When he came to in the hospital, Stavros’ unknown rescuers were gone. His uncle sat at his bedside, frantic and demanding answers. Christophe hadn’t been the one to mount a rescue. In fact, he had no clue where Stavros had been. Or who’d taken him.

Daniel covered his tracks pretty good.

Christophe wanted to send some of their men after Daniel, but Stavros shut that shit down fast. He’d go after Daniel in his own time. At his own pace. He had to deal with himself first.

The man he’d been at the villa in Lisbon wasn’t the same man occupying the narrow hospital bed. The obvious reason should be that he’d been held captive and tortured, but all that bloodshed seemed incidental compared to that other matter.

When he’d first stirred in the hospital bed, he’d assumed he was back in that place with Daniel, and the desperate hope had warmed his cold spaces. Making him smile, until the I.V. in his arm corrected him.

Disappointment kept him company inside the small private hospital suite for four days. He felt fine, but the doctors diagnosed him with dehydration and under-nourishment. Plus his body was still working through the infection that came from Henan’s bullet. All that time as Daniel’s captive and now sidelined by fucking doctors. At Christophe’s insistence, two armed guards vetted anyone who came into his room. He allowed his uncle the indulgence, but if they didn’t let him out by tomorrow he’d be walking the fuck out.

This wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Staring up at the ceiling while running through everything that happened in his head wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing. He should be planning an attack of some kind against Daniel, but something inside him felt stunted. He didn’t know if Daniel was even alive. Those men shot him. And Stavros just walked away, as if they hadn’t been halfway down each other’s throat seconds prior.

As if Daniel hadn’t rooted around inside him, found every needy part of him—those parts he’d sought so hard to destroy after Annika—and laid them bare.

All his fault lines, Daniel exposed them.

If those masked men hadn’t stormed into the brownstone, where would he and Daniel be? If he hadn’t known before how much of a mistake that kiss had been, the sight of Daniel’s wife’s name tattooed all over his chest and torso set Stavros straight.

Nowhere. They would be nowhere.

What right did he have to any of it? What business did he have, reminiscing on those stolen kisses as if they mattered?

A throat cleared, and Stavros sat up. A man stood at the entrance to his room. Gorgeous, smiling face framed by white-blond hair and purple eyes shining like precious stones. Barely standing more than five feet, the stranger’s slender frame was clad in a perfectly tailored dark suit.

“Mr. Konstantinou.”

“Who are you?” Maybe he should be more than slightly annoyed that a stranger was in his room, but he couldn’t manage more than a frown.

“Syren Rua.” The stranger walked over, head held out in greeting.

Stavros ignored it. “What do you want?” The name wasn’t unfamiliar. In fact, that name carried a whole lot of weight behind it. The Brazilian was supposed to be a power player in the criminal underworld.

Why was he at Stavros’ bedside?

His unwanted guest clicked his tongue. “Is that any way to greet the only soul brave enough to sneak past those armed men outside?” He sat in the armchair at the foot of Stavros’ hospital bed.

“I don’t usually repeat myself, Mr. Rua, but I’ll make an exception, since you’re new and all.” Stavros held his gaze. “What the fuck do you want?”

Syren’s lips curved. “Heard you were gone for a while. Now you’re back.”

“A man with a reputation like yours keeping tabs on me?” Stavros cocked his head. “Should I be worried?”

“It’s not every day the head of one of the most lucrative mercenary agencies around disappears without a trace.” The other man shrugged. “People were taking bets on how exactly you’d meet your demise.”

“You sound disappointed,” Stavros said. “Did you have plans for my corpse?”

“Not disappointed.” Syren shook his head as he got to his feet. “Just curious.” He walked over and stood next to the bed. “Would you have stayed?”

Stavros tensed. Then he tilted his head all the way back so their eyes could meet. “Repeat yourself.”

Syren grinned. “If he’d asked you to stay, to remain in that bedroom with the handcuffs around your wrist and the chains around your ankles…” He bent closer, almost whispering. “Would you have stayed? If the answer is yes, what is the reason? Guilt or Daniel?”

Son of a— “You know.” Syren knew where he’d been and with whom?

The Brazilian straightened. “Very few things I don’t know, Mr. Konstantinou. I traffic in information.” He tugged on the front of his jacket. “You’re welcome, by the way. My men tell me you weren’t quite happy to be out of that house.”

What the fuck? Stavros lurched forward, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “That was you? You got me out of there?” What the hell was this?

“That was me. Yes.” Syren nodded.

“Why?” he snarled. “How did you know? Tell me.”

If Syren was put off by the assault and blatant demand he didn’t show it. Instead, he calmly pried Stavros’ fingers off him, and smoothed his clothes. “I know a lot of things. Like I said, it’s kind of my business.”

“Fuck that. How did you know he had me? When did you know?”

“He’s a resourceful man, isn’t he?” Syren patted Stavros’ knee. “And you two, so much alike. Am I right?” He chuckled at a joke only he got.

Frustration bubbled up. “Tell me.”

“Do you want to know where he is? Because I heard something about an impending second round.”

Stavros stared at him. His immediate answer to that question was yes. He wanted to see Daniel again. Touch him again. Fight with him again. But that wasn’t his rational brain working. “Why would you do that?” He didn’t trust Syren, not one bit. “He tried to kill me. The next time we see each other, one of us will die.”

“Really.” One of Syren’s eyebrows shot up. “From what I hear, you fired the first shot by killing his wife. He’s only returning fire.”

“It was a job. I did a goddamn job,” Stavros snapped. “How is it everyone wants to punish the fucking messenger? It was nothing personal.”

“Hey, I get it.” Hands held up in a sign of surrender, Syren asked, “Do you expect it to go away, what you feel for him? Or are you hoping it won’t?”

How could he know? When had Stavros become transparent? He blanked his features and simply watched Syren until his visitor barked a laugh and clapped his hands.

“He doesn’t have friends,” Syren said. “That’s not the man he is. And the family he does have alive, he’s keeping them at arm’s length. Revenge is all he knows. Vengeance is what he lives and breathes for.” Syren’s gaze turned haunted. “At least I thought so, until he snatched you in Lisbon.”

Stavros closed his eyes. “Don’t tell me this. I don’t want to know.” Those words made him feel things when he’d been lying in this fucking hospital bed doing anything he could to not feel.

“You must know.”

“Why?” He lifted his lashes and glared at Syren. Did he know what he was doing? “Why do I have to know?”

“That way when you retaliate against him, you won’t forget.” Syren made his way to the door. “Something you both should already know, but I’m telling you now: sometimes it is necessary to lose the battle in order to win the war.” He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “In this war between you and him, someone must lose. But if you’re fighting for the right thing, the same thing, losing can be a different, sweeter kind of victory.”

* * *

“You took him.” From the darkness of the living room, Daniel sat in the comfortable armchair as Syren Rua stepped inside with his family.

The only eyes that widened when the overhead light flooded the room, were that of the little boy in Syren’s arms, and the girl tucked in between her fathers. She looked nothing like either of the men, save for the eyes. Not the color or shape, but the fearlessness.

The stubbornness.

Likely Syren didn’t think Daniel knew about the house in Connecticut, but just because they worked together didn’t mean Daniel trusted his partner in crime. Just like Syren knew his weak spots, so did Daniel know his.

He pressed on those spots now as he rose slowly from the chair, shoulder protesting the movement.

“Cátia,” Syren didn’t look away from Daniel. “Take your brother upstairs.”

“Papa—”

“Now, Cátia.” Kane Ashby touched the single braid hanging down his daughter’s back. Unlike his husband, he didn’t bother hiding his anger at Daniel’s intrusion into their lives.

The girl—Cátia—narrowed her eyes at Daniel, fisting her small hands before she finally turned away, taking her brother into her arms, and stomping away, up the stairs.

Daniel gave the two men the courtesy of waiting until a door slammed upstairs before he stepped forward, and spoke again. “You took him.”

“I did.” Syren nodded, putting a hand on his husband’s arm when Kane opened his mouth.

The rage inside, he’d swallowed it, keeping it tamped down since the men burst through his doors a week ago. He didn’t like feeling helpless, and he’d felt nothing but when those men turned their guns on Stavros. Being outmanned and outgunned never stopped him before. It should have never stopped him, but that visual of a gun to Stavros’ head stopped him in his tracks.

Flashbacks of Petra should have served as a push, but all it did was temper his actions. All it did was force the choice.

Stavros alive.

He wanted Stavros alive. Unhurt.

“Explain.” He didn’t bother raising his voice. His presence in this house alone should serve as the warning and the threat.

“The mission has changed.” Syren shrugged. “I proceeded accordingly.”

“Not your call to make.”

“I beg to differ.” For a second, pity flashed like purple-neon lights in the depths of Syren’s eyes. “It was a call you couldn’t make.”

Hijo de— “He killed my wife.”

“And if you wanted him dead, he’d be dead already.” Syren stepped away from his silent husband and shrugged out of his jacket, dropping in onto the nearby couch. He held Daniel’s gaze as he rolled up his sleeves. “It can’t be a good feeling to find out mid-fight that the course of the battle has shifted.” Going back to his husband’s side, he grabbed Kane’s hand and linked their fingers. “I’ve been there.”

Daniel stared at him, ignoring the words. “I underestimated you.”

Syren smiled. “Yes. But don’t worry, I get that a lot.” He winked. “In fact, I count on it.”

An obvious trap Daniel should have seen. But he’d been blinded by Stavros, by the confusion his captive brought. “Where is he?”

“Why?” Syren’s eyebrows shot up. “So you can drag him back to your torture chambers and bleed him again? Tell me…” He walked over, standing directly in front of Daniel as his husband tensed behind him. “Is it still torture if the captive wants it? It might be punishment, but whose? His or yours?”

“You know nothing.” All along he’d known Syren saw too much. All along Daniel had known that eventually, he’d have to atone. He just never expected Syren Rua to be the one to speak the harsh words that peeled away the layers of denial to illuminate the facts underneath.

Syren laughed. “Oh, I know. Trust me, I know.” He clapped Daniel on the shoulder. “The weakness you had a month ago is not the same one you have today. I saw it, and I was able to use it to get him away from you. Because I think hurting him will hurt you more.” His voice dropped, turning husky with a rough type of emotion when he said, “Killing him will kill you.”

The truth of those words staggered him, and Daniel stiffened his spine to keep from staggering away. “Petra.” He had nothing else beyond that. Nothing else beyond her name, and the guilt that exploded inside him ten-fold.

“She’s gone.” Syren nodded. “By his hand. Has he fought you?”

Not once. In fact, he’d egged Daniel on. Pushed him. “He accepts it,” he murmured as Stavros’ words echoed in his head.

Kiss me. Kill me.

I don’t care.

It no longer matters.

“He might not ask, but he wants your forgiveness. And he might not tell you outright, but he’ll gladly walk into your blade.”

Daniel lifted his focus from Syren to find Kane gone. He narrowed his gaze and glanced around. The former Federal Marshal stood in a doorway behind him, hands in his pockets. Caught up in Syren’s words, Daniel had failed to notice when the man moved. He peeled his lips back in the appearance of smile. “You’re good.”

“I am better than the best,” Syren said without a hint of brag in his voice. “I’m also not wrong, and you know this.”

“You betrayed me,” Daniel told him. “Whatever your justification, you won’t get a second shot at it.”

“You call it betrayal, I call it a chance.” Syren blew out a breath, gaze flickering over Daniel’s shoulder to his husband before returning to Daniel. “I’m fully aware that if the roles were reversed, I would be standing where you stand right now. Hell, I’ve already been there. But I’m also here, on this side, because I made a choice. I chose to let go of the darkness inside. I chose to let someone close. I chose to let him love me. And I also chose to believe that when it came down to loving and being loved that I had any choice at all.”

Daniel shook his head. Eso es imposible.

“He is free. His choice and yours, too, will be what happens in this second round. More bloodshed?”

“That is your reason?” Daniel grabbed him by the throat, and instantly a gun was at his nape. He ignored the Marshal’s silent threat. “That is the reason you took him?”

“That is my reason.” Syren didn’t struggle. “What was yours?”

“Release my husband.” Kane’s voice rumbled in Daniel’s ear. “Nice and slow.”

In response, Daniel tightened his hold, choking Syren until he coughed. Still, the shorter man didn’t struggle. He kept his wide eyes on Daniel.

“It can’t all be about revenge,” Syren croaked. “It can’t all be about anger, because those things fizzle out after a while, and you’ll be emptier than you’ve ever been. I understand allegiance and loyalty, but you’re not dead. You’re not unfeeling, and even though you hate it, he’s the reason.”

Daniel’s fingers flexed, the still healing bullet wound in his shoulder protesting the strain of his hold on Syren. “Do not speak.” He shook Syren, shook him until the man stopped talking. Inside him though, the cracking in his chest got louder, echoing in his ears, drowning out any other sound.

Syren’s lips moved again, and the gun at Daniel’s nape poked him. But in his head, Petra’s dying words warred with Stavros’ parting words.

“Mátalos a todos,” he whispered to Syren. “Kill them all, she told me. Mátalos a todos.”

“So will you kill him for her?”

“The last thing she asked of me.” Anguish loosened his grip, and though Syren slipped from his grasp, he didn’t move away. “Her dying breath, and she spoke those words. I failed her before, I can’t fail in this. Her death, it just can’t be for nothing.”

Disappointment clouded Syren’s eyes. “Then you’ve made your choice, my friend. Marshal,” he addressed his husband. “Put that gun away.”

“Stop letting people put their fucking hands on you,” his husband barked.

Tenderness lit up Syren’s gaze, and his smile this time was all intimacy and love. At one time Daniel could claim a smile like that one as his own.

“Yes, sir.” Syren winked at his husband then refocused on Daniel. “I reset the positions on the field,” he told Daniel. “You and Stavros, you’re now on even footing. Good luck.”

“This stunt of yours, I won’t forget it.”

Syren shrugged. “Didn’t think you would. But the next time you step into my home, I’m letting the sniper out on the roof next door take the shot.” He nodded to an open window to Daniel’s left, and a flash of light glinted in the darkness. “I cover all my bases, Daniel. And my family covers me.”

If he wasn’t all caught up in the fog of emotion, maybe Daniel would have smiled at him. “You won’t kill me, and I won’t kill you. We need each other alive.”

“I don’t need you alive,” Kane spoke up. “You set foot in Connecticut again and you will die. That’s a promise.”

Daniel spun to face him and this time he did smile. “I admire a man who can keep his promises.” He glanced toward the stairs and called out, “Toro, vámonos.”

Seconds later, his nephew came clambering down the stairs, the family’s dog in his arms, happily licking his face. He saluted them with his gun as he stood next to Daniel.

“Son of a bitch!” Kane swore.

“Marshal—”

Together with Toro, Daniel left the house the way he came.

Through the front door.