Page 9 of Beneath Scarred Vows
I lean forward. "Who started the fire?"
The question catches him off guard. He blinks rapidly, his facade cracking just slightly.
"What?"
"The fire that killed her family," I clarify, my voice dropping lower. "Who started it?"
Stavros sighs. "They never found out."
I hold his gaze, watching him. There's something he's not saying. In our world, coincidences rarely exist. Accidents are rarely accidents.
"And after all these years," I say slowly, "you've decided your niece would make an excellent wife for me."
"It would cement our alliance permanently. Blood ties are stronger than business agreements."
My father's killer still walks free, and here sits Stavros Petrou, offering me his niece like a sacrificial lamb. Is this opportunity or distraction?
"What does she think of this arrangement?"
"She understands her duty. She'll do as she's told."
Theo leans in. "Brother, not ideal, but this alliance could solidify your position at a critical time. The Zervas family is preparing to move against you. Everyone knows it."
I shake my head. "Why isn't Katerina married yet? At twenty-seven?"
"I've been protective of her," Stavros says, clearing his throat. "After everything she's been through, I wanted to make sure she was paired with someone worthy."
"And now I'm suddenly worthy?" I don't hide the mockery in my tone.
Stavros holds my gaze. "You're the don now. You need a wife. You need heirs."
I take another sip of whiskey. "Show me a picture."
Stavros pulls out his phone, slides it across the polished mahogany table.
A woman stares back at me—dark waves of hair, striking cheekbones, full lips, eyes like black glass. She isn't smiling. Her expression is either defiance or resignation. I can't tell.
Something stirs within me.
I hand the phone back without comment. "I agree. I'll take her as my bride."
Stavros's posture loosens with visible relief. "Excellent. We can arrange the ceremony quickly."
"Good. I don’t like to wait. The wedding will be here in Kalamata, not Chicago."
"Of course." Stavros nods, already mentally rearranging whatever plans he’d had.
I take his hand, my grip firm. "To loyalty."
His smile falters for just a moment before he regains his composure. "Yes. To loyalty."
As he leaves, escorted by one of my men, Theo remains seated beside me.
"You don’t trust him," he says once the door closes.
He knows me too well.
"Do you?" I counter.
