"I'm not shopping for a dress," I mutter, staring out the tinted window of the armored SUV. "I'm shopping for armor."
The convoy slows to a crawl in front of the most exclusive bridal boutique in Kolonaki. The street has been cleared of civilians. Men in black suits—Stavros's elite guard—line the sidewalk like ominous gargoyles, their hands hovering near their waistbands.
They aren't looking at the silk mannequins in the window. They're scanning the rooftops for snipers.
"Relax," the woman beside me says. She snaps her gum, looking bored. "If they were going to shoot you, they would have done it at the intersection. That's the choke point."
Caterina Nikolaides. Stavros's younger sister. She has his dark, predatory eyes and his terrifying calm, wrapped in a leather jacket and combat bo
