeed,” she murmured.
Leaving him feeling unmoored…because he didn’t have an answer to his own question.
They stayed in Paris for five days. Zervou never once stepped foot in the room downstairs again. Ari trained during the day alone. They went to dinners and parties. Stories and pictures about them made their way around Europe. Engagement rumors swirled.
Without discussing it, they did not share a bed or anything more intimate than a quick kiss or embrace for the cameras. Everything they’d been went back to being very…businesslike.