Page 1 of Breaking the Annulment

PROLOGUE

“My sons,” rasped Chrysanthos Giannopoulos.

Michalis stood to the side as paramedics worked frantically to save his father’s life, their expressions grim. The sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the metallic tang of blood as they secured an I.V. line in his father’s arm and placed an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

The air was thick with dread, the sounds of his father’s death rattle bearing down upon them like a storm ready to break, heavy with the promise of inevitable loss. It was a miracle his father was still conscious. The emergency bandages Michalis and his brothers had wrapped around their father’s wounds were already soaked with blood, a reminder of the fragility of power in their world. “We’re here, Father.”

“I psychí mou? My soul? Where is she?” Chrysanthos gasped, speckles of blood appearing on his lips as he coughed.

Michalis kept his feelings hidden out of habit, locked beneath a layer of icy control as he answered his father’s question. “I believe their plan was to take her directly to surgery. She has multiple gunshot wounds, and the blood loss is severe.”

He cleared his throat, wrestling to keep his anger and pain at bay as he watched his father struggle to hold onto life. Michalis had no love for his new stepmother, having met her two days before the wedding. True, she looked at his father like he’d hung the moon just for her, yet how a thirty-four-year-old woman could fall in love with a man nearly twice her age—especially one embroiled in a life of danger—was beyond Michalis’s comprehension.

He didn’t want to get married. Ever. He had brothers who could continue the Giannopoulos line. He’d rather cut off his leg and feed it to the ‘gators than take a wife. He would never endanger someone he loved. Their world was too dangerous, too violent. Wives became targets as they were often a man’s only visible weakness; one to be exploited. Children were even worse. His new stepmother and stepsister, Aurelia, were both prime examples of that. His father had only been married for three weeks, and already, there had been an attack; a shooting and a kidnapping.

None of his dark thoughts showed on his face.

Pain flashed across his father’s normally guarded features. “And Aurelia?”

Michalis’s lips thinned. He had no desire to cause his father any pain, but he had too much respect for him to lie. Slipping effortlessly into Greek so the emergency technicians wouldn’t understand their conversation, he admitted, “She was taken. We’re waiting for demands. Evidence points to the Bonetti family…”

“Maybe––” Chrysanthos wheezed––“not Bonetti.”

Michalis straightened. The police still didn’t know there’d even been a kidnapping, labeling the shooting a ‘botched’ home invasion. He knew better. Someone was about to succeed in taking down the head of the Giannopoulos crime family. Chrysanthos was pure Greek mafia, straight out of Athens.

If not their biggest rivals, the Bonettis, then who was declaring war on his family? They had already made the first move, taken the first shot, first prisoner. The police didn’t need to know Aurelia had been captured; they would interfere––get in the way of what had to be done.

A flicker of uncertainty flashed in his father’s eyes. “I think it was Victor Khomenko,” he wheezed. “He was… my Nadia’s past.Mafia Româneasca. Aurelia…doesn’t know.”

Româneasca––the Romanian mob? Michalis exchanged sharp glances with Dimitris, his closest brother, silent communication coursing between them. He and his brothers were like a pack, ready to defend their territory, their loyalty unbreakable. He could almost taste the danger in the air—thick, acrid, like the smoke of embers, rising to engulf them.

“I’ve got forty men out there searching for her,” Michalis declared, his voice firm, unease prickling at the edges of his mind. “We will find her before they can get far.”

Chrysanthos’s face twisted in anguish, his words barely audible as he struggled to breathe, yet he pressed on. “My Nadia. I promised to keep her daughter safe––keep her out of this life. I promised I would not tell Aurelia about her father or theRomâneasca.Now…now you must…honor,” he stopped wracking coughs made speech impossible. “My word…Giannopoulos …sacred.”

“Don’t try to talk,Baba. I understand. She will never know.”

As Michalis and his brothers clustered close, their figures outlined by the dimming light, the burden of their family’s legacy settled heavily on him. Occasional bloodshed was a way of life in their world, but what was coming was different. Whoever had Aurelia had just declared war.

“Honor my promise, Michalis––Chrysanthou Giannopoulos. Keep her safe,” Chrysanthos ordered, one last command piercing through the chaos.

Chrysanthou,son of Chrysanthos––Michalis’s thoughts turned dark at the reference to his lineage, a reminder of his responsibilities, his duty, his heritage. “Whatever it takes,” he vowed, the words an unbreakable oath.

1

Seven years later….

Friday, 7:00 p.m.

Aurelia forcedherself to appear calm as she maneuvered her way through the crowded grand ballroom. Tonight was the 5th annual Giannopoulos fundraiser dinner, benefiting a long list of charities. If you wanted a seat at the dinner, the fee was $5,000 a plate. The ballroom was full of patrons, but not because they were particularly charitable. No. The real prize they’d come for was the opportunity to get five minutes in front of Michalis Giannopoulos.

Her skin prickled. She’d had her five minutes with Michalis nearly seven years ago and was still paying for it. All the rumors were true. He wasn’t just a ruthless businessman with a billion dollar investment portfolio. No. He was head of the Giannopoulos crime family. She ought to know; she was technically his wife, even if it was only on paper. She didn’t even have a ring.

The sound of laughter and clinking glasses pulled Aurelia’s attention toward a group of women chatting near thechampagne fountain. They were beautiful, sophisticated, and their gowns probably cost more than Aurelia made in a year. Her own dress, a black strapless sheath, hugged her curves. She’d bought it at the thrift store. Since she couldn’t afford the expense of getting her hair professionally styled, she’d saved herself the headache and left it down, the thick waves brushing her lower back.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been to one of these posh events. She’d loved them once, a lifetime ago, before her mother married the head of the Giannopoulos family––before she knew who and what they were––cold blooded killers. Greek mafia.

She paused, took a sip of champagne for liquid courage, and resumed her search.Breathe. Breathe.Her grip on her sequined black clutch tightened in frustration as the minutes ticked by. She’d expected Michalis to be there. Where was he?

---