Page 4 of Before Broken Vows

He nods and vanishes outside, on the phone making the arrangements.

I slide my knife back into the sheath on my belt.

If whoever's funding the Athenian Warriors thought they could hide behind shadow deals and silent accounts, they were wrong.

I will find them.

I'll tear apart everything and leave a trail of rotting corpses if I have to.

And when I find the man, I'll make sure there won't be enough of him left to bury.

I put on my jacket and step out into the night, the warehouse door swinging shut behind me.

War is coming. I can feel it.

Blood will be spilled. Loyalties will be tested.

I couldn't save my father.

But by the end of this, I'll make damn sure no one forgets his sons.

Only one family will rule Greece.

Mine.

2

STASSI

Itell myself to breathe, but my chest doesn't listen.

I've been sitting on this bench for ninety-seven minutes, counting each second like it's my job.

There's not a cloud in the sky, but my anxiety won't allow the sun to warm me. All I can feel is the cool slats going through my jeans and I tap my right foot. I can't keep still, but I'm trying.

I hunch forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped so tight my palms are sweaty. Across the narrow cobblestone street, through the windows of his favorite restaurant in Athens, I see him.

It's been four years since my eyes have taken him in.

He hasn't changed and I can't seem to look away.

His jawline seems sharper now, the angles of his face more defined than I remember. Still wearing perfectly tailored black suits like it’s his second skin. Still commanding attention. Even now the man he's talking to hasn't blinked.

A waiter refills his wine. Red, always red.

Some things never change.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Shit. I shouldn't have come.

I shift on the bench, my legs going numb. My hands won't stop trembling no matter how tightly I lace my fingers together.

What am I even doing here?

It's only been forty-eight hours since my entire world shifted. I haven't even processed it, not really. It still doesn't feel real.

But somehow, here I am.

Every step that's led to this feels like a mistake. Booking the flight from Los Angeles under a fake name, landing in Athens, shaking through customs with nothing but a beat-up duffel and my heart rattling against my ribs. The cheap hotel reeking of pine cleaner and cigarette smoke. The Uber ride with a driver who kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror like he thought I was going to have a heart attack.