Page 14 of The Boss

“Your province?” I switched the fireplace poker from one hand to the other, allowing him to see I wasn’t kidding. “That last time I checked, Greece wasn’t owned by any single man. Certainly not the likes of someone like you.” My fury was stronger than the crush I’d felt as a stupid kid.

“I thought you were a nice girl.”

“Think again. Now, what do you want with my brother?”

“To ask him some questions. Nothing more.”

“Now you’re the one who’s lying.”

Dimitrios started to close the distance and I reacted without thinking, swinging the poker at him. My grip was firm enough I managed to bash him in the arm, the iron split in the end reaching his handsome face. The instant spot of blood caught me by surprise.

I think it did him as well, the expression on his face becoming one of annoyance.

But he proved he was all male, grabbing the fireplace instrument and tossing it away as if I was still humoring him. The clatter as it hit the tile floor was jarring.

With no other choice, I knew I had to get the hell out of there. Fight or flight. I’d failed at one. I refused to with the other. I took off running, expecting him to grab me by the hair. All he did was block the easy exit, which meant I’d need to go out the back.

When I headed in that direction, he took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Willow. Come and talk to me.”

“No. I have no intention of talking to you.” I’d trusted the man in my youth. However, my instinct was shouting in a loud voice that I was in extreme danger. What had Shane gotten himself in the middle of? The Greek mafia. I couldn’t believe it.

All I could think about was getting away, finding my parents.

“Willow. Stop. Now.” Dimitrios was bellowing and I was almost to the sun porch where a set of stairs led down to the beach.

I didn’t say what was right on the tip of my tongue, instead flying into the room.

The disbelief and horror hit me at the same time and I skidded to a hard stop, my foot catching on the leg of a table. As I was thrown to the floor, my mind tried to process what I’d landed in. Instantly, I tried to scream, but the sound was comprised of angry hisses. Blood. There was blood everywhere. On the walls and furniture. Items had been flipped over or tossed against the wall.

Blood. So much blood.

Sitting back, I lifted my hands, gasping for air. They were covered in the red goo, the congealed substance oozing between my fingers.

“No. No. No.”

I couldn’t process what I was seeing, my mind drifting to images of time spent with my parents. Dinners. Celebrations. Holidays. Graduation. Were they dead? Were they hurt?

My feet continued to try to slide out from under me as I attempted to stand, finally smashing my hand on the same table where I’d tripped. I was close to hyperventilating, the ugly whimpers roaring up from my throat unrecognizable.

“Willow. I’m sorry.”

As soon as I heard footsteps as he entered the room, I spun around and lunged toward him. “Sorry? You did this. You killed them. You fucking bastard. You did something horrible to them. Didn’t you? Didn’t you?” I pummeled my fists against his chest, twisting and kicking him with everything I had.

He stood and took it, doing nothing more than trying to hold my arms to keep me in place.

“You killed them!”

“No,” he shouted back. “They were already dead when I arrived.”

With one additional brutal pound on his chest, I broke free of his hold and stumbled backward. Another moment of horror slammed into me with more force than before.

My parents were dead.

Why?

Why?

“You’re lying.”

---