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“Find out,” I instructed. The need to know everything about my houseguest trumped everything else.

“Dude, it so doesn’t matter,” Iosif commented.

That was where he was wrong. Turning on my heel, I marched to the bar. My forearms flexed as I leaned against the polished surface. “Karmelo, what was ordered at table three?”

The bartender responded without looking at the computer screen. Like any good employee in the service industry, his recall was impeccable. “A Hera and an Athena.”

Evangelia’s beverage was a rum and apple combination named after the queen of the gods. No surprise there. She liked sweet, fruity things. Thus her brother’s annoyed response.

But my little goddess chose wisely—an olive oil martini. The herb-infused gin gave it a depth that most cocktails couldn’t achieve. We were proud of the creation, and it was a popular seller. For those strong enough to stomach the savory beverage, that was. Most men even shied away from it, preferring something unoriginal like straight whiskey, while women liked their wine or sweeter beverages.

“Has their waiter checked in to see if they’re enjoying their drinks?” I asked, tapping my fingers against the bar.

“He has. They’re satisfied,” Karmelo asserted.

Good.“Send over a cheese board.”

Karmelo arched a brow but didn’t argue. A village boy, he knew more about the situation than most of the other staff. The men on my crew might be surprised at my interest in the newcomer, but they knew better than to argue. Or most did.

“What the hell is the plan with her?” Iosif snarled in my ear.

Ever since the tragedy of losing his brother, Iosif wasn’t himself. The sweet, funny lad had hardened overnight, becoming a beast in his own right. Cocking my head to the side, I looked up at him from under a darkening brow. “Watch your tone.”

“Seriously, Markos. We don’t know who this chick is. She could be trouble! Better to release her if you won’t let anyone marry her, or dispose of her body while we still don’t have the repercussion—”

I straightened to my full height, grabbed my cousin by the shirt, and slammed him against the bar. “No one touches a hair on her head.”

Surprise flashed through his eyes. “Alright, alright. Message received. She’s your woman.”

“My woman.” I tasted the words. “I like that. I like that a lot.”

“Markos,” Iosif warned. “Eyes on the bigger picture.”

“Fuck the picture.” Pictures changed.

With a final shove, I released him and began walking back to the pillar to resume my watch.

“Black Tide,” Iosif moaned. “Come on, man! She can’t be that good.”

I propped my shoulder against the column and stared at the golden-haired beauty. “I haven’t had her yet.”

Iosif stopped short. His hands lifted. Words stuttered on his lips. “You haven’t...fucked her? She’s been living in your house, sleeping in your bed! And you haven’t tapped that?”

There would be no tapping. Nothing casual about my time spent with her. What Iosif failed to realize was that I’d caught something special. And this wasn’t one I was chancing to let slip my hook. If I hoped to keep her, things between us needed to be right. I would reel her in slowly until she chose to fall into the net I laid.

“What about the Russians?” Iosif pressed in an undertone.

Danica was the smart choice. The one I should be pursuing.

But with every passing day, that became harder to remember. Eventually, I was going to have to stop lying to myself and lay that plan to rest for good. It didn’t mean I couldn’t find a more suitable bride—perhaps someone closer than Boston. But I was in no damn hurry to start looking.

“If I recall, you were the one talking me out of it. Changed your tune?” I quipped.

Iosif shifted. “I’m not sure Atlas has the best intentions. He’s not the leader I thought he was.”

I stuck my finger under his pert nose. “Never let me hear you say that again.”

Something black and volatile shifted through the lad’s eyes. “Fine.”