"Be careful," I say, lifting my champagne glass slightly. "You'll make me spill Niko's champagne."
It's a weak excuse, but I need something to buy me time. To think. To figure out where Niko is and why every instinct I have is screaming that something is wrong.
Stavros scoffs and grabs the glass from my hand. "There," he says, downing it in one swallow. "Now you don't have to worry. We'll get him some more later. Let's go."
His grip on my arm tightens, and this time there's no mistaking it for anything other than control. He begins walking toward the side exit that leads to the connecting mansions, and I have no choice but to follow or be dragged.
I scan the room desperately as Stavros leads me away from the safety of the crowd. Through the tall windows, I catch a glimpse of movement. Keira and Declan are moving in the same direction we're headed. Their faces are tense, alert.
They're following us.
The knowledge provides a small measure of comfort, but it's not enough to quiet the fear clawing at my chest. Whatever's happening, it's not what any of us planned for.
The path we're walking is lit with softly glowing lanterns. Stavros's men fall into formation around us, two ahead, two behind. I'm surrounded, cut off from any chance of escape.
We climb the steps to the other mansion, and I recognize it immediately. This is where the large private study is located, the same room I was supposed to slip into later. The same room where I planned to wait for him with wolfsbane and vengeance.
Now he's bringing me here himself.
We stop outside a wooden door. Stavros nods to one of his men, who opens it. Without warning, he shoves me forward, hard enough that I stumble into the room. I catch myself on the edge of a chair.
I turn, breathing heavily, to see Stavros speaking to his men.
"I can handle her," he says. "Stay by the door. No one in or out. I want to talk to her before she sees Niko."
The guards nod and step back. Stavros enters and closes the door behind him. The lock clicks into place.
We're alone.
"Where's Niko?" I demand.
Stavros ignores me as he walks to his bar cart in the corner, crystal decanters catching the lamplight. He pours himself a drink and sighs.
"What a fucking mess you and Niko created."
I arch an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
He turns, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "A baby? Niko?" He gestures with his glass, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "What, you two thought you could live a carefree life and fuck everyone else over?"
Heat flashes through me. "Whose life exactly would we be fucking over?"
"Mine!" His voice rises, eyes flashing with disgust. "I'd rather see our bloodline end than diluted with your blood." He takes a large swallow of his drink and coughs as it goes down.
I nod. "So I take it you never approved?"
"Of course not," he says, loosening his tie with jerky movements. The coughing subsides, and he walks over and drops into a leather chair behind the desk.
I step closer, my hands shaking. "We're both of Greek blood. Isn't that good enough?"
Stavros snorts, his lip curling. "What do you know about true Greek blood?" He coughs again and takes another drink. "You live in Chicago, born there if I'm not mistaken. You don't live here, in the heart of Greece fighting for legacy. You wear red dresses like a little slut and play mafia princess."
I nod slowly. "You're right. I was born there. But I know all about our culture. Our history. For example, do you know the story of Electra?” I ask.
"What?" he asks, a confused look on his face.
"Oh, it's very good," I say and start to pace the room. "She was the daughter of a king. Her father was murdered by his own wife and her lover. Electra was forced to live in their home, eat at their table, smile through the pain.”
I stop and look directly at Stavros, who's not speaking. Not moving. Just those dark eyes tracking my every movement.
