Chapter 1
Seduced by Passion Chapter One
His Ra
Raph scowled at the six-foot, three-inch man staring back at him in the bathroom mirror.
Fatigue had settled in pockets under his sleep-deprived eyes, and a black five o’clock shadow covered his olive skin.
He took great pride in his appearance, but with the circumstances of the last week and a half, especially the last few hours, grooming had been the furthest thing from his mind.
Bending under the weight of sadness and unease, he turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on his face, then threaded his wet hands through his rumpled hair, pressing the black strands against the collar of his white shirt.
Lifting a clean towel from a stack on the counter, he dried his face and eyed his reflection again.
He still looked disheveled, but at least he felt somewhat refreshed.
He exited the bathroom and, ignoring the hum of voices coming from the living room, he headed toward the large oak door at the end of the hall.
As soon as he opened it, the smell of ammonia and antiseptic flooded his nostrils and the sound of air being forced through congested lungs filled his ears.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Raph walked over to the bed and gazed at the ninety-three-year-old patriarch of the Giannopoulos family sleeping in the middle of the bed.
His wraithlike body was propped up by pillows on either side, and his skin was so pallid, he was almost indistinguishable from the white cotton sheet beneath him—a stark contrast to the towering man he used to be.
His name was Andris Sebastian Giannopoulos, and he was Raph’s beloved pappoús.
Andris was more than a grandfather, though.
He was the man who’d made Raph feel safe and protected as a little boy.
Raph remembered the feelings of security when his grandfather held his hand, of excitement when they flew kites on the beach while waves lapped at their feet and the wind tugged at their clothes, and of contentment as they solved jigsaw puzzles together.
Solving jigsaw puzzles was Andris’ favorite pastime, and of his three grandsons, Raph was the only one who showed interest in his hobby.
He loved the challenge of creating beauty from chaos, but that wasn’t the only thing that had kept Raph sitting and sifting through thousands of identical cardboard pieces for hours, days, and sometimes weeks.
It was his love for his grandfather, and the joy he got from spending time with him.
He hoped that over the years he’d given the old man as much love and joy as he received from him.
The flap of the white linen window curtains, moving in the cool evening breeze brought Raph back from the past, and into the dread of the dimly lit room.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, he eased his body down onto a chair beside the bed, reached out, and methodically brushed the gray, wrinkled brow, just as Andris had brushed his when he was a little boy in need of comfort.
And God knew he and his brothers, Neo, and Tele, had needed a whole lot of comfort when they were children.
Even though they had outgrown that need, their grandfather still piled it on every chance they gave him, until two years ago when he suffered a stroke that robbed him of his ability to speak and his mobility on the right side of his body.
Under the care of the best doctors and therapists that money could buy, after many small incremental improvements, two weeks ago, Raph and his brothers had gotten good news from the doctors.
Andris had regained his speech and was asking to see his family.
It was the miraculous breakthrough they’d all been praying for, and they’d immediately flown to Santorini to be with him.
For the past week and a half, Andris had been talkative as he visited with his grandsons, his great-granddaughter, Petra, and their extended family.
Everyone thought he was surely on his way back to a full recovery, but a few days ago, even though his speech was still strong, his body had weakened, and he’d developed a severe case of pneumonia.
This morning, his doctor had warned the family that the infection, and his old age, would claim him before the next sunrise.
It was as though his grandfather had fought his way out of his prison of silence, just to bid his family farewell.
Raph’s brothers, his niece, and the children and grandchildren of Ilaria, Andris’ late sister, had said their final goodbyes this afternoon.
Raph’s mother, Jordan, was expected to fly in from New York this evening to say her goodbyes to the father-in-law who had accepted her into his heart and loved her like she was his own daughter.
Even though they had all traveled back and forth between the U.S.
and Santorini to visit each other when they were younger, Raph wished he’d spent more quality time with his pappoús over the last ten years.
But he’d been too busy turning G3 into the billion-dollar real estate development giant it was.
In his twenties, he’d thought he had all the time in the world to do all the things he wanted.
It had taken Andris’ stroke for Raph to realize the importance of family over business, but by then it was too late.
He’d been misguided, stupid, and focused on the wrong things in life.
After the happy, tearful trips down memory lane this afternoon, Andris had asked everyone, except Raph, to leave. He wanted to have a talk with him, but he’d been so worn out from the visiting that he’d fallen asleep shortly after the room had cleared.
Raph stilled as his grandfather’s hand stirred against his thigh, and his eyes fluttered open.
“Raph… Raph…” he whispered, looking around the room until his eyes focused on his grandson’s face.
“I’m here, Pappoús.” Raph resumed caressing his brow.
“The clock. You’ll take it with you.”
Raph wondered why, of all the possessions Andris had acquired during his ninety-three years on earth, that forgotten clock was the first thing he spoke about upon awakening. It was as though he’d been dreaming about it. “Yes, Pappoús, I will take the clock with me.”
Raph looked at the seven-foot-tall grandfather clock ticking away in the corner where it had been since he was thirteen years old.
He had been here in Santorini when his grandfather had it moved from an outbuilding on the estate to his bedroom.
His mother had remarried that same year, and he and his brothers were looking forward to spending the summer in Greece to get away from their new stepfather, but Andris had asked Jordan to send Raph two weeks ahead of his brothers
Neo and Tele had also wanted to leave early, but Andris had insisted that Raph came alone, with a promise to take each of them for one week every summer from then on—a promise he’d kept until his teenage grandsons had become too busy with friends, girlfriends, and eventually business, and began spending less and less time with the old man.
That summer, Raph and his grandfather had traveled all over mainland Greece to places he’d never been before and hadn’t been to since.
It had been nice not to have to split his attention with his brothers for two whole weeks.
Then, two days before Neo and Tele were to arrive, his pappoús had brought him into this room and asked him to help him clean the precious family heirloom for the very first time.
While they’d carefully laid out the pieces and polished the carved eagle standing guard on top of it, Raph had felt as if his grandfather wanted to tell him something important.
But every time he started a sentence, he would get tongue-tied as if he couldn’t find the words to say what he wanted to say.
Raph had never seen his grandfather at a loss for words until that day.
He remembered the firm grip of his grandfather’s hands on his shoulders, and the urgency in his voice while he made him promise to take the clock to California if anything should happen to him––to make sure it stayed in the family.
He grimaced at the thought that he would soon be the unenthusiastic owner of that monstrosity, but a promise was a promise. “I’ll take the clock,” he said again to set his grandfather’s mind at ease.
“Thank you.” Andris gave him a faint smile, then said, “It’s my fault, to mikró mou gio.”
Raph’s hand stilled on his forehead. He gazed into the fading brown eyes. “Your fault for what, Pappoús?”
His grandfather swallowed and took a few shallow breaths. “Everything. Your father and Yaya. They died because of me.”
Raph stared at him, baffled. Why was his grandfather blaming himself for their deaths? Is this why he’d asked to be alone with Raph? Alarm quickened his pulse.
Pulling a tissue from a box on the nightstand, he wiped the tears that slid from the corners of Andris’ eyes. “Pappoús, Yaya and Baba died in an accident. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It was—”
“It’s more than that. It’s everything. It’s Cleon. It’s Giannport. It’s… It’s…” Andris’ voice trailed off as his lungs fought for air. “You’re not listening to me. You’re… You–– You’re not hearing me!” Andris’ frail body began shaking in the bed as he succumbed to a coughing fit.
“It’s okay, Pappoús. It’s okay,” Raph said as he placed his hand on Andris’ shoulder, trying to calm him down. He waited for him to catch his breath. “Pappoús, you gave Giannport to Cleon after Baba and Yaya died because—”
“óchi. óchi.” Andris shook his head in frustration. “He knew something. He took it.”