Human smuggling.

Petra had hated that part of the business.

A small fond smile touched Daniel’s mouth at the memory of their countless arguments on the subject. The killings and drugs his wife had been more than okay with. But she’d drawn the line at the Nieto Cartel selling bodies. Fortunately for her, Daniel had shared her sentiments on the subject.

Unfortunately, his father had been the one to strike that deal while he’d been in charge. Eduardo Nieto chased the money wherever it led.

Now, as Daniel stared down at Stavros Konstantinou, he was part grateful for the connections he’d made in the smuggling world that made it possible to transport the Greek from Lisbon back to the States. One week on a container cargo ship, and his captive hadn’t lost his fight.

Daniel liked that.

They’d kept Stavros blindfolded, wearing noise-canceling headphones that shrouded him in silence the entire trip. But they’d finally arrived at their destination.

Time to play. He’d waited a long time for this. He possessed the patience, the time, and the resources to wait however long it took to make Stavros Konstantinou pay most thoroughly for the crimes he’d committed against Daniel. Powerful people had found the Nietos too hard to manipulate, difficult to control. They wanted them out of business and out of the way, and they’d hired Stavros for the job.

Only the Greek killed Daniel’s wife instead.

Daniel strode around the chair Stavros was tied to, hands shackled behind him, ankles weighted down with chains. Standing behind him, Daniel removed the blindfold. Then the headphones.

“Hello again, Mr. Konstantinou.”

Stavros flinched.

Daniel circled him, standing directly in his line of vision next to Henan, one of Petra’s childhood friends he’d assigned to watch over Stavros. His guest’s lashes trembled, but he didn’t open his eyes though they appeared to roll back in his head.

“I preferred the other place,” Stavros rasped. He was covered in a thin layer of grime and dust from the ship, muscular body straining against his bonds.

Henan snorted, hand going to the knife sheathed at his hip as he tossed a glance Daniel’s way. He shook his head, ignoring the disappointment in Henan’s gaze. They were moving on Daniel’s timetable.

“Do you?” Daniel went to him, getting close enough to murmur in his ear. “But you haven’t seen it yet.”

“I smell it.” Stavros sniffed almost delicately. “No thanks.”

Daniel’s lips quirked as he nodded to Henan. “That’s too bad.” He grasped the chain around Stavros’ neck and hauled him to his feet. The other man tripped, stance wavering as his body swayed. “Let me guess, you’re hungry. You’re thirsty, and you want to get this over with.”

Eyes still closed, with Henan holding him upright, Stavros shrugged. “I did wonder how long you’d torture me with the sound of your voice.” His eyes snapped open then, a drowsy gray, red-rimmed. “But you know what? It’s growing on me. Go on.” He jerked his chin at Daniel. “Talk to me. Tell me things.”

Daniel flicked his gaze to Henan who nodded once, one hand gripping Stavros’ nape, the other holding his unsheathed blade.

Then Daniel talked. “She was beautiful, did you know that? Fierce.” Just speaking of her to her killer’s face soiled Daniel’s memories of Petra. He maintained his firm grip on his emotions, but not without effort. Not without pain. “Bloodthirsty, too.” He held out his hand without taking his gaze from Stavros’ blank features. Henan’s knife settled in his palm. Heavy. Warm. “Because she sanctioned your death.”

He struck, slicing open Stavros’ left cheek. Henan gripped Stavros’ hair, jerking his head back, and kicking him in his lower back. He crashed to the floor on his knees before falling onto his stomach.

Daniel got down on the cold floor with him, forcing Stavros face-up, ensuring their eyes met. “She wanted your blood.” Daniel smiled at him, the scent of blood invading his nostrils in the most intoxicating way. “Even in death,” he whispered as he dragged the tip of the bloodied blade across Stavros’ throat. “Even in death, my wife gets whatever she wants.”

Blood dripped down Stavros’ face, getting into his mouth, trailing down his neck. He didn’t seem to notice. “So do it.”

Daniel got to his feet, a raw chuckle rumbling past his dry throat. “Not that easily. And not so quickly.” He placed his right foot at Stavros’ throat, pressing against the thick chain. Stavros writhed, trying to get away from the pressure, but he had nowhere to go, and no means of getting there. “My foot will remain at your throat, when I’m here and even when I’m not, to ensure you never forget. Your life is mine now.”

Henan held out the electric cattle prod, and Daniel got a nice swell of satisfaction in his belly when Stavros’ eyes went wide and he tried to rise from under Daniel’s boot.

“Going somewhere?” He jolted the Greek in the side and when he jerked and convulsed, curling in on himself, Daniel pressed the prod to his lower back. He hit him three more times until Stavros stopped moving, stopped moaning.

Then he stepped back. “String him up,” he barked to Henan. “I’ll be back.”

* * *

And he’d thought being stuck on that fucking ship sucked.

Stavros frowned down at the floor from where Daniel Nieto’s guard had strung him up. He hung, head limp, arms long gone numb. The cut on his cheek from Daniel’s blade burned and if he squinted he could make out the bruise from the goddamn cattle prod.

Shit, but that hurt.

His toes didn’t quite touch the floor, and the chains around his wrists and throat bit into his skin. All of that, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been fed. The last time he’d had water. His throat was sandpaper dry, and just as rough when he swallowed.

Torture, huh?

You didn’t get to be someone like Stavros Konstantinou by not having endured a few torture sessions. And he didn’t get to be as feared as he was without having to experience physical pain. He killed for a living, owned a company of international killers. It would damn sure take more than Daniel Nieto’s cattle prod to put him off his game.

Still, he could do with a lemonade. Water with a lemon wedge at the very least.

Daniel and his forced-ripe henchman, Henan, better not get comfortable. Because Stavros wouldn’t be staying long.

Henan re-entered the cage—similar to the one in Lisbon, except not as high—first. He grinned when Stavros lifted his head. Pure evil stared back at Stavros. With Daniel there was a disconnect, a detachment, his emotions divorced from what he was. Stavros understood that. But Henan, his hatred played him close, flashing all over his face in bright red blotches.

That was a weakness.

“Back so soon?” Stavros asked. “I was just about to close my eyes. You know, get my beauty rest.”

Henan’s nostrils flared. He wanted Stavros cowering in fear, and the fact that he wasn’t irked the big bald man with arms as large as his thighs. “You’re going to die.”

“Am I?” Stavros made a show of looking around the cage. “I see no one around man enough to kill me.”

Henan launched at him, thick meaty fingers at Stavros’ throat, squeezing.

Stavros choked, swinging slightly but not quite able to escape Henan’s fingers cutting off his breath. He stilled his struggles, allowing his head to fall back, baring his throat and when Henan shifted closer, Stavros gathered the last vestiges of his strength and head-butted the man.

God. Damn.

Henan yelped and staggered away, but Stavros was left swaying, dizzy, a small trickle of blood making its way down the bridge of his nose. Daniel appeared at the cage’s entrance, standing there all still and silent like the angel of death cloaked in black.

Face stoic.

“¡Hijo de la chingada!” Henan spun to Stavros, gun pointed at him.

“Henan,” Daniel uttered the one word, but the tone and cadence, dark and commanding, smothered Stavros’ heartbeat.

Henan froze.

“Your owner should have taught you better,” Stavros told Henan. “Never let the enemy get under your skin. We just got started, but you’ve already lost this game, Henan.” He smiled slowly, tasting blood when he licked his lips. “If you were my pet, you’d be dead for that weakness.”

Rage darkened Henan’s already red face. He stepped forward.

“Henan.” Still, Daniel never looked away from Stavros. “Leave us.”

To his credit, Henan didn’t hesitate. He turned away immediately and exited the cage, melting into the shadows as Daniel entered, striding in measured steps over to Stavros.

“Your pet dog lacks discipline,” Stavros said. “The blame lies squarely on the owner’s shoulders, of course.”

Daniel watched him, hands shoved into the pockets of the dark wool coat that hung just past his knees. Flecks of white dotted his collar and lapel, and as Stavros watched, they disappeared.

Melting.

Snow.

They sized each other up in silence. Try as hard as he could, Stavros got no read on Daniel. That frustrated him. He could read anyone, allowing him to gauge their weakness and use it against them.

But Daniel Nieto had only ever had one weakness and Stavros had killed her.

“How long do you plan on keeping me here?” he asked, mostly to cut through the bullshit quiet that grew thicker by the second.

Daniel’s expression—as animated as a blank piece of paper—didn’t change. “How long do you think it will take for you to do penance? What length of time will make up for you invading my home and taking my wife from me?”

“You realize none of that was personal, right?” Stavros frowned. “You do know I was hired to do a job.”

“I have dealt with the people behind the scene who issued the order.” Daniel’s lips quirked, but his eyes remained iceberg cold. “It is now your turn. I left the best for last.”

“I am flattered.”

“Deberías de estarlo.” You should be. Daniel touched the chain at Stavros’ throat, and for the briefest heartbeat the rough pad of his finger grazed Stavros’ skin.

He flinched.

“To truly break a man, there are certain lines one must cross.” Daniel dropped his hand, putting it back in his pocket. “Lucky for both of us, I crossed those lines decades ago.”