I leaned closer. “Katalina doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”
This time when I kissed her, she didn’t resist. Her hands held on to me, pulling me closer, then suddenly she broke away.
“The villa,” she said breathlessly, smoothing her hair. “We should... check the villa.”
The path from the airstrip to the main villa was overgrown, wild thyme and scrubby Mediterranean pines encroaching from both sides. Her figure, full and feminine in well-fitted jeans, moved with a natural grace, making the overgrown path seem like a runway.
“So you’ve only been here once before?” Tia asked as we rounded a bend in the path.
“Yes. Illegally.” I stepped over a fallen tree branch. “Me and two friends from boarding school. We borrowed one of my uncle’s boats and made it all the way to that cove you spotted from the air. Got as far as the courtyard before the caretaker caught us.”
“What happened?”
“My father had us picked up by helicopter. Grounded me for two weeks afterward.”
“Serves you right,” she said, pausing to photograph a particularly vibrant patch of wildflowers.
I laughed. “Hey! Watch it.”
We crested a small hill, and suddenly the villa came into full view. It was larger than it had appeared from the air—a sprawling two-story structure of whitewashed stone with a red-tiled roof and multiple terraces overlooking the sea. But its grandeur was dimmed by obvious neglect: shutters hanging askew, climbing vines reclaiming entire walls, and what had once been a magnificent formal garden now a tangle of overgrowth.
I’d known what to expect from the photos and reports my father had sent, but I felt sadness as we circled toward the main entrance. The villa’s condition was a far cry from the pictures in our albums—images where shipping magnates, politicians, and artists had mingled under the stars, where my grandparents had entertained royalty, where the Christakis name had meant something untouchable.
Now, the villa was neglected, dusty and languishing in the memories of yesteryear. Michail had done nothing to maintain the building.
“It’s magnificent,” Tia breathed beside me, her eyes wide as she took in the building. “There’s something so... authentic about it.”
I glanced at her, surprised. Where I saw failure and neglect, she saw potential and beauty.
“You think you can bring this back to life?” I asked, nodding toward the crumbling portico and salt-stained columns.
“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation, already moving forward, her fingers tracing the weathered stonework. “The bones are incredible. This place has soul, Santo.”
As she moved ahead of me, her professional assessment already beginning, I felt something unexpected hope stir in my chest.
“Let’s see the inside,” I suggested, following her up the cracked marble steps toward the imposing wooden doors. “Fair warning. It’s probably worse in there.”
She flashed me a smile over her shoulder, fearless and eager. “I’m counting on it.”
We moved through the villa’s grand entrance hall, sunlight slicing through tall, dust-flecked windows. The air shimmered with motes.
Tia slowed, eyes wide, camera in hand, quietly capturing the cracked frescoes, the faded grandeur of ornate moldings, the marble floors dulled by time and neglect.
“The original craftsmanship is incredible,” she murmured, brushing her fingers along an intricately carved doorframe. “Look at this detail. Someone spent months on this.”
Her voice was adoring, almost wonderstruck. I began to see the place through her eyes, not as a symbol of family strife, but as a potential for renewal.
While Tia meticulously examined the structural integrity of a doorframe, I spotted a grand staircase with a broken banister. I swung myself onto the marble steps, testing each one with a deliberate stomp.
“Santo!” Tia called out, alarm evident in her voice. “That hasn’t been structurally assessed yet!”
I continued upward, the thrill of potential danger only making it more appealing. “Consider this a preliminary field test,” I called back, jumping to land hard on a suspicious-looking step.
It held, and I shot her a triumphant grin. “See? Perfectly—”
The next step gave an ominous crack beneath my weight, and I barely managed to leap to a safer section. Tia’s worried expression transformed to an ‘I-told-you-so’ look, making me want to take even greater risks to see what other expressions I could draw from her.
We stepped into what had once been a ballroom, its high ceilings echoing faintly with our footsteps. Tia’s phone chimed. She glanced at the screen, and I watched the light drain from her face.
