Chapter 35
ACHILLES
“Well, Mr. De Luca—”
“Hey, Ares?” Nero growls from his side of the table.
We’re sitting in the opulent conference room of Thermopylae Acquisitions, the “legitimate” holding company that my family operates. I glance down at the ink still drying on the contracts in front of my father and Yelena’s.
Nero clears his throat. “I think signing a contract that puts us in bed together to the tune of five hundred million gets us on a first name basis, don’t you?”
My dad stands and walks around to meet Nero at the head of the table. He puts a hand out, and the two of them shake firmly.
“All right, Nero,” Dad growls. “I’m glad we could come to this arrangement.”
Yelena’s father chuckles. “Well, since I seem to suddenly be short a business partner and in ownership of a building I can’t afford alone….” He lifts a shoulder and grins. “Truth be told, I can’t think of a better solution than this.”
Yeah, the Santoro family is officially out of the Central Park South real estate game.
Nero enlisted the help of Crown and Black, where my Aunt Elsa is a senior partner and where Drago’s mom’s name is on the fucking building.
Their army of fuck-you lawyers managed to terminate the business contract Angelo Santoro had with Nero for the building behind Ya-ya’s.
My family has, as of thirty seconds ago, filled that contractual void as fifty percent owner of the building.
No new floors will be built. Ya-ya's view will remain intact.
I’d like to think that a five-hundred-million-dollar contract between our families would also lower my odds of being skinned alive by Nero, who very much does know now that I’m in a relationship with his daughter.
But truthfully, I don’t think my odds there have changed at all.
The rest of the lawyers and other guys who work for Nero and my dad stand and shake hands, congratulating each other on a deal well executed. As everyone starts to file out of the conference room, Nero clears his throat.
“Achilles,” he rumbles, his eyes lethal slits. “You and I need a moment alone.”
Dad frowns, glancing at the door as the last of the lawyers leave. Then he turns to me, a dark look on his face before his gaze slides to Nero.
Yelena’s father grins in a slightly unhinged way.
“Relax, Ares. I’m not going to kill your son and heir in this beautiful conference room.” He glances around. “The carpet looks far too hard to clean.”
Dad's jaw tightens.
“Now, the elevator, on the other hand…” Nero smiles wider. “Much easier in terms of cleanup and containment, wouldn't you agree?”
My dad levels a cold look at him.
“That’s a joke, Ares.”
“I’m not quite sure I have the same sense of humor as you, Nero.”
Yelena’s dad chuckles. “Few people do. I'd be concerned if I you did. But I do need to speak to your son alone if he’d ever like to look at my daughter again.”
My dad glances at me, a slightly wary look on his face. But I shake my head. “All good,” I murmur, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll be right outside,” he mutters as he gives me a quick hug. “And I’m armed.”
Nero sinks into the seat at the head of the table after my dad steps out of the room and closes the door.
“Time to rip off the Band-aid, kid,” he growls.
I cock a brow as I walk over and take a seat around the corner of the table from him. “Is this the part where you threaten—”
“I don’t need to threaten you, Achilles,” Nero growls. “I trust my daughter’s judgment more than my own. A lot more, actually, which is good for your ability to continue breathing and pumping blood through your fucking veins.”
He smiles coldly as he idly drums his fingertips on the edge of the table.
“Yelena trusts you. And I think I’ve taught her well enough that if she trusts you, it means I can trust you with her.”
A ripple of dark malevolence flickers in his eyes.
“Can I, Achilles? Can I trust you with my daughter?”
“You can,” I hiss.
Nero’s quiet for a second, studying me like he’s looking for a weakness.
“Let’s hope you’re right,” he growls. “Because if you’re not, I’ll wear your fucking skin, and that is not hyperbole.”
Zero part of me thinks it is.
“Duly noted,” I murmur.
Nero leans forward in his chair. “Okay, now is the part where I threaten you. If you ever so much as inconvenience my daughter, God himself will weep at the unholy mess I make of you. Am I painting a clear enough picture?”
“Vividly.”
He smiles. “Excellent.” His broad, maniacal smile doesn't change as his eyes darken. “My little girl is my world, Achilles. Fuck with her, and I will burn your world to the ground and salt the ashes.”
Nero clears his throat and leans back in his chair.
“Now, on a lighter note…” He arches a brow.
“It would appear, despite the Santoro family pretending otherwise, that Kyle is missing in action. He’s not at his parents’ house, nor at his condo in Hawthorne Hollow.
His fund is in free-fall, and it doesn’t appear that anyone is at the wheel.
” He eyes me cooly. “Dare I hope that you have something to do with this situation?”
I don’t, actually, but not for lack of trying.
Part of me understands that making Yelena's trauma my own battle, and making what happened to her about my own need for vengeance, is fucking wrong.
Being offended that someone hurt Yelena isn't being her hero. That’s just me being another man deciding her pain and experiences belong to him.
But that's the civilized version of this, and of me.
The inky black devil part of me has a considerably less noble opinion.
Kyle Santoro put his hands on what's mine. He hurt someone who belongs to me. And I will burn everything in his world to cinders before I let him breathe the same air as her ever again.
Maybe that’s a self-serving righteousness. But it's who I am, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise.
“Not yet,” I grit through clenched teeth. “But I’ve got feelers out, and I will find him.”
Nero studies me another few moments longer, his piercing green eyes so like his daughter's, peeling back the layers of me, as if to see my inner workings.
Finally he sits back and takes a slow, measured breath.
“You want to win me over, Achilles?” His jaw tightens. “You find that fucking maggot and make him writhe. I want him to suffer so much that he begs for hell.”
Well, now.
I think I’m going to get along with Yelena’s father just fine.
I lean across the table. “One question… Would you like a trophy?”
A diabolical grin spreads across Nero’s face. “It pains me to say this to the little fucker who’s been putting his hands on my daughter,” he growls. “But I might like you already, Achilles.”