Page 70 of Beneath Scarred Vows
"Theo. You remember what I said to Chris when he brought the girls back home?"
My brother rubs his chin for a minute and then looks at me.
"Seriously? You're serious?"
I roll up my sleeves and crack my neck.
"I wanted a fucking head for this. It'll be the perfect message for Sebastian Makris."
I take a step toward the man still bound in the chair—the only one left breathing. His eyes widen. He starts to shake and sob, finally realizing what's coming.
I stare him dead in the eye and say, "Bring me a saw."
24
KATERINA
Ilay in bed staring at the ceiling. I check my phone.
3 a.m.
I sit up. "This is fucking crazy," I say to the empty room.
I toss the covers off and stand, sliding my feet into warm slippers.
Four days ago, Ares came to me and told me he'd taken care of the people responsible for the shooting. Calli and I were relieved, and knowing how this world works, I didn't ask details. I know all too well what it meant.
But since then, he's shifted. He's been holed up in his office, and I don't think he's slept in the last 48—hell, maybe even 72—hours.
The best way I can process it in my mind is he's fully surrounded by his own fire, hiding his own scars from the world.
I walk down to his office and open the door. I don't knock.
His office is illuminated by the harsh glow of computer screens and monitors. Documents are spread across his desk. Images of people and places—ones I recognize from Kalamata.
He hasn't seen me yet. His back is to the door, shoulders rigid as granite beneath his black T-shirt. There's an energy vibrating off him—something dangerous and unhinged.
"You're not eating?" I say, stepping past a plate of food Emma prepared hours ago.
Ares doesn't turn. "Hunger helps me stay focused."
I walk toward his desk and see a dozen screenshots of black SUVs. License plate numbers circled in red. Faces of men I don't recognize marked with Xs through them.
"Can it help you sleep? It's three in the morning," I say, my voice too loud in the silent room.
I move behind him, close enough to feel the heat of his body but not touching. On his screen, I see the restaurant where Calli and I had been having lunch, just before everything erupted into chaos. My stomach tightens at the memory—the glass shattering, the spray of bullets, Johnny's body hitting the floor.
"Come on. You need rest. Come sleep with me," I say. "I miss you."
The last words come out a bit too vulnerable for me, but I stand by them.
He turns to look at me and rubs my face.
"I'll sleep when I get to the bottom of all this." His voice is flat, emotionless. Not the voice of the man who held me through thenight after taking my virginity, whispering promises against my skin.
He then goes back to his train of thought. "It always comes back to that fucking family."
I reach out, hesitating before placing my hand on his shoulder. The muscle beneath my palm is wound tight as a steel cable, ready to snap. "Maybe taking a break from all this will help clear your head?"
