Vows of Revenge

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

D AMOS K ALLINIKOS STOOD beside the excavation’s director, Dr Michaelis, looking out over the site, paying only cursory attention to what was being said to him about the work being carried out around them. He was not here because he was interested in Bronze Age settlements on this remote island in the Aegean—though the good doctor thought he was—and nor, indeed, as he had trailed quite deliberately, because the Kallinikos Corporation might be interested in sponsoring the dig. No, his interest was completely different.

His lancing gaze went out over the site’s excavators, many on their knees in the dusty earth, inching their way deeper with trowels and infinite care, some going back and forth, taking photos of finds or carrying them, with even more care, to the tables set out under the shade of olive trees around the edge of the site.

So, which one was she? She wasn’t one of the females on her feet, so she must be one of those kneeling. He’d never met her in real life, but the photos he’d had taken of her by his investigators were clear enough. As clear as the résumé they’d provided him with of her particulars.

Kassia Bowen Andrakis, twenty-six years old, English mother, Greek father. The mother he knew nothing about, and cared less—the opposite was true for her father. Yorgos Andrakis was a very familiar figure to him indeed. He was one of Greece’s wealthiest men—and one of the most unpleasant. Damos had met him enough times to have that reputation confirmed.

But he didn’t care about his personality—only about his latest business venture.

And the means Yorgos Andrakis was using to secure it.

Damos’s expression hardened. Well, Andrakis would not succeed. The company he was aiming to add to his acquisitions was, in fact, going to be acquired by himself. Cosmo Palandrou’s freight, transport and logistics business was ripe for takeover. Despite Cosmo’s inept handling of what he had inherited, resulting in strikes and disaffection amongst his badly treated workforce, which had led to client contracts increasingly being cancelled, there was a significant amount of untapped value in the business—once it had competent management at the helm.

Damos had plans for its expansion too—capitalising on the large number of currently under-exploited prime site depots, developing new markets and maximising the synergy with his own marine-based interests. Oh, yes, there was a lot about Cosmo’s business that he wanted.

But so did Yorgos Andrakis.

Andrakis, though—as usual with all his acquisitions—wanted to buy it cut-price, so that when he broke the business up, as he would, for that was his way with acquisitions, plundering them for what he could strip out, he would maximise his profits.

Cosmo, however, was driving a hard bargain with Andrakis—he wanted more, and the ‘more’ that Andrakis was prepared to offer him, according to Damos’s sources, was right here—digging in Bronze Age dirt.

Kassia Andrakis. The daughter Yorgos Andrakis was planning to marry off to Cosmo in order to get hold of Cosmo’s company. The bride-to-be who would make Cosmo a son-in-law to Yorgos Andrakis. A win-win all round.

Except that Damos had other plans for Kassia Andrakis...

His eyes narrowed. He’d just spotted her. She’d looked up momentarily, wiping her brow with the back of her hand under the hot sun, before resuming the careful twisting of her trowel around something she seemed to have found. Yes, that was her, all right—it tallied with the photos.

He let his eyes rest on her a moment. Did she know of her father’s intentions for her? If she did, she surely could not be a fan. No woman would be. Cosmo Palandrou shared Yorgos Andrakis’s abrasive, repellent personality, and physically he was just as unattractive—overweight, with pouched, close-set eyes, flaccid jawline and a slack mouth.

No, Kassia Andrakis could scarcely want to be Cosmo’s bride.

But there was something Damos was going to ensure she did want to be—something that would stop Andrakis’s scheme in its tracks, leaving the way clear for Damos to scoop up Cosmo’s company himself.

Because Cosmo Palandrou was going to discover that Kassia Andrakis was the very last woman he would want as his bride...

He turned to the excavation’s director.

‘Fascinating,’ he murmured. ‘Could we take a closer look, do you think?’

Kassia Andrakis was getting to her feet. In her hand, Damos could see, was a shard of pottery. The timing was perfect.

Damos nodded towards her. ‘Is that something just uncovered?’

Without waiting for an answer he started to stroll forward. Towards the woman he wanted to meet—the woman who was, although as yet she absolutely no idea of it, going to become his next mistress...

Kassia felt sweat trickling down her back and between her breasts. Her tee shirt was damp with it, and her cotton trousers grimed with dirt from where she’d been digging. She studied what she’d just unearthed—definitely a piece of a stirrup jar, once used for storing olive oil, over three millennia ago—then carried it carefully across to the table for initial cataloguing and identification.

‘Ah, Kassia—what have you got there, hmm?’

The voice of the director of the excavation made her look up as she approached the table.

She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him what she’d found, but no words came. Her eyes had gone, as if pulled by a magnet stronger than that at the earth’s core, to the man beside Dr Michaelis. He was completely out of place in his pale grey expensive business suit—top dollar, she could see at a glance—with his dark burgundy silk tie, high-gloss black shoes and gleaming gold watch around his wrist. He looked as though he’d just walked out of a board meeting.

But that wasn’t what was making her stare. It was the fact that this man, whoever he was—tall, lean and impeccably groomed—was, quite simply, the most incredible-looking man she had ever seen in her life...

Damos put a smile on his face. Just the right amount of a smile. But behind the nicely calculated smile his thoughts were racing.

So, this was Andrakis’s daughter. Well, anyone looking less like the kind of woman he usually consorted with he could not envisage—she was the very opposite of glamorous. But he made the necessary allowances. She’d been kneeling in the dirt, in the heat, so he could hardly be surprised at her flushed face, the smudge of dusty soil on one cheek, and the hair liberally sprinkled with dust too, working its way loose untidily from the tight knot clamped at the back of her head. As for what she was wearing...

Damos’s cataloguing was thorough—and ruthless.

A sweated-out shapeless tee in a singularly unlovely shade of mustard, and baggy cotton trousers with dirt on the knees in mud-brown. Feet stuck into worn trainers, also covered in dust and dried soil. Figure tall and gangly—impossible to tell more under those shapeless clothes, and quite probably that was just as well.

No. Kassia Andrakis, standing there, flushed and awkward, looking grubby and messy in her drab and dusty work clothes, with her shoulders stooped from kneeling, did not present an alluring image.

Can I really go through with this? Have an affair with this unlikely woman?

The question was in his head before he could stop it. Then his mouth tightened. His personal opinions of her as a female were irrelevant. She was a means to an end—that was all. And in pursuit of that end—which was lucrative and therefore a worthwhile one to him—he was prepared to put himself out.

As he was already doing.

He put a questioning expression on his face now. ‘Will you show us?’ he invited.

For a moment the woman he’d bestowed his smile upon did not move. She’d already frozen when she’d looked up from the shard cradled in her hands to see him standing there, beside the excavation’s director, and now he could see she looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. Just before it was turned into mush on the road...

Well, maybe that was a promising sign, at least. Not that it surprised him. Without vanity, life had taught him ever since his teens that women liked what they saw when they looked at him. Even before he’d made his money that had been so. Now, with money made, the problem was more to keep them at arm’s length. Though of course he enjoyed making his selection of those whose company he decided was most useful to him—and most pleasurable.

As ‘new money’—very new indeed—he knew it did him no harm to be seen with a well-known face on his arm, so he liked to select women already in the public eye, from actresses and TV personalities to models and socialites. All beautiful, all glamorous, all alluring. All of whom loved basking in the limelight and knew just how to do it. Women who knew, too, that being seen with him was good for them—their egos as well as their careers. No woman ever objected to an affair with him.

His eyes rested unreadably on this woman who—however unlike any of her predecessors she looked, and the very antithesis of glamour—was going to be next in that line. She would not object either—he would make sure of it. She would enjoy being his mistress.

But first he had to get her there...

She still had that rabbit-caught-in-the-headlights blank expression, and to it was now added a stain of hot colour across her already flushed cheeks that Damos knew had nothing to do with the baking heat of the day.

As if belatedly realising she could not just stand there and stare at him, she gave a start. ‘Er...’ she said, as if speaking coherently were utterly beyond her.

Her director came to her rescue. He peered forward at the grimy shard. ‘Let me see—a shoulder, definitely, and judging by the curve the original would have been at least twenty centimetres tall. Did you see the rest of it?’

Damos saw Kassia Andrakis’s eyes switch to her director, but it was as if it were an effort—as if there were weights on them.

‘Um... I think so—well, definitely more fragments. A bit of the pouring lip and some of one of the handles.’

Her voice was distracted, and that high colour was still in her cheeks.

It didn’t suit her.

Damos flicked his eyes away, back to what they were supposed to be looking at.

‘Is that some kind of decoration I can make out?’ he asked, as if he were interested.

‘Yes,’ enthused Dr Michaelis.

He started to wax lyrical about the kind of ceramic decoration prevalent at the time, and Damos listened politely until the director ran out of things to talk about.

Damos turned his attention back to Yorgos Andrakis’s daughter. ‘So, can you show me how you go about getting the rest of the pieces out? I take it you have to go carefully?’

He saw her swallow, clearly still ill at ease.

‘Um...’ she said, then glanced uncertainly at her director.

He took charge immediately. ‘I’ll get this piece photographed and listed,’ he said, deftly removing the shard from her hands. ‘You show our visitor how we work.’

He seemed keen that she should do so, and Damos knew why. He was a prospective sponsor—whatever he wanted would be immediately offered.

Damos saw the colour deepen in Kassia Andrakis’s face.

‘Er...’ she said, visibly hesitating again.

Her vocabulary was not large, it seemed, so Damos helped her out.

He took her elbow. ‘Do show me,’ he said. ‘It’s all quite fascinating.’

A look came his way—not one he expected. At first he took it for surprise—and then something more suspicious. He countered it by bestowing upon her a smile—a bland one.

‘I’ve never visited an archaeological excavation before,’ he said smoothly.

She stepped away slightly, so he had to let go her elbow.

‘Why are you here now?’ she posed.

There was something new about her—something...guarded. He didn’t want it there. He wanted her open to him. Susceptible.

‘I might be interested in sponsoring one,’ he remarked, starting to head towards the trench she’d been working at.

‘Why?’

Her question followed him. He looked back casually.

‘It’s tax deductible,’ he said.

Her expression changed again. Tightened. If she was going to say something he wouldn’t let her.

‘Why disapprove? Wouldn’t you rather excess profits from business were used to do something for the country—the community?’

He stepped carefully down into the shallow trench, mindful of his handmade shoes and his bespoke suit.

‘OK, so show me what you do.’

He was aware of heads turning to see what was happening—aware, too, that he was getting attention from another female, a full-figured blonde. But he simply smiled blandly again, then hunkered down next to Kassia Andrakis.

‘Mind your shoes,’ he heard her say sharply. ‘The dust gets everywhere.’

‘Thank you for the warning,’ he murmured.

He picked up her discarded trowel and held it out to her pointedly. She took it, but he sensed her reluctance.

‘I really don’t know why you’re interested...’ she said, resuming her kneeling. Her voice wasn’t as sharp now, but it was still not exactly enthusiastic. ‘You don’t need to know or see the nitty-gritty to sponsor a dig. No need to get your hands dirty,’ she said, and her voice had tightened again.

He got a look from her. One that told him, plain as day, that being hunkered down in a shallow trench, on a dusty dig on a remote island, in no way matched with a man wearing a ten-thousand-euro suit and five-thousand-euro hand-made leather shoes.

He met her look straight on.

‘My hands have been dirty in my time, believe me,’ he said.

He hadn’t intended that edge to be in his voice, but he heard it all the same. And there was an edge inside him too. That this daughter of one of Greece’s richest men, born herself into wealth, however much she was slumming it now, should presume to criticise him as she was so obviously doing...

She dropped her eyes, fixed her grip on the trowel. She pointed the tip at an uneven piece of undug earth.

‘There’s likely to be something under there,’ she said. ‘But you have to be very careful. Like this.’

She gently teased at the hard, dry ground with the tip of the trowel, picking up a nearby bristle brush with her other hand, and whisking away the loosened baked soil. As she did, Damos could see the convex curve of pottery revealed.

‘This,’ said Kassia Andrakis, ‘is the first time sunlight has been on this piece of ceramic for over three thousand years.’

There was something in her voice—something that made Damos look at her. He wondered what it was, and then realised. It was a word he’d never spoken—but he knew what it was.

Reverence.

She was looking down at the humble piece of pottery as if it were a holy icon.

‘Three thousand years,’ she said again, and that same reverence was still there in her voice. ‘Think of it—think of that age...so long gone. A world as vibrant as our own, with international trade routes, art and civilisation, learning and discovery...’

She looked across at him. It was the first time, Damos realised, she had actually made eye contact with him. He also realised the unflattering rush of colour to her cheeks was gone, and that her eyes were grey-blue, with almost a silvery sheen.

She gestured across the site with her trowel and went on, her voice not so much reverent now as impassioned. ‘This place—all of it—is just a minute fraction of that world. A world that came to a catastrophic end three thousand years ago. So much is lost from that time—which is why we must do what we can to preserve what is left.’

Damos frowned. ‘Catastrophic?’ he echoed. He felt his interest piqued, which surprised him.

She nodded. ‘Yes, the collapse of the Bronze Age all over the Eastern Mediterranean happened very suddenly. The population crashed...sites were abandoned. Living standards plummeted. It was a dark age—a very dark age.’

He got to his feet. ‘Tell me more,’ he said. ‘Tonight. Over dinner.’

He didn’t wait for her reaction, simply climbing out of the trench and walking towards Dr Michaelis, who was over by one of the tables. Dr Michaelis looked at Damos hopefully.

‘Fascinating,’ Damos said. He paused a fraction. ‘So much so,’ he went on, keeping his voice smooth, ‘that I’d like to ask your young colleague—’ he nodded back towards the trench ‘—to expound further. This evening. Over dinner.’

Dr Michaelis opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then a shrewd look—surprisingly shrewd, given his ingenuous enthusiasm previously—entered his eye. It was, Damos could see—and knew perfectly well why—tinged with surprise.

Not at the invitation.

At the person invited.

If it had been the voluptuous blonde he wouldn’t have been so surprised.

Damos decided it was time to deflect both surprise and speculation.

‘I know Kassia’s father,’ he said, giving a slight smile. ‘He mentioned to me that I might encounter her here on this latest dig she’s involved in.’

It was a lie, but that was irrelevant. And anyway, he did know Yorgos Andrakis slightly—they moved, after all, in the same affluent plutocratic circles in Athens.

Dr Michaelis’s expression cleared. This was a suitable explanation for what his wealthy visitor and hopefully prospective sponsor had just put to him.

‘Ah, of course,’ he said genially. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘is there anything else that I can tell you, or show you, that might be of interest to you? You have only to say!’

Damos smiled politely. ‘Thank you, but what I have already seen is very impressive. I shall give your worthy endeavours very serious consideration. I am glad I had this opportunity to call by. I’m en route to Istanbul, on business, and this was a timely deviation.’

He held out his hand, let Dr Michaelis shake it in farewell, and turned to go. As he neared the cordoned-off perimeter he glanced back. Kassia’s voluptuous blonde colleague, he noticed, not with any surprise, was covertly watching him. Kassia Andrakis, he saw, was not. Her attention was focussed right back on digging. Not on him at all.

A glint showed in the depths of his eyes. Kassia Andrakis might be ignoring him now—but for all that there was only one place she was going to end up.

His bed.

It was just a question of getting her there...

Pleased with his progress on that front so far, he headed back to his waiting car, parked on the dry, dusty lane leading through the overgrown olive grove beyond the dig. He got in, glad of the air con. Then, sitting back, he reached inside his jacket pocket, took out his gold monogrammed pen and a silver, monogrammed case, withdrawing a business card from it. After casually scrawling what he wanted to say on the back of it he handed it to his driver.

‘Take this down to the female in that first trench. Not the blonde—the one with the mustard-coloured tee shirt.’

He sat back, eyes half closed, contemplating the next step in his campaign of eventual seduction. Dinner on his yacht would be the first step. And then... Well, he would have to see what would serve him best. A lot of money was riding on it—for himself.

As for Kassia Andrakis... She would enjoy her affair with him—women always did and she would be no exception. Why should she be? He would ensure her time with him was pleasurable, and she would enjoy his attentions.

She does not look like she’s used to much male attention...

He felt himself frown slightly. There was something...troubling...about Kassia Andrakis. In the normal course of events she was not the type of woman he’d pursue—academic and studious, instead of glamorous and publicity-hungry. But because of his ambition to thwart her father’s plans for her to his own advantage his focus of necessity must be on her.

His frown deepened. Yes, he had to make allowances for the fact that she’d been working all day long in the heat and the dust, so would hardly have been looking her best... There was a questioning look in his half-closed eyes now. And yet she seemed to be almost...self-effacing. Was that the word? About herself and her appearance. Flustered at even the most innocuous of attentions from him. She was tall, and yet her shoulders were hunched—maybe not just from kneeling, but as if she were trying to hide her height. And her straggly, tugged-back hair, covered in dust and needing a good wash, did absolutely nothing for her either.

It was as if she could not care less. Her awkward manner had been obvious. His expression changed suddenly. Until she’d made that impassioned plea for preserving the antiquities she was excavating. Then her eyes had lit, making him notice them for the first time...

Grey-blue, with that silvery sheen...

He frowned very slightly.

Intriguing—and quite at odds with the rest of her...

His ruminations about Yorgos Andrakis’s daughter were interrupted by his driver returning, getting back into his seat, gunning the engine, driving off.

Damos put Kassia Andrakis and his plans for her out of his head, and took out his phone to check his messages.