warmth and the sweet side of life. He especially enjoyed soft kittens who liked to be stroked until they purred next to him in bed.
But if a woman dared to cross him, as with any man, he ensured she understood her mistake and would never dream of doing so again.
“I owe my grandfather a great deal.” He waved at their surroundings. “This.”
“I presumed it was stolen,” she said with a haughty toss of her head.
“No.” He was as blunt as a mallet. “The money was made from smuggling profits, but the boat was purchased legally.”
She snapped her head around.
He shrugged, not apologizing for what he came from. “For decades, if something crossed the border or the seas for a thousand miles, legal or illegal, my grandfather—and my father when he was alive—received a cut.”
He had her attention. She wasn’t saucy now. She was wary. Wondering why he was telling her this.
“Desperate men do desperate things. I know this because I was quite desperate when I began trading on my father’s name to survive the streets of Athens.”
Their chilled soup arrived. He was hungry, but neither of them moved to pick up their spoons.
“Why were you on the streets?”
“My mother died. Heart failure, or so I was told. I was sent to an orphanage. I hated it.” It had been a palace, in retrospect, but he didn’t think about that. “I ran away. My mother had told me my father’s name. I knew what he was reputed to be. The way my mother had talked, as if his enemies would hunt me down and use me against him if they found me... I thought she was trying to scare me into staying out of trouble. I didn’t,” he confided drily. “Boys of twelve are not known for their good judgment.”
He smoothed his eyebrow where a scar was barely visible, but he could still feel where the tip of a blade had dragged very deliberately across it, opening the skin while a threat of worse—losing his eye—was voiced.
“I watched and learned from other street gangs and mostly stuck to robbing criminals because they don’t go to the police. As long as I was faster and smarter, I survived. Threatening my father’s wrath worked well in the beginning, but without a television or computer, I missed the news that he had been stabbed. I was caught in my lie.”
Her eyes widened. “What happened?”
“As my mother had warned me, my father’s enemies showed great interest. They asked me for information I didn’t have.”
“What do you mean?” she whispered, gaze fixed to his so tightly all he could see was blue. “Like...?”
“Torture. Yes. My father was known to have stockpiled everything from electronics to drugs to cash. But if I had known where any of it was kept, I would have helped myself, wouldn’t I? Rather than trying to steal from them? They took their time believing that.” He pretended the recollection didn’t coat him in cold sweat.
“Oh, my God.” She sat back, fingertips covering her faint words, gaze flickering over her shoulder to where his left hand was still behind her.
Ah. She’d noticed his fingernail.
He brought his hand between them, flexed its stiffness into a fist, then splayed it.
“These two fingernails.” He pointed, affecting their removal as casual news. “Several bones broken, but it works well enough after several surgeries. I’m naturally left-handed so that was a nuisance, but I’m quite capable with both now, so...”
“Silver lining?” she huffed, voice strained with disbelief. “How did you get away?”
“They weren’t getting anywhere with questioning me and hit upon the idea of asking my grandfather to pay a ransom. He had no knowledge of a grandson, though. He was slow to act. He was grieving. Not pleased to have some pile of dung attempting to benefit off his son’s name. I had no proof of my claim. My mother was one of many for my father. That was why she left him.”
He shrugged. Female companionship had never been a problem for any of the Petrides men. They were good-looking and powerful and money was seductive. Women found them.
“Pappoús could have done many things, not least of which was let them finish killing me. He asked for blood tests before he paid the ransom. When I proved to be his son’s bastard, he made me his heir. I suddenly had a clean, dry bed, ample food.” He nodded at the beautiful concoction before them: a shallow chowder of corn and buttermilk topped with fat, pink prawns and chopped herbs. “I had anything I wanted. A motorcycle in summer, ski trips in winter. Clothes that were tailored to fit my body in any style or color I asked. Gadgets. A yacht. Anything.”
He’d also received a disparate education, tutored by his grandfather’s accountant in finance. His real estate and investment licenses were more purchased than earned, but he had eventually mastered the skills to benefit from such transactions. Along the way he had developed a talent for managing people, learning by observing his grandfather’s methods. Nowadays they had fully qualified, authentically trained staff to handle every matter. Arm-twisting, even the emotional kind he was utilizing right now, was a retired tactic.
But it was useful in this instance. Viveka needed to understand the bigger picture.
Like his grandfather, he needed a test.
“In return for his generosity, I have dedicated myself to ensuring my grandfather’s empire operates on the right side of the law. We’re mostly there. This merger is a final step. I have committed to making it happen before his health fails him. You can see why I feel I owe him this.”
“Why are you being so frank with me?” Her brow crinkled. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll repeat any of this?”
“No.” Much of it was online, if only as legend and conjecture. While Mikolas had pulled many dodgy stunts like mergers that resembled money laundering, he’d never committed actual crimes.
That wasn’t why he was so confident, however.
He held her gaze and waited, watching comprehension solidify as she read his expression. She would not betray him, he telegraphed. Ever.
Her lashes quivered and he watched her swallow.
Fear was beginning to take hold in her. He told himself that was good and ignored the churn of self-contempt in his belly. He wasn’t like the men who had tormented him.
But he wasn’t that different. Not when he casually picked up his wineglass and mentioned, “I should tell you. Grigor is looking for your sister. You could save yourself by telling him where to find her.”
“No!” The word was torn out of her, the look on her face deeply anxious, but not conflicted. “Maybe he never hit her before, but it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t start now. And this?” She waved at the table and yacht. “She had these trappings all her life and would have given up all of it for a kind word. At least I had memories of our mother. She didn’t even have me, thanks to him. So no. I would rather go back to Grigor than sell her out to him.”
She spoke with brave vehemence, but her eyes grew wet. It wasn’t bravado. It was loyalty that would cost her, but she was willing to
