Page 4 of Sweet Sinners
Papou chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "This is just the beginning, Cali. Three years we've waited."
He began pointing things out: figures, projections, acquisitions. Numbers and expectations spilled across each page, one after another, like waves threatening to drag me under. I leaned in, nodding when I was expected to, but it was too much, too soon. My head spun, my chest tightening with every breath.
"Cali," Yiayia said gently, reaching out to cover my hand with hers. Her warmth seeped through, softening the cold, calculated air of theroom. "Don't let it overwhelm you. Your father prepared you for this, even if you didn't realize it."
Her words weren't cruel, but they stung nonetheless. My father hadn't prepared me. He'd dropped this weight onto my shoulders and walked away just as he had when he'd sent me to boarding school. Just as he'd done with everything else he wanted to avoid.
Papou cleared his throat, nodding as if her quiet reassurance settled everything. "She's right. This isn't just business. It's about legacy. Honoring what your father built."
Legacy. There was that word again.
I forced myself to breathe, keeping my voice steady even as my pulse quickened. "I get it. I understand how much this matters. I'll do everything I can to make sure the company succeeds."
The lie tasted bitter and heavy on my tongue. I wasn't ready, not even close, but Papou watched me with expectation burning fiercely in his eyes, and nothing felt worse than disappointing him. My father had drilled it into me for years: failure wasn't acceptable; it wasn't in our blood. Failure, he’d told me, belonged only to those too weak to fight for success. Now, seeing that same relentless determination etched into Papou’s expression, I couldn't help but wonder if my father had learned it from him.
"I know you will," he said without hesitation, oblivious to the anxiety clawing up my chest, tightening its grip with each passing second. I swallowed hard, licking my dry lips, desperate for something,anything, to ease the feeling away.
I wanted to believe him. I needed to. But the knot in my stomach refused to loosen, twisting mercilessly as a cruel reminder of just how alone I still felt in all of this.
Silence fell thickly around us, stretching just long enough for doubt to seep in. Then the doorbell rang, sharp, sudden, slicing through the quiet.
Yiayia frowned, her gaze flicking toward the entryway. "Who could that be at this hour?"
She rose, footsteps deliberate and steady, while unease churned inside me. I glanced at Papou, lowering my voice. "Were you expecting someone?"
He shook his head slowly, brow furrowing. "No," he murmured. "It's too late for visitors."
We sat there, tension crackling through the silence as low, clipped voices echoed softly from the hall. A moment later, Yiayia reappeared, her expression carefully composed—but her eyes betrayed her. Something was wrong.
And then he stepped into the room.
Connor.
His presence filled the space, dark and heavy like an approaching storm. His posture seemed deceptively casual, but everything about him—the tense line of his jaw, the defiant tilt of his chin—dared us to look too closely. But those eyes...those eyes weren't casual at all. They locked onto mine, dark and fierce, and for one unbearable heartbeat, everything else stopped.
“Connor,” Papou spoke first, voice steady yet wary.
Connor gave a faint nod, gaze never leaving mine. “Cali,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, edged with something mocking. “It's been a while.”
Three years.
The last time I saw him had been in a courtroom, his expression unreadable as the judge declared him not guilty. Lack of evidence, a technicality. But innocence? That was another story entirely. One Ididn't buy, no matter what the jury decided. Connor hated my father, and even if part of me believed he loved his mother, I knew what lived inside him: rage, violence, madness. Everything my father had warned me about, everything he'd begged me to avoid. Connor was capable of murder. He had to be.
The justice system might’ve let him walk free for our parents' deaths, but they hadn't truly freed him. He’d been locked away, and I didn't care why. It only confirmed what I already knew: prison was exactly where he belonged, where allmonstersbelonged.
So why was he here now, standing in my kitchen, saying my name like he had every right?
My stepbrother was a real prize. Not that the title fit anymore, our parents were dead. Technically, we weren't family. No ties, no obligations, no reason for him to be in my house at midnight, looking at me like he belonged here.
“Yes,” I finally said, anger sharpening the edge of my voice. “Not nearly long enough, apparently.”
Yiayia cleared her throat gently, but firmly. “Connor is under house arrest as part of his parole. He’ll be staying here.”
She said it as if it were simple, as if she weren’t talking about the man who’d been dragged from this very house, thrown into a cell, accused of murdering my father. Her own son.
Connor moved toward the table and sank into a chair, casual as if he owned the place. My pulse quickened, and I flinched before I could stop myself. Fear or anger, I wasn't sure which. I only knew I hated how calm he appeared, every movement deliberate, every step measured.
Papou leaned back slowly, fingers steepling as he studied Connor. “Well,” he finally said, voice heavy, gaze calculating, “it seems we have more to discuss tonight than just business.”
