Page 23 of Slightly Married (Irresistible #2)

T he moment I stepped into Giorgos Pavlou’s villa, the rank stench of defeat and neglect assaulted my senses. Aristides walked beside me, assessing what had once been one of Athens’ most prestigious residences. Dimitrios closed the door behind us.

“Pathetic,” Aristides muttered with contempt.

The animal-shaped topiaries we’d passed in the courtyard had grown wild, resembling misshapen beasts rather than the meticulously crafted displays they’d once been. Inside, unopened mail cascaded across the marble foyer table. Empty bottles lay scattered in corners.

“Look how the mighty have fallen,” Dimitrios remarked quietly.

I said nothing, my damaged knee throbbing with each step across the debris-strewn floor. The evidence we’d uncovered over the past two days had transformed suspicion into certainty, grief into rage.

Four gunmen. Not three.

Footsteps approached from the west, and Giorgos Pavlou rounded the corner, freezing when he spotted us. His bloodshot eyes widened before he composed himself.

“You can’t force me to go to rehab!” he slurred, swaying. The man who had orchestrated my murder was drowning in the consequences of his own actions.

“We’re not here about that,” I stated.

“We’re not your caretakers, Giorgos,” Dimitrios stated, dropping all pretense of being the friendly, approachable Christakis brother. “Though perhaps the prison system might provide the structure you clearly need.”

Giorgos froze, his complexion paling beneath days of stubble. “What are you talking about?”

“Three offshore accounts opened in Theo’s name,” Aristides stated. “Quite the feat, considering he was already dead when the paperwork was filed.”

I removed the folder from under my arm. “Let’s discuss this somewhere you can sit down. You look like you might need it.”

Giorgos glanced between us before turning abruptly, leading us through an archway into what had once been a grand receiving room. Without offering us seats, he collapsed into a leather armchair, reaching for a half-empty bottle.

“What’s this about, Kostas?” he asked, his tone attempting nonchalance even as his hands trembled.

“Your gambling debts with the Kanellopoulos syndicate,” I began, watching his face carefully. “Eight figures deep before Theo’s death. Mysteriously reduced after you cashed in his life insurance policies and liquidated your son’s entire estate.”

The bottle froze halfway to his lips.

“And what you couldn’t cover from stripping your dead son’s assets,” Aris added, “you’ve been paying with the monthly checks Konstantin has been giving you out of misplaced guilt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Giorgos attempted, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

I gestured to the unopened envelope in his hands. “Open it.”

His eyes widened as he scanned the documents, then looked up at me with shame. “You don’t understand,” he whispered hoarsely. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“Explain it to me then,” I demanded coldly.

Giorgos took a ragged breath. “The debt was crushing me. Eighty million to the Kanellopoulos syndicate. They were threatening my family, my business... everything. I was desperate.”

“So you arranged to have me murdered,” I stated flatly.

“Not killed!” Giorgos protested. “Never killed! Just held for ransom. You’re worth billions.

The money would have been nothing to you or your family, but it would be enough to clear my debts and save what remained of my business.

” His voice broke. “Theo wasn’t supposed to be in Greece.

I didn’t know my hothead son would be with you. ”

Giorgos was right about one thing. Theo had been a hothead. He threw punches first and asked questions after. When the fallout with Yiorgos happened, Theo had been the one to fight Yiorgos.

“But he was there, and his attempt to overpower armed men you sent got him killed,” I added.

Giorgos’s face crumpled in genuine grief.

“My son... my boy...” He covered his face.

“But the syndicate wouldn’t let me go. They said I still owed them.

The failed operation had cost them resources.

They threatened Stella next if I didn’t pay.

I’d already lost one child. I couldn’t lose another.

” His shoulders slumped in defeat. “And then they kept demanding more. The monthly payments from you were the only thing keeping them at bay.”

I stared at the broken man before me, torn between disgust and pity. “You arranged for armed men to board my yacht, and you expected no one would get hurt?”

“They were professionals,” Giorgos muttered, not meeting my eyes. “It was supposed to be clean. I knew your brothers would easily pay the ransom. No violence necessary.”

“And yet my best friend is dead,” I replied coldly. “Because of your gambling and your cowardice.”

“I live with that every day,” Giorgos whispered, with tears rolling down. “Every single day.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by Giorgos’s ragged breathing. This man’s actions had cost Theo his life, nearly ended mine and created ripples of destruction through countless lives.

The sound of the front door opening sounded through the villa, followed by light footsteps. “Papa? Are you home?” Stella’s voice called.

My jaw clenched so hard I could feel my teeth grinding. Dimitrios moved to stand behind me, while Aristides shifted closer to us.

“In here,” Giorgos called weakly.

Stella appeared in the doorway, freezing when she saw us. Her eyes darted between her father and me, then to my brothers. “Kostas? What’s going on?”

A revulsion so intense swept through me. I forced myself to meet her gaze. “Come in, Stella. Your father was about to explain how you knew there were four men on my yacht the day Theo was killed.”

“What are you—” She began, but Giorgos cut her off.

“He knows.” The defeat in Giorgos his voice was unmistakable.

Something shifted in her expression before tears tracked down her face. “Kostas, you must believe me. I was only helping Papa. No one was supposed to get hurt.”

“You were my assistant at the time,” I stated. “You provided them with my itinerary.”

Dimi’s features hardened with disgust. “You deliberately set up your own brother to die.”

“I’m sorry, Kostas. Please understand.” Her voice wavered as she looked pleadingly between us. “They came to my house. They threatened me sexually. I was only helping Papa. I never wanted the attack to happen—”

“Then why not come to me?” I demanded. “To Theo?”

“Or the police,” Aris interjected. “Or any of the numerous resources available to someone of your position and connections.”

“Theo had cut Papa off after he paid the last gambling bill.” Her chin trembled as she glanced at her father. “I couldn’t turn my back on Papa. He has an illness, Kostas.”

Dimitrios scoffed, shaking his head. “An illness that justified risking lives? That justified your silence afterward?”

“You stood by and watched me agonize over the mystery,” I continued, fury building with each word. “Watched me hire detectives, scour the whole country looking for evidence, all while your brother lay cold in the ground and you said nothing.”

She collapsed in a heap of tears, face upturned to her father’s, which was gray with defeat.

“The authorities have been notified,” Aristides stated. “They’ll be arriving shortly to process arrests.”

Giorgos shook his head, still repeating that he never meant to harm anyone, but I was no longer listening. He was weak, small and pathetic.

“I stayed by your side,” Stella reminded me. “All those months during your recovery. I was there for you in your darkest hours.”

“You orchestrated those dark hours!” Aris said coldly. “And then positioned yourself as the solution.”

“It’s a classic manipulation tactic,” Dimitrios added. “Create the problem, then present yourself as the savior.”

“I was trying to fix it. Make up for what I’d done.”

“That’s impossible,” I snapped. “Nothing could ever fix things. You drugged me that night we fucked, didn’t you?”

Aristides’s head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing at this new information.

“That’s not true,” Stella protested, though her eyes slid away from mine. “I’d never do that. You wanted me, don’t you remember?”

“Why are you still lying to me?” I demanded.

“Because she’s built her entire identity around this fantasy,” Aristides observed. “The truth would destroy her completely.”

“Please, Kostas.” She reached for my hand, which I jerked away. “You were so sad, and I wanted to make you feel better.”

I snorted. I had no proof to substantiate her drugging me except for waking up in her bed naked, smelling of sex and not remembering much of what happened.

But hearing her admission now made me realize this entire family had been banking on my grief to personally benefit. Giorgos financially, while Stella knew I’d feel bound to marry her after she engineered our night together after years of throwing hints.

If not for Kayla’s presence in my life, I might have remained blind to their schemes. And paying for sins—financially and emotionally—I didn’t commit.

In just a few weeks, Kayla had become my compass. I hadn’t seen her since she left my office two days ago, and I missed her terribly. Her honesty and ability to cut through pretense with those perceptive eyes had transformed the very core of who I was.

I wasn’t equipped with the right words to define what was happening between us. How could I articulate the lightness I felt in her presence, or the way her absence left rooms feeling emptier?

A shot rang out from another room in the villa, the sound reverberating through the high ceilings. We all froze, and it was only then I realized Giorgos had slipped away during the confrontation with Stella.

“Papa!” she shrieked, lurching to her feet and racing through the estate.

“Damn it,” Aristides cursed as we rushed after her.

As we moved through the corridor, Alexei, and the other security personnel converged on us from their posts throughout the estate, weapons drawn.

“Stay behind me, sir,” Alexei ordered, taking point as we hurried toward the source of the gunshot. My brothers’ guards fell into formation around us, their training evident in every step.

“Call an ambulance,” Dimitrios shouted. “Tell them to hurry.”

We found Stella collapsed beside her father’s body in his messy study. Giorgos lay on his side, his fingers curled around a pistol, a pool of blood spreading beneath his head.

I kneeled beside him, ignoring the warm blood seeping into the fabric of my trousers, and pressed my fingers to his neck. Nothing. His skin was still warm, but life had already fled.

The bullet had done its work effectively. After several minutes, I sat back on my heels.

Stella’s high-pitched keening filled the room, a sound that should have evoked sympathy but didn’t. This was the culmination of years of deception and manipulation.

The wail of approaching sirens cut through Stella’s cries. Within minutes, the villa was swarming with emergency responders, who quickly assessed the scene.

I watched with detachment as the police called for forensics and led Stella away in handcuffs, reading out her charges for conspiracy, extortion, wire fraud and accessory to felony death.

Her eyes sought mine as they escorted her out, still pleading, still attempting to maintain the fantasy she’d constructed. I turned away. Nothing remained between us now but the cold and unforgiving truth.

I surveyed the room, taking it in. Everything that had once been beautiful in this house had been corrupted, just as the Pavlou family had been destroyed by Giorgos’s weakness.

I gathered the evidence I’d brought, placing it in a small pile on a metal trash can. My brothers stared at me, confused.

The police had everything they needed. These copies were superfluous. I reached into my pocket for my lighter.

The flame caught instantly, hungrily consuming the papers that documented the Pavlou family’s betrayal. I watched as the edges blackened and curled, devouring the tangible proof of how weakness had destroyed a family.

As the last of the evidence turned to ash, I felt a sense of finality settle over me. Not completely—Theo was still gone, and nothing could change that—but the poisonous uncertainty clouding everything since his death had finally cleared.

“Let’s go,” Dimitrios said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You need to get home.”

Home. The word resonated through me, cutting through the fog of this nightmare.

Home meant Kayla now—her laughter filling silent spaces, her belongings intermingled with mine, her scent on my pillows.

Our marriage had begun as a business transaction, but somewhere between reluctant vows and unexpected confidences, between arguments and reconciliations, it had transformed into a connection that had become my foundation.

The truth had cost more than I could have imagined, but it had also freed me from the chains of misplaced guilt and obligation. Now unburdened by the weight of that unresolved past, I could finally turn fully toward a future with Kayla.