Chapter 8 - Aristides
“Antonis Tsolakidis has hired an army of attorneys overnight,” Kostas said, his voice tight with concern. “They’re demanding access to the museum’s security footage to find out who released that sex tape of his daughter.”
Dimitrios waved a dismissive hand. “Let them search. I’m sure Santo was smart enough to cover his tracks.”
Their words drifted past me. Under normal circumstances, any potential threat to my son would have pulled me to full alertness. Yet this morning, seated in our family’s salon, my mind was anchored to silk sheets, bronze skin and to waking in an empty apartment.
“We can’t be certain it was Santo,” Kostas defended. “He may be impulsive, but he’s not crass enough to expose a woman in that manner.”
“Aris?” Dimi’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You’re unusually quiet on this matter.”
“I’ve raised my son to handle his own battles.”
“Since when?” Kostas laughed. “You’ve protected him since you brought him home from the hospital.”
I reached for my coffee, taking a sip before setting the cup back onto its saucer. Chrysanthos was vengeful when wounded—a trait I recognized all too well—and probably guilty of orchestrating Katalina’s embarrassment at the gala the previous evening.
“Even if it was him,” I said carefully, “dwelling on it solves nothing. What’s done is done.”
Kostas’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s it?”
“Chrysanthos is a grown man.”
“Unbelievable,” Dimitrios laughed. “Any other day, you’d be calling him into your office and delivering a lecture. What’s different today?”
What was different? In twenty-four hours, Dede would board a plane and disappear across an ocean, taking with her the happiness I hadn’t known was missing until I’d found it in her arms.
“I simply recognize when a situation requires action and when it requires patience.”
Kostas’s phone chimed. He glanced down, his expression shifting from irritation to shock. “What the fuck?”
“Language.” The correction came automatically after decades of monitoring what my brothers said around Chrysanthos. It no longer mattered that my son was grown and absent—the habit was too ingrained. “What is it now? Did Katalina release a sex tape of Chrysanthos?”
“No.” He looked up, face pale beneath his tan. “It’s about Uncle Stavros.”
“What about him?”
“The medical examiner’s office in New York has reclassified his death.” Kostas stared at his screen. “They’re calling it a homicide. After thirty years.”
Dimitrios stood abruptly, moving to read over Kostas’s shoulder. “That’s impossible. They said it was natural causes.”
“Not anymore,” Kostas said, handing me his phone. “Read the article.”
I scanned the headline from Update Daily News: “Billionaire Stavros Christakis’ Death Ruled a Homicide, 30 Years Later…”
Uncle Stavros was my father’s older brother and a former CEO of Olympus Motors before passing on the position to my father and starting up his own company. C-Star.
“The NYPD has opened an investigation after a witness came forward,” I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. “They believe he was killed.”
“This will destroy Aunt Irida,” Dimitrios said softly. Our aunt had never recovered from her eldest brother’s death.
The sound of female voices floated from the hallway moments before the doors opened. My mother entered first, followed by Aunt Irida. Behind them came Kayla, and then Dede.
She wore a simple blue T-shirt and dark jeans, with her hair held back by a hairband. Our eyes met briefly before she glanced away.
“What conspiracy are my sons plotting this morning?” Mother asked in English.
“We have received some unexpected news,” I said, rising. “It concerns Uncle Stavros.”
Aunt Irida stiffened, her hand finding Mother’s arm. “What about my brother?”
I told my family about the news, choosing my words with care as I explained what the article revealed. The silence that followed was absolute.
Then Aunt Irida made a keening wail that seemed to emerge from some ancient well of grief. She swayed dangerously, and I moved to support her, but Dede reached her first.
“Here, sit down,” Dede murmured, guiding my aunt to the nearest chair. The compassion in her eyes as she kneeled beside Irida stirred a longing inside me that was entirely separate from the family crisis unfolding before us.
The doors opened again, admitting Chrysanthos and Tia, their faces bright with the glow of young love that had not yet encountered true hardship. Their expressions sobered immediately upon reading the room.
“Father?” my son said. “What’s happened?”
I crossed the room toward him, holding out a tablet. “Read this.”
“What is it?” Tia asked, leaning closer to see.
Chrysanthos tilted the tablet so she could read the article and explained who Stavros was and when he died.
Mother and Aunt Irida immediately blamed Angela, my uncle’s widow, convinced she’d murdered him thirty years ago. My brothers argued for caution, while my son and Tia observed with fresh eyes.
Dede rose from Irida’s side, her gentle authority filling the room. “Irida, you should lie down,” she said, helping my aunt to her feet. “This can’t be good for your heart.”
“Deanna’s right,” Mother agreed. “Come, Irida. We need to rest.”
“I’ll help,” Kayla offered, supporting Irida’s other side.
“I’ll come too,” Tia said, squeezing Chrysanthos’ hand before releasing it.
As the women moved toward the door, my eyes remained fixed on Dede. I wanted nothing more than to follow her and address her silent departure last night. Instead, I remained where I was.
My gaze lingered on the doorway where Dede had vanished before I refocused on the crisis at hand. Chrysanthos asked about the investigation and my cousins—Leon and Nolan, Stavros’s sons.
I explained how Angela had completely severed their connection to our family after my uncle’s death, raising them to believe we had stolen their inheritance and poisoning them against us for decades.
“I need to contact our attorneys in New York immediately,” I said, checking my watch and calculating the time difference. “I’ll set up a conference call in my study.”
Kostas nodded. “I’ll call Matthaios. I also need to talk to Kayla.”
“Have the jet prepared,” I instructed Dimitrios. “We may need to fly to New York tonight. I want us there when the police start asking questions.”
We dispersed quickly, leaving Chrysanthos with Dimitrios. As I headed to my study, I pulled out my phone, already composing what needed to be done, even as my thoughts returned to Dede.
After a thirty-minute call with our legal team in New York, I ended the meeting with clear directives. The lawyers would request all evidence the NYPD had collected to reclassify Stavros’s death, file motions to protect our family’s privacy, and prepare for what could become a media spectacle.
I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples where tension had settled. My phone displayed a missed call from Kostas and a text confirming our flight would depart at four PM.
I rose from my desk, the morning’s revelations weighing heavily on my mind. Exiting the study, I made my way toward the grand staircase. I needed to pack a few essentials before the flight, and my mind was already cataloging what needed to be done before departure.
On the second floor, where my suite was located, movement in the hallway caught my eye. Dede was walking slowly near my bedroom, glancing at doorways as if searching for something.
I paused at the top of the stairs. “You are lost, yes?”
She startled, turning toward my voice. “Aris. I was looking for Tia’s room. This house is a maze.”
Instead of answering, I closed the distance between us, took her wrist, and pulled her toward my bedroom door. She didn’t resist, following me silently until we reached it.
“This isn’t Tia’s room,” she commented when I opened the door.
“No,” I agreed, guiding her inside before closing the door behind us. “It is not.”
Her eyes swept across the space. The king bed was made with white linens, and a silver-framed photograph of my father holding an infant Chrysanthos sat on the bedside table.
I braced one arm above her head, crowding her space without touching her. “You left without saying goodbye.”
“I said goodbye,” she countered. “Every kiss, every touch last night was a goodbye.”
The memory of her beneath me, around me, flooded back with visceral intensity. The sounds she’d made, the way she’d surrendered completely, as though trying to imprint herself upon my skin.
Dede was right. She had said goodbye in the most intimate way possible.
“Not enough,” I murmured. “I want one last kiss”
She shook her head. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”
“One kiss, Dede.” I lowered my head until our foreheads touched. “To close this chapter properly, yes?”
“Our children…”
“They are not here,” I finished. “One kiss. Then I show you to Tia’s room.”
“One kiss,” she whispered.
I took her face between my hands, stroking her cheekbones with my thumbs before pressing my lips to hers. The kiss started gently, but gentleness couldn’t contain what burned between us.
I deepened the kiss, my tongue seeking entrance, which she readily granted. Her fingers clutched at my shirt, pulling me closer as the kiss transformed from farewell to desperation. I pinned her more firmly against the door and grasped her hips.
For these stolen minutes, nothing existed beyond this woman. Minutes passed, perhaps longer, as we lost ourselves in what we both knew would be our final embrace.
A knock on the door broke the spell.
“Mr. Christakis,” a servant called in Greek. “Your presence is required urgently in the family room.”
I pulled back, both of us breathing hard. Dede’s lips were swollen, her eyes dark with the same desire that coursed through me.
“I’ll be there shortly,” I answered in clipped Greek, never breaking eye contact with Dede.
We listened to the retreating footsteps before I stepped back. “Tia’s room, it is three doors down.”
Dede nodded. “Thank you.”
I led her to the door on the veranda and slid it open, checking that the yard was clear before guiding her out.
When we reached Tia’s door, I hesitated. This was truly it. Our final moment together.
“Dede,” I began, uncertain of what I wanted to say.
“Yes?”
Instead of speaking, I pulled her to me once more, claiming her mouth in a kiss that conveyed everything words could not. Brief but fierce, a kiss that acknowledged what might have been under different circumstances.
When I released her, she stepped back quickly. “Goodbye, Aris,” she whispered, her eyes glassy.
I watched her slip into Tia’s room before turning away. Each step down the veranda felt like movement through deep water.