Chapter Ten
Ares growls, inked fingers dragging down chiseled features in frustration. The way his gigantic arms curl has me a little concerned for his jacket seams; the poor things look just about ready to surrender.
“ The Gray Man ? So Tristan is just swapping out country club-brand evil for mob boss-brand evil?” he grouses the moment he’s calmed down long enough to speak.
“I guess? I don’t know his father personally, though I am well acquainted with his sire,” I hesitate, wondering if I should elaborate. I’m pushing my luck the longer I stay, but I can’t just let them jump straight into the snake pit without at least a warning, right?
There’s no anti-venom for this type of fuckery.
“So, I need you to believe me when I tell you that there are only three men in this world who can still truly evoke my fear response—and he’s one of them.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Apollo snaps. His arms are now folded tightly across his chest. He’s not as obscenely muscled as Dionysus or Ares, but the guarded pose still does a stellar job of showcasing just how broad his athletic frame is.
Without a mask to hide behind, I have to work overtime to keep my expression as serene as possible. “Not important.”
“And who’re the other two?” Hermes demands, stepping into view. His fingers are laced behind his head as he prowls back and forth. With his arms raised, the busk of his corset rises, blessing me with an even clearer view of the lines of his Adonis belt as they dip below his waistline.
Christ.
“Also not important,” I repeat, clearing my throat when my words come out a little too huskily.
“ Midas .”
My eyes jerk to Hades’s as if magnetized, finding him now hovering at Apollo’s side like an apparition in all black. The lines of his tailor-made outfit are immaculate—save for the way his dress pants pull too tightly around the fists now shoved inside their pockets.
“You looked uncomfortable when he asked you to dance,” he says, voice raspy from disuse, “and relieved when he left.”
Well, fuck. Trust the ever-silent, watchful one to pinpoint exactly which of my loose threads to tug at first. His focus now feels somehow even more intense, the weight of that knowing gaze a lead apron on my chest.
When I neither confirm nor deny his brother’s observations, Apollo, of course, takes that as an opening to bulldoze his way back into control of the conversation.
“What did he want with you? And don’t say just a dance. We heard his twenty questions. He was oddly interested in you.”
I purse my lips, casually examining my nails. Perhaps my promise to explain everything had been a tad hasty, considering we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks—and not even well at that.
The problem is each time I contemplate walking away, there’s a troubling tug behind my sternum.
“He knows who I am. Well, he at least knows that I’m valuable to Sebastian, and that makes me potentially valuable to him .”
Apollo’s brow pinches. “Because you’re a librarian?”
Amusement fizzes, tipping up one side of my mouth as I glance back up at him. “Not a librarian. The Librarian.”
“You make it sound like a title.”
I hum, considering. “Not so much a title, it’s not like a job I applied for. It’s…what he made me.” I hold up a hand before there’s another interrogation, “But that’s also for when we’re back in Rox City. Just know that most of the Underworld knows the name, but not my identity. That’s strictly need to know.”
“Okay,” Apollo says, yielding for now. “But that creep Midas still thinks you’re valuable . Are you in danger?” he asks darkly, absently flexing his crossed arms.
Hermes resumes his pacing, and I’m so preoccupied with the agitated bounce of blond curls that I don’t see the way Hades’s shoulders stiffen or when Ares’s glower deepens.
My next swallow feels a little rough as I muse on that. Good question.
“Honestly? The Suits guard me like an heir, so I’ve always assumed he thinks I’m Sebastian’s daughter rather than a ward. I don’t know why he hasn’t made a move before, but I do know he prefers the long game.” My eyes slide back to Apollo. “Regardless, your father is the more imminent threat.”
“The Suits, that’s who you’ve been with this whole time?”
Most kids in Roxborough or Lexington grow up hearing scary stories about the Gray Man and his smartly dressed army. He’s the Twin Cities’ Bogeyman and the Gray Men—or the Suits as we like to call them—are the weapons he uses to haunt us.
I lift my mask, showing them the black feathers. “Yes, and if you see one of these tonight, they work for your father. With the exception of the three standing outside, you can’t trust any of them.”
Ares’s shoulders roll back at that. He looks about ready to start staging an armed insurrection against the Suits himself. “And he’s entered Tristan into these trials? What do we need to do to get his name off that list?”
“I said he’ll most likely be nominating him since he’s allowed to nominate up to three heirs. And he won’t have a choice if that happens; a succession nomination’s binding. It’s like putting your name in the Goblet of Fire, so to speak.”
“ Fuck, ” he curses under his breath, turning his whole body toward his best friend. “We can protect you?—”
“How?” I blurt, cutting him off. This is the Gray Man. Four seniors and a few loose criminal connections aren’t going to cut it.
“What?”
“I know you guys seem to have a lot of sway at the Academy, and I’m impressed you’ve managed to dodge the Aces for so long. But being big fish in your little Rox pond won’t help you when there are actual sharks out there,” I say forcefully.
Ares only smirks. There’s a challenging glint in his eye like he thinks he’s finally got one over me. “We’re sponsored , Winters.”
“No shit ,” I drawl right back, “or you wouldn’t fucking be here. By who ?”
“The Alessi Family.”
I groan. "You’re actually kidding me right now.”
Why are the pretty ones always so stupid?
He visibly bristles, but I only scowl, wanting to knock that stupid gold mask from his face.
“The Alessi Family? As in the New York Alessis? New. York. They’re from the North ! That means they won’t be able to participate or interfere in the trials. Besides, the Alessi crime family are practically nobodies compared to the Suits.”
I turn away from them, needing a second to piece my thoughts together. That niggling uncertainty is back, clawing for my attention.
None of this makes sense.
Sponsorship is expensive, requires influence, and is heavily vetted. Whoever sponsored Tristan Sinclair and his friends would only do so if they really wanted them here tonight.
And they knew they could pull it off.
The only thing of note the Alessi mafia family has ever contributed to the Imperium are the Donato twins. And they can’t even claim them anymore.
Someone else knows about the second Grayson heir.
“You’re better off going to Martin Sinclair for help,” I mutter.
“No!” Apollo and Ares bark at the same time.
“Jesus, fuck,” I huff, turning back and taking in their outraged expressions. I was only joking.
Scanning the room, my gaze then lands on the entrance, reminding me of the men outside.
“Alright, then. I guess if Sebastian does nominate both of his sons, we’ll all technically be on the same team, if temporarily. You should probably accept our help at least.”
Instead of answering, Ares and Apollo have a silent conversation with their eyes, while Hermes pauses with his hands on his hips. He hasn’t said another word, and this might just be the longest I’ve seen him go without speaking since I’ve known him.
Hades continues looking through me with that uncanny X-ray vision of his.
When Apollo returns his focus to me, there’s a little more color in his expression, and eyes that I now know are a shade of Grayson blue are filled with resolve.
“We obviously still have questions, and evidently, you’ve got the answers.”
A flash of that first day in the courtyard: Sabine Winters is dead . So who the fuck are you?
“Obviously," I echo, with a curt nod to cover my unease.
“But, yes. It’s probably in our best interest if we…work together,” he concedes, watching as I slip my mask back into place. Just as I finish with the ribbon, I hear a flurry of movement on the other side of the privacy screen.
My arms drop back to my sides.
Time’s up.
“ Ugh ,” I groan, leaning into Zeus’s muscular hold as he ushers me toward the dining hall. My head had started pounding the moment I’d stepped out of the alcove’s dim lighting and back into the main atrium. “I don’t think I can do dinner. I’m about five balding mobsters away from an epic migraine.”
“You know as well as I do it will be a thousand times more painful— for both of us —if you don’t show your face. Just get through the main service and I’ll have Orbison drop you off at the hotel.”
“Can I at least start drinking now?
“No.”
Was that a whimper? I’m pretty sure it was a whimper.
“ One drink, with a plate of food, and then you are going straight to bed.”
I sag, letting him take even more of my weight. Because as much as that commanding tone had me deflating in his arms like a slutty balloon, I can still feel my skull starting to split like an overripe piece of fruit.
Damnit.
I really could’ve used the drink before we had to head in and throw ourselves to the wolves.
Or wolf —singular.
The Big, Bad, ‘ Possibly the Next Southern Sovereign ’ Wolf, to be precise.
I tilt my chin, studying Zeus’s tense profile as he expertly steers us around another group of rowdy mobsters—this one comprised of three members of the American Cosa Nostra sharing lines off the small of a petite Courtesan’s back. “And where will you be?”
His eyes cut to mine, stern gaze dropping to my lips for just a nanosecond. But I caught it, and the dominance in his expression has my mouth watering against its will. I swallow.
“Running interference,” he answers evenly, his own throat bobbing once.
“ Jax ,” I whisper.
“I rather liked Zeus ,” is all he says, punctuated by a rueful grin.
“You don’t—” He cuts me off with a single, knowing squeeze to the waist.
I shiver when Dio then runs a knuckle down the length of my spine. “ Hospitium, ” D reminds me, “and Knox will be stuck to him like glue. He’ll be fine, babe.”
Logically , I know Sebastian won’t lay a hand on him here—not without major consequences. But that paternity report has still sparked a small, foreign flame of anxiety deep inside my chest. It all but puts a bounty on Zeus’s head, and the protection of neutral ground ends the moment we leave Themis.
“I’ll be fine,” Zeus echoes before purposefully putting some distance between us. We’ve reached the doorway of the antechamber hosting tonight’s dinner service, and as soon as the four of us move through the set of Georgian double doors, a mousey Concordia hostess wearing a blood-red cravat practically teleports her way to our side.
Jessica Crabit, 29 ’s chocolate brown doe eyes instantly zero in on Zeus. “Sovereignty, sir?”
“South,” Zeus instructs her, glancing around the hall. Although there are quite a few revelers still enjoying the debauchery outside, it looks as though a good majority of the tables have already been seated.
“And party, sir?”
“Gray Men.”
There’s no missing the flash of pity on Jessica’s sharp, elfin face.
“Leadership or ancillary?” she asks, more timidly.
“Second gen leadership,” Zeus clarifies, and she pales as though he just asked her to escort him to the gallows herself.
To her credit, she doesn’t miss a beat—bustling off almost as quickly as she appeared and leaving me cursing at the thought of having to chase her down in this unholy combination of dress and heels. Zeus follows calmly in her nervous wake with the long, unhurried strides of a mafia prince.
I have to practically jog to keep up.
The hostess comes to a halt in front of a grand cluster of tables, each one covered in a black cloth and bearing an elegant placard inscribed with:
Southern Sovereignty:
The Gray Men
“Here, sirs,” she gestures politely to one of two intimately set tables, both positioned slightly apart from the rest of the seating reserved for our faction’s party. Both, surprisingly, are still empty.
Zeus dismisses her with a nod, reaching for the chair directly in front of me. Before he can finish sliding it out, however, Dionysus shoulder checks him out of the way.
“Your ladyship,” he croons in my ear with a dramatic hand flourish.
“ Dude ,” I jeer, at the same time that Zeus scolds, “ Orbison .”
“What?” He flutters his lashes at us with faux guilelessness.
Zeus rolls his eyes—no doubt seeking strength to deal with his Second’s antics—but my focus has already been drawn by the weird number of place settings at each of the two tables.
Six .
There should be five for the Junior Council and four for the Senior.
Which reminds me—“ Has anyone seen Foster?” He’d disappeared after shoving that drink into my hands, and I hadn’t seen him again since. It’s been hours.
“He’s doing bug sweeps on all the Gray Man suites at the Delphi. Sebastian’s orders,” Knox supplies. He scratches his neck, a grimace pulling down his mouth.
“What the fuck?” There goes all hope for a ceasefire. “He has two dozen other tech guys on his payroll that could’ve done that with their eyes closed.”
“Are you really that surprised, though? Low skill, low effort. How better to remind us just how little he values his Junior Council?” Zeus drawls. “Plus, it’s kept our group split for the better part of the night.”
I huff, angrily maneuvering myself into my seat and trying not to puncture a lung on the boning of my dress as I do.
He’s definitely not wrong, but now I’m even more confused about the seating arrangements. If Sebastian had no intention of letting our entire Crew eat together, why were there not four seats? And even with the possibility of having the Rox Boys join him, why two tables of six?
Dionysus leans over my shoulder, ogling my cleavage as he helps to push the chair in. “You know you almost look like you own a pair of tits when you sit down in that thing,” he stage whispers, knowing full well I can’t stand back up and retaliate without the assistance of at least two grown adults. His eyes twinkle behind his mask.
“Oh, you did not just— ” I start, jerking my arm back, but the asshole twists to keep his torso out of the direct area of impact.
“Sit down, you brat,” Zeus hisses, taking his place to my left, and— I swear to orgasms —the tips of Dio’s ears turn pink. He drops down on my other side without another word.
Knox then makes a show of cramming his giant body into one of the empty spots directly opposite, eyes ping-ponging between the three of us. His chin begins to quiver with the effort of holding his tongue.
I smother a grin.
Always such a slut for the tea.
“Just ask , Morales,” Zeus says with a long-suffering sigh, toying with one of the many cutlery sets arranged before him.
Knox sucks on his lower lip before immediately launching into his inquisition. “How long? Who made the first move? Each of you and Sabe? Or is it both of you? Like you and Rhett—or you and Rhett? Or like, all three of you together together?”
When he’s forced to pause and take a breath, Zeus quirks his brow, his black mask shifting up with the movement. “You done?”
I’m fully expecting our gossip queen to keep peppering him with questions. Instead, his dark beard splits with an oddly satisfied smile, full of teeth.
“Why does your face look like they just announced a new season of One Tree Hill ?” I ask, chuckling.
“Woman! Don’t even joke about that,” he pouts, aiming one huge index finger in my direction. “Seriously though, you know I love a good slow burn, but this ”—he circles that accusatory finger between the three of us—“has been giving me major bangxiety.”
Then the giant teddy bear of an Enforcer leans in, propping his chin up on two massive fists. With the crown of his head covered by feathers, he looks like he’s about to perform a cabaret. “Tell. Me. Everything .”
But hearing that even Knox noticed our push and pull has my gut tightening and my chuckle backsliding to an uneasy laugh. Was I the only one who thought my years of pining had been completely, totally, one hundred percent unrequited?
“Who?” I deflect with a mocking smile. “Orbison and I? That’s old news, sweetie.”
“ Saberella ,” he groans, and his playful eye roll melts away a little of that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Okay, jeez .” My hands go up in mock surrender. “Uh, the three of us did kind of hook up,” I hedge, subtly flicking my eyes to my left. I’m trying to gauge exactly how much to divulge, but oddly enough, our leader’s expression remains open and relaxed. “But last night was the first time, I swear.”
Knox scowls at my half-assed admission. “When I said tell me everything ?—”
But I don’t get the chance to defend myself because then Dionysus leans in with a signature smirk, reminding us all that he’s just as much a provocateur as Knox is a busybody.
“You wanna hear how Daddy Grayson had her riding my face, right there on the kitchen counter, do you?” he teases his fellow Enforcer, acting out the scene with hands and tongue in true showman fashion.
“How feral he was at the sight of her dripping down my chin? How he just fucking snapped and fucked our babygirl’s brains out—clean through the back of her skull?” He’s biting his lip as he mimes a head explosion.
“ Lord have mercy ,” Knox whispers, and everything below my waistline clenches like the steel cage of my bodice at the memory.
Lord have mercy, indeed.
“Or maybe you wanna hear how he put me back on my knees and had me clean the two of them off his very long …very thick …and very veiny … cock ,” Dio drawls, really just rolling that last word around on his tongue for added effect.
Our deputy Enforcer dramatically crosses himself. “I just knew he’d be a Dom. Too much Daddy energy,” he says, shaking his head. He leans back in. “Tell me, is he cut?”
“Cut,” D purrs with a lazy nod while stretching an equally languid forearm across the back of my chair.
“Jesus, fuck,” Zeus grunts from my other side, and I almost snort aloud at the sound of his exasperation. “I also wax , Morales. Since we’re apparently dissecting my every inch right now.”
Dio chuckles. “Of which I can confirm he has a good eigh—” His playful words cut off as he spots the four men now bearing down on our table. His arm immediately drops away, all humor gone.
Knox doesn’t bother turning to see where we’re looking—the stiff postures along our side of the table tell him everything he needs to know. In an instant, he too switches gears from Tea Drinker back to Underworld Enforcer .
Tendrils of dread begin to writhe low in my gut as we silently track their approach.
Game faces, ladies .