CHAPTER 52
NERO ZANTHOS
Hidden in a car, this is the third day we’ve been tailing Oliver Sarris, and not once until now has he been alone long enough for us to approach him. This looks like our first real chance.
“He’s leaving the house,” Drako announces over the car’s speakerphone.
The idiot decided he’d follow Oliver separately—on a motorcycle.
“We can see that, Drako,” I snap, impatient. “We’re parked right in front of the place. And don’t you think you look suspicious as hell staking out a house like that?”
“How so?” He sounds offended, checking himself in the rearview mirror across the street.
“I don’t know—maybe the red helmet? Or the leather jacket?” I offer, dry.
“I can pass for a delivery guy at any moment!” he protests, outraged.
“On a Ducati? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Uber Eats Black Super Premium?”
Atlas bangs his head against the dashboard, not amused in the slightest.
“Why did we have to bring him again?” Apollo finally says from the back seat, fed up with sitting still.
“Because leaving him alone with nothing to do would’ve meant even more problems to fix when we got back,” Atlas replies. His strained tone suggests he’s already played out every possible scenario—and in all of them, Drako screwed something up beyond repair.
“He’s going down the stairs,” Drako announces, unnecessarily.
“Shut up, Drako.”
I watch Oliver cross the street toward his parked car. He looks calm. Confident. I grip the steering wheel hard, trying to keep my anxiety in check. Oliver starts the car, and we follow at a discreet distance.
“Stay out of his line of sight, Drako,” I warn, my nostrils flaring as I force myself to steady my heartbeat.
“And do I look like an idiot?”
“Yes,” the three of us answer in unison.
We keep a safe distance until Oliver turns onto a busy street. A driver brakes too late at a light and causes a minor fender-bender—not serious, but it traps us in traffic.
Drako slips past and takes off after him on the bike.
“I’ll keep you posted, idiots!” he boasts, vanishing from view.
…
With the location pinned, we arrive at a club and wait in the lobby for Drako. He shows up wearing flip-flops, swim trunks, and a towel.
“What are you doing?” I ask, mildly shocked by his completely inappropriate getup. “Are we even in the right place, Drako? Or did you lose him?”
“I’m improvising. And stop being paranoid! I know exactly where he is. I have a plan.”
“And that plan is…?” I prompt, like you do with children. Drako rolls his eyes.
“He’s in the sauna. Nina’s boyfriend is in the sauna.”
I could punch him just for that shitty nickname, but I hold back. “We’re going after him. Your clothes are inside.” He tosses us a locker key. “You’re welcome.”
“Clothes?” Atlas asks.
“Uh-huh. Bought some for you too. Again—you’re welcome!” Drako says, already moving away.
“And where are you going?” I demand.
“To entertain my brother-in-law while you get dressed,” he says, winking.
I step forward, ready to hit him, but Atlas and Apollo shove me back.
“Save your energy for your girlfriend’s boyfriend.”
…
When I reach the sauna vestibule, Drako is posted by the door like a guard dog. The jokes are gone; he waits in silence, expression locked down.
“He’s in there alone,” he tells us, nodding toward the door behind him.
“I think you should stay out here, Drako,” Atlas says—half request, half decision.
“Why? I have a plan,” he whispers, as if everything’s perfectly mapped out.
“Exactly.” Atlas shuts him down. “You remember the last time you had a perfect plan, right?”
“That was an accident.”
“And the time before that?”
“I had it under control,” Drako hisses. “It’s not my fault you two always panic and ruin it before it works.” He sighs, then relents with a mocking bow, stepping aside. “After I do all the work, the heroes come collect the medals.”
I put my hand on the sauna door and take a deep breath before pulling it open.
“Maybe I should stay out here too,” Apollo decides.
I look at him, questioning.
“In case you need a lawyer,” he explains, nodding at Atlas. “He’s too upright—wouldn’t bribe anyone to get you out fast.”
“You would bribe someone?” Atlas asks.
“Better hope I do. If anyone asks me anything, I’ll say I didn’t see shit, don’t know shit—I was just admiring the scenery,” Drako threatens.
“Good to know,” Atlas and I say at the same time.
“Could you close the door, please?” Oliver’s voice comes from inside—polite enough to irritate me instantly.
“Of course we can,” I reply, sour, stepping in with Atlas beside me. “We need to talk.”
I cross my arms, making no effort to seem nonthreatening. Oliver’s gaze flicks from me to Atlas, then to the closed door—where the silhouettes of Drako and Apollo lean against it.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asks, curious, already edging back—until he realizes there’s only a higher bench behind him.
“I’m the man whose fiancée you stole from Greece five years ago,” I say, blunt and economical.
“Woman? I don’t know any woman. What are you talking about?”
“Nina Marchesi,” I snap, moving toward him. Atlas is faster, blocking me with his body.
“Let him talk, Nero,” Atlas says, holding my gaze, giving me no opening.
“Who are you protecting?” I snarl. “He ran off with Nina and now he’s pretending amnesia.”
“I didn’t run anywhere with anyone,” Oliver says, embarrassed. “I left Greece because I got my girlfriend pregnant.”
“And who the hell was your girlfriend?” I shout, spitting the words, nostrils flaring.
“Diana Karas,” he answers, shaken. He slowly pulls a wallet from his robe pocket, like he’s drawing a weapon, and spreads photos in front of me—one by one—telling his story.
“I was a mess. An addict. My parents sent me away to protect my girlfriend. It took time to prove I deserved my family back. Whatever you want with that woman, I’m the wrong guy.
I’ve never seen her in my life. I don’t even know who she is. ”
The meaning of his words hits me like a bullet, shattering everything I believed. I could kill my mother right now. I replay her words in my head, and the certainty that she lied to me—over and over—settles over me like a heavy shroud, suffocating.
What steals my peace is Oliver’s calm. He isn’t panicking. Despite being cornered by two grown men in a sauna, he has nothing to hide.
I don’t need more details or a long conversation to know my next move.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” I say automatically, turning and yanking the sauna door open without looking back.
“What happened? Where are you going?” Drako asks behind me. My brothers hurry after me.
I don’t stop. I don’t slow. I don’t turn around. I answer with an inexplicable calm—the truth vibrating through me, leaving no room for anything else.
“I’m going to murder my mother.”