Page 31 of Power

“You make a fair point. We should design a test to measure their loyalty. Until then, we watch every move.”

“I’m with you,” Laya said. “No one earns full trust until they prove themselves.”

I drew my glass closer. “Thanks for not calling me paranoid. I used to hand out trust like candy. Not anymore.”

Avra set her glass down and shook her head. “Trust is a badge you award only to those who earn it.”

Laya raised her glass in a toast. “To the Vitalis sisters: sharp-minded and unbreakable.”

Avra and I lifted our glasses against hers.

“Sharp-minded and unbreakable,” we echoed, sealing our vow in clinking crystal.

Eight

LEON

Camera flashes stabbed through the evening haze as my driver guided the ebony sedan to a halt along the drive to the side of the Stavros Niarchos Foundation Cultural Center. A breeze scented with jasmine and limestone drifted around us, keeping the night from feeling too balmy and humid. Above us, the opera house’s broad structure loomed large in the moonlit sky.

It had been designed to bring culture and history to the masses. On any other night, children ran carefree around the water features decorating the front exterior of the center, and the massive food court bustled with locals and tourists trying out various types of cuisines.

Tonight was different altogether. This was an invitation-only event with high security and guards at every point. There were no other events in the center but this one.

The gala, publicized as a fundraiser for children’s education, felt less like charity and more like a contest of opulence. Crystal lighting glowed behind tall, sheer curtains billowing in front of windows, illuminating tables weighted with vintage champagne and tiers of silver candelabras. Guests poured through the entrance in waves: film stars draped in silken gowns, monarchs sporting jeweled orders across their chests, magnates whose names flickered across global headlines.

Inside, power and money coalesced in every gesture. Silk dresses caught the glow of crystal drops, and bespoke tuxedos fit shoulders like armor. Perfumes layered the air, amber, sandalwood, rare oriental blends, while voices traded gilded gossip in dozens of languages.

The crowd formed a living mosaic of influence, each face turned toward the next possibility: a handshake, an alliance, a rumor waiting to be wielded.

I slipped past a cluster of financiers arguing tax reform and made for the shadowy edge of the grand foyer, officially known as “the Book Castle.”

I lingered by a tall, exposed metal and concrete column artistically designed for aesthetic beauty and structural necessity, fingers curled around a slender flute of champagne, scanning the room for Cali. During our last exchange, she told me she would arrive with her sisters and their husbands.

Our private phone conversations had grown intosomething I measured in hours, then minutes of anticipation. The texts were a mix of spirited debates on market volatility, heated discussions about geopolitical tensions, and everything in between. We had a spark I’d never felt among polished socialites or career politicians. Disagreement only deepened our respect for each other, every point countered with care, every concession weighed against principle.

However, none of the bonds we’d developed could spill over here. Every message we ever shared remained secured behind locked encryption. In our world, spies lurked everywhere, and nothing stayed secret without intent.

Knowing that only Cali and I shared the secret of our blossoming friendship filled me with a thrill of conspiratorial delight. It was a bond that felt intimate, as if we were both in on something special.

As I navigated through the sea of reporters and photographers gathered near the elevator banks, my gaze swept over each face, searching for those mesmerizing, jeweled eyes that had lingered in my thoughts since our first encounter.

Most likely, she was on the rooftop, called “the Lighthouse,” of the building where the main event would take place. But once I reached the rooftop, a crowd of elegantly dressed guests continued to block my view.

Despite the challenge, I wove through the throng with determination, each step driven by my desire to find Cali.

The truth was, my primary reason for attending this event was to see her, though I intended to keep that to myself.

In one corner, I noticed Avra and Laya Vitalis,surrounded by their husbands and a cadre of security personnel, engrossed in conversation with a group of equally striking women. I scanned their gathering, but Cali was nowhere in sight.

With a sigh, I paused and let the crowd flow around me.

I remembered Cali’s words about her distaste for these extravagant parties, with their superficial chatter and ostentatious displays of wealth. She mentioned only attending events like these because they were for a good cause and brought in large amounts of money for charities.

More than likely, she found a nice hiding spot to avoid the crowds. Looked as if I would have to find it.

A three-hundred-sixty-degree wrap-around open terrace framed the main dining room. It gave breathtaking views of the park surrounding the center and of Athens itself.

Somewhere out there seemed a likely place for Calista to escape.

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