Antonio Nieto didn’t look like a man sentenced to a couple decades in prison. In fact, as Stavros stood just outside the room inside the non-descript, yet highly secured building downtown LA, he had to admit the man looked very relaxed.

Clad in regular clothes as opposed to a prison-issued jumpsuit, Antonio sat in the chair, head tipped back and to the side, as he stared out the window to his right. His dark hair hung longer in front than the back, and rosary beads hung around his neck, nestled against the soft blue of his shirt.

He didn’t look like he posed a threat.

Took Stavros three days to get here, and during that time he wavered between what he’d do. What he could do. His first instinct would always be to hit back. But this one was different.

He wasn’t the one who’d been betrayed. Wasn’t his call to make, as much as he wished otherwise. Goddamn, he wished otherwise.

“Antonio Nieto.” He strode into the room like a man on a mission. Because he was. And he took so much pleasure in the blatant shock that widened Antonio’s eyes and dropped his jaw. “I see you know who I am.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Konstantinou?” Antonio peered past him to the corridor. His face was still bruised up from his recent beating.

“Passing through. I gather you didn’t expect to see me?” Stavros sat opposite him and crossed his legs, ankle resting across his knee.

“My brother should have killed you after what you did to him.”

“Yes.” Stavros nodded. “He should have.”

Antonio’s eyes widened. “What do you want? I’m a busy man.”

“I can see that.” Stavros sat back, a finger absently stroking his chin as he said, “A man I love died in my arms recently. A man I love is lying unconscious in a hospital bed today, and I have questions.”

The son of a bitch chuckled. “You think I care about you or your faggot ways?” He leaned toward the door. “Guard. Guard, get me out of here.”

“No. You get to stay. You haven’t asked me the identity of the man I love.” He stood and walked around, standing behind Antonio’s chair. And Stavros unbuckled his belt.

“Guard! Guard!”

“The cameras are off. The guards are gone.” He looped the belt around Antonio’s neck, wrapped both ends in his fist and pulled. “Ask me the name of the man I love.”

Antonio fought him, even with his hands cuffed in front of him, he fought. Bucking. Kicking at the table and arching. But Stavros held that son of a bitch, belt to his throat as he pulled, tightening it.

Choking him while he gasped for air. Until his face turned purple and his movements ceased. Then he eased up.

Antonio lurched forward, coughing.

“Ask me,” Stavros snarled. He grabbed him by the hair, yanked him backward. “Ask me his name.”

“Wha-what—”

“Daniel Nieto.” Stavros whispered it against Antonio’s forehead. “The name of the man I love. Daniel Nieto.” He pushed a stiff Antonio away and put back on his belt before retaking his seat.

“You’re a liar.” Antonio brought his bound hands up to clutch his throat, still panting.

“You put a hit out on him.” Fuck, he needed a cigarette in the worst way. Why had he quit that shit? “I want to know why.”

“My brother would never betray his wife like that. My brother is not a puto.”

“Tell me why.” Stavros slammed his fists down on the table. “Funny he’s your brother when you find out he’s fucking me. Was he your brother when you aligned yourself with The Perez Boys and sent them after him? Was he your brother when you had yourself beaten up to play on his sympathies?”

Antonio clammed up, the too-familiar Nieto stubbornness darkening his eyes and stiffening his chin.

“I know you’re with The Perez Boys now. I know that bounty on his head wasn’t Felipe Guzmán, but from Perez, authorized by you.” Palms flat on the table, Stavros told him, “I know you sent men after him just days after he buried your mother. I want to know why.”

“Fuck you,” Antonio spat. “You know nothing.”

“I know him.” He smiled. “I know the way he sleeps, with one eye open. I know how much he loves chorizo and eggs with coffee sweet enough to put you in a coma in the mornings. I know when he’s tired or sad just by his touch. I know he can’t sing for shit, but I watched him sing to your mother as she died in his arms. He’s fucking mine.” He pounded his chest. “You think I’ll let you get away with this shit? With betraying him when he’s done nothing but love his family to his own detriment?”

“What will you do?” Antonio taunted. “Kill me? You can use that belt all you want, but we both know you can’t fucking touch me.”

Leaping over the table, Stavros grabbed him by the throat. Fingers curved to claws, digging into him. Squeezing tighter than fucking tight. “I can touch you.”

Antonio’s eyes bulged.

“I can touch you, and I can make you feel it,” he whispered. “You feel like testing me? I’m not going to kill you, not now.” He dropped his hand and slid back into his seat. “You’re going to suffer first. Because I can get at you anytime. And I’ve got people everywhere. Anytime. You never know who you’ll bump into in the cafeteria. You never know who’ll be watching in that shower.”

Rage flashed in Antonio’s eyes.

“You’ll spend the rest of your time watching your back. Unless your brother wants your head sooner than that. Then I’ll give it to him.” He got to his feet and straightened his clothes. “One thing is for sure, you’re not getting out of prison alive.”

He walked away.

* * *

The pain in his throat registered first.

Daniel’s eyes fluttered open, instantly watering at the bright light that burned. He ignored it, looking around the hospital room. The door gave it away. As did the machines beeping in his ear. His gaze landed on the body lying on the pull-out sofa in the far corner under the window.

Stavros?

Memories flooded back, and his heart kicked into a wild gallop. Stavros. He tried to call out but his throat wasn’t having it. He could only moan instead.

The body rustled. Dark head lifted and Toro stared at him.

Where was Stavros?

“Tío.” Toro raced to him, calling out, “Nurse. Nurse.” He dropped to his knees beside the bed, grabbing on to Daniel’s hand. “Tío, you’re awake.”

The relief in his nephew’s eyes humbled Daniel, but he wanted to know, “St-Stav—”

“Mr. Hernandez.” An older gentlemen with a white lab coat and stethoscope walked into the room, a nurse at his side. “Welcome back, sir.”

Daniel ignored them, keeping his attention on Toro. “Stav?”

“Hon, can you step outside a minute?” The nurse addressed Toro. “The doctor needs to look him over.”

Toro held his gaze for a second longer then left. That meant nothing. Stavros was fine. He’d been fine. Nothing was wrong with him. So why was he so afraid? What happened in that beach house?

He allowed the doctor’s poking and prodding, zoning in and out as he and the nurse talked between themselves. Pausing to nod every once in a while when either of them turned their attentions to him. He learned he’d been shot twice and undergone a two-hour surgery. One of the bullets came mere centimeters from piercing his lung, and the other one had shattered inside him.

He’d coded twice.

He’d been moved from the hospital to a private facility, and had a round-the-clock security detail, on Stavros’ orders.

“Your husband must love you very much.” The nurse patted his good shoulder, and Daniel blinked.

Husband.

He was fine. Stavros was fine. He unfurled the fingers digging into his palm. Allowing himself to breathe. Deep breaths that stung, but that was all right. He was alive. Stavros was alive. And they’d find whoever came for them.

Make them pay.

He swallowed the medication the nurse gave him with tepid water and tilted his head back against the pillows, slowly closing his eyes.

He wanted Stavros. His Greek made everything better.

“He’s awake, sir.”

Footsteps shuffled, and Daniel opened his eyes.

Stavros stood in the doorway, staring at him as the nurse and doctor made their exit. The door closed behind them, and Stavros didn’t move.

Daniel sat up. Or he tried to. His back wasn’t having it, not yet. “Diablo.”

His lover’s face was expressionless. Hands in his pockets. Eyes giving nothing away. Fear reared its head again.

“Diablo.”

“You don’t get to leave.” The words shook, pain and anger most potent as they tumbled past Stavros’ lips. He stalked Daniel in the narrow bed. “You don’t get to fucking make me love you then leave me behind.”

“Stav.” He caught the bags under Stavros’ eyes. The strain around his mouth. His unkempt hair. “Perdón.”

“Fuck.” Stavros fell on him. Carefully, though. Cupping Daniel’s face with cold, trembling hands. “You died. You died. You died!” He spun away then faced Daniel just as quickly. “Twice I watched you stop breathing.” His breaths were labored, agony bleeding from his eyes. Dripping from his words. “Twice I watched your heart stop.”

“Stavros.” Daniel reached out a hand for him.

Stavros caught it. Clinging tight.

That grasp hurt more than the pain in his back, but Daniel welcomed it. He tugged Stavros closer, brought their joint hands to his mouth. “I am sorry.”

Stavros inhaled. “God.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He came apart then. It started in his eyes and worked its way down until a choking sound fell from his lips. Bending over, he gasped for breath. “Se agápo.” He shook against Daniel. “I love you.”

“Diablo, te amo,” Daniel whispered against his temple. “I’m never leaving you again.” He couldn’t wrap his arms around Stavros like he wanted. “I’m okay, and once I get out of here we will handle whoever violated our home.”

Stavros stiffened slightly.

Daniel frowned. “What is it?” Stavros pulled back, but Daniel held on to him when he would’ve stepped away. Stavros didn’t meet his eyes. “What is it?”

“Focus on getting better.” Stavros licked his lips, gaze on something somewhere above Daniel’s head. “That comes first.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what you’re hiding.”

“Agápi mou.”

“You know who did this to us.” That was not a question. He could read Stavros. “Why don’t you want me to know?”

His lover’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he pursed his lips then nodded. “I know.”

“Tell me.”

But Stavros simply cupped his jaw and brushed their lips together. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” What was Stavros so afraid to say?

“Antonio.”

Daniel blinked. What? “Antonio?’ He shook his head. “Eso es imposible.” That’s impossible. “Antonio is my brother, diablo. What you’re suggesting—”

“I’m not suggesting anything.” Stavros’ tone was hard, cold. “What I am telling you is that your brother has aligned himself with The Perez Boys.” He released Daniel and got to his feet. “What I am telling you is that your brother had them put the bounty on your head. We simply assumed it was Felipe because he hated you.”

“No.”

“What I am telling you is that your brother paid two hundred and fifty thousand in cash to The Perez Boys who then contracted out your death to the men who broke into the beach house.”

“No.”

“Listen to me.” Stavros gritted his teeth, jaw ticking as he tucked a finger under Daniel’s chin. “I’m sorry.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “It’s true.”

“I need—” He needed to get up. He tried to, but the pain shortened his breath and made him woozy. He put his head back. “I need to see him.”

“I saw him.”

Daniel froze. “Is he alive?”

Stavros smile was slow in coming, but quick to disappear. “That’s the two hundred and fifty thousand dollar question, agápi mou. The answer depends on you. What do you want?”