Page 43 of Corrupted Heart

I chuckle. “Miss me already, Ya-ya?”

She rolls her eyes. “My kitchen certainly does. I don’t know what to do with all the food in there anymore.”

“I could aways move back in, you know.”

“And pigs might fly, Kratos,” she smirks with a sternly arched brow. “Which is to say—no, you can’t.”

I laugh. “That’s cold, Ya-ya. What, you got a boyfriend coming around these days you don’t want me to see?”

“Just one?”

I snort around another bite of souvlaki and gesture past her with my chin. “Am I the last to arrive?”

She nods. “The king is holding court in the library.”

“Well, best not keep him waiting.”

Ares is a stickler for punctuality at these family meetings of his.

The mask has been back on since I stepped off the elevator. And it’ll stay there when I greet the rest of them. I’ve moved mountains to ensure that my family never sees the darker side of me. They know first-hand how cruel our father was. And they all experienced the sadism of our oldest brother, Atlas, before his death a few years ago.

But none of them knows what happened to me. What was done to me. None of them knows what I really am.

“Well, well, look who showed up.”

“I had to do a quick thing for Ya-ya,” I rumble as I step into the library, rolling my eyes at Ares. “Relax.”

Ares, our oldest surviving brother and the official head of the Drakos family, frowns a little, but then he lets it go as he clears his throat. Ares plays the role of protector. The strong shield. The one wearing the heavy crown and making the tough calls. Ironically, he does all this as if he had been born to be king, even though technically he wasn’t.

But that’s who he is now. And recently becoming a parent with his wife Neve to my nephew, Elias, has only strengthened that.

My gaze pulls around the beautiful old library full of leather-bound books where Ares likes to hold court if we’re meeting here at Ya-ya’s house. Sprawled on the couch next to Ares’ chair is my second-oldest brother, Hades: chaotic, untamed, and impulsive, a physical manifestation of “id”.

Or at least, he was.

He’s still the same maniac brother with whom I share a love of engines and fighting. But now that he’s married to Elsa, a stepfather of sorts to her younger sister Nora, and expecting a child of his own, his sharper edges have been smoothed a bit.

Deimos, my younger brother, stands by the window. Of any of them, I suppose he’s the one I should connect the best with, as he’s arguably the most like me. Except, while I hide all my dark emotions, urges, and nature deep inside, Deimos wears them on his sleeve. We all expect him to be “the scary psycho” of the family, because it’s a role he’s played ever since we were kids.

I’m fine with him having that role. It took the eyes off me after the horror-show that was my childhood and early teen years. But even Deimos has calmed down a bit in the last year, since marrying Dahlia.

He and I nod to each other before I stride over and slump onto the second couch next to my little sister, Callie. She lived here at Ya-ya’s house with me the longest, until she married Castle, the head of the Kildare Irish Mafia family.

Yes, we were all named for Greek gods, muses, and titans. In addition to being a monstrously cruel piece of shit, our father had a bit of a thing for Greek mythology.

And yes, I’m aware that there’s another common theme here: all my siblings, even wild-man Hades and crazy Deimos, have moved on. They’re creating lives and new directions for themselves with people they love.

Meanwhile, I don’t know what I am or what the fuck I’m supposed to be.

Callie turns to smirk at me, her eyes dropping to the remains of the souvlaki in my hands.

“Had to do a quick thing for Ya-ya, huh?” She smirks. “Like what, help her empty the fridge?”

I chuckle, offering her the plate. “Wanna bite?”

Callie shakes her head. “What, and take food out of the mouth of the favorite grandchild? Not a chance.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not the favorite.”

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