Chapter 31
YELENA
“It's going to be fine.”
My stomach knots as the elevator rises, but my fingers are laced with his, and when I turn and look at him, those dark devil eyes do what they always do.
Calm me.
Center me.
Over the last three weeks, those eyes have become a constant. A permanent anchor for me whenever I need them, never very far away.
Probably because I’ve pretty much moved into Achilles’ room.
Damiano was the first one to question my nightly absences from Morvaine Manor. I finally caved and told him I had a boyfriend, and then immediately giggled like a fool since that was the first time I’d said that word out loud as it related to Achilles.
The golden god with the devilish, inky center. My boyfriend.
Damiano pushed for the “who” but backed off when I clammed up about that part. Not, of course, that I actually think he doesn’t know by now. But he’s had the decency not to tell my father yet.
Dad does know I’m seeing someone. I couldn’t keep that big a secret from either of them. Mom freaked out and gushed, asking for “all the juicy details”.
Dad wanted his full legal name and address, social security number, his parents' names, his blood type, and his height “for sizing the coffin”.
Really.
Mercifully, Mom talked him down, telling him right there on FaceTime that his little girl wasn’t so little anymore, and that I was mature enough to be making decisions about who I spend time with.
I explained I wasn’t going to tell them who it was because I was worried Dad would scare him off. Which is, you know, accurate.
Dad then wanted to know if I was sleeping with this “walking dead man”. Mom punched him in the arm and told him it wasn’t the 1700s and who I chose to be intimate with was none of his fucking business.
In the interest of keeping his blood pressure in the healthy zone, I lied and told my dad that my mystery boyfriend and I were “taking it slow”.
Mom immediately texted me “LOL yeah, SURE. But as long as you’re being safe and he respects you, it can be our little secret. Love you.”
Normally, I’d feel guilty spending so much time at Kingsward and leaving Wren by herself. But things have changed since the night when she almost died of alcohol poisoning. After that, even Wren finally realized that she needed help.
On the plus side, she is going to be able to stay at Knightsblood. On the not-so-plus side, her parents have made the executive decision to move her off campus. So she’s now living with Laz at his house in Hawthorne Hollow.
She’s not thrilled about this. But her parents, and me, and everyone else, are all really worried about her mental state and her drinking, and this is the best option.
It gets her away from the temptations of campus life and partying, and also allows her to see a counselor daily without having to go to rehab.
The elevator starts to slow, and my stomach churns even more.
“Yelena.”
I stare straight ahead as my throat tightens in anticipation of this dinner with Achilles’ family.
“Look at me, little prey.”
I shiver, blushing as I turn to look at him again, standing beside me.
Holding my hand.
“You have nothing to be nervous about. Also, Ya-ya is going to love you.”
The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. My gaze shifts, and instantly, my jaw is on the ground.
Holy shit.
It’s not like I didn’t grow up surrounded by insane wealth and privilege. Greymoor Manor, the gorgeous Gilded Age Manhattan mansion that my parents took from haunted house to warmth-filled home, is basically a palace.
But the Drakos estate, sitting atop a forty-story building on Central Park South, is next level.
It’s a neoclassical mansion that Achilles’ great-great-grandfather literally had moved brick by brick from the English countryside to the top of the Midtown Manhattan building he owned.
Twelve bedrooms, twice as many bathrooms, terraces with grounds including two pools and a tennis court, and a wine cellar that apparently rivals almost any private collection in the US.
I’ve heard about the place, of course, but when Achilles leads me from the elevator and into the grand foyer of the estate, I realize I’m stepping into another world of wealth and power.
“Whoa…” I breathe, staring up at the gilded vaulted ceiling, the Corinthian columns, the old-world hardwood floors, and—
Holy shit. I think the painting hanging on the wall of the entryway is the original Nymphéas by Monet.
“Yeah…” Achilles arches his brow. “It’s all a bit…much.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Engonós.”
My gaze snaps from Achilles to the elderly woman who’s just appeared at the other end of the entryway.
Achilles smiles warmly. “Hi, Ya-ya.”
Dimitra Drakos, the matriarch of the Drakos family and Achilles’ great-grandmother, stands a whopping four foot ten inches and looks like a light wind could blow her away.
But I know you’d be an idiot to underestimate the bird-like woman leaning on a black cane with the image of a dragon carved into the silver handle.
Dimitra is a freaking legend in the New York underworld, and her quiet and unassuming but formidably influential power is near-mythologically infamous.
She smiles as Achilles leads me over to her and then lets go of my hand to wrap his arms around her.
“Ahh, my favorite great-grandson,” she beams, hugging him tightly.
He chuckles as he pulls back. “What do you say to Lochie, or Ronan, or—”
“I tell them they’re my favorite, ” she smirks.
She winks at Achilles when he laughs. Then her hawkish gaze swivels to me.
“Well now,” she murmurs, studying me curiously. “You must be Yelena.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Drakos,” I say with a stiff bow.
Dimitra starts to laugh. “What scary stories about me has Achilles been feeding you?”
She smiles as she draws me close and hugs me with an unexpected strength.
“And please, just call me Ya-ya.”
Achilles has already explained that “Ya-ya” is Greek for grandmother.
She pulls back and lets her steely gaze drag over me again. “Russian and Italian,” she sighs, clucking her teeth. “Beautiful.”
I blush deeply. “Thank you for having me. Your home is gorgeous, Mrs.—” I clear my throat. “Ya-ya.”
She smiles widely. “Thank you, dear.”
I turn to nod my chin at the painting I saw earlier. “Is that actually Nymphéas?”
Dimitra nods, sighing to herself. “What can I say? It was an indulgence on my part. I’ve always loved Monsieur Monet's work, and this one in particular was always a favorite.”
I grin. “Of mine, too.”
She smiles and pats my hand before turning to Achilles. “My Achilles helped me settle on this one when it and a few others came up for auction this summer.”
I turn to him, arching a brow. “And here I thought you were just a dumb jock.”
He gives me a look that liquifies my insides as Dimitra lets out a huge laugh.
“Come meet my family.” She takes my hand, her eyes twinkling. “And then, we eat.”
Luckily, I’m not meeting the entire Drakos family tonight.
This dinner is just Ya-ya, Achilles and me, his parents, and his sister.
But you’d think I was about to give a speech to a crowd of thousands, the way I tense up when we walk into the dining room to say hello to the legendary Ares Drakos and Neve Kildare.
For a start, they’re one of the most formidable mafia power couples in New York. But also, my father is part of a partnership that still hasn’t officially said they won’t be building a skyscraper to loom over this gorgeous home.
That said, though, the second they see me, they stand, smiling broadly, along with an auburn-haired girl who looks a little younger than me.
“Yelena!” Neve beams as she walks over and gives me a big, warm hug. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
I blush as we pull apart. “You have?”
“No, actually,” she grins, turning to glare at her son before prodding him in the chest. “This sneaky little shit has been trying to keep you a secret.”
Achilles rolls his eyes. “Mom, Yelena. Yelena, Neve. There. No more secrets.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I smile as she rolls her eyes at her son.
But also, holy shit, what the hell is this woman’s skincare routine? Achilles’ age alone puts Neve at forty at least. But the fit, gorgeous redhead standing in front of me could easily pass for ten years younger.
She steps aside, and suddenly I’m getting a sneak peek of future Achilles.
“Yelena,” Ares murmurs in a deep, resonant baritone as he shakes my hand. “It’s good to meet the woman who’s captured my son’s full attention.”
Good lord, he seriously looks just like Achilles, just twenty-five-ish years older. He’s tall and athletically slim and muscled, with the same dark hair and eyes as his son. Same jawline, too.
“It’s good to meet you too, Mr.—”
“Nope,” he chuckles, the laugh so much like his son’s. “Mr. Drakos is either for people who work for me, or for my father. And he was a prick. So…” He winks at me. “Just Ares, please.”
I grin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ares.”
He sighs. “Let’s go ahead and address the twenty-story elephant in the room, yeah?
” Ares chuckles. “Yelena, I do not for a second direct any ire at you for the prospective construction project next to this building. You are not your father.” He shrugs.
“Honestly, I don’t blame Nero for any of this either.
Business is business, and business with bullheaded partners like Angelo Santoro present unique challenges.
” He shakes his head. “So don't worry about it. I promise, all I want tonight is to get to know you and decide if you’re allowed to date my son.”
I blink.
Ares grins. “That was a joke, by the way.”
Neve groans. “Jokes are funny, ass,” she sighs, playfully punching his arm.
“Yeah, Dad, that was cringe.”
The auburn-haired girl who steps forward, rolling her eyes at her father, is a perfect blend of her parents.
“Iris, hi,” she grins before giving me a quick hug. “So, you’re able to stand my brother for longer than five minutes at a time?”
“I manage,” I smile, glancing at Achilles and blushing.