by SR Jones
It gives me a little thrill in some ways to think of Stamatis as my father, but in others it makes me sad. I’ll never have him as a true father, the way Costas and Mikhalis do. He made it clear today in our meeting that he will help me, but he will never admit my true heritage, and that hurts.
Fingers itching with desire to find out more, I stop looking for information on my father and instead Google Damen, and there’s nothing. Not one thing. No Facebook page. No mention of him anywhere. The only time there is anything to do with him at all is a photo of him with my father leaving a nightclub. Damen is by his side, Markos flanking the other.
I stare at the picture. He’s huge. My uncle ... father, is tall, but Damen towers over him, and he’s built big too. He’s wearing a suit, and his muscles are powerful enough to stretch the tailored fabric over his biceps and give it a shape.
Tired, and with my head spinning, I turn off my light and lie down. They say we process things during sleep, and if anyone needs time to process it’s me. I close my eyes and pray sleep will come.
***
I awake the next morning groggy and tired. I did sleep, but it was fitful. At least four times I jerked awake, my heart pounding. I’m a mixed bag of emotions, a strange mixture of fear and elation. The elation is because I don’t have to marry Yannis and suck his stumpy cock, or have him touch me in any way. The fear is because I am marrying Damen. Although, it’s been made clear I won’t have to suck his cock or do anything sexual. This is a fake marriage, so why am I nervous?
Not wanting to lie in bed and let the anxiety build, I get up and head downstairs. My heart sinks when I see Father at the dining table. It’s been laid by the maid and is filled with fruit, cereals, and toast. Sometimes Mother asks for a cooked breakfast, but we usually have some fruit, maybe yogurt and honey, or cereal.
I turn at the door, not wanting my father’s company this morning, but he’s out of his seat and moving toward me.
He grips my upper arm, hard enough to hurt. I’m used to this. Father might not beat me black and blue, but he manhandles me often enough and hits me. Normally his favorite is to slap my upper arm, hard, or when he’s really angry cuff the back of my head. Sometimes he’s even gone so far as to slap my face. He didn’t used to hit me. I was never spanked as a child, not until the slaps started in my teens. To be fair, I did go through a period of sassing back, but it was a shock the first time he slapped his hand across my arm, hard enough to sting. The next time he did it, I answered back harder, so he cuffed the back of my head.
Only once has he truly hurt me, and that was when I called him a loser during a massive row. He backhanded me and gave me a bloody lip. After that, I was much more careful with what I said to him.
His grip viselike, Father pulls me down the hallway, and into the study, come guardroom. It’s empty, which is odd. Normally one of the men would be in here. Markos maybe, finishing off his night shift. If not one of Stamatis’s three men, then one of our own guards. But there is no one. We are still in danger, the sender of the notes hasn’t been found, why no security?
“You little witch, you’ve fucking ruined everything,” my father spits at me. Flecks of spittle hit my cheek, and I wince.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I’ve never seen him this angry before.
“It was all planned out, but you lost your courage because of what? A few exaggerated reports in the media? And now there’s no way I can make this marriage happen because your stupid cunt of a mother has involved your uncle.”
I’m so shocked at him calling Mother such a vile word, I can’t speak.
“Listen to me, you might think you’ve got all this wrapped up, and your mother and your uncle are eating out of your hand, but you’ll pay for this, you fucking whore.”
His palm hits the side of my head, slamming against my ear and making me cry out.
I stagger to the side and fall as my head hits the desk.
My mind is whirring, trying to understand why he’s so angry. I grab the edge of the desk and struggle to right myself.
The door to the room opens, and Damen and Alesso saunter in. They both stop in their tracks. I’m half crumpled against the desk, half on the carpeted floor. It’s not hard to tell what happened here.
Shit.
I scramble to right myself, but Damen takes one look at me and turns to my father. He advances on him, hands bunched in fists. The tendons in his solid neck pop, and I brace.
Oh, crap. If Damen hits my father, then Uncle Stamatis will call this whole thing off. I still can’t get used to thinking of my uncle as my father and vice versa, but either way, this is going to be a hell of a mess.
“Spiros.” Stamatis walks into the room and frowns.
He takes it all in, his intelligent brown eyes summing up the situation in a second.
“Damen,” he barks. “Stand the fuck down.”
Damen stops and turns to Stamatis, but his fists are still bunched, the muscles in his arms standing out under his tight, long sleeve T.
“What?” The word is ground out and hardly full of deference, but Stamatis doesn’t seem bothered.
“Stand down, now. You can’t pulverize the bride’s father, can you? No way to start a marriage.”
“He hit her.” Damen glares at my father again.
“She’s his property for…” Stamatis glances at his watch. “Another three days. She’s under his roof and his to do with as he pleases. Once she leaves his protection and becomes your wife, you can let him know he can’t touch her.”
“Oh, so until then, he can hit her as he sees fit?” Damen looks about to blow.
“Yes,” says Stamatis. “Although, of course, it won’t look good for the role I was about to offer him, if he’s the sort of man who can’t keep his temper in check.”
“Role?” my father asks, his gaze flickering between Stamatis and a still livid Damen.
“Yes, now the marriage is off, at great financial cost to myself, I might add, you’re going to need more income, because you aren’t going to get the remainder of the money promised you from Lefteris. I need someone to run the casino chain, and you need money; seems like a match made in heaven, brother. The role will require some dealing with the media, though, and you can’t go around smacking your daughter about, doesn’t look good.”
I can’t believe this. Stamatis is doing more for me. He’s already agreed to pay an unholy amount of money to get me out of this contract with the Pappas family, and now because that means Daddy won’t get his second payment, Stamatis is offering him more income?
Damen crosses the room to me and helps me to a chair. He tips my chin up and inspects my face where it glanced off the desk. “Thank God it’s not cut or you’d have needed stitches,” he growls.
He’s pissed, but I know it’s not at me.
“But I do the accounts for you,” my father says to Stamatis. “Are you going to give me a pay rise to do those?”
“You did, Spiros, but not any longer. Markos is going to do those.”
“What? Why?”
“I need you for a more important role, as I said, something more public. The casinos need sorting. A pay rise and public importance as the head of a chain of upmarket gambling joints. You should be happy about this.”
I know what’s happening here, and I’m not sure if my father, or ex-father, because the man is dead to me now, does.
The casinos are part of the business Stamatis has been looking to offload for years. They’re losing money. Selling them, though, isn’t easy when they’re basically the dog of his business empire. I know this because one day, while at their house, I overheard Stamatis tell his underboss to try to find a buyer so they could offload them and stop worrying about them.
He’s demoting my ex-daddy, but dressing it up as a supposedly important role with a pay rise. All to help me.
Why he’s cutting Spiros out of the accounts, I don’t know, but it seems Stamatis is making some big changes.
“This is an import
ant role; I have plans for the casinos,” Stamatis says to his brother. “You’ll need to be visible, see and be seen, and of course, there will be an expense account opened for you for clothing, security, and other essentials.”
Spiros, being an idiot, laps it up, puffing his puny chest out like a displaying bird. “You’ve finally come to realize I have something to add to this family and your business.”
“Yes, something like that,” Stamatis says. “In the meantime, do you think you can keep your hands off my niece? I don’t think my attack dog likes that you’ve hit her, and he’s a bit hard to control sometimes.”
Those words.
The same words I heard uttered long ago to another man, one who Damen murdered without the slightest hesitation. The same thing, exactly that Stamatis said to the man he and Damen terrified and then killed, all while I listened from the room next door, hands over my eyes as the horrifying events unfolded.
My legs were already like jelly, but now they can barely hold me up.
Spiros shoots Damen a disgusted glare, and Damen bears his teeth and mock growls in return.
Spiros flinches, and Stamatis and the men laugh. “See?” Stamatis shakes his head. “He’s a wonderful bodyguard, but he does have … violent tendencies. Best leave the girl alone from now on, eh?”
Stamatis claps his hands then, and is suddenly all genial smiles.
“Now, Spiros, why don’t you go get a bottle of something decent so we can celebrate your … promotion, and I can explain how this wedding is going to go down?”
“Yes, of course.”
As soon as my dead-to-me-ex-father leaves the room, Stamatis comes over to me.
“How often has he done this?”
“Never this bad,” I say. “Normally it’s a slap across my bare arms, or a cuff to the back of the head.”
“Motherfucker,” Damen snarls.
“He won’t touch you again. I promise,” Stamatis tells me. “But for the next few days, we need to keep him onside until this wedding between yourself and Damen is over with, okay? The last thing we need is for him to go and tell the Pappas family what’s going on. Lefteris won’t care so long as he gets his money, and we come to an agreement between our two families for a way to work together moving forward. Yannis is a different matter.”
“Why?” I ask. Why would Yannis still want me? He made it clear on the few times we met that he didn’t like me and didn’t find me remotely attractive. What did he call me? A fat cow? Or maybe it was fat bitch. I can’t recall as I’ve erased as much of the incident as I can from my mind. He hurt me, though, pushed me against a wall, pinched my breast so hard he bruised it, and threatened me. Made it clear he wanted this marriage about as much as I did.
“Because,” Stamatis says, dead serious. “He’s a fucking lunatic. I’ve looked into him, and the boy is deranged. He might be relieved the wedding is off, and he can go back to torturing the women he lures into his trap, or then again, he might decide he wants you anyway, and do something … untoward. He truly is a loose cannon.”
I shiver. “Surely you must have some idea what he’ll do, Uncle?” I use the name purposefully, as he made it quite clear I’m never to call him father.
“They say the best guide to the future is the past. Past behavior gives clues to future behavior, right?”
I nod.
“Well, Yannis’ past behavior is so bizarre, the only thing it tells me is he’s completely unpredictable. When I say he’s deranged, I mean it. He’s unhinged, and until the wedding is out of the way, and you’re safely ensconced with Damen, we need to keep this quiet. Now, do you know where your mother is?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Okay, I’ll go and see if I can find her.”
He leaves the room, and Damen turns to Markos and Alesso. “Can you give us a moment, please?”
They both give almost identical chin jerks and leave the room, Alesso shooting Damen a concerned look as he goes.
“Are you okay?” he asks me.
I nod. I am. My ear is sore, and it’s ringing, but I’m sure it will wear off.
“The wedding is in three days’ time. Your uncle is sorting it out, and he’s told me to tell him what to do and he’ll get it organized, or get a lackey to get it organized. I don’t care what the wedding is like,” he says. “I thought if you did, if you wanted anything in particular, you ought to tell him.”
I shake my head, and for some reason feel utterly despondent. “It’s fake, right? Doesn’t matter.”
He shrugs and reaches into his pocket. “I got you something,” he says.
He snaps open the box, and I stare in shock. Nestled in the deep blue velvet is a stunning ring. A huge, emerald cut diamond. It’s beautiful, and not a million miles away from what I would have picked for myself.
“Is it fake?” I ask.
Damen stares at me for a moment, something disappointed in his gaze. “No, why would you think so?”
“Because this wedding is fake, and if that’s real, it’s worth a lot of money.”
“It’s real, worth a lot of money, and insured. No wife of mine is wearing a shitty ring, real or fake wedding. As far as the outside world is concerned, this marriage is real, and so you get a genuine ring.”
He takes it out of the box and slips it on my finger.
I stare at it. “Did Stamatis buy it?” I ask.
He’s a glorified bodyguard. No way can Damen afford this.
“No, I did.” He narrows his eyes. “What’s with the twenty questions, Maya? I thought you’d like it, it’s blingy, but with class. Like you.”
I’m stunned, firstly because he took the time to choose something I genuinely would like. Secondly because he gets me, my style, what I aim for, in a way my own mother and the other snooty society matrons don’t. Thirdly, because he spent a fortune on this, and I don’t understand how.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to be weird about it, and I do love it. It’s gorgeous.” I hold my hand out and admire my undeniably beautiful ring. “I don’t want you getting into debt over something like this. I don’t care what sort of ring you get me. We can get a fake one.”
His brows draw down, and he backs me up until I’m right against the desk. “Do. You. Like. It?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Good. Wear it from the morning of our wedding onward. For now, put it back in the box; we have to keep this quiet. I’m going to find your … uncle, and see if he needs anything before I head off. Give me your phone.”
I take it out of my pocket and pass it to him, without questioning him this time. He brings up my contacts and puts his number in there.
“Your father touches you again, you call me. Yannis comes sniffing around, you call me. The marriage may be fake, but me keeping you safe isn’t.”
He heads to the door, opens it and turns back. “Oh, and Maya, don’t question what I can and can’t afford again.”
Then he’s gone.
What the fuck?
Damen has an effect on me. He makes me want to do what he says. No one has done that before. My whole life has been about not doing what people say and all my little passive aggressive rebellions, but somehow when Damen tells me to do something, I do it. Just like that, as if I’m the puppet and he’s the master.
I stare at the place where he stood only a second ago, and wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
That piece of shit Spiros will pay for what he’s done to Maya. I don’t care if he’s the brother of the boss, he doesn’t get to hit her like that.
I see red. Memories crashing in on me as I stalk down the hall. I try to shut them out because it won’t do me much good to let the mist descend now, but it’s hard. Memories of my mother with a split lip and a black eye assail me. Of her in the bathroom, trying hard to hide her latest bruises with makeup.
He hit me too, of course, but not in the same, brutal way. I’d get a smack to the side of the head, sometimes a kick to the legs, or
worse, the ribs, but he didn’t pulverize me the way he did Mom.
Dennis Lambrakis, upstanding politician and family man.
Don’t make me laugh.
He was the Devil himself. A man full of rage and bitterness, so nasty that even if he wasn’t beating on Mom, he was making her feel like shit about herself. There wasn’t an outfit she wore he didn’t pick apart. Not a hairstyle he didn’t sneer at. My mother was a beautiful, intelligent woman, and he told her over and over she was nothing.
He’d flirt with women worth half of her and shove it in her face, all to make himself the big man in the house. All to try and fill the emptiness of his soul. And the worst thing? The weirdest thing? He loved her in a sick and twisted way or, at least, was obsessed with her. Always had to know where she was and what she was doing.
The day she died and the police came to the house to tell us, my father did something I’d never seen him do before. He sank to the ground and cried like a baby. He cried for days and days, roared at the empty house and a god he no longer believed in for taking the love of his life from him.
It was the start of his true downhill slide, his game of dare with the bottle that he eventually succumbed to completely. Pretty soon his love affair with drink became a dance of death for him. Not that I know how bad he was before he died, as I’d completely cut him out of my life. After Mom died, my father left the family home to Yaya as was right, and rented an apartment in Glyfada. He’d lost it all. The woman he loved, albeit in a sick and twisted way, his son, his job and his reputation.
He loved, but he did it in the worst way imaginable.
It’s why I’ll never let myself fall in love. Why I will always keep things on the level. Half of that viper resides in me, there in my genes, and I don’t know if I’ll end up like him. Now I’m not, but what if some dormant gene gets switched on if I fall in love, and I turn into the same deluded, obsessed, fucking loser of an asshole?
It’s much safer for me to stay unattached, for me and for them.
Which doesn’t mean I have to be a monk, and Maya, Maya might be fun. I’d love to break her down, not in the sick way my father did to my mother, but to get inside her head and see what makes her tick.