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Because back then, the Kildares were our enemies, and we were headed toward an all-out, blood-in-the-streets, nuclear level war with them. Then my older brother Ares married Neve Kildare, joining the families, creating a united front and burying the hostilities.
I’d always known vaguely somewhere in the back of my head that Sean was a top-notch fighter. Then, when we accidentally crossed paths one night at the underground fights I sometimes go to, we hit it off.
I’m pretty good, but Christ. That dude isphenomenal. Honest to God, there’s a solid chance he could go pro. And from time to time, like last night, I convince him to put me through my paces in a ring. This typically results in me getting my ass served to me. But it’s also a great way to learn and get better.
So, no, I didn’t sleep at my place in Brooklyn last night, because I was so knocked to shit after ten rounds with that motherfucker that I crashed on the couch of his Lower East Side apartment.
Okay…theremighthave been a couple or twelve shots of whiskey last night too, since Sean insists on embodying every single stereotype of a hard-drinking, tough-fighting Irishman. Yeah, in fact Callie’s right: Iamrocking a small hangover to accompany the full-body ache of getting the absolute shit knocked out of me last night. Fun combination. Not.
Callie sighs loudly and glances at her watch again. “Ares did say ten, right? It’s nine fifty-eight. If he’s not here in two, I’m—”
As if on cue, the door to the conference room flies open, and the rest of our family crashes in like a wave of chaos, shattering the silence. Ya-ya walks in first, her eyes wide and bright as she clasps her hands together, drinking in the view of Lower Manhattan through the wall of windows. It’s our grandmother’s first time seeing the Thermopylae Acquisitions offices completely finished, and even though I’m exhausted, sore, and hungover, I grin at the pride and joy on her face.
“Theé mou! Eínai ómorfo!”
My God, it’s beautiful.
Kratos, my younger but enormous brother, chuckles a rumbling laugh as he walks in after her.
“Not bad, huh, Ya-ya?”
Behind him, Ares strides in last, like an emperor storming into his war room. I can’t help but grin.
Ares was never supposed to be king. And not so long ago, he wasn’t, just like he wasn’t the oldest Drakos sibling. Back then, it was our older brother, Atlas, who reigned over our family empire, after murdering our father.
Luckily, that reign was comically—or tragically, depending on your point of view—short-lived due to Atlas’ idiocy and pride—and it was a dethroning that got him killed in the process. Ares took up the crown after him, moaning and groaning about “not being meant” to be king.
But the truth is, it’s a crown he was born to wear.
Atlas was the oldest, but also the cruelest. Years older than all of us, he always felt more like a mean uncle than a brother. And the particular irony of it beingAtlaswho killed our equally unlovable father is that it was Atlas who was always our dad’s favorite. The one he poured the most of his cruelty, malice, and pride into.
Ares was smart, though. He took the strength from our brutal upbringing, and left the cruelty and the wickedness on the table. My younger brother Kratos is the strong, silent one. Then there’s ouryoungestbrother, Deimos, who’s currently running the European side of our empire in London and is every inch the God of Terror he’s named after. Calliope, or Callie, the baby of the family, well… She’s her own force of nature, which is why we get along so well.
And then there’s me. The wild card. The unhinged one. The God of the Underworld himself.
It shouldn’t be the case, but somehow, even though sometimes we disagree, we all make these personalities work together—both as a family, and as an empire.
Ares pauses near the head of the table, arching a stern brow at Callie and me.
“Thanks for dressing up,” he mutters, eyeing Callie’s flip-flops, cutoff jean shorts and hoodie, and my black jeans, motorcycle boots and white t-shirt.
“You didn’t mention a dress code,” Callie fires back.
“I mean, it’s a business meeting at our new financial firm, Callie,” he sighs. “It’s sort of implied.”
“Yeah,Callie,” I grin at her. She flips me off.
“How did you guys not know to dress up?” Kratos grunts, glancing down at his sharp dark blue suit, custom tailored to his large frame.
“Suck up,” Callie mutters, guzzling her iced coffee.
Ares sighs and shakes his head before taking his seat at the head of the table. Kratos and our grandmother sit across from Callie and I, and Ares leans forward to push a button on the speaker in front of him. After a few rings, the line picks up.
“D, you with us?”
“Loud and clear,” Deimos’ unmistakably gravely tone rasps through the phone. “Hi, Ya-ya.”
“Geia sou engone,” she chirps back.
