The Phoenix

‘Who is that?’ Mak asked, his eyes still glued to the girl.

‘That’s Persephone Hamlin. Heiress to an American real-estate fortune.’

‘She’s American?’ Makis was surprised. She looked too chic to be a rich Yank tourist. ‘And she’s not at Nammos with her posse?’

Jamie chuckled. ‘No. Persephone was raised in Los Angeles but her mother was Greek, hence the name.’

And the class, thought Makis.

‘She was docked on a yacht a couple of days ago, but her friends sailed on to Santorini without her,’ Jamie went on. ‘I believe she’s now slumming it in the presidential suite at The Grand.’

This was another surprise. The truly rich rarely stayed in hotels, at least not on Mykonos. It was strictly yachts or villas only.

‘Is she staying there alone?’ Mak asked.

‘So I’m told.’

‘Married?’

‘Yeeees,’ Jamie nodded, ‘But not for long, I think. The husband has big addiction problems. Word is he fell off the wagon in St Tropez in July in spectacular style – binges, hookers, the lot. She came here to get away.’

Mak dismissed him, feeling emboldened. This was the sort of backstory he could work with.

He stood up and crossed the floor to where she was sitting.

‘I’d like to introduce myself. Makis Alexiadis.’ Stepping directly in front of the man she was talking to, he held out his hand. ‘Persephone, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’ She shook his hand, but with more curiosity than enthusiasm. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘This is Mykonos.’ He flashed her his most charming smile. ‘If you’re here for more than two days, everybody knows everything.’

‘Erm, excuse me.’ The man behind him tapped Mak on the shoulders. ‘The lady and I were just in the middle of a conversation.’

Turning around, Mak looked at him with the cool, raw hatred of a killer.

‘Do you know who I am?’

Belatedly, the man recognized him. A knot of fear slowly started to form in his stomach. He nodded.

‘Good. Now go away.’

He was gone by the time Mak turned back around.

‘Sorry about that,’ he smiled at Persephone, settling himself onto the man’s vacated bar stool. ‘Where were we?’

‘I don’t think we were anywhere,’ she replied, draining the rest of her cocktail and signaling to the sushi chef for the check.

‘You’re not leaving?’

‘I am leaving,’ she corrected him. ‘That was very rude, what you just did.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Mak, placing a hand on her arm. ‘It was chivalrous.’

Removing his hand, she gave him a withering look. ‘Chivalrous?’

‘Absolutely. He was boring you. I could see it from across the room. I just rode to your rescue.’

She ran a hand through her boyish hair (the sort of cut Makis usually detested) and fixed him with a look that could only possibly be interpreted as expressing profound dislike.