Hidden Truths (Truths and Lies 1)

After blow drying and straightening my hair, and applying a little bit of makeup, I feel a little more like myself again.

Just as I’m finishing getting dressed, my phone rings. It’s my mom. I hit ignore. At the same time, my stomach growls. I consider taking a walk to the restaurant but stop myself. The last thing I need is to run into Aris. Space. We need space. Out of sight, out of mind. Right?

Instead, I place a call to room service and order breakfast and coffee. I glance at my phone again to see if maybe Kostas has texted. He hasn’t. It’s only eleven o’clock. It’s only been an hour. I need to get out of here.

Remembering the patio that Kostas and I passed through to get to the pool yesterday, I head out back. The patio looks out at a beautiful, private flower garden. There are two Adirondack chairs and a matching table. They look untouched. I laugh, imagining Kostas coming out here to lounge out on his day off. Does he even get a day off? I doubt crime organizations have a set of working hours.

Dropping into one of the chairs, I take a deep, calming breath and then dial my mom’s number. She answers on the first ring, her frantic voice bringing tears to my eyes.

“Talia!” she screeches. “I’ve called you so many times, but you haven’t answered. Please tell me Kostas hasn’t hurt you because of me. I’ve been so worried!”

“Oh, Mom,” I choke out. “I’m okay. I miss you. Kostas hasn’t hurt me. I’m sorry I haven’t called. A lot has happened. I have so much to tell you.”

“Talk to me, cara mia. Tell me everything.”

“Well, for starters, Kostas and I got married.” There’s a deafening silence, and for a second I wonder if she’s hung up on me. But then I hear a sniffle through the line and I know she’s still there. She’s crying.

“Don’t cry, Mom. Please don’t cry.”

“I just always thought I would be there when you got married. And I had hoped…with everything that happened, maybe there was a chance he would let you go.” She sobs through the phone.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, realizing I need to hear it myself. “It will be okay.”

I hear a rustling in the bushes, and a sudden sense of unease washes over me. Remembering room service will be delivering my breakfast soon, I stand to head inside, when the sound of several branches cracking sounds through the air. And then a man in a black ski mask is coming at me. With my phone still in my hand—my mom still on the line—my fight or flight instinct kicks into gear. Grabbing the chair, I kick it toward the man. It causes him to momentarily stumble, and it’s enough time for me to get inside and lock the doors.

“Mom!” I scream. “Someone is here. I need to call you back.” I hear her yelling over the phone, but I hit end and dial Kostas’s number. The doorknob on the French doors rattle, and I know it’s only a matter of time until the man gets in.

“Talia, I’m going to need to call you back,” Kostas says, his voice calm.

“Kostas! Someone is here. He’s wearing a mask, and I think he’s trying to get to me.” The nob begins to turn, and I run to the front door.

“Where are you?” Kostas demands.

“At home! He’s trying to come in from the back.” I stand against the front door, watching the French doors, when the front door begins to shake, causing me to jump back.

“He’s at the front door!”

“There’s a gun in my nightstand, Talia. Go grab it! I’m going to call Aris right now. He should be close by.”

I sprint into the bedroom and find the gun he mentioned. “No, Kos, I need you! Not him,” I cry. “Please come home! Please.”

I can’t chance going out the front or the back. So instead I find a spot in the corner of the closet to hide, and with Kostas’s gun in my hand, I wait.

Kostas

“I’m scared.”

My heart thunders in my chest as I excuse myself from the hospital room where my dad sleeps in a medically induced coma. As I talk to her on speaker, I text my men on the hotel grounds. This ski mask fucker won’t touch a hair on her head.

“I know, zoí mou, but you’re safe,” I assure her. “Just stay quiet. Did you do as I told you? The safety is off?”

“I t-think so,” she whispers.

“Check it again,” I instruct.

“Y-Yes. It’s ready to fire.”

“Good, now keep it trained on the door. Aim high and for the chest if anyone comes through the door.”

Her breathing is erratic. “Are you coming home? Please come home.”

The terror in her voice—begging for me—claws inside me. I hate to hear her so terrified. Once the threat is eliminated, whoever thought they could try and hurt my girl will fucking pay.