AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter1
Adrienne
The ocean ruins the hem of my dress as I watch moonlight reflect off black waves while behind me, up the dunes and in the house, men in suits discuss business over expensive drinks. Somewhere out there, more men want to kill me. Three weeks ago, they nearly did. The smell of cigars and cigarette smoke hangs over the beach and I can’t seem to get it out of my hair, no matter how much the salty wind gusts over my skin.
I want to take a shower and sleep for ten hours, but Peter says this party will last most of the night and I’ve been forbidden from disappearing. He says it would look rude, and while I’m not part of his family, I’m still a guest in his house and bound by his rules.
I’ve been bound enough to last a lifetime, but right now it’s easier not to fight.
“You look lost.” A woman teeters over with a wine glass gripped in her hand. She doesn’t come close enough to step into the wet sand and I don’t move from where the water laps at my ankles. An expensive pair of heels dangles from her fingers and she’s wearing a chic but simple navy dress and jewelry worth enough money to feed a small family for a decade.
“Not so much lost as trying to escape.”
The woman smiles wryly. “What’s your name? I’ve seen you hanging around all night, but you haven’t spoken to anyone.”
“Adrienne Holloway. And you?”
There’s a hint of recognition in the woman’s eye. “Katarin Balaska.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“May I ask why you want to escape so badly, Adrienne?”
I tug my fingers through my hair and stare out at the water. “It’s hard to have a good time at a party where everyone’s speaking a language I don’t know.” I hesitate and glance back at her, frowning. “Why’d you decide to speak English with me, anyway?”
She waves that question off like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re Peter’s charge. Is that the right word?Charge? Or are you more like a couple?”
“Charge is close enough. Definitely not a couple. He’s supposed to be keeping me safe.” I let my hands fall to my side. “He’s not doing a great job.”
Katarin laughs. “No, he’s most definitely not. How did you come to be in Peter’s possession, Adrienne?”
“It’s a long story. There was some trouble back in America and I was sent out here to recover.” My hands drift to my face. The ghosts of old bruises still linger under my eyes, yellowing now and nearly gone, but still tender. My nose is crooked and I’m not sure it’ll ever be straight again. There’s a scar under my lips, ugly and jagged. I’ve healed and gotten stronger over the past few weeks, but the pain hasn’t faded, and I’m terrified my face will never be the same. I look in the mirror and don’t see the girl I was before that nightmare happened—instead, a broken, haunted person stares back.
It’s vain to worry I won’t be attractive anymore, but the thought keeps coming back to me, over and over.Your face is ruined. You’ll never be the same. It should be enough that I’m alive. Somehow, it’s not.
“And how is that going? Do you feel recovered?” Katarin asks.
“No, I don’t think so, but I’m not sure I ever will. That’s not Peter’s fault.”
“Pity. You’re a pretty thing though, even with the bruises. My husband would be happy to have you for a mistress.” I give her a panicked look and she laughs lightly. “Not that I’d let him, mind you. I’d cut off his balls if he ever tried.”
“Right. Uh, thanks, I guess?”
She waves me off again and sighs as she closes her eyes. “These things, these parties, they are so boring. I have been to so many of them now and they are all the same. The men drink, they smoke, they laugh and joke, until they disappear into a room and talk business. That’s what they’re doing now. It’s how I got away.”
“Peter’s discussing business with your husband?” I frown slightly and look back toward the house. The Balaska mob is one of the more powerful criminal families in Greece. Aside from them, the Filos and the Galatas are also present, along with several other minor crime lords and their various soldiers and wives and girlfriends. Peter tried to explain it all to me, but I chose to tune him out. I’m here for a little while until it’s safe to go back home and then I’m never thinking about criminals or mafioso or Greek crime lords again.
“That’s what it seems,” she says and tilts her wine glass from side to side. “The American Greeks are so different though, I don’t see how it could possibly work. But you never know.” She gestures at me. “Are you one of them? The American Greeks?”
I shake my head. “My father was English and my mother was French.”
“Was? Are they both gone now?”
“Both gone,” I confirm.
“Pity. Here’s to them then. And to my lovely Papa and Mama, may God rest their souls.” She toasts the stars and drinks.
“Adrienne!” My name sounds like a gunshot. A figure stands at the top of the dunes, tall and dark and masculine. He’s backlit, and his face is in shadow, but I know Peter’s silhouette well enough after spending three weeks with him in his house.
