Page 101 of Betraying Family Vows
"They don't know you," he replies. "They will."
Such simple confidence. As if it's inevitable that they'll accept me, just because he has.
"And if they don't?" I ask.
His arms tighten around me. "Doesn't matter."
We reach a door at the end of the hall. Dimitri manages to turn the handle without loosening his grip on me. The room beyond is spacious and elegant, a four-poster bed dominating one wall, tall windows showcasing the Peloponnesian landscape beyond.
Greek blue accents everything and now I know why he called it the blue suite.
Dimitri carries me straight to the bathroom and sets me down on a chair next to a large claw-foot tub, but keeps one hand on my shoulder as if afraid I might topple over.
I'm not entirely sure I won't.
The woman from earlier appears in the doorway, arms laden with towels and a medical kit. She sets them down next to us.
"Will you need anything else, sir?"
"That's all, Chloe. Thank you."
She nods and withdraws, shutting the door closed behind her.
When we're alone, Dimitri kneels in front of me. The mighty enforcer of the Kastaris family, on his knees.
One of his hands rests on my thigh, the other lifts to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Fucking animals," he says and looks down at the supplies Chloe brought.
"We need to clean you up," he says finally. "Then you can rest before they start with the questions."
I sit frozen on the chair as Dimitri's eyes catalog every visible injury. The intensity in his gaze makes my skin prickle.
"Let's get these off you," he says, reaching for the hem of my tattered shirt.
I nod, suddenly too exhausted to speak. My arms feel heavy as I try to lift them, and Dimitri notices immediately.
"Don't. I'll do it."
I don't stop him.
Because for the first time in my life, I don't feel like someone undressing me is taking something.
It feels like he's giving it back.
He eases the fabric up, careful not to let it drag against my skin. His movements are gentle in a way I hadn't thought possible from hands I've seen crush throats and pull triggers.
Before he can continue he notices my shirt catches on a dried patch of blood at my side, he pauses, wets a cloth, and dabs at it until the fabric comes away and he can make sure there's no fresh wound underneath.
"Arms up," he says, and I comply, wincing as my shoulder protests.
The shirt comes off, and Dimitri's jaw tightens as he takes in the bruises across my ribs and collarbone, the results of the crash and being taken.
He goes over the fingerprint-shaped marks on my upper arms where they'd grabbed me.
"Those bastards," he says. "I should have killed them slower, gotten to you sooner."
"No." My voice is a rasp. "You came. That's all that matters to me."
