I checked my watch. Still four hours until landing. Four hours to find the right words to fix what I’d broken.
The prospect of this conversation with my wife left me uncharacteristically uncertain. How to explain that family loyalty had seemed paramount until she became my family too?
When the pilot announced our descent into New York, I glanced toward the bedroom where Kayla stayed throughout the flight. The door remained firmly closed.
The moment we cleared customs, Kayla bolted. I spotted her friend Lauren waiting as we made our way past security. Their silhouettes merged in a tight hug before they walked away together.
By the time I arrived at the family’s Upper East Side penthouse, the loss of my wife’s presence had turned into a hard, cold anger. The door opened at my approach, a solitary staff member nodding deferentially as I strode past without acknowledgment.
My family’s voices drifted from the main living area, discussing strategy and damage control. I had no desire to join their discussion, instead moving deeper into the residence where the lights were dimmer and the air quieter.
I came upon Aristides and Santo in the hallway outside the library, connected by a length of steel chain barely longer than the span of two hands. The incongruity of the scene cut through my preoccupation.
“What is this, Aris?” I asked.
My brother glanced up. “Desperate times require unconventional measures.”
Santo, normally quick with a retort, remained uncharacteristically silent, his expression thunderous as he stood rigidly beside his father. The tension in his jaw reminded me of myself at his age.
“I’m sure whatever he did doesn’t warrant being handcuffed like a prisoner,” I observed, setting down my briefcase against the wall. Despite my nephew’s often irritating behavior, I’d never approved of Aristides’s heavy-handed approach to parenting.
“Tia ended things and asked to be left alone,” Aristides explained. “This hothead would be on her doorstep wherever she is if I hadn’t had the foresight to ask the guards to cuff us together.”
“How long do you plan to keep this up?” I asked, noting the redness around Santo’s wrist where the metal had already begun to chafe.
Aris shrugged, the subtle movement causing the chain between them to clink softly. “Until I see fit to unleash him upon the world once more. Hopefully as a better man.”
Santo scoffed and muttered a curse, but my brother remained unmoved. I met my nephew’s gaze, recognizing the same stubborn pride I’d often seen in my own reflection.
For once, I couldn’t extract him from his predicament as I had so many times before. Some lessons, it seemed, had to be learned through personal suffering. A truth I was now experiencing firsthand.
“I tried,” I told him before continuing toward the guest suite that would now be mine alone.
Turning the corner into the east corridor, I collided directly with Matthaios. The decision was instantaneous. My fist connected with his jaw before conscious thought could intervene.
He stumbled backward into an antique sideboard; crystal decanters clinked as his weight shifted against the mahogany. Shock registered in his eyes for only a moment before narrowing with Christakis fury.
“What the—” was all he said before launching himself forward, driving me back against the walnut-paneled wall with enough force to expel the air from my lungs. The family portrait beside my head tilted askew.
As boys, we’d wrestled countless times on Thalassía’s beaches and in the villa’s gardens, but this was different. The playfulness of youth had been replaced by anger.
An antique Venetian vase—a wedding gift to my parents decades ago—crashed to the marble floor, shattering in a constellation of blue and gold fragments as my shoulder caught the pedestal. The distinctive scent of the dried lavender it had contained joined the heavier notes of exertion and aggression filling the air.
“Ti diáolo káneis!” My mother’s voice cut through our grunts and curses, filling the corridor. “Stop this at once!” Her slippers crushed ceramic shards as she approached with Irida close behind her.
We were on the floor now, locked in a contest of strength and will. The rug beneath us offered little cushioning against the hard floor beneath. The taste of blood filled my mouth where my lip had split against my teeth.
A large hand insinuated itself between us, and Alexei physically separated us. Dimitrios secured Matthaios, pinning his arms while maintaining a firm grip to prevent further aggression.
Though physically restrained, we continued to glare at each other across the now-disordered hallway. Matthaios’s breath came in sharp bursts, a thin trickle of blood from his nose staining the collar of his shirt.
Irida surveyed the scene with displeasure as she looked from her son to me. “Why are you trying to kill each other?”
I straightened my shirt with a sharp tug, the fine cotton fabric now creased and damp with perspiration. “Matthaios has been in New York for the past several months and working for Michail,” I stated. My knee throbbed in protest of the recent exertion.
“Shut up!” Matthaios snarled, straining against Dimitrios’s hold.
Ignoring him, I continued. “He orchestrated a takeover of Athanasiou Maritime Holdings, then forced Michail out of his own company. He’s also been carrying on a relationship with Michail’s daughter.”
