Page 8 of Influence

Any moment now, the questions would come.

Less than a second later, Avra called, “Layana, come over here.”

“Excuse me.” Layana briefly glanced my way before joining the small gathering.

Elias then stepped up beside me, giving my back a hearty pat. “Been a while.”

“Yes, it has,” I replied, nodding. “It’s good to see you again, Elias. How’s everything?”

Elias and I cultivated a friendly relationship through various business dealings. When I learned he was marrying Avra, I was genuinely happy for both of them, recognizing the significance of their union. All signs indicated their marriage was flourishing.

“Avra and I have found our way together,” he answered, gesturing with his chin toward the fireplace. “It looks as if this house has some stories to share.”

“Something like that.”

Layana picked up a photo of a group of young men posing in front of a soccer field, with Juno and my father at the center, arms around each other.

“Be prepared for an inquisition,” Elias warned.

“I’m expecting nothing less. Who wouldn’t have questions when they find their father’s photographs in a near stranger’s house?”

“The Vitalis women are formidable—lethal and beautiful in equal measure.”

“I’m well aware of this. I saw them in action a few months ago.”

Three

LAYANA

“Is that Papa?” I gasped, disbelief gripping me as I stared at the photograph. “What the fuck?”

“Laya. Language,” Vik chided, reminding me of how he used to scold me when I was a teenager.

I frowned, casting a bewildered look at Avra, and muttered, “I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” Avra whispered, equally bewildered. She squinted at the sparkling silver frame trembling in my clenched hand, the image of Papa smiling and covered in sweat. Seven other men stood around him, but the one with his arm around Papa’s shoulder bore a striking resemblance to a younger version of my soon-to-be husband.

I blinked at the photo, breath catching.

“That’s… Papa,” I whispered. “And that—” I hesitated, heart thudding. “That has to be Constantine Galanis.” “I believe that’s the league Papa played in during his youth,” Avra said.

“You’re right,” I agreed, despite the turmoil in my gut.

I glanced toward Nikolas, who lingered by the window, deep in conversation with Elias, and then looked back at Avra.

“Did you know they knew each other?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

“No,” Avra replied, her face a mix of confusion and concern, as if she were piecing together the fragments of a long-forgotten puzzle.

This felt like a betrayal—by my instincts, my research, everything I thought I knew. With all my research, how could I have missed a connection between Papa and Nikolas’s family? Had I possibly overlooked a crucial detail?

“Am I wrong about him?” I questioned, shaking my head to cast off the mounting anxiety.

Avra fixed her eyes on me, taking the photo from my shaking hands and setting it back on the mantel like a cherished artifact.

“Perhaps this is a setup,” I murmured, striving to avoid attracting attention.

My training had prepared me for danger, but the haunting memories of trauma still threatened to send me fleeing at any sign of trouble.

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