Page 25 of Gilded Gods

I enter the backroom and shut the door.

Morpheus hands me a flash drive. “This is everything you wanted on Belen Drakos.”

The Serpents are artists like me but use their skills to recreate rare pieces of art so they can steal the originals. They’re splashy about it, too. They were behind Avant Corp’s scandal two years ago. It was all over the news.

But their artistic abilities won’t help us with Belen. I sold half of my bar because of their backgrounds in cyber intelligence. They come from wealthy families, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at any of them, not with all their tattoos.

Morpheus is tall with short, blond hair, muscular but not too bulky. He turns his back on me and walks to the desk in the corner.

I tuck the sketchbook under my arm and approach the desk. “Will you help us take them down?”

Apollo has assured me everything is under control. But all of his plotting with our mother could go sideways, and then what will we be left with in the end?

Nothing.

I can’t risk it.

“We can’t dismantle Belen’s empire by ourselves.” I shift my stance as he carefully appraises my face, considering my question.

Morpheus leans forward, his inked hands folded on the desk. “What is our help worth to you?”

A beat passes, and my heart is pounding, clambering to get out of my chest. I don’t want to do this, but what choice do I have? We can’t attack the Drakos from all sides.

I don’t know why The Serpents have taken a liking to my bar. Maybe it’s the name and the reference to the Greek underworld, but it’s helping me get closer to my goal.

“I’ll sign over The River Styx.”

Morpheus lifts an eyebrow. “All of it?”

I nod.

A delighted smirk tugs at the right corner of his mouth. “Deal.”

And just like that, I have sold my soul to the Devil for revenge.

ChapterFifteen

OPHELIA

For the restof the week, I ignored my stepbrothers. They kept busy with their businesses, rarely home.

I like it this way.

But this morning, they’re sitting at the table with me, shoving the food our chefs made into their stupid mouths like we’re a family.

Like this is normal.

I’m eating pancakes loaded with syrup because food is like an old, smelly stuffed animal a child clings to when upset. Food brings me comfort. Even on the shittiest days, I can find peace in my favorite meals.

A bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. A plate of loaded nachos with jalapeños. Moussaka from Mykonos.

Today, I go with an old favorite. Mom made me pancakes every morning before school. She’d slather them in butter and syrup, kiss the top of my head, and say, “Eat, my sweet girl. You need brain fuel to take on the day.”

Then she’d hand me a lunchbox that always had a note inside. As a young girl, I cared more about the notes than the food. Each day, she wrote something different.

You are brave.

Strength is beauty.

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