They moved in silence. Terse and disapproving on Toro’s part. Thick and anticipatory between Daniel and Stavros as they helped Toro load Hector’s body into the trunk of his car.

A cleanup crew was on the way, courtesy of Stavros who’d made a hushed ten second phone call before instructing Daniel that his men were on the way. This wasn’t Stavros’ fight, or his mess to clean up. But Daniel accepted it, because the sooner they got this done, the sooner he got to be alone with Stavros.

He found he needed that. After two weeks of separation, he needed that.

“Tío.” Hands in his pockets, Toro hesitated next to the trunk, gaze darting from Daniel to where Stavros stood off to the side.

Waiting.

“What is it?”

“Do you trust him?” Toro asked with a jerk of his chin in Stavros’ direction.

Any kind of questioning would normally be off limits from anyone working for him, but Daniel understood where his nephew was coming from. “You think he wants to hurt me?”

Toro shrugged. “I used to think he’d done the worst anyone could possibly do to you,” he said in a low tone. “But I see the way you look at him.”

“And?”

“He can do much worse.” Toro nodded. “He can hurt you even more…” He smiled, but it could just as easily have been a grimace. “And I think you’d let him.”

He wasn’t wrong. Daniel pulled Toro close, hugging him, patting him quickly on the back then letting him go to cup his jaw. “You remind me so much of your papá,” Daniel told him. “Gracias.”

Toro shook his head in obvious confusion, so Daniel explained.

“You keep me honest, like your papá used to.” And still did, to some extent. “I trust Stavros,” he said firmly. “I know who he is. And he knows who I am.”

“Lo amas, tío. Tú lo amas.” You love him. Toro spoke gently, gaze almost apologetic. Almost as if Toro expected Daniel to react violently.

“Go.” He patted Toro’s cheek. “Check in when it is done.” A trip to the crematorium and they’d be rid of Hector’s body permanently.

Toro’s gaze flicked over Daniel’s shoulder before returning to meet his gaze. “Be careful,” he murmured when Daniel knew his nephew had so much more to say.

“Of course.”

He remained standing there as Toro got into the car and drove down the long driveway leading from the back of the fenced-off property to the street. When Toro’s taillights disappeared from his view, he blew out a breath but didn’t move.

Then Stavros was at his side. His presence a heavy, yet welcomed weigh.

“He doesn’t trust me.”

That calm statement didn’t require a response, but Daniel gave him one anyway. “No, he does not.”

“Smart.”

Side by side, they stood in the impending twilight. Silence so charged, a heavy breeze could spark an inferno. Daniel had so many things he wanted to say, but all of it was somehow not enough so he pulled his hands from his pocket and he reached out.

Blindly.

Grasping Stavros’ elbow nearest him then dragging his fingers down so clasp Stavros’ hand. To thread their fingers.

To cling.

“Come with me.” His gaze remained on the driveway, but his focus was on Stavros. Would always be on Stavros.

“Naí.”

Daniel jerked his head, turning to the man next to him. Searching his gaze.

Stavros must’ve heard the question Daniel didn’t ask because he squeezed Daniel’s hand and stepped forward. One single, solitary step that seemed so monumental.

Like crossing a bridge of some sort.

“It doesn’t matter where or when,” Stavros whispered. “Wherever you wish to take me, I want to go.” He licked his lips, eyes glittering as they caressed Daniel’s face. “Naí. The answer is yes, I’m coming with you.”

Daniel would’ve taken him in his arms then. He would have kissed him, maybe even gone further than just a kiss, but a black paneled van turned down the driveway at that moment.

He tensed.

“My people.”

Stavros released him, and Daniel immediately fisted his hand at the loss. He melted into the shadows, allowing Stavros to handle his men. He watched his lover issue orders, calm and emotionless.

They called him heartless.

Daniel had listened to all the chatter about Stavros Konstantinou over the years.

They said he was cold, that you’d get frost-bite just by uttering his name.

All true, but he was also more than that. He burned Daniel in the best way. And in his element, he was captivating. He demanded Daniel’s attention and never once loosened that grip.

He was as breath-taking in this place—blood soiling his shirt sleeves and sticking to the bottom of his shoes—as he was in the throes of his orgasm.

Daniel loved all the different sides of him. So he waited, until the room was spotless, with only the sharp stink of bleach permeating the air. He hugged the comfortable shadows until the cleaning crew drove away, stepping forward into the light only when Stavros stood in front of him.

“Ready?”

Fact was, Daniel hadn’t known how ready he was until Stavros asked that one-worded question. He stared at Stavros, read the questions in his gaze, and answered them by falling into his embrace. They came together forcefully, Stavros staggering forward and Daniel stumbling backward until his back hit the closest wall.

Daniel clutched him, bunching Stavros’ shirt in his fists, face buried in the other man’s neck. He smelled like the chemicals they’d used to clean up, but also faintly of the cologne Daniel missed so much mixed potently with hot skin. He would have missed out on this. He’d walked away from it when all his mind and body wanted to do was go back.

Go back. Relive the firsts.

Make more firsts.

Tremors—so faint, he almost missed them—vibrated along Stavros’ spine. Under Daniel’s touch. He’d almost martyred them.

Sacrifice.

Sometimes sacrifice meant sticking it out. Sometimes it meant letting yourself take what would make you happy even if it would make someone else sad. He’d had to say goodbye once.

There would be no second time.

He lifted his head, and when Stavros did the same, Daniel told him, “Come with me.”

Stavros nodded.

He held out his hand.

Stavros took it.

Daniel didn’t let him go, not even on the thirty-two minute drive from Atlanta to the townhouse in Unincorporated Norcross. He could blend in here, if he chose to, but staying there was only temporary. He came and went in the middle of the night usually, and the building was a good distance away from any neighbors who might take note of his weird comings and goings.

Like tonight, as he opened the front door with his left hand because the right was gripping a quiet Stavros. Inside, he quickly turned on the lights and locked the door behind them, before tossing aside the keys.

Stavros glanced around, lips quirked. “You need furniture.”

No, he didn’t. “I have all I need.”

He ascended the stairs, still holding on to Stavros, stopping only when they entered the room he’d claimed as the master bedroom. Releasing Stavros’ hand was not a quick thing. More a gradual process, forcing each finger to ease up, to let go.

Stavros curled his fingers into his palm once he was free, and Daniel looked away before he grabbed ahold of him again.

Gaze on the unmade queen-sized bed, the only piece of furniture in the room, Stavros asked, “You live here?”

“I sleep here sometimes.” He jerked a finger over his shoulder to indicate the room next door. “Kept a man chained up there for a few days, too.”

Stavros smiled as he strode to the bed and sat at the edge. “So why no furniture?”

“This isn’t a home,” Daniel said. “This isn’t my home. It serves a purpose, but it’s not comfort nor is it security.”

Stavros nodded as if he understood, and Daniel thought that maybe his lover just might. He faced the window, staring out into the darkness through the blinds. When he’d made the decision to make Petra his, to give himself to her, he’d been nervous.

Palm sweaty as he gathered the words to convey what he felt, preparing for the what-if of a no. She’d deserved more, he’d known even then. A man not drenched in blood and surrounded by death. But the selfish part of him, the part he’d inherited from his papá also knew he would never give her up.

Unless she asked.

She’d never asked, no matter the countless times he’d given her reason to do more than ask. Demand.

Tonight, he was as far removed from nervous as one could possibly get.

Loving Stavros was just as powerful as loving Petra.

Call it blasphemy. Call it betrayal.

Daniel called it honesty.

“I’m sorry.”

He stiffened at Stavros’ hoarse apology then faced him with a frown. “What?”

The other man remained seated on the bed, gaze intense on Daniel’s face. “I never apologized for what I took from you.” Grief streaked across Stavros’ features and he swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Daniel parted his lips to say…something. Anything. Except he had nothing, could find no words. A fine ache blossomed in the vicinity of his heart, strummed to life by Stavros’ low words.

“I didn’t know then how much she meant to you.” His eyes glittered as he stared at Daniel, hands fisted atop his thighs. “I didn’t know how precious it was.” His throat worked. “I’m sorry.”

Daniel went to him. Moving softly. Felt as though he moved in the space of a blink. Once second he was at the window, and the next he stood between Stavros’ knees, gazing down at him.

He sifted trembling fingers through Stavros’ thick hair, eyelids lowering at the feel of him. “I forgave you,” he managed the rasp past the boulder in his throat. Fisting Stavros’ hair, Daniel jerked his lover’s head up and back. So their eyes could meet, connect, and he’d see… “I forgave you the first time I kissed you.”

Stavros’ chin quivered.

“You had my forgiveness—” Daniel gripped him tighter, speaking more forcefully. “With our first caress.”