Chapter 3 - The Threat at the PortBy 10:00 AM the following morning, the brilliant Aegean sun had turned the caldera into a blinding bowl of sapphire and gold.
I woke up inside a sunlit master suite on the top floor of the villa, wrapped in four-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. The balcony doors were open, admitting the soft, rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocks two hundred feet below.
On the bedside table sat a fresh pot of Greek coffee, warm pastries, and a sleek, brand-new encrypted smartphone with a note written in elegant cursive:
Your old phone was tracked. Use this. Stay inside the upper courtyard until I return. — D.
I put on a comfortable white linen dress that had been left in the walk-in closet, poured a cup of coffee, and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the sea.
Standing on the lower terrace near the infinity pool was Dante.
He wore a plain black shirt and trousers, standing beside his chief of security, a broad-shouldered Italian named Lorenzo. They were reviewing a series of surveillance photos projected onto an iPad.
I walked down the stone steps toward the pool. When my sandals clicked against the marble tiles, Dante turned instantly, his dark eyes softening by a fraction of a degree as he took in my appearance.
"Good morning, Emily," Dante spoke, his deep baritone carried smoothly over the breeze. "Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I have in three months," I admitted, stopping near the edge of the water. "What are those photos?"
Dante didn't try to hide them. He held the iPad out so I could see the screen.
The images showed Tyler Vance standing near the commercial ferry docks in Athinios, surrounded by three heavily armed men wearing leather jackets. They were speaking to a local harbor captain, holding up a photograph of my face.
"Tyler is desperate," Dante explained flatly. "Your stepfather’s gambling syndicate in Columbus was raided by federal marshals forty-eight hours ago. Tyler owes eight hundred thousand dollars to his bosses. He thinks that if he captures you, he can force your late father's estate trust to liquidate its secondary insurance payout."
My jaw tightened. "My father's trust died with him!"
"No," Dante corrected smoothly. "It didn't. Your stepfather hid a two-million-dollar umbrella policy under your name three years ago. If you return to Ohio under their custody, they will force you to sign execution proxies... and then they will eliminate you."
A cold, heavy numbness washed over my skin. All those years I thought my family was just neglectful and distant... when in reality, they were fattening me up for a legal slaughter.
"So I'm trapped here," I whispered, looking out at the endless blue horizon. "Exchanging one prison for another."
Dante walked across the terrace, stopping two inches from me. He reached out, his broad hands coming up to frame my face, forcing me to look straight into his storm-black eyes.
"Listen to me carefully, Emily," Dante commanded softly, every word dropped like iron. "This is not a prison. And I am not your warden. If you want to leave this island today, my private jet will take you to London, Paris, or Tokyo with ten million dollars in an offshore account."
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I blinked, my hazel eyes wide with shock. "Why would you give me that?"
"Because I want you to stay," Dante confessed, his voice thick with a raw, terrifying honesty that shattered my composure. "Not because you are running. Not because you are afraid. But because you choose to stand beside me."
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