Page 2 of Sweet Sinners
My mother's dead. Everything safe, everything good, ripped away in an instant.
I lie on the floor, cheek pressed to the hardwood, her blood cooling against my skin. I can't breathe. I can't think.
Because I know exactly what happens next. I’ve been the screw-up, the troubled son, the angry outsider for years.
I know exactly who they'll blame.
Chapter one
Cali
Thescenthitmefirst, faintly floral, a little dusty, achingly familiar.
Home.
My fingertips hesitated on the polished mahogany doors before I finally pushed. The hinges creaked, slicing through the silence like a scream in the dark. Inside, cream curtains framed the tall windows, sunlight filtering softly through the fabric. Family photos lined the walls, frozen smiles trapped beneath glass, untouched by everything that had happened.
But I wasn’t untouched.
I dropped my bags onto the marble floor and stood still, the weight of memories crashing over me. Chaos. Blood. Sirens. Hollow condolences from relatives who vanished the moment the casseroles ran out.Time hadn’t healed those wounds; it had just taught me how to hide them better.
Taking a steadying breath, I glanced around. The silence wasn’t eerie like I'd expected, it felt heavy yet familiar, as though the house had been holding its breath, waiting years for me to finally come home.
I had spent my childhood here, endless summers swimming in the backyard pool, racing my bike down the long driveway. But then everything changed. Dad remarried halfway through high school, and suddenly home wasn’t home anymore. It was just another place filled with strangers—a stepmother, a stepbrother—I had no desire to know. Boarding school became my relief, a convenient escape from a family I neither asked for nor wanted.
Even when I returned for holidays, Dad was a ghost, locked behind closed doors, consumed by work or his new wife. Demetrios Stavros. Shipping tycoon. Ruthless businessman. My father.
And now his legacy was my responsibility.
Three years ago, the empire I’d resented my entire life landed squarely in my lap. At nineteen, dreaming of college and freedom, I'd been suddenly thrust into the role of CEO-in-training. Trial by fire. No escape.
Standing here now, in the same foyer where I'd once decided I wanted out, I questioned if coming back had been the right move. But Papou had insisted, said I was ready, said he was tired of managing interim CEOs who never measured up.
The walls loomed taller than I remembered, the quiet stretching endlessly around me. I stepped farther inside, my voice barely a whisper in the cavernous space.
"I'm home," I whispered into the emptiness. The echo mocked me because we both knew I hadn't belonged here in a very long time.
The sound came back faint and distorted. The house didn’t respond—it only stared back, still and expectant, waiting to see if I'd finally make it through the front door without running.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
A soft rustle drifted from the kitchen, followed by the rich, familiar scent of fresh coffee. Slow footsteps shuffled closer, and my chest tightened with an ache I couldn't quite place.
And then she appeared.
My yiayia, Anastasia, stepped into view, her silver hair neatly swept up into her signature bun, a floral apron dusted with flour tied around her waist. Her presence instantly softened the sharp, empty edges of this house. Age had carved gentle lines into her face, but her eyes—bright and mischievous—lit up exactly as they always had whenever she saw me.
"Cali!" she exclaimed, arms spreading wide as if she'd waited forever for this moment. "Look at you! So grown up, so beautiful."
Her embrace enveloped me, warm and strong, melting something deep inside, an icy part I'd forgotten was even frozen. I clung to her tightly, breathing in her comfort.
"Yiayia," I whispered against her shoulder, my voice thick with emotion. "It's good to be home."
She drew back slightly, hands settling on my shoulders, her gaze cataloging every change. "You've grown so much," she murmured, pride and worry mingling gently in her voice. Her palm cupped my cheek softly. "But you'll always be my sweet little angel."
Before I could respond, a deeper voice cut through the quiet.
"Well, isn't this quite the reunion?"
