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PROLOGUE

Past

GREECE

There’s a crack in the wooden floor, preventing the viscous liquid from continuing its path, turning the blood flowing from my father into a sort of unfinished painting or an abstract drawing.

Strangely enough, it's not the scene in front of me that makes me want to turn away but the smell.

I think I'll never forget this sickly sweet, nauseating odor.

I glance at the watch on my wrist.

My brothers will arrive at any moment, and I need to decide what to do. Call the police or contact the lawyer first? I try to decide, as if that question were more important than the fact that I will never talk to my father again.

As if I hadn't just lost my idol.

"A Kostanidis never bends, no matter the situation," I seem to hear him say, as he always did during Sunday lunches when we were growing up.

But you bent for her. You let her trample on your pride. You put her above your children, above our family.

I hold the letter in my hands. In it, my father says that he has just discovered that my mother died earlier today trying to escape with her lover. The only thing I can think is that she got what she deserved.

The door opens behind me, and without needing to turn around, I know who it is by the shuffling footsteps.

"I was the one who found him first. I read the letter. It doesn't matter how many years it takes, but promise me that you will restore our pride, ," my grandfather says, stopping beside me. "I don't have much time left, but I need to die knowing that the family name will be honored."

As always, his voice shows no emotion. A Kostanidis never shows weakness.

"It will be so, Grandfather. I will do whatever it takes to avenge my father."