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Chapter Three
Iris
Walking through the gorgeous,sun-filled hallways of my Uncle Falcone’s home, I’ve never felt more alive. It’s as if the world is expanding before me and behind me and at both sides. Every room I pass I consider as a possible escape opportunity, every window, every open door. And for once, it’s not because I’m all that eager to leave the man radiating power and protection beside me. Far from it.
It’s because now I know how mind-blowing it will be when he catches me.
Another shiver rolls through me, but if Kristo notices, he’s too professional to react. In fact, since the moment we entered the house he’s done nothing but project practiced coolness, his face shuttering, his eyes going carefully blank. I wonder for the first time if he’s not merely a bodyguard, but one of my great uncle’s enforcers. Is he capable of killing a target in cold blood, merely because he’s ordered to do so? I think of his large hands, his sleek muscles beneath his tight black clothing, and I’m sure he’s capable of it.
Fear tugs in my belly. I don’t want to think of Kristo in that way, but I’m foolish not to. He’s a hired gun of the Siccario family. He’s here to protect me, for the moment. What he does after he hands me off to my great uncle, however, is none of my concern.
So of course, it’s all I can think about.
To distract myself, I take a deep breath and shake out my long caramel hair. I never intended to greet my great uncle dressed in my platinum blonde wig and sundress. Those are now carefully tucked away in my pack, which Kristo carries beside me. Instead I’m wearing a long travel-ready dress and designer sandals, looking exactly like the spoiled Greek princess I am. It’s supremely ironic: I have everything I could possibly want in my life—except the freedom to escape it.
And now my gilded walls are closing in on me.
The men leading us through the house stop abruptly and pivot to either side of a closed doorway. They scan the hallway behind us, apparently to ensure we haven’t been followed through the cavernous home, then open the doors, gesturing for us to enter.
I hesitate for a moment, and Kristo shifts me forward with a light touch, compelling me to move without making a production of it. I get the feeling that’s his usual approach—subtle, almost stealthy, but always guiding the action, always planning one step ahead to trap his quarry in a snare of their own making. Something else I need to keep in mind if I try to escape him again.
Correction: when I escape him again.
I square my shoulders as I enter the room, but my tension dispels immediately as my great uncle’s laugh rolls out to greet me—along with a flow of rich, heavily accented Greek.
“Iris! My god, you are even more beautiful than I was led to believe. You grace my house with your presence.”
He holds out his hands and for a moment, I forget all my strategies and plans and simply rush forward, allowing him to pull me into an embrace. My own parents are affectionate, of course, but Falcone Siccario has always been a force of nature in my life, sweeping me up in his larger-than-life presence and leaving me dazed. Even as a man in his sixties, he still exudes the same power and indomitable will.
“It’s good to see you, Uncle Falcone,” I say as he steps back again, his grin wide.
“You had a good flight, yes?” he demands, then chuckles. “Of course, you did. You spent a significant portion of it planning how to elude poor Alesandro at the airport. He’s convinced he’ll be hung from his ankles for letting you slip past him, and he’s not wrong.”
My eyes snap wide. “Uncle Falcone, no. It’s not his fault,” I blurt out. I’ve been eluding my own family’s security detail for so long, they’re used to it. New players constantly come in, but I change my tactics so frequently and so well, it’s almost become a game for them. And in truth, I’m not an idiot. I don’t put myself in danger, ever. I always have ways to contact my protectors or my family, I simply work very hard to ensure they can’t contact me until I’m ready for them to do so.
But I never intended to get any member of Uncle Falcone’s staff in trouble.
He shakes his head. “I send a man to collect my great niece, I expect him to do his job. He failed. And there were several redundant tracking mechanisms in place.”
I wince. “The phone, my watch, the fake credit card in my wallet.” I’d flushed the last piece down the airplane toilet, but I rather like my watch. I’d left that on the plane to be discovered by conscientious first-class flight attendants and delivered to Uncle Falcone’s house later.
My great uncle makes a disgusted noise, but Kristo’s quiet words cut in, startling me. “Her disguise was quite good, but don’t be too hard on Alesandro, sir. Without his keen observation cataloguing everyone who passed him, I wouldn’t have been tipped off to the potential disguises Ms. Siccario was employing. Cameras picked her up easily when we knew what to look for, but it was Alesandro’s surveillance that provided that information. He simply couldn’t act and risk missing something important. He did exactly what he should have in a public place.”
Kristo’s explanation seems to mollify my great uncle enough, and Falcone’s intense gaze swings back to me. “So,” he announces without further preamble. “I assume your little disappearing act was to express your displeasure at your upcoming engagement?”
Beside me Kristo exhales sharply, the rush of air so quick no one notices it but me. But I notice it, and my lips twist. Of course Kristo didn’t know I was promised to some other man. He would’ve never touched me if he’d known.
Which begs the question, why didn’t my great uncle tell him? Why didn’t I tell him, for that matter?
I don’t have time to ponder that, however, not with Uncle Falcone staring at me. Instead I lift my chin. “You do realize it’s barbaric to force me into a marriage against my will.”
“It won’t be against your will,” Falcone shoots back. “You will accept who I’ve chosen, I’m sure of it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you will honor your family obligations—a choice you will also make without coercion or negotiation, because love and family mean everything to a Siccario.”
“Love?” I protest. “I don’t even know this man.”
