Chapter 2 Ryan

Rage still courses through my veins, a smoldering fire stoked by that Silver Guild bastard who had the audacity to peddle heroin on *my* streets. The nerve of that scum, thinking he could encroach on Busan, my city, my domain. I usually leave the dirty work to my men—let them crush the vermin underfoot—but this time, I needed to deliver the message myself. A clear, unmistakable warning to the Sicilian mafia: cross me, and you’ll bleed for it. I made sure that the bastard's screams echoed through the streets before I was done with him.

I grip the delicate flute of champagne, downing half its contents in one swallow. The sweet bubbles fizz on my tongue but do nothing to soothe the storm in my chest. If anything, they sour my mood further, cloying and weak against the fire of my anger. My eyes flick to the server hovering nearby, and he scurries to my side like a frightened mouse. “Whiskey,” I ordered, my voice low, clipped. Less than a minute later, a crystal tumbler is set before me, the amber liquid glinting in the soft light of the dining room. I take a slow sip, letting the burn of the whiskey slide down my throat, its heat a fleeting balm to the inferno inside me.

My gaze shifts, unbidden, to the girl who will soon be my stepsister. The thought alone twists my lips into a sneer. *Park Isabella.* Bella, as they call her. A problem I didn’t ask for, a complication I don’t need.

She sits across the table, her body angled slightly away from me—not enough to draw overt attention, but enough to signal her disdain. It’s subtle, but I notice everything. Always have. As the head of the Stathoulis family, it’s my job to see what others miss, to read the unspoken in every glance, every gesture. Bella’s cold shoulder is as loud as a shout, and it grates on me more than it should. I know everything about her—every detail meticulously gathered because, soon, she’ll be my responsibility. Twenty-one, headstrong, and of marrying age. A spoiled little girl, ten years my junior, who’s already proving to be more trouble than she’s worth.

Her defiance sparks something in me, a flicker of irritation laced with something else—something I can’t quite name. I think of the way she glared at my hand earlier, her delicate features twisted with disgust, as if my touch was beneath her. A low, amused chuckle nearly escapes me. Brave, I’ll give her that. Fucking stupid, but brave.

“Ryan, have you heard from Christian?” Athina’s voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to the table.

“Yes,” I replied, my tone clipped. “He’ll be at the wedding.”

“Where will he stay?” my father asks, his weathered face softening as he glances at Helena, his fiancée.

“Seeing as he’s family, I assume here,” I mutter, uninterested. I don’t bother with wedding details. My world is one of blood and power, not flowers and guest lists. Christian’s attendance was mentioned during a business call earlier—nothing more, nothing less. Athina sighs, muttering something about checking with him, but my attention is already elsewhere.

“Where’s the restroom again?” Isabella’s soft whisper reaches my ears, directed at Helena.

“Down the hallway, second door to your right,” Helena replies warmly.

Isabella rises, the movement graceful yet deliberate. She doesn’t just stand—she makes a point of taking the long way around the table, avoiding me entirely, her back turned like a silent fuck-you. My eyes follow her, unbidden, tracing the lines of her body. The dress clings to her in all the right places, accentuating the curve of her hips, the sway of her ass—a perfect canvas for the kind of punishment my palm itches to deliver. The thought sends a jolt through me, sharp and unexpected, and I grit my teeth against it. She’s a problem, not a temptation. I don’t have time for this.

Yet, when she disappears through the doorway, my gaze lingers, caught on the empty space she left behind. Annoyed with myself, I force my focus back to my family, to the clink of cutlery and the hum of their conversation. But the moment Bella returns, my eyes snap to her like a predator locking onto prey. It’s instinctive, primal, and it pisses me off.

Her creamy skin glows under the chandelier’s soft light, her rich chocolate hair feathered around her face, catching the golden hues of the room. Unlike the sharp, aristocratic features of her mother, Bella’s are delicate—almost fragile. Full lips, a small nose, and eyes that spark with defiance despite the fear lurking beneath. She’s not like the skeletal socialites her age, all sharp angles and hollow cheeks. No, Bella’s curves are lush, healthy, filling out her dress in a way that demands attention. My attention. And I hate how much I notice.

She catches me staring, and those golden-flecked eyes narrow, a silent challenge. Brave but stupid, I remind myself. Our gazes lock, and the embers of my temper flare, stoked by her audacity. In my world, respect is non-negotiable. Fear is currency, and I wield it like a blade. Everyone knows it takes little to ignite my anger—being the head of the mafia demands brutality, unforgiving and absolute. Bella, with her glares and subtle rebellions, is treading dangerous ground.

When she takes her seat, a faint, feminine scent wafts toward me—fresh, like spring blossoms laced with a hint of vanilla. It’s intoxicating, a stark contrast to the blood and smoke that usually fill my world. She smells like beauty, like youth… like something pure, begging to be corrupted. The thought sends a dark thrill through me, one I immediately shove down. She’s a pawn, nothing more. A piece to be moved, married off to the highest bidder as soon as possible. The sooner I’m rid of her, the better.

My phone buzzes, pulling me from the dangerous spiral of my thoughts. I dig it out of my pocket, glancing at the message from Andreas, my right-hand man and the closest thing I have to a brother.

*Looks like the message was received. The streets are quiet.*

A smirk tugs at my lips as I type a quick reply.

*Good news.*

Seconds later, another message vibrates through the device.

*Don’t forget the meeting with the Priesthood. I’ll pick you up in an hour for your flight.*

I slip the phone back into my pocket and take another sip of whiskey, the server darting forward to refill my glass with practiced efficiency. My thoughts shift to the Priesthood—the five heads of the world’s most powerful crime families. Liam Byrne, Irish mafia. Gabriel Demir, Turkish mafia. Luca Cotroni, Italian mafia. Viktor Vetrov, Bratva. We’re bound by one rule: don’t fuck with each other’s businesses or families. Everything else is fair game. Luca and Viktor are tight, an alliance forged in blood and loyalty, and I’ve been smart enough to align myself with them. Crossing either would be suicide.

The Priesthood meets every three months in LA to keep the peace, to ensure our empires don’t collide and plunge the world into chaos. Tonight’s meeting will be no different—strategy, power plays, and the Kim mafia’s recent incursions into my territory. They’ve been a persistent thorn in my side, waves of them crawling into Busan like roaches. I suspect Liam’s tightening grip on Chicago is pushing them my way. I’ll get answers tonight.

A plate of moussaka is set before me, the rich aroma pulling me back to the present. My lips twitch with a rare smile—Dad’s favorite dish. I glance at him, watching as he presses a grateful kiss to Helena’s hand. Athina once tried to make moussaka and nearly burned the kitchen down. Cooking’s not her forte, to put it mildly.

When Dad first told me he was remarrying, I was livid. Mom’s death two years ago left a void no one could fill. She was warmth, grace, perfection—everything Helena will never be. But seeing Dad’s smile, the light in his eyes when he looks at Helena, I’ve grudgingly accepted it. At seventy-two, if he wants a new wife, who am I to stand in his way?

The conversation drifts to wedding plans—bridesmaids’ dresses, guest lists, flowers. I tune it out, my mind circling back to business. Twelve years ago, I took the reins from Dad, expanding our empire with an iron fist. Greece, Cyprus, Canada—they’re mine. Seoul’s been my home for over a decade, shared with Athina, while Dad only left Greece after Mom’s passing. The Kim mafia’s recent moves are the first real challenge I’ve faced, and I’ll crush them like I’ve crushed every other threat.

My gaze drifts to Bella again. She’s as silent as I am, her expression guarded as the table discusses the wedding. When yellow bridesmaid dresses are mentioned, her nose scrunches in distaste, a fleeting but telling reaction. My lips curve slightly.

“You don’t agree?” I murmur, low enough that only she hears.

She startles, her eyes snapping to mine, wide and wary. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” I replied, my voice smooth but edged. “Your face said it all.”

Her frown deepens, but there’s a spark in her eyes—defiance, fear, and something else I can’t place. “You’re an expert at reading faces now?” she challenges, her voice soft but sharp.

“Yes.” It’s not a boast—it’s a fact. Reading people is what keeps me alive, what makes me untouchable.

She rolls her eyes, a reckless move that sends a dangerous thrill through me. My right eyebrow lifts, a warning she doesn’t heed. Leaning closer, I let my voice drop to a whisper, the Greek rolling off my tongue like a blade. “*Pas gyrévontas gia mpeládes.*”

Her gaze flicks to me, irritation flaring in those golden-flecked eyes. “My Greek’s rusty. Care to translate?”

The corner of my mouth lifts higher, a predator’s smile. “You’re looking for trouble.”

She holds my stare for a moment, bold and foolish, before fear tightens her features. “Is this how it’s going to be?” she whispers.

“ Do You threaten me every chance you get?”

My smile widens, all teeth and menace. “Stop disrespecting me, and I’ll stop with the threats.”

She doesn’t understand the fire she’s playing with. I’ve ended men for less than an eye roll. Yet, as she glares at me, something stirs in my chest—a heat that’s not anger, not entirely. It’s unfamiliar, unsettling, like a crack in the iron walls I’ve built around myself. I want to crush it, to crush *her*, but there’s a part of me—a dangerous, reckless part—that wants to pull her closer, to see how far I can push before she breaks. Or before I do.

“Lucky for us, we won’t have to see each other after the wedding,” she says, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Let’s just ignore each other until then.”

A low chuckle rumbles from my chest, drawing curious glances from my family. Laughter isn’t something I’m known for. Rising to my feet, I tower over her, my presence a shadow she can’t escape. I reach out, patting her head lightly—a patronizing gesture that makes her stiffen. Adjusting my cuffs and jacket, I let my gaze linger on her one last time. “As amusing as this has been, I have a meeting to attend.”

My eyes shift to Dad and Helena. “I’ll let you explain how things will work once you’re married. Clear up any… misunderstandings.”

With a final nod, I stride out of the dining room, my steps deliberate, my mind a storm of conflicting desires. I wish I could stay to see Bella’s face when they drop the bomb—that her life, her future, is no longer her own. That she’s about to become a pawn in my game.

But as I leave, that unfamiliar heat lingers in my chest, a whisper of something I can’t name. And it terrifies me more than any enemy ever could.

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To be continued ..

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