2: The Lost Kostas
997 Words
"Target secured."
The words hang in the air, heavy and final. I stare at the wall of muscle surrounding my bed. Four men. Four dark suits. Four pairs of sunglasses that hide any shred of humanity.
The lead guard—the one who kicked my door in—stands at the foot of the bed. He’s crossed his massive arms over his chest. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking through me. Like I’m a piece of furniture he’s been paid to guard. Or a prisoner he’s been paid to keep.
"Who are you?" I demand. My voice is weak, scratchy from the scream I swallowed earlier, but I force it to be steady. "Get out of my room."
No answer. Not even a twitch.
"I said, get out!"
I try to sit up, putting weight on my elbows. It’s a mistake. A scream of pain rips through my side, white-hot and tearing. My ribs feel like they’re grinding together.
"Careful," the lead guard rumbles. He hasn't moved. "You'll tear your stitches."
"I don't care about stitches," I wheeze, clutching my side. "I care about the four psychopaths who just broke into my room. Where are the police? I want a nurse!"
"Police aren't coming," he says. His tone is flat. Bored. "And the nurse isn't allowed back in."
"What?" Panic spikes in my chest, sharp and cold. "You can't do that. This is a hospital."
"This is a secure location now," he corrects. "You are under the protection of the Kostas family. That means no unauthorized personnel. No police. No nurses. No friends."
"I don't know any Kostas family!" I shout, ignoring the fire in my ribs. "I’m Alina. Just Alina. I’m a waitress. I live in a studio apartment the size of a shoebox. I don't have a family. I’m an orphan."
He finally looks at me. Really looks at me. He lowers his sunglasses just an inch. His eyes are cold, dark pits. "DNA doesn't lie, Miss Kostas. You can deny it all you want. The boss doesn't make mistakes with his own blood."
"The boss?" I laugh, but it sounds hysterical. "You're crazy. You've got the wrong girl. I'm telling you, check the records again. My parents died when I was a baby. I don't have—"
"Quiet."
The command is soft, but it shuts me up instantly. It’s the way he says it. Like he’s used to being obeyed. Or else.
My heart hammers against my bruised ribs. I need to get out. I need to run. But I can’t even sit up without blacking out. I’m trapped. A rat in a cage, and the cats are already circling.
I look at the window. Sealed. I look at the door. Blocked by three mountains of meat. I look at the bedside table. My phone is gone. My clothes are gone. Even the panic button for the nurse has been ripped out of the wall.
"You can't keep me here," I whisper. It’s a bluff. We both know it. "This is kidnapping."
"It's a retrieval," he says. "There's a difference."
"Not to me."
I glare at him, channeling every ounce of stubbornness that’s kept me alive on the streets of Athens for twenty-three years. I’m not a princess. I’m a survivor. I’ve fought for every tip, every meal, every breath. I’m not going to let some hired goons take that away.
"I'm going to scream," I threaten. "I'm going to scream until someone calls the cops."
"Go ahead," he says. He checks his watch. "Hospital wing is cleared. We bought the floor."
Bought the floor? Who has that kind of money?
A commotion at the door makes me jump.
"You cannot go in there!" It’s the nurse’s voice again, muffled but frantic. "Patient needs her vitals checked! She has internal bruising!"
"Step back," a guard growls from the hallway.
"I will call security!" she screeches.
"We are security."
There’s a scuffle. A yelp. Then silence.
My blood runs cold. They hurt her. They actually hurt her just to keep me isolated.
"You animals," I hiss. "She's just doing her job."
"So are we," the lead guard says. He taps his earpiece again. "He's here."
The atmosphere in the room changes instantly.
It’s electric. Suffocating. The four men, who were already tense, suddenly snap to attention. They straighten their ties. They clasp their hands behind their backs. Their faces go from bored to terrified in the span of a heartbeat. The air gets heavier, charged with a new kind of threat.
I press myself back against the pillows, my breath hitching. Who is coming? Who makes men like this shake?
The lead guard steps aside, clearing the path to the door. He keeps his head lowered, eyes on the floor.
"Eyes down," he hisses to the guy next to him.
I watch the doorway. My pulse is a drum in my ears. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Heavy boots stop outside.
The door pushes open. Slowly.
A man walks in.
He stops at the foot of my bed.
He doesn't look at the guards. He doesn't look at the machines. He looks straight at me.
And the world stops.
It’s like looking into a mirror that ages you thirty years. The shape of the nose. The set of the jaw. But it’s the eyes that steal the breath from my lungs.
Green.
Not hazel. Not brown. Piercing, vibrant emerald green.
Rare.
I have those eyes. Everyone always told me they were unusual. That they didn't match my coloring. That they were a genetic fluke.
He stares at me, his face unreadable. Cold. hard. But his eyes... they’re burning.
I open my mouth to speak, to deny it, to tell him to get the hell out. But the words die in my throat.
Because looking at him is like looking at the ghost I’ve been chasing my whole life.
"Hello, Alina," he says. His voice is deep, smooth, and terrifyingly calm. "It's been a long time."
- Writer
