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Aithan

I wake to an empty bed, the cool sheets beside me a stark reminder that she’s gone. My eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the hotel curtains, and for a moment, I stay still, allowing the surrounding quietness to seep in. The faint scent of her lingers on the pillow—a subtle mix of vanilla and something unidentifiable but intoxicating. Without thinking, I reach for it, bringing it to my face. Her scent is like a ghost, haunting me with the memory of her warmth, her sharp wit, and the fire in her eyes.

I toss the pillow aside, disgusted with myself for feeling… what? Longing? For a woman whose name I know is fake? I’ve had my share of women, but none has left me like this—disoriented, frustrated, and worse, wanting for more.

“Get it together,” I mutter, throwing the covers off and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The moment my feet hit the floor, I push the thought of her out of my mind. I have more pressing matters to deal with than chasing ghosts.

The sharp sting of cold water splashes across my face as I stand at the bathroom sink. The mirror reflects a man carved from stone, though the faint shadows under my eyes hint at a restless night. I dry my face with a towel and drop to the floor. With palms flat against the hardwood, I begin my usual morning fifty push-ups. It’s a ritual—a way to ground myself and sharpen my mind at the start of every day.

By the time I hit fifty, my breathing is steady, my focus sharpened. I stand, rolling my shoulders and shaking off the last remnants of the maddening night i just had. The woman was a diversion, nothing more. My life doesn’t allow for distractions, no matter how tempting.

The hot water beats against my skin as I stand under the shower, letting the steam fill the bathroom. It’s cleansing, not just physically but mentally. The heat relaxes my muscles, and the rhythm of the water drowns out my thoughts. I’m meticulous, scrubbing every inch of my body with precision, as if washing away not just the night but the nagging emotions that cling to me like a second skin.

As the water cascades down my chest and arms, I’m reminded of the discipline that built me. My body is a weapon, honed through years of relentless training and forged in the fires of necessity. This isn’t vanity; it’s survival. And survival demands control.

I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist, moving to the closet where my suit hangs, pressed and perfect. The black fabric gleams under the soft lighting, a testament to my need for order. I dress methodically, starting with the crisp white shirt, the tailored jacket sliding over my shoulders like armor. Each piece fits flawlessly, projecting power and precision. The Elliniki’s future godfather doesn’t leave room for imperfections—not in appearance, not in actions.

I adjust my cufflinks and glance at my reflection. I see the man I’ve become: cold, composed, untouchable. And that’s exactly how it needs to be.

My phone vibrates on the dresser, pulling me from my thoughts. I pick it up and fire off a quick message to Leon, my cousin and right-hand man.

Meet me in the foyer in twenty minutes.

Leon doesn’t need lengthy instructions or explanations. He knows how I operate—efficiently, without unnecessary dialogue. My trust in him is unwavering, but that doesn’t mean I relinquish control. Some things demand a personal touch, and today’s agenda is one of them.

The ride to the wedding is quiet at first, the soft hum of the engine filling the space. Leon sits beside me, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my calculated presence. He’s steady, reliable, and the calm to my storm.

“You seem distracted,” he says, breaking the silence.

“I’m not,” I reply curtly, my gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Leon doesn’t press, though his knowing smirk suggests he doesn’t believe me. He’s been by my side long enough to read between the lines, and he’s also wise enough to know when to let it go.

My phone buzzes, cutting through the quiet. I glance at the screen—a call from the dockmaster. I answer immediately, my tone sharp. “What is it?”

The man’s voice is rushed, and tensed up. There’s an issue with the latest consignment. You know it's a shipment that can’t afford federal scrutiny or unnecessary attention.

Damnit. How did this happen?

As he explains, my jaw tightens, and my mind is already calculating the fallout if this isn’t handled swiftly. “Stay put. I’m on my way,” I say, ending the call while thanking the universe that I am currently in New York and can be at the dock in a matter of minutes.

At least something positive is coming from this New York trip.

“Turn the car around,” I tell Leon, my voice leaving no room for argument. “We are heading to Port Newark Marine Terminal.”

He glances at me, a question in his eyes but no protest on his lips. Leon knows better than to challenge my decisions, especially when it has to do with business.

As the car pivots and heads toward this latest problem, I justify the change in plans. The marriage talk can wait. The consignment can’t. This is the Elliniki’s lifeblood, and I’ll be damned if I let anything jeopardize it.

I type out a message to my father, my fingers moving with controlled precision.

“Change of plans. I have to handle an issue at the wharf. Will follow up later.”

The reply is almost immediate. My father’s disapproval is palpable even through his text message, but I don’t care. My priorities are clear, even if they conflict with his.

The phone rings seconds later. My father’s voice is sharp, cutting through the line. “What do you think you’re doing, Aithan?”

“Handling business,” I reply evenly, my tone calm but firm.

“Business can wait. You’re supposed to be at this wedding. This isn’t just about you—it’s about the future of the Organization.”

“And this shipment is about the present,” I counter. “If the Feds find it, we all will be fucked, and there might not be a future to discuss.”

I lay out the situation with clinical precision, detailing the risks of federal interference and the potential fallout. My father listens, his silence more telling than any words. Finally, he sighs, though the frustration in his tone remains.

“You can’t keep running everything yourself,” he grits. “That’s why you have Leon.”

“Leon’s capable,” I admit, glancing at my cousin, who’s watching me with interest. “But some things require my presence. This is one of them. I will not relinquish my duty to please some princess and her family.”

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” my father snaps. “Do you know what people will give just to be aligned to the Makarovs? This marriage will happen, Aithan. You can’t dodge it.”

“I’m not dodging anything,” I say, though the edge in my voice betrays my irritation. “I gave you my word that I will do it. However, the Elliniki comes first.”

Leon smirks as I hang up, his amusement evident. “So, a Russian princess, huh? Sounds like your type.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Hardly. This isn’t about types. It’s about politics.”

“Politics with perks,” Leon quips.

I glare at him, but the corner of my mouth twitches. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Someone has to,” he replies easily.

Leon’s teasing shifts to a more pointed question. “What about Bella? You planning to juggle both?”

I glance out the window; the docks coming into view. “Bella knows the score. She’s not expecting a ring.”

“And the princess?” Leon asks.

I shrug, my voice cold. “She’ll get my name. That’s all she needs.”

It's been days, but I have finally fished out the weasel who almost cost me irreparable damages. The space reeks of sweat, gasoline, and blood. The air is thick with the metallic tang of fear, and the muffled whimpers from the man bound to the chair make my skin crawl with irritation.

Leon stands a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, watching with his usual unreadable expression. The only light in the room swings from a single bulb above us, casting jagged shadows across the concrete floor.

The man before me—Petros—used to be one of ours. Now, he’s nothing more than a breathing corpse.

I crouch before him, gripping his chin, forcing his head up so he looks me in the eye. His face is a swollen mess, blood dripping from his temple, staining his torn shirt. His entire body shakes, and I can hear the ragged breathing from his broken ribs.

“Tell me again why you did it,” I say, my voice calm and deceptively soft.

He swallows hard. “Aithan—please. I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

I slap him fast and hard, making his head snap to the side. “That’s not what I asked. Why?”

His lip trembles. His eyes dart around the room like salvation will magically appear. “I… I was offered a huge amount of money and told all I had to do was send the shipment details to an email that would be provided. I swear, Kyrios, I didn’t think they’d—”

I grab the knife from the table and press it to his throat, silencing him instantly.

“Didn’t think?” I whisper, pressing the blade just hard enough to break the skin. A thin line of blood trickles down his neck. “You sold us out to a man who would slit my throat if given the slightest opportunity. And you think that’s something I’ll forgive?”

“I—”

The knife slides in deep, severing his words forever. His breath gurgles, eyes going wide as blood pours down his chest. I watch as life drains from his body, the last breath escaping in a pathetic wheeze.

I wipe the blade on his shirt and straighten, unbothered. Behind me, Leon sighs.

“You’re making quite the mess, cousin.”

I glance at the blood pooling beneath the chair. “Clean it up.”

Leon smirks. “You got it, boss.”

I turn and walk out of the warehouse, stepping into the crisp night air, inhaling deep. This is the last time someone betrays me.

Because the next time someone tries—I won’t be this merciful. Both they and their family will pay.