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Olympia walked stiff-backed to the door and then decided to make one last attempt to be heard. ‘My mother’s health is failing—’

Spyros growled something at her in outraged Greek, his refusal to listen instantaneous.

Olympia spun back, sea-jade eyes flashing like gems. ‘If she dies poor and miserable, as she is now, I hope your conscience haunts you to the grave and beyond, because that’s what you’ll deserve!’

For a second, Spyros Manoulis stared at her with expressionless dark eyes. Then he swung away, his broad back stiff as an iron bar.

Leaving her grandfather’s suite, Olympia got into the lift before she slumped. Minutes later, having got herself back under control, she crossed the busy hotel foyer back out into the open air. Maybe she should run really insane and kidnap Nik Cozakis, she thought with enormous bitterness. If she’d had the money she could have hired hitmen to snatch him out of his stretch limo. And she could have personally starved and tortured Nik in some dark, dank cellar with a completely clear conscience. After all, she hated him. She really, really hated him.