Priesthood:
A gathering of Mafia dons that was in effect a convocation of the nation's priesthood of organized crime
“Fear is the most valuable commodity in the universe.”
–— Max Brooks
Chapter 1
Tessa
Nikolas; 36. Tessa; 21.
An armed guard opens the engraved wooden door, and with a curt nod, he steps to the side so I can enter the house. It’s only my second time visiting the Stathoulis’ home, so the place is still foreign and intimidating. I’ll never get used to all the guards littered over the property.
A couple of weeks ago, my mother got engaged to the retired Godfather of the Greek mafia. We’re having our first family dinner tonight, and needless to say, I’m feeling anxious about meeting Nikolas and Athina, Peter’s children.
The couple of times I’ve talked to Peter, it always ended with me fidgeting like a little girl. The man has a serious set of eyebrows that makes him look threatening and short-tempered. Even though he’s never been hostile toward me, it always feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Mom’s assured me he’s sweet and caring, and I have nothing to worry about. As much as I don’t like the idea of my mother marrying Peter Stathoulis, it’s her choice to make. She deserves to be happy.
My dad died during a skiing accident when I was eight, and my mom spent all her time raising me. She only resumed socializing after I started classes at the Vancouver Film School.
If Peter makes her happy, I’ll do my best to support their relationship. But I want no part of the mafia. After Dad died, we didn’t associate with the mafia that much. Not that Dad played a very active role in the mafia. He was just one of their bookkeepers and never took part in the violent side of things.
It’s Mom’s choice, though. Me on the other hand, I’m going to continue focusing on my studies, and once I graduate, I’ll pursue a career as a producer.
Like a deer waiting to be pounced on, I cautiously glance around the entrance hall with its impressive staircase and sparkling gold chandelier, wondering which way I should go. The last time I was here, I came with Mom. I think the dining room is to my right. Even though the lights are on, everything feels dark and foreboding.
The apprehensiveness is mainly because I dread meeting Nikolas in person. I might not have anything to do with the mafia, but I’ve heard Nikolas is brutal and merciless. Whenever his name’s brought up, it’s always in fear.
“Theresa, agápi mou.” Hearing Mom call me ‘my love,’ my head swivels to the left, and a relieved smile splits across my face. She looks beautiful in a mermaid dress that looks like it’s been spun from pure gold.
“Mamá,” I grin as I move closer for a hug. I press a soft kiss on her cheek. “Wow, you look gorgeous.” Standing back, I make a show of taking in the dress.
“Tonight’s important.” Her gaze sweeps over my off-shoulder, cream satin dress, and she brushes the styled strands away from my bare shoulder. “We match. Good.”
I already feel uncomfortable in the dress because I’m not the skinniest and have struggled with my weight all my life, so when Mom’s eyes lock on the slit that ends mid-thigh, and it looks like she’s going to disapprove, I start fidgeting.
Before she can make a remark, Peter comes down the sweeping stairs. “Theresa,” he smiles. “Welcome.”
I force a polite smile to my face. “Thank you, Mr. Stathoulis.”
“Soon, we’ll be family. Call me Peter.”
The front door opens, and I glance over my shoulder.
“Really, Nikolas? Look at the mess,” a woman scolds, then a beauty in her early thirties breezes into the house like a queen. She must be Athina, Peter’s daughter. She makes a beeline for Peter, a smile chasing the scowl from her face. “Mpampà mou, sorry we’re late.”
A man follows after Athina, chuckling, “Glad I’m not the one in the hot seat tonight.” I’m assuming he’s Basil, Athina’s husband. He has a friendly face that can easily set a person at ease.
“What happened?” Peter asks his daughter just as Nikolas walks into the house.
My eyes zoom in on the blood staining the sleeves of the formal white shirt he’s unbuttoning, exposing a chest I can only describe as holy freaking shit. Golden skin spans tightly over muscle that looks like it’s been carved from precious metal.
He’s the tallest in the room, with the magnificence of a fallen angel. A firm jaw covered in a dusting of dark bristles, high cheekbones, and sharp eyes – the color of sinful nights – rob me of the ability to breathe. I take in every way-too-handsome inch of him in a split second.
A grim expression darkens his features, giving me the impression of a vengeful God out for every drop of blood he can get his hands on.