Page 68 of Corrupted Heart

The bomb was thrown by men wearing masks who drove off in a very specific vintage car: a ’67 Camaro Z28, black with white racing stripes. There’s all of one of them registered in the state of New York.

It’s owned by Hades fucking Drakos.

“Where the fuck were you?!”

I flinch as Dante grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me hard. His face is livid and haggard, his mouth lined around the edges. His eyes look wild in the overhead fluorescent hospital lights.

“I—”

“Jesus, Dante…”

Tempest’s face is as worried as my brother’s. But she puts a restraining hand on his arm and shakes her head at him.

“Take. A fucking. Breath,” she says quietly, looking straight at him.

Dante closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily before he opens them. This time, there’s a softer look in them. In seconds, he’s hugging me tight, pulling me into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he growls quietly. “I was just fucking terrified after it happened and we couldn’t get hold of you.”

“I…”

Fuck, I hate lying to my own family. But if I wasn’t going to tell them I was, oh, you know, indulging in some fucked-up primal fetish sex stuff with Kratos Drakos before all of this, I sure as hell am not now.

“I stayed late to get in some conditioning before going home,” I mumble. “My phone was off?—”

“It’s okay,” Dante breathes, pulling away and smiling wanly at me. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Tempest hugs me next, wrapping her arms around me tightly. I meet Dante’s eyes over her shoulder. When he sees the look in my eyes, he shakes his head.

“Don’t.”

“Dante,” I choke, pulling away from Tempest.

“This wasn’t because of you.”

“Of course it was! I blew up his car, and this is their response!” I hiss quietly, feeling the panic clawing at my chest. “This is?—”

“Look at me.”

I shiver as Dante grabs my shoulders and peers hard into my eyes.

“This is not your fucking fault. Do you understand me?”

I swallow, looking away.

“How is Dad?”

My brother nods slowly. “He’s…okay, surprisingly enough. There was a lot of blood when they pulled him out of the building.”

I tense again, my eyes flying wide. Dante shakes his head.

“It wasn’t his,” he reassures me.

“It was Tony Pagano’s,” another voice says.

I pull away from Tempest, smiling weakly as an older man in a black coat and an old-school fedora comes over.

“Piccola piuma,” Aldo says somberly, pulling me into a hug.

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