Page 120 of Betraying Family Vows

"It's serious," he snaps, and I sit up. My brothers normally don't talk to me like that.

"We found out who's behind everything. Who killed our father."

All the warmth drains out of me. The sunshine, the espresso, the playful thrill of being somewhere I shouldn't be, gone.

I stand up, my robe almost slipping off my naked body, so I tighten it with trembling hands.

"Who?"

The line goes quiet, and I check my phone to make sure we're still connected.

"Who, Dimitri?"

"Stavros fucking Petrou."

The world stops. My lungs forget how to work. I sink back into my chair, suddenly unable to stand.

A wave of nausea washes over me.

"Calli?" Dimitri's voice sharpens. "Did you hear me?"

I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. "Yeah."

"Get on a flight. Come home."

"There's more. A lot more. We'll speak when you're here, but Stavros and his fucking son, Niko, are dead. I'm going to do it personally."

My gaze snaps to the patio door just as a drawer slams shut in our bedroom.

"Okay," I say. "I'll... I'll go to the airport now."

"Send me your flight details. I'll send a car. Travel safely, sister," Dimitri says and hangs up without another word.

My hand shakes as I set the phone down. I stare at it, trying to process what just happened, what Dimitri just said.

The glass door slides open, and he steps out onto the terrace, his dark hair still damp from the shower. Any other morning, I would have pulled him down beside me, unwrapped my robe, and lost myself in him again.

"Hey, beautiful," his voice is warm and familiar. "What do you think about skipping the museum today and just staying in bed?"

His eyes narrow as he studies my face. "What is it? I can tell something's wrong."

I force the worst smile I've ever attempted. My lips won't cooperate. Nothing will.

"I, uh, have to go," I say, my voice quiet.

"What?" he asks, surprised. "We still have three days."

I stand, trying to keep my composure. "Yes. A family emergency," I say. "I need to get back."

He doesn't move, his expression unreadable as he watches me. There's something in his stillness that reminds me of Dimitri when he's assessing a threat, and the similarity makes my stomach turn.

"Just like that? What about the opera tonight? I thought you were excited about it."

"I know. I'm sorry," I pause. "I just need to pack," I say, moving past him, careful not to let our bodies touch.

I feel his eyes on me as I change and start to gather my things, shoving clothes haphazardly into my suitcase. Four days of heaven about to end in hell. My fingers catch on the black lace nightgown he bought me yesterday. I stuff it under a sweater, out of sight.

"Let me help you," he says softly, picking up my clothes from the chair where I'd tossed them last night in our hurry.