“Don’t cry, Mom. Please don’t cry.”
“I just always thought I would be there when you got married. And I had hoped…with everything that happened, maybe there was a chance he would let you go.” She sobs through the phone.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, realizing I need to hear it myself. “It will be okay.”
I hear a rustling in the bushes, and a sudden sense of unease washes over me. Remembering room service will be delivering my breakfast soon, I stand to head inside, when the sound of several branches cracking sounds through the air. And then a man in a black ski mask is coming at me. With my phone still in my hand—my mom still on the line—my fight or flight instinct kicks into gear. Grabbing the chair, I kick it toward the man. It causes him to momentarily stumble, and it’s enough time for me to get inside and lock the doors.
“Mom!” I scream. “Someone is here. I need to call you back.” I hear her yelling over the phone, but I hit end and dial Kostas’s number. The doorknob on the French doors rattle, and I know it’s only a matter of time until the man gets in.
“Talia, I’m going to need to call you back,” Kostas says, his voice calm.
“Kostas! Someone is here. He’s wearing a mask, and I think he’s trying to get to me.” The nob begins to turn, and I run to the front door.
“Where are you?” Kostas demands.
“At home! He’s trying to come in from the back.” I stand against the front door, watching the French doors, when the front door begins to shake, causing me to jump back.
“He’s at the front door!”
“There’s a gun in my nightstand, Talia. Go grab it! I’m going to call Aris right now. He should be close by.”
I sprint into the bedroom and find the gun he mentioned. “No, Kos, I need you! Not him,” I cry. “Please come home! Please.”
I can’t chance going out the front or the back. So instead I find a spot in the corner of the closet to hide, and with Kostas’s gun in my hand, I wait.
Kostas
“I’m scared.”
My heart thunders in my chest as I excuse myself from the hospital room where my dad sleeps in a medically induced coma. As I talk to her on speaker, I text my men on the hotel grounds. This ski mask fucker won’t touch a hair on her head.
“I know, zoí mou, but you’re safe,” I assure her. “Just stay quiet. Did you do as I told you? The safety is off?”
“I t-think so,” she whispers.
“Check it again,” I instruct.
“Y-Yes. It’s ready to fire.”
“Good, now keep it trained on the door. Aim high and for the chest if anyone comes through the door.”
Her breathing is erratic. “Are you coming home? Please come home.”
The terror in her voice—begging for me—claws inside me. I hate to hear her so terrified. Once the threat is eliminated, whoever thought they could try and hurt my girl will fucking pay.
“I’m coming—”
Pop! Pop! Pop!
It takes me a second to realize the gunshots aren’t coming from her end, but here at the hospital. What the fuck?
“Talia, listen to me,” I growl. “Hide behind the clothes and shoot anything that comes for you. There’s a shooting in the hospital. I need to go.”
“Kostas,” she sobs.
“I’ll be home soon.”
Hanging up with her makes my chest ache, but I need to focus. Another shot. I take off running, drawing my H&K .45 from my holster inside my suit jacket. Nurses and employees run toward me, so I head in that direction, passing my father’s room door. Two men in suits round the corner holding MP5s. A spray of bullets mows down a handful of people. I slam my back against the wall and retreat into my father’s room.
Where the fuck are my men?
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Responding fire to the spray has my heart ratcheting up. My guys are out there. Shouts can be heard. I back up, putting myself between my father and the gunmen. When the door flings open, I shoot.
Pop!
The headshot sends the man flying back and the door closing again. Another loud spray of bullets shatters the door to pieces, but then I hear several pops. Moments later, Adrian flies in, disheveled and breathing heavily. That’ll teach him to take a shit break.
“Sir,” he barks out. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I grunt and check over my father. “So is Father. Did you get them?”
“There were two and they’ve been eliminated. I’ve called for more men and the Minister of Public Order. He’ll sort it out from his end,” he assures me.
Thank fuck Father is friends with Josef, otherwise this shooting at the hospital would look bad on the Demetrious.
“Any word on Basil?” I demand.
Adrian pulls out his phone to check his texts. “Threat has been eliminated. Talia won’t open the door, but there are no signs of forced entry into your villa. The men are in Basil’s custody.”
“Men?”
“The one who was trying to get to Talia was wearing a ski mask. The other two wore suits. They seem like two different operations.”
Could be a coincidence. With my father on death’s door, it wouldn’t take long for our enemies to come up with a plan to try and take out the Demetrious while we were down. Too bad for them, we fight fucking better when we’re down.
“Deal with the shitstorm here,” I order as I move past him. “I’m going back to the hotel.”
I slam my Maserati into park and fly out of the car on one mission. Get to Talia. My men are posted around my villa, angry scowls on their faces. This attack is personal. These people waited until we were weakened by grief and pounced. Lowlife motherfuckers. I’ll hunt them all down and make them pay.
After.
Right now, I must console my frightened wife.
I punch in the code on the front door, but the chain is hooked. Good girl. Walking around to the back patio doors, I punch in the code and slip inside. The villa is quiet and I creep through it in case anyone is hiding inside. When I make it to the closet door, I call out her name as I open it.
Bam!
A huge hunk gets blown out of the door, sending me stumbling back.
Bam!
Another blast.
“Talia!” I roar. “It’s me, Kostas!”
Bam!
Enough of this shit. I crawl on my knees and yank open the door. Pressed against the far wall with her knees to her chest and the Glock wobbling in her hand is Talia. Crying, terrified, trembling. Her eyes are wild as she aims for me. Not giving her a chance, I pounce on her, grabbing for the gun as she fires again. I wrestle the gun away from her and toss it away. Then, I grab her ankles, dragging her toward me. She screams and kicks until I pin her body with mine. I hold her wrists together with one hand and grip her jaw with the other.
“Look at me,” I demand. “It’s me.”
She blinks away her daze before crumbling. Heavy sobs rack through her. I release her to hug her on the closet floor, nuzzling my nose in her hair that’s sweaty. I kiss her cheek and whisper assurances until she calms, no longer crying.
“I almost shot you,” she whispers hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”