Page 21 of Gilded Gods

After Dad’s death, our mom continued planning events with her rich friends, pretending she still had our dad’s money. No one knows she’s flat broke.

Only her loyal sons.

Her divorce settlement ran out a while back, which means Akropolis, The River Styx, and The Apollo Group are her sole sources of income.

Times are getting tough for us. Apollo’s fund is taking a massive hit because of the economy. And to get the information we need to take down Belen, Atlas had to sell half of his bar to a gang called The Serpents.

I’m a gambler. So I dropped half a million on a fight, thinking it was a sure thing. We need the money, so I figured, why not?

But I lost.

Now, I must lose my next fight to pay back the bookie. I shouldn’t have bet so much money on a fight that should have been a guarantee, but I also didn’t know Belen Drakos was fixing the fights in Beacon Bay. He appointed his brother, Alexander, to collect on my debt.

He’s Ophelia’s uncle and Belen’s older brother. Before we arrived, he handled the finances at the clubs. But our mother has convinced Belen to push his brother aside and let Apollo put his finance degree from Yale to good use.

We need Belen’s money.

But we want his power more.

A man like Belen Drakos commands authority. He owns almost every bar, strip club, and nightclub in the area. People bow to the Godfather of the Night. And if we play our cards right, they will kneel for us soon enough.

Ophelia taps my arm with her elbow. “Snap out of it, Ares. Can you pass the syrup?” She points to the bottle on my right. “Any day now. What, are you high?”

“No, I’m not high,” I grumble and slide the syrup in front of her.

I was thinking about how I’m going to destroy your father.

I want to lecture her about eating all that sugar on a stack of pancakes. Not because of her weight. I love her body. But I’m a health nut and don’t eat sugar, processed foods, or carbs.

Apollo sits beside me and shoots a look that says, “Keep your mouth shut.”

If he were eating that shit, he would never hear the end of it. That’s why he’s biting into an egg sandwich on a whole-grain English muffin.

Better choices equal no shit from me. Besides, I don’t have to tell that evil genius about the connection between food and the mind. He’s so obsessed with himself and his big brain that he doesn’t need a lecture.

I stick with my usual protein shake and bottled water. Atlas doesn’t care what I think, stuffing a handful of crispy bacon into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. He takes the syrup and douses five pancakes with it.

I’d only eat sugar if Ophelia drizzled the syrup on her naked body and let me lick it off her.

Now, there’s a thought.

“Phe,” Belen says midway through the meal. “I’m making a few business changes to include your stepbrothers.”

Ophelia grips the fork in her hand, nose scrunching at the wordbrothers. I don’t like it, either, but I don’t care if she calls me brother, uncle, or daddy.

Whatever floats her boat.

I’ll still fuck her good.

“What kind of changes?” Ophelia flicks her long, dark hair over her shoulder, practically glowing. Probably from my visit to her bedroom last night.

“This week, I want you to sit down with Atlas and review the new marketing materials for the clubs. And I’d like you to bring Apollo to Olympus.”

She curls her fist around the fork, teeth gritted. “Are you kidding me? I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve been managing the clubs on my own for years.”

“No one said you need a babysitter,” Belen says. “Atlas is a very talented artist and has a lot of ideas for how we can attract more customers.”

“Oh, does he?” Ophelia narrows her eyes at Atlas, who is sketching on his lap under the table. “What about Apollo?”

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