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Tessa

  

Nikolas; 36. Tessa; 21.

An armed guard opens the engraved wooden door, and with a curt nod, he steps to the side so I can enter the house. It’s only my second time visiting the Stathoulis’ home, so the place is still foreign and intimidating. I’ll never get used to all the guards littered over the property. 

A couple of weeks ago, my mother got engaged to the retired Godfather of the Greek mafia. We’re having our first family dinner tonight, and needless to say, I’m feeling anxious about meeting Nikolas and Athina, Peter’s children. 

The couple of times I’ve talked to Peter, it always ended with me fidgeting like a little girl. The man has a serious set of eyebrows that makes him look threatening and short-tempered. Even though he’s never been hostile toward me, it always feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Mom’s assured me he’s sweet and caring, and I have nothing to worry about. As much as I don’t like the idea of my mother marrying Peter Stathoulis, it’s her choice to make. She deserves to be happy. 

My dad died during a skiing accident when I was eight, and my mom spent all her time raising me. She only resumed socializing after I started classes at the Vancouver Film School.

If Peter makes her happy, I’ll do my best to support their relationship. But I want no part of the mafia. After Dad died, we didn’t associate with the mafia that much. Not that Dad played a very active role in the mafia. He was just one of their bookkeepers and never took part in the violent side of things.

It’s Mom’s choice, though. Me on the other hand, I’m going to continue focusing on my studies, and once I graduate, I’ll pursue a career as a producer. 

Like a deer waiting to be pounced on, I cautiously glance around the entrance hall with its impressive staircase and sparkling gold chandelier, wondering which way I should go. The last time I was here, I came with Mom. I think the dining room is to my right. Even though the lights are on, everything feels dark and foreboding.

The apprehensiveness is mainly because I dread meeting Nikolas in person. I might not have anything to do with the mafia, but I’ve heard Nikolas is brutal and merciless. Whenever his name’s brought up, it’s always in fear. 

“Theresa, agápi mou.” Hearing Mom call me ‘my love,’ my head swivels to the left, and a relieved smile splits across my face. She looks beautiful in a mermaid dress that looks like it’s been spun from pure gold.

“Mamá,” I grin as I move closer for a hug. I press a soft kiss on her cheek. “Wow, you look gorgeous.” Standing back, I make a show of taking in the dress. 

“Tonight’s important.” Her gaze sweeps over my off-shoulder, cream satin dress, and she brushes the styled strands away from my bare shoulder. “We match. Good.” 

I already feel uncomfortable in the dress because I’m not the skinniest and have struggled with my weight all my life, so when Mom’s eyes lock on the slit that ends mid-thigh, and it looks like she’s going to disapprove, I start fidgeting.

Before she can make a remark, Peter comes down the sweeping stairs. “Theresa,” he smiles. “Welcome.”

I force a polite smile to my face. “Thank you, Mr. Stathoulis.” 

“Soon, we’ll be family. Call me Peter.”

The front door opens, and I glance over my shoulder. 

“Really, Nikolas? Look at the mess,” a woman scolds, then a beauty in her early thirties breezes into the house like a queen. She must be Athina, Peter’s daughter. She makes a beeline for Peter, a smile chasing the scowl from her face. “Mpampà mou, sorry we’re late.”

A man follows after Athina, chuckling, “Glad I’m not the one in the hot seat tonight.” I’m assuming he’s Basil, Athina’s husband. He has a friendly face that can easily set a person at ease.

“What happened?” Peter asks his daughter just as Nikolas walks into the house.

My eyes zoom in on the blood staining the sleeves of the formal white shirt he’s unbuttoning, exposing a chest I can only describe as holy freaking shit. Golden skin spans tightly over muscle that looks like it’s been carved from precious metal. 

He’s the tallest in the room, with the magnificence of a fallen angel. A firm jaw covered in a dusting of dark bristles, high cheekbones, and sharp eyes – the color of sinful nights – rob me of the ability to breathe. I take in every way-too-handsome inch of him in a split second.

A grim expression darkens his features, giving me the impression of a vengeful God out for every drop of blood he can get his hands on.

His already bloody hands.

Instinctively, I inch closer to my mother.

Nikolas might easily be the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but knowing he’s the Godfather of the Greek mafia, every nerve ending in my body tenses with apprehension.

Shit, I can’t believe this man is going to be my stepbrother soon. It’s crazy just thinking about it. 

The most feared man in Canada, and I have to associate with him. Pure madness.

Just laying eyes on him is enough to make fear trickle through my veins. The ruthless air radiating from him in waves has me swallowing hard, wishing I could find a spot to hide.

Peter’s dark, bushy eyebrows draw together, making him look like an eagle that’s ready to swoop down on its prey. “Nikolas?”

My eyes dart back to Nikolas, who only spares his father a pissed-off look before he heads up the stairs.

Peter sets off after his son, then a super awkward atmosphere falls over the entrance hall that has me itching to run for the safety of my apartment.

Athina turns to my mother. “I’m sorry, Theía Helena.”

Mom waves a careless hand as if the head of the mafia didn’t just storm by us with someone’s blood staining his shirt and hands. She gives Athina’s cheek an air kiss then turns to me.

A still stunned out of my mind me.

“This is my Theresa,” Mom introduces me.

“I’m Athina.” She takes in my shocked expression, then says, “Sorry for my brother. It’s not always this crazy at family gatherings.”

If you say so.

She tugs the other man closer. “This is my husband. Basil.”

“Nice to meet you both,” I say, my voice strung tight. Where Mom’s a social butterfly, I take after my late father. I’m an introvert who feels most at home behind a camera and screenplays, so tonight will definitely be exhausting. 

I give Mom a look, clearly saying I don’t like this one bit. 

Ignoring me, Mom says, “Let's move to the dining room while we wait for the men.” 

She places her hand on my back, nudging me hard so I’ll start walking. Leaning into her, I whisper, “Seriously, Mamá?”

“Hush!” 

Unlike the rectangular table we have at our house, the Stathoulis family has a round dining table. I’m shoved into a chair, then Mom takes the seat to my right. 

The awkward atmosphere follows us from the entrance hall, hanging thickly over our heads. All my muscles are tense as if my body is ready to flee at the first sign of danger.