Codename: Aconite Chapter Forty-Six

Codename: Aconite Chapter Forty-Six
“SHE’S MY DAUGHTER! MY CHILD! I trusted you to protect her, and you repaid my trust by bedding her!” My father’s enraged cry is followed by a powerful blow to Castor’s gut. Ajax lets him go as he falls to the ground, clutching his stomach as he coughs up blood.

“Mi…halis…just…let me explain.” His pleas result in my father landing a kick to Castor’s ribs, and I have to look away.

I’ve seen all manner of violence in my life, even caused most of it. But this is different. This is someone I once cared for now being punished because of my selfish actions. All I can feel is guilt and shame.

“How dare you fucking say my name,” my father spits as he stomps on Castor’s back. My father kneels down and grabs a fistful of Castor’s hair, yanking his hair back. “You held her as a baby. Fed her, bathed her, clothed her. I stood in this very spot as I watched you play with my only child. I trusted you to protect her, and for two years you were defiling her! I should kill you where you lay. Peel your skin from your bones and watch you scream.”

“It wasn’t…like…that,” Castor’s voice quivers.

“You betrayed me. You betrayed my family. I treated you like a son, and this is how you repay me. I should kill you,” he spits, standing to full height and smoothing out his clothes. “Instead, consider yourself excommunicated.”

Castor looks up at my father, his eyes open wide with fear, and I can see his world crumbling in his eyes. “Mihalis, please don’t do this. I beg you.”

“You will find no one in the Drakos family opening their doors to you. You are dead to us all. And should you ever come to the doorstep of a Drakos, you will be executed on sight. Be grateful I am letting you live.” My father’s deep voice is so low and vicious, a low growl lingering behind every word.

All of my father’s men step back, including Ajax and turn their backs on Castor. I watch as Castor forces himself to his feet, looking around bloodied and bruised at the men he once considered brothers. The guilt I feel is growing so great I can barely breathe. This world is all Castor knows. This has been his family his entire life and now in the blink of an eye, it’s gone. The very thing that gives his life purpose and meaning just snatched away from him. All because I couldn’t keep it in my pants.

Castor looks around, his eyes locking on Silas and me and burning with a hatred so palpable I can feel it melting my skin. Castor walks past me, clutching his ribs, his eyes on me and screaming a silent message of how I’ve ruined his life. He keeps walking until he is out of sight, and finally, all my father’s men turn back around. I glance up feeling Ajax’s eyes on me, but I’m shocked to find only pity in their depths. He gives me a sad smile, and I can’t for the life of me understand why the fuck he’s feeling sad for me. My life wasn’t the one that just got nuked.

“Everyone, leave us, I wish to speak to my daughter alone,” my father calmly instructs.

The men can’t get away fast enough, but Ajax takes his time, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passes me, which only confuses me further. Silas fixes his clothes and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Thank you, Mr Hatzis, for believing me,” says Silas gratefully.

“I never said I believed you,” says my father, facing him with disinterest, “I don’t even know you. All I know about you is that you shot my daughter and stormed into my home with the intent to kill one of my men. I have no reason to trust you, or even listen to a word you have to say. I do, however, trust my daughter and it’s her whom I wish to speak with, so I suggest you wait elsewhere,” my father says, leaving no room for argument.

Silas takes a deep breath and nods, “Of course, sir.” Silas walks over to me, apprehension now evident on his face, “I’ll go wait in the car,” he says softly.

I shove his gun into his hands, refusing to look at him. He lets out a sigh and walks off, now leaving me alone with my father. I want to scream and yell and throw every knife I own at Silas right now. I’m beyond livid with him for what he has done, and yet I’m not sure I would have acted differently if the roles were reversed. That doesn’t make me any less infuriated with him though.

My father sits down at the glass table, scrubbing his hands down his face, his shoulders slumping as he looks up at me with tired eyes. My strong, powerful father now looking old and frail.

“How did this happen, Dasha? I’m not a fool to see you as some innocent angel who could do no wrong. You are mine and your mother’s daughter after all, but this, I can’t wrap my head around,” he says, sombrely shaking his head.

I walk over and pull out the chair beside him, taking my seat as I take his hand in mine. “Father I’m so, so sorry to have disappointed you. It was wrong and I was selfish, I never should have pursued him. I wish to God I could take it back. I’ve caused such a mess and I have no one to blame but myself,” I say, looking down shamefully.

Gently he squeezes my hand and reaches out to lift my chin, his eyes looking at me with calm fatherly warmth, offering me a safe harbour from the emotions causing turmoil inside me.

“When did this start?” he asks.

I take in a calm breath and centre myself. “Two years ago. It was after one of the big mafia gatherings. There was drinking and flirting, and…I made my move,” I admit with unease.

“And there was never anything before that?” he presses.

“What do you mean?” I ask in confusion.

“Was there ever anything intimate before that?” he calmly asks.

I shake my head. “No, of course not. He was just the friend I’d always known. We would laugh, maybe playfully flirt. He was just always there, being supportive and comforting.”

“Define supportive and comforting.”

“Dad, why are you asking me this? I’ve already explained nothing happened before I was twenty-one.”

“Just because he didn’t touch you, doesn’t mean he wasn’t doing anything. Please answer the question,” he implores.

My brows furrow, but I do as he asks. “I don’t know how to answer. He was my friend. He was always there when I needed someone to talk to. We trained together, watched movies together. Sometimes we’d stay up talking. I felt safe with him,” I shrug, not seeing the issue.

“Then why didn’t I ever see any of this? Training, certainly. I saw you watch movies with all the men, and myself and your mother, but never alone with Castor. I never saw you two up at all hours talking,” he says, stress growing in his voice.

“It was usually in my room or his. Castor was family, I didn’t see the big deal,” I shrug.

He sucks in a breath, “And when did this start?”

I think back, trying to remember when our movie nights started, “I guess when I was fifteen. Why?”

“You were fifteen, he was forty, Dasha. He knew what he was doing was wrong and inappropriate, you were a fucking child!” he shouts, slamming his fist on the table and making me jump.

“They were just movie nights,” I say, trying to calm him down.

“Secret movie nights! Did he hold you?”

“Well, yeah but–”

“Touch you affectionately? Maybe find other excuses to touch you?” he asks, looking and sounding more desperate by the second.

Those movie nights come flooding back into my mind. The way he rubbed my back or would stroke my hair. The soft kisses on my cheek. The way he’d hold me close and let me fall asleep in his arms. But the memories don’t slow down. I can remember the times he would stroke my thigh, but it never felt sexual, it just felt nice. He was always there when I would go for my daily swims, and always offered to put sun lotion on me. Now that I think about it, there were several times he just happened to be there when I got out of the shower, and the more I think back, his eyes were always on me. But I always just chalked that up to the fact he was my bodyguard, and it was his duty to watch over me. But the more my father prods and asks these questions, the more realisation is starting to sink in that maybe Castor’s attraction for me began long before I made my move.

My father holds my hand tight in his, looking at me with concerned but gentle eyes, “Dasha, the night you said you made your move, you said there had been drinking. Are you certain you made the first move?” he slowly asks.

I start to argue, but that night comes rushing in like a film on replay. I remember him showing me to my father’s better stash of bourbons. It felt naughty and exciting, especially because I felt bored by the lack of drama at this particular gathering. We were snuggled on the couch drinking…he told me how sexy I looked, how I was always the most beautiful woman in the room. I felt flattered and I loved the attention. I remember him caressing my thigh, more intimate than anything he’d done before. He put my drink down and as soon as he got close I kissed him. I did kiss him first, but now that I think back to that drunken night…I didn’t make the first move. He just let me think I did. Castor made the first move. It was always Castor…