Chapter 12 #3
I follow Nikko past the bathroom toward the storage hallway where no one can hear us.
The noise of the restaurant fades. Back here it’s quiet. Just us and stacks of supplies and the weight of whatever he’s about to say.
Nikko leans against the wall. Crosses his arms. That big brother stance. The one I’ve seen him use on Alex’s boyfriends. The one that says explain yourself before I decide you’re a threat.
“You’re going to get yourselves killed.”
The words cut through every excuse I was about to make.
“What are you—”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off. “Don’t perform for me. I’ve known you since you were twelve years old, Dylan. I know when you’re lying.”
“Nikko—”
“I know my sister.” His voice is hard now.
Chef voice. The one he uses when the line is falling apart and someone needs to fix it immediately.
“I’ve known her her whole life and you just about.
And I know when she’s lying to me. I’ve known since she was three years old and blamed the dog for eating her vegetables. ”
“You don’t have a dog.”
“Exactly.” He doesn’t smile. “Whatever you two are investigating—”
“We’re not—”
“Dylan.” Just my name. But the way he says it.
“Don’t lie to me. I can see it. The way you both jumped when Baba asked about work.
The way you keep looking at each other like you’re sharing a secret.
The way neither of you are actually eating, you’re just pushing food around like you’re fourteen and trying to hide that you’re not hungry. ”
Fuck.
He’s right. We’re performing badly. The tells are everywhere.
“Nikko, I can’t—”
“I’m not asking you to tell me.” His voice softens. Just slightly. “I’m not asking what. I’m asking you to be careful. Because if something happens to my sisters—”
His voice breaks.
He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to.
I can see it in his eyes. The fear. The protectiveness. The absolute certainty that Alex is walking into something dangerous and he can’t stop her. That we are. Because he said sisters.
“We’re being careful,” I whisper.
“Are you?” He looks at me. Really looks at me. “Because you look terrified, Dylan. And my sister looks like she’s pretending not to be terrified. And that tells me whatever this is, it’s bad.”
I can’t lie to him. Can’t perform anymore.
So I just nod.
Nikko closes his eyes. Takes a breath. When he opens them again, his expression has shifted. Resigned. Worried. But accepting.
“If you need help—” he starts.
“We can’t ask for help.”
“I’m not asking you to ask.” He’s firm now. “I’m telling you. If you need a driver. If you need an alibi. If you need someone who doesn’t ask questions.” He pauses. “You know my rate.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “Babysitting?”
“Babysitting.” He’s dead serious. “I’m here, Dylan. For both of you. Always. Whatever you need. I don’t need to know what. But I’m here.”
My throat closes. I can’t speak.
Nikko pulls me into a hug. Quick. Tight. The kind of hug that says be safe and come back alive and I’ll kill you if you get my sister hurt.
“Go back to the table,” he says. “Before they notice something’s wrong.”
Too late for that. Everyone’s already noticed. But we’ll perform anyway.
I nod. Wipe my eyes. Walk back to the dining room with Nikko behind me.
Alex looks up the moment we return. Her eyes ask the question.
I shake my head slightly. Later.
She nods. Understands.
Eleni saves us.
The baby starts fussing—overtired, overstimulated, done with the dinner she’s been sitting through. Maya picks her up, starts the bouncing dance all parents know.
“Come here, baby girl.” The words come out before I can stop them.
Maya looks surprised. Alex looks... something. Hopeful? Scared?
But I need this. Need something innocent to hold. Something that doesn’t know about rings in pockets and bodies in alleys and the way men hunt women like prey.
Eleni comes willingly. Grabs my hair immediately with those tiny, perfect hands.
“Ow,” I laugh. But I don’t pull away.
Because pain from a baby is clean. Simple. She’s not trying to hurt me. She just doesn’t know her own strength yet. She’s learning. Growing. Becoming.
She has time to become someone.
Dahlia didn’t.
The thought hits like ice water.
Eleni laughs. Pure, joyful baby laughter that knows nothing about death or danger or the way the world devours women.
I hold her tighter.
“Careful,” Maya says gently. “You’ll squish her.”
I loosen my grip. Force a smile. “Sorry. She’s just—she’s perfect.”
“She is,” Maya agrees. But she’s watching me carefully now. Wondering.
Alex is watching too. That soft expression she gets. The one that says someday.
But there won’t be a someday. Not if this investigation goes wrong. Not if Dom finds out. Not if Marcus—
Eleni pulls my hair hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, and the moment breaks.
“Sorry, sorry.” Maya takes her back. “She’s entering the hair-pulling phase.”
“It’s fine.” I’m not fine. But I smile anyway.
Sofia is watching me. Has been watching me this whole time, I realize. Those mother’s eyes that see everything.
She doesn’t say anything. Just makes the sign of the cross. Mutters something in Greek.
A prayer. A protection spell. Whatever grandmothers do when they know something’s wrong but can’t name it.
My mom is watching too. Her English teacher face. The one that means she’s reading subtext.
Both mothers know.
But they won’t ask. Not here. Not now. Not in front of everyone.
They’ll wait.
And I’ll have to lie to them too.
Dessert disappears. Coffee appears. Strong Greek coffee that Dimitri makes himself in the copper briki. Two cups—mine and Alex’s—with just the right amount of sugar.
Dimitri sets the coffee in front of me. Perfect temperature. Perfect sweetness. Exactly how I’ve taken it for fifteen years.
“You remembered,” I say stupidly.
“Of course I remembered.” He looks almost hurt. “You’re my daughter. I remember.”
Not his daughter. Not really. But he’s claimed me anyway.
The way I wish I could claim Dahlia. Give her a name. A story. Proof she mattered.
The conversation shifts. Flows. Multiple threads weaving together.
Dimitri is talking to Nikko about restaurant business. Sofia and my mom are planning something—a church event, maybe. Maya is trying to feed Eleni tiny bites of baklava. Alex is laughing at something Nikko said.
And I’m sitting here, trying to memorize it all.
The way candlelight catches in Alex’s hair. The sound of Dimitri’s laugh—deep and booming. Sofia’s hands moving as she talks. My mom’s smile—real, not worried for once. The weight of the baby on Maya’s lap. Nikko’s chef’s hands, scarred and strong.
This family. This warmth. This safety.
Everything we’re risking.
A blonde woman walks past our table.
Long hair. Black dress.
My heart stops.
The fork slips from my hand. Clatters against the plate. Too loud.
Everyone looks at me.
“Sorry,” I manage. “I—sorry.”
But I can’t stop staring at her. At the blonde woman. At the black dress. At the way she moves through the restaurant like she’s walking through that alley in my dream.
She’s not her. Can’t be her. Wrong height. Wrong age. Just a regular customer. Picking up takeout. Living her normal life.
But for half a second—
“Dylan?” Alex’s hand is on my arm. Tight. “You okay?”
I snap back. Everyone’s staring. Dimitri. Sofia. My mom. Nikko from where he’s sitting.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just—thought I saw someone I knew.” The lie comes automatically.
“Who?” Dimitri asks. Casual. But his eyes are sharp.
“No one. I was wrong. Just—someone from work.” I pick up my fork with shaking hands. “Sorry.”
But Sofia saw it. The way I froze. The way the color drained from my face.
She makes the sign of the cross. Mutters something in Greek. A prayer. Longer this time. More urgent.
My mom’s hand finds mine across the table. Squeezes. Doesn’t ask. Just holds on.
Alex’s knee presses against mine under the table. Hard. Grounding me.
The moment passes. Conversation resumes. But the mothers keep watching. Nikko keeps watching.
They know something’s wrong.
They just don’t know what.
And I can’t tell them.
Can’t explain that I just saw a ghost. That every blonde woman in a black dress is Dahlia now. That I’m drowning and they can’t save me because telling them would only pull them under too.
Eventually, the meal ends.
We’ve been here three hours. That’s Sunday dinner. You don’t rush. You linger. You talk. You eat slowly. You have a third coffee. You wait for Dimitri to finally stand up and signal it’s okay to leave.
He does. Slowly. Reluctantly. Like he could keep us here forever if he just doesn’t say goodbye.
“You girls should get going, catch the train before you miss it. Next week,” he announces. “Same time.”
“We’ll be here,” Alex promises.
Dimitri pulls her into a hug. Holds her longer than usual. “Be careful, agápi mou.”
Alex tenses against him. “Always.”
“I mean it.” He pulls back. Looks at her face. His hands on her shoulders. “Be careful. Whatever is happening—be careful.”
She nods. Can’t speak.
Then Dimitri turns to me.
His hug is different this time. Tighter. More desperate. Like he’s trying to shield me from something he can’t see.
“You’re always welcome here,” he whispers against my hair. “Always. Whatever happens. You remember that.”
My throat closes. “I know.”
“Your baba—” He catches himself. Means my dead father. “Robert. He would want you to know you can tell me anything. Anything, korítsι mou. When you’re ready.”
I almost break. Almost confess everything right here in his arms.
But I can’t. Can’t drag this family into our nightmare. Can’t let Dom’s reach extend to them.
So I just nod against his shoulder.
Dimitri holds me for another moment. Then releases me. But his hand lingers on my face. That look. The one that says I see you. I know something’s wrong. And when you’re ready, I’m here.
Sofia hugs us both. Makes the sign of the cross over our heads three times. Mutters prayers in Greek. Protection spells. Whatever she can do to keep us safe from whatever she senses coming.
My mom hugs me last. “Call me this week,” she says. Not a request. A demand. Her English teacher voice.
“I will.”
“I mean it, Dylan. Don’t make me come to your apartment.”
“I’ll call.”
She studies my face. Knows I’m lying. Hugs me anyway. Holds on longer than necessary.
“I love you,” she whispers. “Whatever this is. I love you.”
I can’t speak. Just nod.
Maya and Nikko walk us to the door. Eleni is asleep on Maya’s shoulder now, exhausted from the dinner. Little head resting in that perfect baby way.
“Drive safe,” Maya says. But her eyes say are you sure you’re okay?
Nikko says nothing. Just looks at Alex. Then at me. That big brother look that says I’m here. I’m watching. I’ll help. You know my rate.
We nod. Thank them. Promise to see them next week.
The lie tastes like ash.
Outside, January air hits like a slap.
The restaurant warmth disappears immediately. Just cold and dark and the city breathing around us.
Alex walks beside me toward the train stop. Neither of us speaks for half a block.
Then she stops. Turns. Looks back.
Dimitri is standing in the restaurant doorway. Backlit by warm light. Watching us leave. That protective father stance. Hands in his pockets. Not moving until we’re out of sight.
“We can’t tell them,” Alex whispers.
“I know.”
“If something happens to us—”
“Nothing will happen.”
“Dylan—”
“Nothing will happen,” I repeat. Firmer. “We’re careful. We’re smart. We’ll figure this out.”
But neither of us believes it.
We turn. Keep walking. Away from the safety of Aegean Dreams. Away from the family who would die to protect us. Away from the warmth and love and Sunday dinners.
Toward the investigation. Toward the danger. Toward whatever comes next.
The ring weighs a hundred pounds with every step. Heavy. Wrong. Impossible to forget.
And behind us, Dimitri finally turns. Goes back inside. The door closes.
The safety is gone.
We’re alone again.
Alex’s hand finds mine as we walk. Our fingers lace together automatically. Fifteen years of this. Holding hands. Holding each other up. Holding on when everything else falls apart.
“That was harder than I thought,” she says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Lying to them. Performing. The Winston thing was funny but—”
“But we still lied about everything that matters.”
“Yeah.” She squeezes my hand. “Nikko knows something’s wrong.”
“They all know something’s wrong.” I look up at the Philadelphia sky. Stars barely visible through the light pollution. “We’re just lucky they love us enough to wait for us to tell them.”
“Are we going to tell them?”
“Not if we can help it.” I squeeze back. “Not if it keeps them safe.”
We reach the stop and lean against a rusted railing.
“When we solve this,” Alex says. Not if. When. “When we figure out who he is and what Dom’s done and we bring them both down—we’ll tell them then. Show them we were trying to protect them.”
“You think they’ll understand?”
“No,” She snorts. “But they’ll forgive us anyway. Because that’s what family does.”