9. Athena
NINE
ATHENA
D uring my hour-long flight to Spain, I tried to distract myself with writing, but each time it came to my hero’s point of view, my mind wandered to the man I spent a single, incredible night with.
Manuel Marchetti.
Of all the men on this planet, why did it have to be him? And why hadn’t I recognized him?
The man had gotten even better looking with age. And imposing. Manuel Marchetti was tall, handsome, and sinful. And oh lord, between the sheets, he was the devil himself.
Slamming my laptop shut, I gave up on writing. The last thing I needed was to get turned on thinking about the man who’d caught me and my mother in our little lip-syncing—although justified—scheme.
I brought a hand up to my face and sighed. I’d been drifting back to the memories I’d repressed from all those years ago. The evening that seemed to start my nightmare.
My blood ran cold as I watched the scene unfold through the crack in the closet door.
I stared at my mama in shock and horror as men wearing masks and dressed all in black surrounded her. She’d shoved me in here, disoriented and still half asleep.
But I was awake now, and I was terrified.
Why were these men here, and why was Mama on the floor on her hands and knees? She was crying and pleading in words I couldn’t comprehend. They weren’t English.
My breathing was labored and my heart raced against my chest, pounding painfully against my rib cage.
“I don’t know anything,” my mom screamed—in English now, I realized. “I have nothing to do with Atticus.”
Was she talking about my father? The man who abandoned us?
Mom never spoke about him; she wouldn’t even tell me whether he was alive or dead. Nothing. I’d dreamt about him my entire life, hoped he’d come and find us. He never did.
The only thing that followed us was trouble though, and something told me it had everything to do with him.
A scream filled the air as I silently fell to my knees, watching my mother tortured.
“Where is the child?”
I reached for her, fighting the urge to go to her, but I made a promise. I had to stay hidden.
My mother wrapped her arms around her waist as if to shield herself, but before she had a chance, a booted foot connected with her abdomen. I bit into my hand, holding my screams back.
I wanted to kick them and set my mom free. I was already back on my feet, ready to push through, when Mom’s voice stilled me. “I’m okay. Promise, I’m okay.”
A cold metal blade touched the side of her neck while I stood frozen, my eyes locked on the gun pointed at her temple. She wasn’t okay, yet I didn’t know what to do or how to save her.
My lips moved, wanting to yell out for her, fear widening my eyes as tears streamed down Mama’s beautiful face.
“I’m okay,” she croaked again, her slim body that could produce the most beautiful soprano notes shaking terribly. I wished I was strong enough to protect her. I hated seeing her scared, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind.
A laugh vibrated through our terror, and my mother’s eyes shot up to the man pointing the gun at her.
“So sweet,” he drawled, his voice muffled behind the mask. “But you won’t be fine unless you give me what I came for.”
My eyes focused on the man as our apartment quieted, matching the midnight hour of the little Italian town we were visiting for Mama’s performance at the opera house. My gaze slipped up to the tattooed hand holding the gun—an odd-looking symbol settled in the mouth of a skull.
Before I could dwell on it, a voice sent ice down my spine.
“Let’s make sure the great Alexandra Bottelli can’t sing tomorrow,” he purred, a wicked smile curving behind the thin material of the mask.
My throat bobbed, my heart thudding. The men began to laugh harshly and my eyes fell to the matching tattoos on their hands. There were four other men in the room—two with guns and two with blades.
“I don’t know anything,” Mom whispered quietly. “Please spare? ? —”
Her words were cut short as a hand wrapped around her throat. Her perfect ivory skin quickly turned pink, then red, then purple as the man squeezed.
“Please, she needs her voice!” I whispered my silent pleas as her violent scream ricocheted against the walls of our little apartment.
I was such a coward, hiding in the closet, watching my mom being hurt. It didn’t matter I made a promise, I should be brave enough to charge in there and attack them all to protect her.
Another heart-wrenching scream tore out of my mama and through the apartment, and a hand slapped her across the face, making her blink, disoriented.
“Stop screaming,” the man snarled viciously, wrapping his big hand around her throat. “Or I’ll give you something to scream about.”
The sudden, eerily stillness of the room was only broken by my mother’s gurgles. My mind chanted “please stop, please stop,” but no words left my lips.
“I’m here to avenge what was stolen.” I dragged my gaze back to the man looming over her. “You know what it was,” he purred. My brows knitted, and my gaze darted between him and my mother.
The man’s gaze was full of dark fury and hatred that stole my breath away. He released her throat.
“It’s an eye for an eye. Where is she?” he roared. “Where is your daughter, whore?”
I shook in my hiding spot, my teeth sinking into the flesh of my hand to keep my whimpers from being heard.
My mother gasped for air, her breaths filling the room as she slumped to the wooden floor. Her attention snapped to the wall next to me, watching it with a haunted expression.
“I don’t have her,” Mom rasped, her voice barely a whisper. But I was too terrified to worry about her vocal cords now or what it was that they wanted. “I don’t know where she is. I gave her up for adoption.”
My brows furrowed, unable to follow the conversation.
“Then I suggest you find her,” the man growled. “You have a week to get us answers. Or I’ll cut you up, piece by fucking piece.”
I stared in horror.
Mom shuddered. “Please! I don’t know how? ? —”
The man slapped her across the face again, sending her body flying across the room.
I bit into my hand, holding back my screams and resisting the urge to rush to her.
“Do. We. Understand. Each. Other?”
My mama looked up and nodded without a word, and the men left our apartment like ghosts, disappearing into the night.
It wasn’t until she came for me that I dared to move. It wasn’t until then that I noticed I’d soiled myself.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she wrapped me in her arms and we sobbed against each other.
I wondered what Manuel would say if he knew I was the daughter of his once-upon-a-time mistress. The great Alexandra Maria Bottelli’s daughter. She was always careful to keep that fact from her lovers—and there were plenty of those.
It’s safer that way, she’d say.
I wanted to believe her, especially after what I’d witnessed eleven years ago, but sometimes I wondered if she was keeping me a secret to sell her appeal better. It filled me with shame, and the possibility made my heart clench painfully, but I couldn’t help the way I felt. After so many years, I thought I’d be used to it, but it still nagged at me. We were each other’s only family.
I could still taste the terror from that night and see the fear that lurked in Mom’s eyes. She did it all to protect me, I reminded myself.
Before long, the flight ended and I descended the stairs. The scent of the morning air in Seville hit my nostrils. Lavender, citrus, and most of all, orange blossoms. And it was then that I spotted my mother.
Emotions swirled through me, but I held them in until we were alone. A bodyguard took my bag with a nod, then my mom took my hand wordlessly, squeezing gently as we were guided off the tarmac. There was a limo waiting for us, and the driver held the door open.
It wasn’t until we took off driving and the divider was up that my mother wrapped me in a warm hug.
“I missed you so much,” she whispered into my ear. I loved my mother and I knew she loved me, but feigning we were just friends hurt sometimes.
“Ditto,” I admitted, inhaling her familiar perfume that smelled of lilacs and… comfort. My chest flooded with warmth at this rare show of affection. The years had been kind to her physically, but I knew she suffered mentally. Silently.
My phone buzzed and I glanced at the message. It was from the girls’ group chat.
Raven: We need a game night.
Reina: What did you have in mind?
Phoenix: Clue?
Reina: We all know the killer, so it would be a moot point.
I winced, knowing exactly what she was implying. It was hard to forget something that changed you so profoundly.
Isla: We’re all the killers, but let’s pick a different game. Strip poker?
Phoenix: Isla just wants to strip for her hot Italian daddy.
I winced, my own hot Italian daddy rushing to mind, and no offense to Isla, but mine was a thousand times better. Not that I’d bring him up. I quickly typed my response.
I’m back tomorrow. Wait for me.
Raven: I don’t want to see you girls naked. Maybe we can find a few guys to play with.
I shook my head.
Good luck with that.
I shoved my phone back into my purse and met my mother’s smiling face. “I’m happy you have good friends. It’s one thing I lacked, although I had my sister for a little bit.”
I took both her hands in mine, guilt eating at me. “It’s because you got pregnant with me.”
“The best gift ever.” Her voice was breathless, but delight wreathed her face. “You’re going to be smarter than me, and we already know you’re a much better singer than me.” She winked, but I saw a cloud of something cross her face… sadness, maybe?
I wrapped my arms around her again and breathed her in. I didn’t want her to see guilt in my eyes, but she must have sensed something because she pulled back, scanning my face.
While we shared the same eye coloring, as I got older, I must have taken after my father. I didn’t have a single picture of him, but Mom let it slip once that my sharing anything with that man broke her heart. Little did she know, it broke my heart too.
“You’re not singing,” Mom said simply.
“I’m taking classes,” I retorted as truthfully as I could.
Her brow furrowed. “What classes? You’re done with your college years.”
“Voice lessons. Interval training helps train my voice to greater precision.” Mom nodded, but her quizzical gaze remained on me. We both knew that unless I actually sang, voice lessons were for nothing. “I love singing,” I sighed. “I really do, but I hate performing on the stage alone. You know how when you perform, you’re center stage?” She nodded. “I don’t want that.”
I didn’t want to tell her that every time I stood on a stage, that night came rushing back to me. She didn’t need any extra guilt eating at her.
“But you’re the only legacy I’m leaving behind.”
I let out an uncomfortable laugh while my chest squeezed painfully.
“You’re making it sound like you’re dying.” When she said nothing, I stiffened and gave her another look. She looked great, as always—beautiful and breathtaking—but there was a new paleness to her skin and dark shadows under her eyes. “Mom, are you okay?”
Mom’s lips quirked. “Of course. I’m just worried.”
“About what?”
“Nothing important.”
It’d been months since I visited, but it felt longer. The lightness I used to attribute to her was gone, and in its place was something I didn’t recognize.
I glanced out the window at the unfamiliar landscape. “We’re not going to the manor?”
My mother, the famous opera singer, had lived in Spain for the past decade as a mistress to the head of Mi?anco—the Spanish mafia—under his protection. Emiliano Ortega, her lover, was the reason she’d been able to afford an elite boarding school and private college for me. She made good money as a singer, but not enough to support her lavish lifestyle and my private education.
Before he came along and became a permanent fixture in my mom’s life, I remembered her lovers being wealthy and generous, and that Mom kept me mostly out of sight, claiming I was her deceased best friend’s daughter. The men were blind enough to believe it, and enamored enough that they didn’t ask many questions.
Of course, my best friends knew the truth. I slipped once and then swore them to secrecy. Considering the secrets we kept for each other, it was an easy promise given and kept by every single one of them.
“Not this time,” she said. “I want to have you all to myself. Like the good old days.”
Warmth washed over me. There had been many days we ran, hid, and lived in fear, but I vividly remembered the ones where she would wake me up at the crack of dawn to go swimming. Or she’d surprise me at school with a bouquet of flowers, checking me out early to get our nails done.
Until everything changed, of course.
It wasn’t long before the car pulled up in front of Hotel Alfonso XIII, a luxury hotel in the heart of Seville, and we made our way to the top-floor suite.
“Well, this feels like déjà vu,” I muttered under my breath, thinking back to my one-night stand.
“What was that, Athena?” Mom asked.
I waved my hand. “Oh, nothing.”
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” Mom said. “We can catch up on what you’ve been doing and talk about your mom. I miss her so much. You must too.”
I swallowed, smiling tightly. Some things never changed. “I do.”
I hated the pretense, but there was no way around it—not when her bodyguard stood so closely and likely received paychecks signed by the head of the Spanish mafia.
The elevator dinged and opened into the luxurious hotel suite. Her guard went ahead and we stepped out, waiting for him to clear it. Once he reappeared, he gave her a terse, wordless nod and stepped back into the elevator, then disappeared out of sight.
Mom and I sighed, sharing a glance, and she smiled.
“Go ahead and pick the room you want. I’ll make us a cup of coffee.”
I made my way through each of the bedrooms and opted for the first one, the view of Seville stretching in front of its expansive window. I dropped my bag on the luggage stand and joined Mom in the kitchen.
She handed me my mug and we settled next to each other on the plush linen couch. Mom smiled at me over the lip of her mug.
“Now tell me the reason for this sudden visit.”
I let out a breath. “Well, I’ve missed you.”
She tilted her head. “You’ve missed me before and it didn’t prompt a visit.”
She was right. We’d always done it this way to ensure our safety. I steeled my spine for the conversation we were about to have. My mom hated talking about certain events—namely anything unpleasant. But I needed to know how far she went with Manuel Marchetti, and since he was indirectly connected to her horrible attack, and subsequently me, we’d be forced to go there.
I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “I’ve been thinking about… the past.”
Her brows arched. “Past?”
I looked down and brushed an imaginary speck of lint off my jean shorts. I always dressed down when meeting my mother, not wanting to attract any attention to myself.
“Yes, I’ve been thinking about that night those men attacked us and… and about that man who caught you lip-syncing. The man you were dating back then.”
“Why would you ask me about that after so many years?”
I placed my cup on the coffee table and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear.
“Because it’s been on my mind.”
She frowned. “But why would that man be on your mind?”
I debated how to answer without revealing too much.
“Do you remember him?” I asked, watching her carefully.
Her expression turned slightly dreamy.
“Yes, Manuel Marchetti. Who could forget that man?” Then, as if remembering herself, she narrowed her gaze at me. “Why are you bringing him up?”
I shrugged, playing nonchalant. “I think I saw him in Paris.”
Not exactly a lie.
“Did he see you?”
“Yes.”
“Did he recognize you? Did you talk to him?” I really didn’t want to lie to her, but I knew what her reaction would be if I told her the whole truth.
“No.”
“You’re being very vague and short.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Where did you see him?”
“Well, I went out with the girls and we got separated. Some men started harassing me and he stepped in, chasing them away.”
“That sounds like him. Always the gentleman.” Mom’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And he didn’t recognize you?”
“No.”
“You didn’t tell him who you were, did you?”
“There wasn’t much talking.” I wet my lips, recalling that night, before I gathered my wits about me and cleared my throat. “No, I didn’t tell him anything.”
Mom’s mouth curved and a dreamy sigh left her lips.
“I wish I could have taken that man to bed.” I released a breath I’d been holding since touching down in Spain. Relief unlike anything else filled me at the knowledge my mother hadn’t slept with Manuel Marchetti. I loved her, but that didn’t mean I felt comfortable sharing her lovers. “Love is painful. It tears you apart, but for him, I would have given it another try.”
Love tears you apart and shreds you into tiny little pieces. It was what she had always told me. She’d told me if it hurt, you could be sure you were in love. It was how I measured all my relationships—if they could be called that. I didn’t let myself get hurt, so I must have never been in love.
“Maybe it’s good that you haven’t,” I retorted wryly.
“The word is that he’s very well endowed and can fuck like?—”
I gasped, flushing furiously. “Mother!”
She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Oh, shush. It’s not like we’re virgins.”
I’d never come out and told my mother I’d lost my virginity, but she assumed. Her theory was that when five girls lived together, they usually did dumb things.
“You’re the most untraditional mother a girl could have,” I stated, shaking my head.
She leaned back into the seat with a sigh. “I try, Athena. I don’t want you stuck in a box.” A shudder rippled down my spine. Mom winced and quickly took my hand into hers, squeezing it tightly. “I don’t want you to be what’s expected, because men or society expect that from you.”
“I know,” I murmured, quickly pushing the dark thoughts away. I couldn’t think about those now. Or ever, especially not with my mother.
“Expectations were put on my sister. She was too scared to go against them, so she married Lykos Costello, and it cost her everything, including her sanity.”
I startled, shooting her a surprised look. “You rarely talk about your sister.”
She shrugged. “I was much younger than her and we weren’t alike. She was shy, religious, and so reserved.” My mother was definitely nothing like that. “I thought she’d turn into a nun. She didn’t. She married a Greek mobster and went crazy.”
My mouth dropped. “Mom… what are you saying? Is she alive?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know.” A shadow passed her expression. “I heard she was committed to a psych ward, but then there are other stories that claim she died.”
“Didn’t you call her husband?” I asked, bewildered. “Your brother-in-law.”
She shot me a baffled look. “Why would I? They cut ties with me, not the other way around.”
I shook my head, perplexed. “What happened that made your only sister, my aunt, cut ties with us?” She opened her mouth, then paused. I couldn’t understand all the secrecy. “I would think you’d want your sister in your life, Mom. After all, you two grew up together.”
“We did, but she always stole the spotlight.”
My brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She sighed with exasperation. “Everyone always loved her, and whenever she was around, I was the forgotten one. Then her marriage to the head of the Greek mafia was arranged, and she became unbearable. Nobody saw her flaws the way I did.”
Something about her comment left a sour taste in my mouth. I knew my mother had been hurt badly and, in turn, had hardened herself, but her sister had nothing to do with it.
“Well, nobody’s perfect,” I pointed out. “I mean, I’m not thrilled to pretend you aren’t my mother, but I deal with it. I’m certainly not shunning you, because I love you.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I told you it’s for our safety. I only insist on it because I love you.”
“I love you too, but it’d be nice if it wasn’t just the two of us.” She blinked, staring at me with an oblivious expression, and I explained. “Your sister is your family and so is her husband, their children. They are our family. Don’t you think it would have been nice for me to grow up with cousins?”
She shrugged. “My sister didn’t have children until much later. The age difference between you and your cousins is too big.” I rolled my eyes. She was missing my point. “Besides, you did meet your uncle.”
My brows furrowed. “I think I’d remember meeting my uncle.”
She paled slightly, then whispered, “Athena, he came to the hospital after… after the whole burning casket… incident.”
I froze as fear crept into the corners of my mind, crushing my windpipe. That I remembered vividly, although I wished I didn’t. My lungs tightened. The darkness from that day morphed into nightmares I’d re-live over and over again until I had to shove them all into a vault.
I hated how those memories could render me immobile so effortlessly. I was stronger than that, dammit. I fucking was.
“I don’t remember… him.” I curled my fingers, the nails digging into my palms. I couldn’t go there now. Not ever. I didn’t want to show my mom, or anyone, how badly the events eleven years ago had fucked me up. “Aren’t you worried about your sister?”
Mom shrugged. “We haven’t been on speaking terms for decades.” I narrowed my eyes and she shook her head. “I might have… made some mistakes.”
I waited for her to elaborate. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t. In fact, I was surprised she was willing to share this much at all. But now that she’d opened the door, I intended to learn as much as I could about my lineage—with or without her help.
“You’re human,” I pointed out. “To be human is to make mistakes. Like I said, we all make them, so I’m sure your sister and her husband have long since forgiven you.”
She sighed. “No, something like that they wouldn’t forgive.”
“Like what?”
She paused, pressing her lips together, her eyes searching mine. Whatever she saw in them had her sighing.
“You remember how we fled back to the States when you were twelve,” she stated, abruptly changing subjects. There was a hint of fear in her voice that she was trying to tamp down, but I knew it too well. “After the attack by the Triads.”
I winced at the memory of men barging into our little apartment in the middle of the night and hurting her, leaving her with bruises and unable to breathe. The men who almost burned me alive.
Don’t think about that. Don’t think about that.
It never ended well when I lowered my defenses. That day was shoved into a dark vault in my mind and sealed shut. It had to stay there.
“Because of the attack,” I murmured, terror from long ago pinching my chest.
One corner of her mouth turned up.
“That attack was the result of my stupidity.” Her gaze roamed over the room until it settled on the large window where the city of Seville bathed in the midday sun. “Our parents were part of the Greek mafia, running things for the Costello family in the States. Shortly after my sister, Amara, married Lykos, our parents died, and she brought me to Greece to live with her and my new brother-in-law. I was sixteen, naive, and stupid, and Lykos’s world was so different from the way we’d grown up. Men were harsher but had such charisma and appeal, it was impossible to resist them.”
My mom had told me many tales of my grandparents—both first-generation Greeks in the United States, making a life for themselves. However, she had never admitted to their involvement in the mafia. I started to wonder what else she was keeping from me.
“Is that when you met—” I swallowed a lump in my throat. She hated talking about my father, and while I couldn’t blame her, I wanted to know some of my history.
“Yes, that’s how I met your father, Atticus, about a year later.”
“How much older was he than you, Mom?”
A heartbeat passed before she answered, “Twenty years older.”
“A significant age gap,” I muttered, knowing full well it made me somewhat of a hypocrite. But there was one major difference between her scenario and mine—she was barely of age, and I was a grown woman.
“I was mature for my age,” she stated, confidence shimmering in her eyes. “I knew what I wanted, and I went after it.”
“So my father was… is… was”—I had no idea if he was alive or dead—“in the mafia?”
She smiled gently. The subject of my father had been off-limits for so long, it made me apprehensive to hear her talking so freely about it now. In fact, his first name was all I knew about him.
She gave a terse nod. “Sort of. He’s built himself quite an empire by now.” The present tense didn’t escape me. “He was making his way up the ranks then, and he sure as hell didn’t mind being ruthless if it meant coming out on top. I let myself get swept up in his charms, too blind to see that he was trying to use me to get to my brother-in-law.”
I took her cool hands between mine and squeezed in comfort. “You couldn’t have known.”
She smiled sadly. “But I think I did. He had a wife and children.” I stiffened, learning that I had half-siblings hurting more than it should. “He hinted at his unhappiness with them, but he never really said he’d leave them for me. I conjured it all up in my mind. Anyhow, Atticus wanted information on Lykos’s routes to smuggle his product. I was so stupid and in love, I got that information for him. I went behind Lykos and my sister’s backs, not knowing Atticus was involved in human trafficking.”
I gasped at all the revelations slamming into me. Everything my mother had shared seemed like it was too far-fetched to be true, but a father who was involved in human trafficking trumped it all.
“Needless to say, my brother-in-law was furious and kicked me out. That same day, I learned I was pregnant with you.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I was at a crossroads, and I knew, unless I did something drastic, we’d end up dead or worse.”
“What did you do?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“I knew Atticus stored large amounts of cash in his home in Athens. While he was away, tending to his family , I went to it. I found the cash and…”
“And?” I breathed in suspense.
She released a heavy sigh, then waved her hand. “Nothing. At the end of it all, I took enough cash to get me passage to America, and then I set fire to Atticus’s house. I burned it all to ash.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah, like I said, it was dumb. Who knew what he had stored at his Athens property, and I certainly wasn’t thinking too far ahead when I set it alight. Luckily, he had no photos of me—yet another red flag I should have seen—and he didn’t know about you, so I got us away safely.”
“Until we weren’t,” I whispered. “Safe,” I added, remembering that horrible night.
“Until we weren’t.”