Page 60 of Before Broken Vows

Nicolas smiles faintly. "Have you? I don't recall the pleasure."

"Shut up," Dimitri snaps, but I wave him off.

"No, let him talk. I want to hear his voice again."

We pull up to a modern apartment building in one of Athens' higher-end districts. The doorman's eyes widen when he sees Dimitri grab Nicolas by the elbow, but a quick flash of cash and mumbled explanation about a friend who's had too much to drink is enough to silence any questions.

Inside the elevator, Nicolas laughs softly. "You really think this is going to end well for either of you?"

Dimitri and I look at one another and then I look at him, keeping my expression neutral. "Yes, but the real question is: does this end well for you?"

The apartment is on the fifth floor. It's minimal, expensive. Black leather furniture, glass coffee table, state-of-the-art entertainment system. The place looks like a catalog, not a home. No personal touches, no photos, nothing that suggests a life beyond utility.

"Nice place," Dimitri comments, shoving Nicolas into a chair. "You must make good money working for—" He stops and scratches his head, "who exactly?"

Nicolas doesn't answer, just stares at me with that same amused expression that makes me want to break his face.

"Search the place," I tell Dio and our men. I turn to Dimitri. "Look for anything—phones, computers, files, hidden safes. I'll have a chat with our friend here."

I pull up another chair and sit directly across from Nicolas.

"Let's start simple," I say, keeping my voice calm. "How do you know me?"

He tilts his head. "Who says I know you?"

"You said my name. Outside the restaurant."

"Kastaris is hardly a secret name in certain circles."

I lean forward. "But you recognized me specifically."

He shrugs, the movement awkward with his hands bound behind him. His eyes, dark brown, almost black, reveal nothing.

"Where have we met before?" I press.

"Maybe we haven't. Maybe I just know what you look like."

I study his face, trying to place it. Those three jagged line scars dominate his features, but underneath them, there's something. A ghost of recognition that I can't quite grasp.

"What's your connection to Chris Xanos?"

His eyes flicker slightly at the lawyer's name. "Who?"

"The lawyer who put a bullet in his brain when my men came for him. The one who funneled money to the Athenian Warriors. But I don't have to tell you that," I say, leaning back. "Your alias was all over the receipts."

Nothing. Not even a blink.

I sigh and stand up. "Have it your way."

I walk to the kitchen and open a few drawers, looking for inspiration. I find a heavy marble rolling pin. That'll work.

When I return, Nicolas watches me with mild interest.

"You know how this goes," I tell him. "I ask questions, you deny knowing the answers, I hurt you until you decide to save yourself some pain."

"So predictable," he replies with a smile. "Why don't you?—"

I swing the rolling pin hard against his thigh, connecting with enough force to make a solid thud without breaking anything—yet. He grunts but doesn't cry out.