There is no blue more deep and rich than the salty waves of the Aegean Sea.

I step out of the bridge, dressed in a fresh set of clothes, and I take a deep breath as I look around at the docks of the island of Mykonos. It’s a sight that never gets old.

The Greek Isles are one of my favorite regions of the world. I have no real explanation for why, besides the obvious—warm sands, clear skies, good food, better people, and a sense of community that goes back for thousands of years. Those are all things that are true of many places in the world, but what can I say? These islands took my heart at a young age, and they never let it go.

Autumn would love it here.

It kills me that I cannot bring her with me on this supply run. I see her peering up at me from inside the pool room as I step down the stairs to the deck, then head inside.

“Are you sure I have to stay in?” she asks for the twelfth time today, looking despondent.

I frown, approaching her and taking her head in my hands, peering down into those pouting eyes with sympathy and love. Her hair is soft and smooth against my rough hands, and even when it is defiant and sad, the beauty on her face is immaculate.

“When I was on my way back from Istanbul, I told myself I would bring you with me on the next trip,” I say, and it’s an honest statement. “Not long after that thought crossed my mind, a hit squad of five of your kidnapper’s cronies tried to gun me down outside a liquor store.”

She looks a little downcast. I take her chin and tilt her face back up to me, and I give her the warmest smile I can muster.

“Your mind is an astounding thing, Autumn. It is quicker and more poetic than any other I’ve encountered, and it amounts to an intellect I would trust with my life. But when the barrel of a gun is trained on you, there are only a few things that might save you. And this,” I say, gesturing to my muscular body, “is one of them. That, and more years of experience in this kind of lifestyle than you’ve been alive. Trust me when I say, this is for your own good. Do you understand?”

“Of course I do,” she admits, nodding, and she gives a half-smile to show she isn’t too broken up. “It’s hard to tell my brain that this isn’t actually a luxury cruise across the Mediterranean.”

“No? I would have thought a trail of dead mobsters who tried to imprison you would be right up your alley.”

She laughs at that, despite herself, and I ruffle her hair affectionately.

“Stay inside as much as you can,” I say more firmly, holding out an authoritative finger.

“What if I want to lounge by the water?” she asks, but her tone is teasing.

She knows her limits, she just likes flirting with them. I give her a wicked grin, and I approach her with heavy steps, backing her up against a wall and watching the blush blooming on her cheeks. I lean against the wall with one solid arm thrust right beside her head before I lean in to glare at her.

“Then I will have to discipline you when I get back, little girl,” I growl. “I’ll let you think that over while I am gone. Be a good girl, or I’ll treat you like a bad girl.”

Her face is pink when I step away from her, and I make my way out of the room and off the ship, heart pounding and cock half-stiff, thanks to the promise I’ve left her with.

The port of Mykonos is actually a ways away from the city itself, so I catch a cab into town. My Greek is a little rusty, but most of the locals here speak English. One of the perks of hiding out in a tourist hotspot is that hiding in plain sight is much simpler. You have to do very little to blend in, because people of all walks of life are already milling around. After a short ride, the cabby lets me out at a spot that seems to be where a lot of tourists get dropped off, and I take off on foot.

The city of Mykonos proper is not a bustling metropolis by any stretch of the imagination, but it is known for its beauty. Shining white buildings glitter in the sunlight with an almost alien beauty. Nearly clear azure water laps lazily at the brownstone docks where smaller sailing vessels bob idly, waiting for tourists drunk on sangria to come stumbling back on for a little fun in private. The smell of citrus and wine is rich in the air already.

… and all I can think about is how dearly I’d love to have Autumn with me, seeing all of this. I keep wanting to reach out to my side and grasp her small hand in mine. I’d point out some of the restaurants and bars I’ve gone to, tell her which ones have the best food and drink, and which ones have the best views of the sunset. I’d take her to each and every one of them if I had the time, and I’d treat her like a queen.

I pause by the water for a moment, and I run a hand through my hair, gazing out at the water toward the yacht in the distance. By god, I’m falling for this girl, aren’t I?

I shake the thought out of my mind as I head further into the city to find the shop I’m looking for. Like the one I stopped by in Istanbul, it is a place that is used to dealing with luxury yachts that are in need of bulk quantities of fine food and drink. It doesn’t take me long to find the place, and I slip away from the crowds and into the store to handle the humdrum of a routine resupply run.

Of course, I could be getting more basic supplies. If it were just me, I would be getting some simple, nutritious food that would cost a fraction of the kind of good stock I’m acquiring at this place. But the idea of inflicting that on Autumn sounds downright criminal. And so, I’ve been stocking up on nothing but the best, like a yacht like this deserves. I tell myself that it just looks better for the paper trail.

A luxury yacht attracts attention, so the best I can do to hide is pretend I’m just another Russian oligarch sailing his pleasure-vessel across the sea in a wake of decadent parties and drunken orgies.

As I pay for the goods I’ve ordered from the leathery-skinned shopkeeper, I keep glancing out the window, watching for the telltale signs of someone waiting for me. I’ve been glancing over my shoulder since I stepped away from the docks in the first place.

The mafia has a presence in Greece, and I am positive they’re tracking us as best they can. I have to assume there’s a gun waiting around every corner for us, and I have to be quick about getting on and off each stop, or I’ll be up to my neck in our pursuers.

“Sir?” the man asks, snapping me out of the trance I’d been in while staring out the window. “Did you hear me? There will be a delay of about an hour to get all this down to your ship.”

“Oh,” I say, giving my head a light shake. “Of course, yes.”

I pay the man, plus extra for quick service, and I take my leave.

With a little time to kill, I decide to do a little shopping. If Autumn can’t be with me, then I may as well make the time worth her while. I slip into a few shops along the waterfront and peruse the selections of perfume and jewelry. I’m a good judge of people’s physiques, so I am fairly confident I could pick out clothes in her size, but I don’t get anything too extravagant. I would rather get her finer clothes that are tailored.

By the end of a quick shopping spree, I’m carrying bags full of a few bottles of tasteful perfumes of different kinds for her to pick from, as well as a lovely silver and topaz necklace for her to try. If she doesn’t like it, we’ll be in Italy soon, and she’ll have her pick of all the jewelry in Florence, if I have my way.

But there’s still a little time to kill, and there’s one more thing I want to do before I head back to the yacht.

I slip into an internet cafe, keeping my bags close as I grab a coffee and take a seat at a computer. Glancing around one last time to make sure I’m not being followed, I settle in, tuck my bags between my legs, and take a sip of my coffee to start doing some digging.

I’m going to find out who Autumn really is.

Part of me feels guilty for investigating my girl behind her back, but if I’m going to keep her safe, I need to do so with all the information I can possibly get my hands on. That means doing some sleuthing work.

A cursory search for her shows me about everything I would think to expect. I find her social media and peruse it idly, and I find that the picture of herself that she has painted for me is fairly accurate. She seems to be a bit of a loner who has her brooding moods, but all in all, she is a bright mind trying to make her way through life and find her own value in things. That’s a kind of ambition that many people don’t appreciate, but it’s both rare and precious.

Her university has a kind mention of her for a scholarship award she won—the very same that paid her way to Russia to study for a year. It appears to be a prestigious scholarship that had a lot of people competing for it, and I must admit, I am impressed by it. I feel a strange sense of pride for Autumn when I see her accomplishments like this, even though I had no hand in them.

Some of the information I find is less worthy of celebration. I find her parents’ obituary in the news of her hometown, and I feel my heart sinking. My own parents have no such obituary, and I am not sure whether having a permanent reminder of the events plastered all over the internet would be a comfort or not. There must be a sense of closure in that, but if there is, it isn’t for me. But I have to check, and I find that Autumn’s story checks out. I wonder how difficult it would be to track down her foster homes, but I think by now, I can trust her word as a reliable authority.

She does not seem to have lied to me yet.

I decide to do a little more intensive digging. The chances she has a criminal record are next to nothing, but it can’t hurt to see if she has been involved in anything in her past.

Criminal and arrest search records turn up nothing… but I find something else that makes my eyes widen.

Her name does come up with at least one law enforcement agency—INTERPOL. There is a notice out for her, saying that she has been kidnapped, and that there is a reward for information regarding her whereabouts, captors, and their demands.

I stare at the notice for a few moments, stunned. On its own, this would be alarming. It is one thing to deal with the bratva breathing down my neck. They are men the law largely does not care about unless bribes are being thrown their way, and it is straightforward enough to solve my problems in that direction with a gun and a well-placed shot. But INTERPOL is a different beast. Just like I couldn’t simply walk up and shoot a police officer who was in the way without dire consequences, INTERPOL agents can’t be touched without sanctions from the highest echelons of bratva hierarchy, and they’d better have a damn good reason for it.

It isn’t just a matter of hierarchy. I’m a rogue man, now. I do not answer to anyone.

But if INTERPOL wants to come down on me like the hammer of the gods, then I might find myself in hot water.

That isn’t even the most puzzling part of this discovery, though. From everything Autumn has told me, nobody knows she has been taken. She was the perfect kidnapping victim. She had no friends in Russia and no family back home to keep in touch with her. That leaves one glaring question.

Who the hell reported her kidnapping to INTERPOL?

I get up and leave in a hurry, carrying my bags out the door and down to the nearest cab. I have questions for Autumn, and I need answers quickly.

The cab lets me out at the docks, and I hurry across the damp roads toward the yacht, trying to keep from jogging in anticipation. I can’t draw attention to myself even-

I freeze at the gangplank of the yacht as I hear a shout.

The sound of a small boat engine revving reaches my ears… and it’s coming from around the yacht. I run to the other side, just in time to see the boat pulled up to the side of it taking off, with three men in black outfits and ski masks looking up at me… while one of them holds down a petrified Autumn.

I draw my gun.