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“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” I breathed. A silent prayer ascended from my lips that he would give his permission.

The bastard shook his head.

“Dial Atlas,” he rasped, eyelids drooping dangerously low.

“Number?” I snatched the phone. The words weren’t in English, but the numbers on the keypad were mercifully Roman Numerals.

Markos gave it, repeating the parts he stumbled over.

The call rang in my ear as Markos slumped, passing out.

“What did you learn, Black Tide?” the voice on the other line snapped.

“We were attacked,” I explained, letting the nuances of underworld politics be ignored. We could tell him our concocted story later. “I’m floating the boat away from shore, and I think I can navigate back to the marina, but Markos is hurt—hurt bad.”

Silence pulsed.

“He needs a hospital!” I shouted, pressing my dress against the pirate’s side that was gushing again with a scary amount of bright blood.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes. Do not call the authorities.” With that, the call ended.

The next few minutes were the scariest of my life.

Between keeping pressure on the wound and sailing the boat, I had my hands full. The journey back took twice as long. Without Markos’s hand there, steadying me, the boat floundered.

I sped into the marina too hot.

The dock we’d broken free from was hopelessly damaged, but standing on the next one over was Atlas and several other Greek mobsters. One with golden hair and a surfer’s tan yelled. His arms waved wildly about his head.

A sob cracked my chest. I didn’t know what he meant!

Seeing that I didn’t understand, the adonis sprinted forward, leapt the distance, and rushed to take the helm.

I gladly gave it into his capable hands and knelt by Markos—who was still breathing. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest offered a sliver of hope, even as fear clawed at my insides. I clutched his hand tightly, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine, while panic gnawed relentlessly at my chest, threatening to overwhelm me.

“Move away.” The voice was sharp with an angry bite.

I flicked a glance and saw the barrel of a pistol pointed in my direction. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Do I look like I’m joking, little girl?” Atlas said coldly. “He won’t be your next victim.”

Confusion knit inside me. How could they possibly think this was me?

“Look, Markos and I have a lot to tell you, but we can’t do any of that with him bleeding out! Now, help him!” I pleaded.

“Iosif,” Atlas barked.

Strong hands gripped me, pulling me back. I kicked and bucked.

“You have it all wrong! We were attacked—”

“Lies.” Iris crossed her arms. There was a dark, ugly bruise coloring the swollen side of her face. My heart winced, despite the anger at her willing disbelief.

The man who attacked me hadn’t had the chance to mess up my face like hers.

“There are four dead bodies over there.” I jabbed a finger toward the other dock.

“Serena, there aren’t any bodies.” Iosif’s words not only made me more confused but sent icy tendrils of fear through me.