“I would never do that shit to my sister,” Phoenix hisses.
“Kostas, I don’t think he would do this,” I tell my husband, needing him to believe me. Otherwise he’s going to kill my brother. Phoenix might have spent his entire life working for Niles and the business, but he would never purposely put my life or my daughter’s at risk. I believe that with my entire being.
“I didn’t do it,” Phoenix says again.
“Then prove it,” Kostas says, his eyes locked on Phoenix as he slowly walks over to him. Once he’s standing in front of him, he glances at Basil. “Hand me your knife.”
Adrian steps forward. “Boss…” I know what he’s silently not saying. Let me handle this. Kostas is too weak to torture anyone. But if Adrian says it out loud it will make Kostas appear weak. And Kostas would rather die than ever appear weak in front of his men, or especially, his enemies.
“I got it,” Kostas hisses. He snatches the knife out of Basil’s hand and slices the rope holding Phoenix down. Then he slices the rope holding his hands together. “You say you didn’t have a part in helping my brother kidnap my daughter… Okay. But your fucking father did. Caught him red-handed with a fucking gun, shooting at me. You have a choice to make.”
Phoenix clenches his jaw, and his furious gaze flits from Kostas, to me, and then to Niles, who is now wide awake and staring at his son.
Phoenix stands and stalks over to Kostas, until their chests are practically touching. “I don’t have to prove shit to you,” Phoenix says.
I hold my breath in fear of what’s to come. If Phoenix doesn’t do something, Kostas will kill him without hesitating.
Phoenix’s hateful glare leaves Kostas, and he turns toward Niles. “You did this shit to yourself,” he says in a lowly, distant voice.
“Son, please,” Niles begs. “I didn’t have a choice. You have to believe me.”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Phoenix roars. “You chose yourself over your fucking daughter for the last time.” My brother stalks toward the guard standing closest to Niles, grabs the gun from his holster, and aims it at Niles’s chest.
“This is for everything you’ve done to Talia.”
Pop!
Crimson bleeds through Niles’s shirt as he cries out in shock. He hit him in the stomach, not the heart—keeping him alive. Before he can beg Phoenix not to kill him, Phoenix aims the gun at his forehead.
Instinctively, I slam my eyes closed, already knowing what’s coming.
“And this is for Zoe.”
Pop!
I open my eyes back up. Nile’s head has been blown to bits. Several of the guards have blood splattered on them. My stomach roils at the sight, but I force the bile down, refusing to look weak in front of all these men. He got what he deserved.
My gaze goes to the third man. He’s staring at Niles, his eyes wide-open in shock and fear.
“What do you know about Aris taking my daughter?” I ask him.
“I don’t know anything!” he exclaims. “I was just told to come here and kill as many men as possible.”
“He doesn’t know shit,” Kostas growls. “Nobody fucking does because Aris was too smart to let anybody know.”
Kostas pulls the gun out from behind him and shoots the guy dead in the heart. His life ends so quickly, his eyes remain open as if he’s frozen in place.
My eyes flit back and forth between the two dead men as reality hits. “Kostas,” I cry. He turns his attention to me. “If nobody knows anything, how are we going to get our little girl back?”
Kostas walks over to me, and as tightly as his broken body can, he wraps me in his arms as I sob into his chest. We have no more leads. There are no breadcrumbs to follow. Nobody knows anything. It’s as if Aris and Selene have vanished with Zoe. “Shh,” Kostas coos, his body shaking from the pain he must be in. “We’re going to find her. I promise.”
Kostas
I stare at my reflection as I brush my teeth. Cold. Furious. A monster. Certainly not one who looks like the father of a small, perfect baby. Or the lover and husband of a beautiful woman. I’m ruthless. My father’s son. Every bit the Demetriou I need to be to face the media.
Because they will see.
My enemies.
And I need them to see who the fuck they’re dealing with.
Talia enters the bathroom as I angrily scrub the film off my teeth. I barely slept two hours, but the press will be here at eight sharp this morning, and if I have any hope for making it through today, I need coffee and a motherfucking bagel.
“I’ve never heard anyone growl while brushing their teeth before,” she says, her eyes squinting and her voice gravelly from sleep.
I spit, then rinse, before drying my mouth off. I’ve already showered for the day, which was agony on my wounds, and am in just a towel. My wife looks stunning somehow in one of my oversized T-shirts. Her blond hair is in disarray. But what has me seeing red is the awful bruising and split lip. The entire side of her face is dark purple and blue.