Chapter 17: Corrupted Heart: Chapter 17

“What?”

Milena and Naomi stare at me, mouths open in shock. We’re the last ones left in the dressing room. I asked them to stay after rehearsal because I “had to tell them something”.

Namely, that I’m getting married.

Naomi blinks. “This is, like, a mafia thing, right?”

Milena turns to shoot her a look. “You know she can’t answer that.” Her gaze switches to me. “It’s a mafia thing, isn’t it.”

I sigh. “It’s…an arrangement between our families.”

Naomi shakes her head, whistling. “It’s crazy to me that in your world, you guys can just…like…get married. No dating. You just go and—poof—get hitched to guarantee an heir or stop a war or something, right?”

Milena shrugs. “Pretty much. It’s medieval as fuck. Luckily, my dad’s already promised me that he’s never doing that with me.”

I smile bitterly. “Funny, my dad promised me the same thing!”

Milena makes a face.

“W-what does this mean for you?” Naomi asks uncertainly. “Like, with dancing, with…your whole life?”

I sigh. “I don’t think anything changes. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to stop dancing or anything.”

“What if he makes you?”

“Then she stabs him in the nuts while he sleeps,” Milena mutters. “C’mon, the arranged marriage thing is ass-backward. But it’s usually not that hardcore. I mean, no one’s being chained to a bed until they pop out an heir or anything.” She shoots me a quick, furtive look. “You’re not, right?”

I roll my eyes, blushing. “No.”

“Okay, but with these arranged things…” Naomi’s cheeks redden. “I mean, do you have to…”

Milena snickers. Naomi blushes even harder.

“C’mon! I don’t know these things! Is it assumed that you’ll have sex? Can you say no?”

“It depends on the families, the arrangement, all that,” I sigh. “But no, nothing’s implied or expected with my situation, okay?” I glare at Milena. “No one’s being chained to a bed to be a baby-maker.”

“So…” Milena eyes me as we grab our stuff and walk out of the dressing room. “Is he hot?”

My cheeks sizzle, and they giggle.

“That’s totally a yes,” Naomi snickers.

“Which means you’re totally fucking him,” Milena grins.

My face burns hotly. “I am not!”

Not yet, anyway.

We walk down the little hallway and onto the dimly lit, empty stage.

“Is he old?” Naomi asks.

“He’s…older?”

She grins. “Well, whether you’re screwing him or not, we definitely need to meet this fiancé of yours.”

“That could be arranged.”

Naomi shrieks and the three of us jump, whirling at the sound of the deep, rough, baritone voice. Kratos materializes like smoke out of the darkness of the wings as he steps onto the dimly lit stage. My pulse roars as his eyes lock onto mine, that same animalistic, feral look in them that I saw the other night at the engagement dinner.

When he beat the shit out of Grisha.

And then kissed me for the first time.

It’s not like I hadn’t noticed that Kratos hadn’t ever kissed me before. But in my head, I guess I’d just assumed kissing wasn’t something he did. At least, not as part of the dark games we’d been playing.

Kissing isn’t necessarily a given when you’re being chased around an abandoned church, pinned down, and made to scream in vicious pleasure.

But I never realized how much I wanted Kratos to kiss me until he did, the same way he does everything when it comes to me: violently. All-consumingly. Like a conqueror.

It was everything. It was madness and bliss. Heaven and damnation.

It was the hottest kiss of my life, with a man who scares me as much as he turns me on.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch my friends’ shocked faces as Kratos strides across the stage toward us. I mean, he’s already an enormous human…

Everywhere, I think with a fierce blush.

But with the footlights from the edge of the stage shining up his back, Kratos looks even larger than life as he comes to a stop right in front of us.

“Uh…hi?” I blurt, swallowing nervously. I realize I’m staring up into his stupidly handsome face, and that he’s staring right down into mine. One of his big hands comes up, and one of his thick fingers brushes a wayward lock of hair back behind my ear.

“What…” I shiver. “What are you doing here?”

“My grandmother wanted us to come see her.”

“Oh…okay,” I say. I clear my throat. “Uh, these are my friends, Naomi and Milena.”

Kratos’ brow furrows. “Milena Kalishnik, if I’m not mistaken?”

Her face turns beet red as she smiles bashfully, staring at him with wide, starry eyes. “Uh-huh,” she whispers.

“I’ve done business with your father.”

“That’s so awesome,” Milena breathes, still moony-eyed.

“I’mNotInTheMafia,” Naomi blurts rapidly.

“That’s probably a good thing,” Kratos rumbles.

Naomi and Milena both laugh like it’s the funniest joke in the world. Oh my God.

“Anyway,” I mutter, clearing my throat. “We should go, yeah?”

Kratos nods. “Indeed. Best never to keep Dimitra Drakos waiting.” He turns and bows a little bit to my two blushing friends. “Lovely to meet you, ladies.”

“Totally,” Milena gushes.

“Any time!” Naomi squeaks.

Kratos walks to the front of the stage. I turn to glare at my friends.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” I hiss under my breath.

“Sorry!” Naomi mouths, looking panicky. “He’s just SO fucking hot.” She swoons, fanning herself.

I roll my eyes. “Thirsty much?”

“For that?” Milena grins. “Parched.”

I poke them both in the ribs, rolling my eyes again before I walk over to the edge of the stage to jump off it and into the house. Just before I do, huge hands swoop out of the darkness. My pulse jumps as Kratos gently lifts me by the hips, easing me off the stage and down to the ground as if I weigh nothing.

Then, without another word, he takes my hand and walks me up the aisle and into the foyer.

Once outside, he opens the door to a matte black Mercedes G-wagon. It’s funny, in my stalking of Kratos via his siblings’ social media, I’ve seen how he, like his brother Hades, is into cars. But I’m starting to realize that his taste in vehicles probably leans more toward big SUVs, like this G-wagon or the Defender I…cringe…burned. It’s not like someone his size is going to be cramming himself into a two-seater sports car.

We drive in silence for a few blocks before I clear my throat.

“Sorry about my friends. They’re…weird.”

He doesn’t say anything. But when I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, I see him grinning to himself.

“Why does your grandmother want to see us?”

I’ve met Dimitra twice now: once at a sit-down meeting involving the Drakos family and mine, and then again briefly at the engagement party. Both times, she’s been fairly cool to me.

Honestly? I’m not sure she likes me much. Which is fair, given my reckless actions made it so her grandson has to marry me.

“Not us. Just you.”

I stiffen, whipping my gaze to him.

“Wait, what?”

Kratos keeps his eyes on the road. “The Lord, and Dimitra Drakos, work in mysterious ways. You don’t have to worry, though. She’s harmless.” He turns to smirk at me. “Unless you make an enemy of her.”

I sink into my seat, apprehension washing over me as we make our way down Central Park West.

“Are we going to my place so I can change clothes?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Ya-ya is expecting us.”

My eyes widen. “Like, right now?” I glance down helplessly at my attire: I mean, I’m in leggings and a long-sleeved warmup top.

“Don’t worry. She really won’t care what you’re wearing.” He lifts a shoulder, his eyes still on the road. “Besides, you look good.”

I can feel my cheeks simmer. My phone buzzes, and I open it to see some new texts on my “Ballet Bitches” chain with Naomi and Milena.

My face burns as I scrunch down lower in my seat, twisting the phone away in case Kratos looks over.

Milena sends a gif of a baby hamster nibbling on the end of a banana. My face explodes with heat.

Oh my fucking God…

I close the chat and flip my phone face down on my lap. Just as I do, we come to a stop on Central Park South, right across the street from Central Park. Kratos steps out, and I blink in surprise when he hands his keys to a man in dark suit who looks somewhere between a mafioso and a valet. I step out of the car onto the sidewalk and look up at the forty-story building towering over us.

“Uh, where are we?”

Kratos smirks. “Home.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I’ve known luxury for most of my life. Well, from the little I remember, we lived modestly but comfortably with our birth parents. But after Vito took Dante, Claudia, and me in, it went up about a hundred notches: enormous brownstone townhouse, nice cars, not wanting for anything. That’s the mafia world.

But this?

My mouth falls open as I step out of the elevator and stare up at the gilded splendor of the Drakos estate.

I mean, it’s a freaking palace.

Marble floors, gold chandeliers, framed classical art on the walls. I’m so stunned that I barely notice when Kratos takes my hand and leads me through the sprawling mansion. My eyes bulge as I stare out through a wall of elegant French doors that lead out to a huge, manicured patio and garden. Beyond it, the grounds—and yes, I’m calling those grounds, which is insane given that we’re on top of a forty-story building—stretch out, complete with white Grecian statues, rose gardens, a fountain, what looks like a tennis court, and—holy shit—two pools.

“It…leaves an impression,” Kratos rumbles next to me.

I twist my head, craning my neck to look up at him. “This place is huge. Do you all live here?”

He shakes his head. “Not anymore. Ares and Neve are over on the West Side. Hades and Elsa are in Brooklyn Heights. Deimos and Dahlia keep a place on the Upper West Side, but they’re mostly at their estate out in Connecticut. And Callie lives with Castle at the Kildare home on the Upper East Side.”

My brow creases at a thought I actually hadn’t considered yet: my new living situation.

“When we…you know,” I mumble. “Will I⁠—”

“I don’t live here anymore either,” Kratos says. “You’ll be moving into my brownstone in the East Village.”

There’s something about the decisive way he states it, like this isn’t up for discussion at all, that both flusters me and turns me on a little.

Dear world: send professional help. Pretty sure I need it.

Kratos takes my hand again, which isn’t necessary—it’s not like I’m a child and we’re crossing a busy street. At the same time, it feels weirdly normal. As if my small hand was meant to fit into his gargantuan one.

“Is that, like, set in stone?”

He looks at me, half-amused, out of the corner of his eyes. “Us moving in together once we’re married? Yes.”

“I already have my own apartment, though.”

“That’s wonderful. Married people live together.”

“Well, yeah, but this isn’t a real⁠—”

One second, I’m walking through the nicest, most elegant home I’ve ever seen. The next, the gorgeous, dark giant next to me is whirling, pinning me against the wall, grabbing my whole jaw in one hand, and crushing his mouth to mine.

I melt.

My skin ignites like there’s liquid fire rippling across the surface. My core clenches, my legs trembling as his tongue teases over my lips and then breaks through my defenses. My body goes numb and weightless as he kisses me slowly, deeply, and possessively.

He starts to pull back when suddenly I jolt, a muffled squeal catching in my throat as I feel his teeth nip sharply at my bottom lip. I shudder and taste warm copper. At the same time, Kratos growls low, sucking on my bottom lip.

On the bite he’s just given me.

Tasting my blood, and my whimper.

Why the hell is that so fucking hot?

When he finally pulls away, I’m in a state of shock, my eyes wide as I stare up at him. My core ripples, and my thighs are clenching together tightly.

“Hmph,” he grunts. “Tastes real to me.”

No words. Before I can even attempt to find any, Kratos turns and knocks on the closed double doors we’ve arrived at.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he growls quietly, turning to me. “Later tonight, you’re meeting me at the church.”

I know what that means. Every fiery inch of my body knows what that means. But I ask anyway.

“Why is that?”

Something lethal and exhilarating flickers behind his piercing blue eyes.

“Because I have no intention of fucking a virgin on my wedding night.”

Holy fuck.

My core spasms, my pulse skipping as Kratos turns to the door in front of us as footsteps approach on the other side.

“Tonight, we’ll be taking care of that.”

“Do you like baklava?”

I’m sitting alone with Dimitra Drakos, or “Ya-ya”, as her grandchildren call her, on the terrace of her private office. Before us lie the sweeping, gorgeously manicured grounds of the Drakos estate. They extend out to every edge of the building, where the rose bushes, manicured lawns, and stone walkways suddenly drop away like cliffs to Central Park below.

It’s just Dimitra and me: Kratos left as soon as she welcomed me into her office. The woman is petite—like not even five feet, and probably ninety pounds after a swim. But there’s still an unquestionable power that radiates from her.

Obviously, Ares is the head of the Drakos family. But at the same time, I get the sense that Dimitra would get the final word on most issues if she put her foot down.

My stomach grumbles at the word “baklava”.

“I love baklava,” I enthuse. “There’s this little Greek pastry shop on 26th and Lexington⁠—”

“Yiorgos’ Café, yes,” she finishes. “I know it. Good baklava…” She lifts a bird-like shoulder. “But if that’s your favorite, we need to expand your horizons.”

I grin. “Any recommendations?”

“Yes. My own.”

I blink as she puts down her cup of tea and stands. “Come with me.” She winks. “We’re making baklava.”

Okayyy? I follow Dimitra through the gorgeous home until we step into a jaw-droppingly beautiful kitchen.

“It’s easier than you think. Plus, it’s Kratos’ favorite.”

For some reason, that hits weirdly. I stiffen as she bustles around the kitchen, pulling various ingredients from shelves.

“You’re teaching me because I have to make my husband happy?”

Shit.

It comes out with way more attitude than I intended. I wince, bracing myself for Dimitra’s wrath, or a stern talk about how it’s a mafia wife’s duty to make her husband’s life comfortable and bear his children.

But instead of a scowl, it’s a grin I see on her face when she turns toward me, shaking her head. “No matter how many times I hear that said, especially by older generations like mine who should know better, it never ceases to make me angry.” She frowns. “A wife should make her husband happy by her mere presence. Because she’s who she is, and that’s what he enjoys about her. Not because she’s cleaning up after him or making him the ‘right’ meals.” Her silvered brows knit as she shakes her head again. “That’s not marriage. That’s indentured servitude.”

I grin.

I think I’m going to like this woman a lot.

“Our world, Bianca, is full of marriages of convenience, or of inconvenience, or marriages to keep the peace. That’s simply the way it is. But no matter the reasons for two people getting married, it’s still a promise. And a promise goes both ways. Yes, I hope that you make my grandson happy, just as I hope he makes you happy. But not because you break your back doing things for him.”

She starts to line her ingredients up on the kitchen island between us.

“Bianca, I don’t want to teach you how to make my baklava today so you can satisfy Kratos. He’s a grown man, and a very fine cook himself, and he can make his own damn baklava if he wants some.” She winks at me again. “I’m teaching you because you’re going to be part of our family, and I’ve always taught all the women in our family how to make it so that they can make it for themselves should they choose to. Okay?”

A wide smile threatens to split my face as I nod. “Okay.”

Dimitra nods. “Good. Let’s bake.”