Page 79 of Corrupted Heart

“Hmm, interesting,” Ares muses.

Callie frowns. “What?”

“You just walked past two different waiters with trays full of Dom Perignon, and you didn’t take a glass from either of them.”

“Careful, Ares.”

He arches a brow. “Of?”

“Of the fact that you’re dangerously close to getting a lesson in fertility cycles, ovulation?—”

“Yeah, thanks, I could go ahead and live the rest of my days without hearing my sister say the word ‘ovulation’ ever again,” Ares mutters.

I chuckle deeply, clapping him on the back. “You sort of asked for that.”

“Well, color me regretful,” he grumbles.

Callie sticks her tongue out at him before turning to me. “For the record?” She turns and nods her chin at Bianca, who’s now moved on to talking to the King and Queen of the Damned themselves, Cillian and Una Kildare. “I like her. A lot, actually.”

“Because she’s impulsive, difficult, and doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut?” I mutter.

Callie snorts. “See, I get that that’s supposed to be a jab at me. But what’s actually funny is that I distinctly remember this one”—she pokes a finger into Ares’ chest—“saying the exact same thing a few years ago about the now mother of his child.”

My brother snickers. Just then, we’re joined by another figure.

“I hate to interrupt a sibling moment,” Drazen growls quietly in his deep voice, “but I was hoping to have a word with the two of you,” he says, eyeing Ares and me.

Callie sighs. “And I suppose this is an A-B conversation, and I should C my way out of it?”

Drazen smiles, at least, as much as I imagine he’s capable of smiling.

“That is a funny joke,” he grunts in his thick Serbian-Russian accent. “I think I will keep that one.”

“It’s all yours,” Callie shrugs. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m ovulating and I need to go find my husband.”

Ares and I make pained faces as she grins at us and then sashays off through the crowd.

“Is this also a joke?” Drazen rumbles curiously.

“No, that’s just Callie being fucking gross,” Ares mutters. “What did you want to talk about?”

Drazen Krylov is an interesting character in the New York scene. A few years ago, he was basically a ghost—the boogeyman of the Bratva world who scared the shit out of even the most hardened pakhan.

As far as I can tell, no one knows much of anything about the background of the half-Serbian, half-Russian kingpin of the newly resurrected Krylov Bratva. I’ve heard he’s got a military background; other rumors say he was a child soldier in the Kosovo conflict of the 90s. Beyond that, the man is a mystery.

A very, very wealthy, extremely powerful mystery. I wouldn’t say Drazen and my family are allies, per se. Or even friends. But I know we’re not enemies, because I’m positive if we were…we’d know.

I do like him, though. And I’m pretty sure it’s because I can sense a blackness inside of him that mirrors my own. There’s a monster like mine lurking deep in his soul.

Mine can smell it.

Drazen clears his throat as he turns to me. “I hear you just met with Davit Kirakosian.”

“I did. He wasn’t able to come tonight, so I wanted to be sure we’d smoothed things over.”

Drazen nods. “I’ve heard…” He shrugs. “Rumors about Mr. Kirakosian. About his health.”

Ares glances at me curiously. “Actually, I was going to ask you about those same rumors.”

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