Page 22 of Beyond Enemy Vows

He pauses and thinks. It's interesting that I can tell he's not used to talking about himself much. What he likes. I like to think I'm pretty good at reading people, and that's what I'm picking up anyhow.

"I love cooking," he admits, surprising me. "It's meditative."

"Really? That's great. I can't cook to save my life," I confess. "My brothers banned me from the kitchen after I tried serving them burnt dinner."

He laughs. A genuine sound that softens his face completely. "What's your favorite meal?"

I don't even have to think. "Pastitsio. My grandmother's recipe. It's total comfort food."

Something flickers in his eyes. "I make the best pastitsio."

I laugh. "Of course you do."

"I'm serious. I'll make it for you."

"You're confident."

"Because mine will ruin all others for you."

"Oh, is that so?"

He nods, deadly serious. "You'll never want anyone else's again."

I shake my head, smiling. "So confident."

The food arrives and each dish is more exquisite than the last, flavors exploding on my tongue.

The rest of dinner blurs in the best way, like being tipsy on connection instead of wine.

We talk about food, books, childhood, travel, the conversation flowing easier than I expected. We argue over the best islands in Greece and whether baklava is overrated. He listens with the kind of attention that makes your skin warm under your clothes. And he smiles like every word I say adds something to his world.

And of course, we carefully dance around the edges of what we both know are dangerous topics.

As the evening winds down, I realize I've enjoyed myself more than I have in years. There's a freedom in being away from Chicago, away from my brothers' watchful eyes. A freedom in being with someone who sees me not as the Kastaris mafia princess, but as a woman.

By the time we finish dessert, it's late, but there's a part of me that doesn't care.

"We should go," he says. "I think they're closing."

I use the restroom while Niko pays, and we walk outside.

The drive back to the plane is filled with this bubbly excitement in meeting someone new yet familiar.

When we board the plane again and ascend into the sky, he leans back in his seat and watches me.

"You surprised me tonight," he says.

"How?"

"You came. Didn't run."

I glance out the window.

"I thought about it," I admit. "A lot."

"Why didn't you?"

I look at him. Really look. "Because something about you makes it almost impossible. I'm too intrigued."