by SR Jones
We go inside the house, Gus still telling Damen all about sharks, and into the kitchen. It’s full, and Gus shrinks back, finding me, and taking my hand.
“It’s okay, Gussington,” Star uses a nickname she gave him and puts her arm around his shoulder. “These people are all really special, they’re my friends, and they’ll be your friends now too, if you want them to be.”
Maya grins and smiles. “Hey, Gus.” He doesn’t answer, but holds my hand tighter.
Stella smiles at him and waves. Alesso too, but Gus really doesn’t like him because he squeezes my hand hard.
Then Andrius walks into the room from the pool area, smiles at me, then at Gus. Gus starts to pull away, trying to drag me and him out of the room.
“He’s shy,” I say awkwardly.
“I was shy when I was young too.” The voice behind makes me jump.
I turn to see Stamatis leaning against the wall, watching the scene unfold. “Hey, Gus. I bought you a Dungeons and Dragons book, brand new, so I’m hoping you’ve not already read it. Do you want to go sit by the pool with a glass of juice and have a read of it? It’s quiet out there, and I’m sure your mom will be okay with that if Star is with you?”
“Yes, please.” Gus looks at me with big eyes. “Can I go sit outside and read a while Mom, with Star?”
“Of course, darling,” I say.
Stamatis hands Gus the book, and he takes it with a solemn Thank you.
Then he grabs Star’s hand as she leads him through the kitchen.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say to Stamatis.
“Wanted to help you get settled in.”
Check up on me, more like.
“Do you want to join Gus and Star outside?” he asks me. “We can take some juice and glasses out.”
“Okay,” I reply.
I want to ask the others to leave us alone for a bit, so Gus can get used to this, but I don’t want to seem rude.
“You guys, give the kid some space,” Stamatis orders. “Let him get used to being here before he has to meet everyone.”
I’m grateful. Particularly when Maya pouts a little but then agrees. She’s lovely, but she’s full-on, and I think Gus might find her intimidating. “He’s such a cutie,” she says.
“Maybe one day you’ll have a little cutie of your own,” Stamatis says, and her face is a picture.
“Don’t think I’m ever having grandkids,” he grouses as we head to the fridge together.
“If Louis Vuitton made babies, you’d be a Grandfather ten times over by now,” Alesso quips.
Maya scoops a spoonful of the yogurt she’s eating and flings it in his face.
For a moment, I simply stare, expecting world war three to break out, but Alesso bursts out laughing and wipes his face with his napkin.
“I don’t think I want kids,” Stella says. “I want a few dogs, though.”
“You’ve got like hundreds of dogs,” Damen says, “at the shelter.”
“Yeah, but as soon as our house is finished, and all the work is done, I’m going to pick a couple from the shelter for us to adopt.”
Damen glances at Alesso. “You’re going to be a dog-father instead of the godfather.”
They all burst out laughing again, but I don’t get the joke.
“Mafia reference,” Stamatis whispers to me.
He grabs some juice, then turns to Maya. “You got any paper cups for parties and things?”
“Sure, third cupboard.”
She gestures to it with one long manicured finger.
He heads over to it, takes out four paper cups, and puts them onto a tray with the juice carton, then I follow him outside.
Gus is sitting on a chair, legs tucked up, and reading his book as he nibbles at a nail. He’s unsettled again. He’s had so much upheaval. All he needs is some permanency and routine in his life. All he gets is chaos and change.
“The apartment you’ll have is there.” Stamatis points to a garage off to one side, with an apartment above it.
“It was going to be Cole’s, but he’s off now tracking down his woman and won’t be using it. Not for the foreseeable future. It’s got a good position because it’s not too near the block of apartments the Spetsnaz guys are living in, which means it’s quiet. Come use this pool, and make yourself at home in the kitchen here. That’s an order from Maya.”
He grins.
“Thank you,” I say. Although, I’m not sure I mean it.
I feel like his damn concubine, and as if everyone in this house knows what’s going on between us.
Star looks out over the pool and squints. “I love it here.” She sighs.
“Yeah, it’s peaceful.” Stamatis closes his eyes and tips his head back.
The sun on his features only serves to highlight how handsome he is. It’s not his looks, though, that pull me in every time; it’s his magnetism. His innate sense of authority and power, which he radiates seemingly effortlessly. He’s not as big as Damen, or as intimidating as Andrius, or as outright handsome as Alesso. Yet, when he’s in the room, everyone defers to him. Even Andrius.
I’m not foolish enough to believe a man can consolidate such power in this world without having personally shown others what he’s capable of. It gives me a chill, and perversely, it gives me a thrill.
After drinking a cup of juice each, Star asks Gus if he wants to go explore the gardens with her. He nods, and she smiles, taking his hand in hers, and leading him off.
“They’re great kids,” Stamatis says.
I turn to him. “They are amazing, yes. They went through hell, thanks to me, and they’re still somehow intact. Imagine how they could have turned out if they’d had a mother who wasn’t brainwashed.” I’m not fishing for sympathy, simply stating the truth. When I turn to Stamatis, he’s looking at me with a hard expression.
“You know, your therapist needs to work on this guilt thing you’ve got going on,” he says.
“I was a terrible mother. I brought my kids up in a cult. There’s no whitewashing the fact.”
“You did, and yet, they’re okay. I know from the cop who helped us out when we liberated you guys that a lot of the families, and their kids, are totally messed up. You grew up in that environment yourself because really you were only a kid when you joined, and your kids did too, but they are okay. You loved them enough, and gave them enough of a home life to protect them.”
“I let my daughter be auctioned off like a piece of meat. The only reason I’m still living and breathing is that boy because I cannot fail him too. If it wasn’t for Gus, I’d have killed myself a long time ago.”
Stamatis stares at me, and his face pales. “Rhea, what the fuck?”
“I’m only being honest. Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid because I have that boy to protect and make amends to, but if it wasn’t for him, if I only had Star, for example, I’d have ended my life months ago. I don’t deserve to live, and I most certainly don’t deserve to be happy.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Stamatis
I can’t believe what Rhea is saying. She means it too. She doesn’t believe she deserves to live. There’s no cry for help in her words. She isn’t going to do anything stupid because she’s got to be here for Gus, but I know with cold, hard certainty if she didn’t have that kid, she’d be swinging from her ceiling, or in a bathtub with her wrists split.
The thought leaves me cold. Really cold.
You can’t fix her, I tell myself. I remind myself two broken people don’t make a whole, just a mess. I wonder if I’ve heard someone say that because it is stuck in my brain. Whatever, it is the truth.
I can’t let myself get dragged into this woman and her baggage because I’ve got enough of my own.
At the same time, I can’t bear to hear her speak this way, and to know she feels so low, she’s basically only functioning. What is this therapist of hers doing?
I decide to find out who she is, and go pay her, or him, a visit.
“Don’t you experience any happiness?”
She thinks for a moment, and smiles. “I experience fleeting happiness. Like when I see Gus enjoy something, or see something beautiful. I was happy the other night … with you.” She doesn’t look at me, and a faint blush colors her cheeks. “Yes, I have moments of happiness, but it’s fleeting, you know? It’s not deep. Not contentment.”
I give a short bark of laughter. “I don’t think I’ve felt contentment in years, decades probably.”
“Me either.”
“Does anyone?”
“Yes, Stamatis, I believe some people do. You see old folks who’ve been married a long time, and they are happy together and content. I see people who love their careers: archeologists, doctors, scientists; people with a real passion for what they do, and they’re content too. The reason you and I don’t feel it is because we made some wrong choices when we were young.”
“You think I made a wrong choice?” I ask incredulous. I have money, power, influence.
“You clearly did, yes, or you’d be content too. You have to have a passion in your life to be content, I believe, and a purpose.”
“You have a purpose now, Gus.”
“Yes, and he’s why I’m still here, but I can’t be happy or content because I’m terrified I’ll screw it up.”
I lean over and take her hand in mine briefly. “So far, you’ve done a good job,” I say.
This mere touch, and it’s there, roaring back to life, this strange attraction between us. I’m not a man who believes easily in things like love at first sight, but I do know it happens to some people. I don’t think you can get a deep abiding love, but I do believe you can meet someone and with the first interactions something clicks, some moment of recognition. I think we had that, and perhaps the recognition is us both understanding the hollowness and emptiness of the other.
I let go of her hand, not wanting Star or Gus to come back and see us sitting, hands held. My determination to stay away from her is crumbling to dust. I came this morning because I wanted to make sure she settled okay. Now I want to see her one evening, and soon. She’s so damn sad, but she’s not sad when she’s under me, writhing and moaning and forgetting about her damn worries.
“When does Gus have his next sleepover?” I ask, thanking God that Gus has such a great friend.
“They have one planned for Tuesday.”
So only a few days. “I want to see you,” I state.
She nods. “I’d like to see you too.”
“Even though I’m a bad guy?” I ask lightly, but her words are still pissing me off.
“Yes, even though you’re a bad guy,” she says with a smile.
**
Much later that day, and I’m looking across my dinner table at an entirely different woman. One who isn’t wracked with guilt but who blames the rest of the world for her misfortunes.
“You found anywhere to live yet?” I ask, cutting into the perfectly cooked steak. It’s prepared by our housekeeper, not by Lena, who I’m sure would sprinkle some rat poison in it given half the chance.
“No,” she says with a yawn tacked onto the end.
Cheeky bitch. I’m sick of her and her stupid, bored act. I put my knife and fork down, and stand, pushing my chair back with so much vehemence it falls behind me onto the tiled floor with a clatter.
“Come here,” I say, grabbing her wrists.
“What the hell? Get off me. Don’t you dare touch me.”
“I’ll do more than touch you if you don’t shut your fucking face.” I’m fuming. So livid with her, I half want to drag her up the stairs just to push her down them again and shut her up for good.
Instead, I drag her behind me, up the stairs, and into our old bedroom, now her room. I push her onto the bed, and when she starts to speak, I grab her hair hard enough to tug, but not hard enough to do her any harm. This is an exercise in scaring her, not hurting her. I raise my other hand to my face, and put one finger to my lips in the universal code for, be quiet.
Lena must have some self-preservation left because she does close her mouth. Her eyes are screaming bloody murder, but at least she’s not talking anymore.
“Don’t move a muscle,” I order her, and then turn to the closet. I grab her Gucci luggage, and place it on the bed, and then I start taking her clothes out and packing them.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re leaving. I gave you a chance to find somewhere. You didn’t, so now you’re leaving.”
“I’ll get a lawyer. You can’t throw me out like this. You leave,” she spits.
I could. It would make things easier if I did maybe, but I fucking made this house what it is, not her. My men are based here. It’s secure as a base for business, and I want her gone.
“No can do. You’re leaving, but because I’m not a bastard, I’m happy to put you up in style. You can stay at any upmarket hotel of your choice until you find a house.” I’m still stuffing her bag full of her things.
“I’m in a generous mood, Lena, take me up on the offer while it stands.” I pause in my packing and jerk her chin up, making her look at me. “You know as well as I do that most of my wealth isn’t registered. You get a lawyer involved, and he’ll only be able to come after me for the legit stuff, and that’s nothing compared to what I’m offering you. Five million, babe, for a house, and then a lifetime payment of twenty thousand euros a month, for you to spend as you wish. Bear in mind, you won’t have a mortgage, and I’ll also pay for you a car, so that twenty grand is for you to spend on clothes, food, and staff. It’s more than generous. More than.”
“I don’t want to leave here,” she says, and for the first time I see a glimmer of something real, and something other than hate.
“Why not?”
“It’s the place where I have memories of Costas.”
Fuck.
The one thing guaranteed to make me feel like shit and make me wobble on this.
Then she starts to cry, and Helena doesn’t cry easy. In many ways she’s a hardened woman.
“I see him, everywhere in this house. I feel as if it’s the last remaining connection I have to him. I beg you, Stamatis, I beg you, let me stay here. I won’t ask for anything more. A small allowance, that’s all, not twenty thousand a month. Only enough to live on comfortably, and I’ll stop making issues. Let me keep this house. Please.”
I consider her and weigh up her words. “You swear, no more fucking around or causing me issues. No more trying to keep us together just so you can punish me and make us both miserable? You will stay in this house, and accept we are over.”
“Yes, if you let me have this house, then yes.”
I sigh and look around at our old marital bedroom. I can find somewhere else. I could move closer to Maya and Damen, and Rhea, although I tell myself that’s absolutely not a priority.
“You know what, okay.”
“Really?” She looks at me through wet, clumped lashes.
“Really. I’ll leave. You stay.”
“You don’t have to go tonight,” she says.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Okay.” She sounds small, lesser somehow. As if without her hate holding her up, she’s got nothing left, and in many ways she doesn’t.
I turn back and once more tip her chin up, gently this time. “Lena, listen to me. I’m sorry, okay? I mean it. I fucked everything up, and I know I did. Nothing you can say or do can hurt me as much as the mess I made of things has done. So let this go. Let. It. Go. Live your damn life.”
“I’ll try,” she says with a sniff.
It’s a chance for us to maybe move past all this and separate with at least a degree of amicability and for that, I’ll give her the damn house.
I leave her sitting on the bed, forlorn and small, and I phone down to the basement where two of my men are spending the night in the huge built-in apartment down there.
“Ella, Spiraki,” I say when he answers.
“Yes, boss,” he
replies.
“We’re leaving. Going to a hotel for a night or two, and then I’ll sort something more permanent. Be ready to go in an hour.”
“Fuck, okay, boss. Everything alright?”
“I think it might be,” I say. “Finally.”
**
It takes me three days to find a place to rent that’s suitable. It’s a huge house, ten bedrooms, and a separate apartment, along with a large attached garage. It’s only five minute’s walk from Maya’s house, and would be perfect for me to buy if I can persuade the owner to sell. I’m already considering making them an offer way over its value to motivate them. I like the place. It’s got sea views, and it is set back from the other homes in the area, down a small wooded path.
I look around the empty space of the living room and sigh. The idea of furnishing this place drains me for some reason. Rather than be bothered to do it myself, I’ll get Maya to find an interior designer and pay them to do it instead.
“So … housewarming? Boys’ night?” Alesso steps into the cavernous room, followed by Damen. “Fuck the place up before you put any furniture in.”
“Yeah, of course. Let’s invite all the street level guys, get some hookers and blow, and we’re having a party.” I’m being one hundred percent sarcastic.
“Dude, you need furniture,” Damen observes astutely.
I roll my eyes at him. “No shit. I’m going to get Maya on it.”
“She’ll fucking love that.”
“I mean get her to find me an interior designer,” I add.
“Why not let her do it? She’d genuinely be pleased as fuck if you let her.”
I sigh. “Damen, I love that girl like the daughter she is, but you know her taste. This place will look like something out of a bad 70s porno if I let her do it.”
“Or a Moroccan palace, which could be kind of cool.” Markos walks in and joins us. “She’s into all things Moroccan at the minute.”
“Fuck my life, that vase,” Damen says with genuine horror.
“What vase? Is it horrible?” I ask. Not sure when Damen became a man who cared what kind of vase his woman bought.