Damian sat back in his chair and took another drink of wine, his eyes finding Aria’s in the candlelight. They were sitting outside a tiny restaurant, an assortment of bistro tables and chairs right on the sand, so close to the water it had sometimes lapped over their feet as they’d eaten fresh octopus and crumbly feta, yeasty sourdough with olives picked from nearby trees.

He’d hardly noticed Locke and Derek, even Cole.

He’d had eyes only for Aria, looking rested in spite of the long flight that morning. She’d pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail, her white sundress highlighting her delicate face, the full lips that always looked like he’d been kissing her — that always made him want to kiss her.

Kythnos was magical, like Capri without all the baggage he and Aria would probably always have with the island in Italy. He hoped they would have a chance someday to reconcile their past there with the future. Before her kidnapping, it had always been one of his favorite places.

After they’d gotten settled in the house on Kythnos, he’d done some follow-up with his sources, then spent the afternoon making love to Aria with the glass doors open to the private terrace off their room, the gentle rush of the sea chipping away at the cliffs below. He’d realized as they laid there that the ocean had been ever-present in their journey — the stormy sea of Long Island when he’d first given her refuge from the city, the ageless ocean off Capri, the cove in La Jolla.

It had been a soundtrack to their struggle and loss.

And yet, he still found the sound soothing, and no more so than when Aria was safely in his arms. She’d eventually fallen asleep, and he’d lain awake, stroking her hair, his eyes on the horizon beyond the terrace. For those moments, at least, it had felt like the world stopped spinning. Like time itself had hit the pause button so he and Aria could catch their breath.

It was a dangerous glimpse at bliss, one he didn’t dare entertain until they’d eliminated Gatti and Anastos.

“How do we start?” he asked, his eyes on Locke.

Locke wiped his mouth, reached under the table for the backpack he’d brought to dinner. Damian assumed it contained weapons — an insurance policy on the off chance Stefano had heard about their whereabouts in Greece.

Still, he wasn’t all that surprised when Locke removed two fat stacks of cash, neatly bundled like they’d come straight from the bank, and shoved them across the table toward Damian.

“The Greek economy offers us a unique advantage in smoking out Stefano,” Locke said. “I suggest we start by using it.”

“Makes sense,” Damian said.

Even Anastos’ most loyal soldiers would be tempted by plentiful cash in the current climate.

Damian reached into his jacket pocket and removed a folded map of the city.

“I’ve split Anastos’ known territories into manageable areas. If we split up and take one a day, shake the bushes, we might get lucky.”

“We don’t need luck,” Locke said.

“I hope you’re right,” Damian said.

They didn’t have confirmation that Stefano was in Greece, and even if he was, they were relying on the failings of others — namely the greed or disenchantment of Anastos’ men — rather than on something they could control.

Damian preferred being in control.

He’d survived his father’s abuse, had reimagined his father’s tainted legacy, had found Aria, by depending only on himself, and while he was coming around to trusting Farrell and the other leaders of the Syndicate, that trust was nowhere near extending to the rest of humanity.

People were unpredictable. It was one of the reasons he liked numbers and money: two plus two always equaled four.

“It’s a statistical probability that one of Anastos’ men will flip on him,” Locke said. “The economy sucks and Anastos has lost ground in New York. That’s the harbinger of death for his operation. Word on the street is that New York is just the beginning — the Syndicate is back, and they’re going to retake their territory piece by piece. Anastos’ men will either want to make nice with Nico and the others by playing along, or they’ll want to get out while the getting is good. Either way, they have no choice but to play ball. We just have to give them an excuse.”

“Which is where the money comes in,” Aria said. “None of their fellow soldiers will blame them for taking it.”

“Exactly,” Locke said. “They need cover to justify flipping. We’re going to give it to them.”

“What if we get killed along the way?” Cole said.

Damian felt a flash of guilt at the question. Cole didn’t yet know that Damian was going to order him to stay with Aria on the island while Damian, Locke, and Derek worked Athens for Anastos.

Cole wouldn’t complain. He was Damian’s underboss; he would do what he was told.

But he wouldn’t like it.

Locke grinned. “That’s what makes it exciting.”

Cole’s expression was unreadable. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Cole wasn’t a fan of Locke’s devil-may-care attitude.

Damian couldn’t blame him. Cole’s number one job was preventing Damian’s death. They had managed it so far through strategic planning and cold hard calculation.

Damian didn’t mind admitting it was disconcerting to move to a game of roulette when you were used to playing chess.

But Anastos and Gatti were playing their own game of chance. Playing chess with them would be like trying to engage a professional gambler as a code breaker.

They were not the same animal.

Damian didn’t like it, but they had to meet Anastos and Gatti where they were — in the storm of their chaos, on the crest of their rogue wave.

“Locke is right,” Damian said. “This is the only way. We’ve tried everything else. We’ll play offense, take them off guard by fanning out across the city, throwing around a lot of cash.”

“And if we run into trouble?” Cole asked.

Damian looked at him. “We’ll deal with it. Won’t be the first time.”

Cole nodded, his eyes straying briefly to Derek, who had been silent through most of dinner. Damian understood — trusting Locke was one thing, but what did they know about Derek? His bio from Locke had been brief — an ex-private contractor for Blackwater who’d defected when things got bad in Iraq, an expert marksman, proficient in four types of martial arts, frequently off the grid to surf around the world.

None of it told Damian what he really wanted to know: could he trust Derek with his life?

With Aria’s?

He fucking hoped so, because he didn’t have a choice.

He hated not having a choice.

They went over a few more details, paid the bill, and headed for the car that had brought them into the little village on the island. It was too far for Aria to walk, a detail that gave Damian comfort when he thought about her on the island without him while he searched for Anastos. Cole would be with her, but Aria was strong-willed; Damian wouldn’t put it past her to make an escape to town when she got cabin fever and Cole was looking the other way.

Locke had set up his house exactly the way Damian would have done. It was private, fronted on one side by the water, far enough from town that getting there or back required a car.

The water didn’t save you in Capri…

The words lingered at the back of his mind. He pushed them away. He couldn’t afford to relive Capri — to relive his failings there — every day.

He’d never had anything to lose, had never had anything to protect, until Aria. He knew better now, knew why Farrell and Nico and the others kept houses all over the world, stored vast quantities of money offshore.

As soon as Damian eliminated Gatti and Anastos, he would follow suit, start building his own network of hideaways, places Aria would be safe and anonymous if anything went south again. He would make sure alternate passports were at the ready, that he had an exit plan to get Aria out of New York in under an hour should the occasion call for it, that his money and other holdings were set up to revert to Aria in the event of his death.

He kissed her head as she leaned against his shoulder in the backseat and the car started up the network of winding hills that led to the house.

All that mattered now was her.