I share another quick look with my brother.
Interesting.
My phone rings. Frowning, I take it out and glance at the screen. Taylor’s name and face pop up, but I let it go to voicemail. I can check in with her later about whatever it is.
“You’re friends with Ms. Crown?”
I raise my eyes to Drazen, who’s looking at my phone with a strange expression on his face.
“She’s my lawyer.”
Drazen nods, still looking at my phone. When I slide it back into my pocket, the odd spell over him lifts.
“How do you find her…legal expertise,” he growls quietly.
“Uh, great?” I shrug. “If you’re looking for representation, Crown and Black are fantastic. Seriously, she’s a phenomenal lawyer.”
“Indeed,” the mysterious Serbian murmurs, almost to himself. He clears his throat, pulling his lips into what I guess passes for Drazen’s version of a smile. “If you will excuse me, I need to see to a piece of business before I indulge in any more of your excellent champagne, Mr. Drakos.” He nods as he clinks his empty glass to mine. “Čestitiam on your engagement, Kratos.”
Ares shakes his head, eyeing Drazen as he disappears into the crowd. “That dude scares the shit out of me.”
I chuckle, patting Ares on the shoulder. “Ten bucks says it’s all bullshit and scary bedtime stories the Bratva told their kids growing up.”
“What, like the one where they call him the headsman back in Serbia?” Ares snorts, running his fingers over the stubble on his chin. “I’m just saying, if the fucking Bratva tell their kids scary bedtime stories about him, I’m just glad he seems to like us. He’s like your size with Deimos’…well, Deimos-ness.”
I know he means “psycho-ness”.
Oh, if only you knew, brother.
You don’t need to inject crazy into me to make me Drazen. It’s why he and I get along, without ever having had a single conversation about it.
Because in an alternate universe, where I’m unlucky enough to be born into war-torn Yugoslavia, and go through whatever shit Drazen did?
He and I are the same fucking guy.
“I’m going to mingle,” Ares mutters. “Wish me luck.”
When he’s gone, I turn to survey the crowd of guests again. In some ways, it makes my chest swell to spot my siblings and see each of them so happy and fulfilled with their own new lives and families: Callie, throwing her head back and laughing as she dances near the band with Castle. I grin as the Captain America-looking motherfucker dips my sister extravagantly and then leans in to kiss her softly.
Callie deserves that. She earned that.
Near them, Deimos, unbelievably, doesn’t suck at dancing—at least, not too badly—as he twirls a beaming, orange-clad Dahlia. Hades stands near the back of the crowd behind Elsa, one arm slung possessively across her collarbone as he rests his chin on top of her head. The other hand snakes around to her stomach, his hand splayed across her third-trimester belly.
I grin when I see Ya-ya cut in on Callie and Castle, stealing the latter away with a big belly laugh so she can go dance with “her Adonis” as she loves to call her son-in-law.
Turning, I chuckle to myself and shake my head when I spot Ares “mingling”—that is to say, sitting in a quiet corner near the windows overlooking the Manhattan Bridge and the East River, bouncing my nephew Elias on his knee with Neve curled up next to him.
And then there’s you.
Yeah, then there’s me.
It’s not a pity party. I’m not lamenting that I’ve never found anyone—which I get is either gallows humor or just plain rude to say at your own engagement party.
But it’s true.
Some of us are meant to be alone.
I take a sip of my drink, my eyes scanning the room again. This time, it’s not my family my gaze settles on.
It’s Bianca.
She’s with her own family off to one side of the dance floor. Dante and Tempest are having a great time dancing. Nico looks bored and is playing on his phone, while Carmine seems to be visually checking over every unaccompanied female in the room. Don Barone himself looks to be very much enjoying the open bar. The band swings into some Sinatra, and Bianca’s adoptive father hops out of his chair with a whoop, cigar in hand, as he starts to cut a rug enthusiastically on the dance floor.
My gaze drags back to Bianca. Something dark and swirling surges in my chest as my beast prowls behind his locked bars.
This…whatever-it-was between us was one thing. But now it’s something else, something I didn’t plan for.
Marriage changes the dynamic.
Before, this was a game. Before was about her dipping her toes into her own darkness, and me being all too happy to oblige.
Or at least, that’s the bullshit I’ve told myself.
Because as I watch Bianca smile at something Nico says to her, I know there’s a truth I’ve been trying not to admit.
It’s not only that finding a willing partner for my fucked-up tastes is hard, and Bianca being such a willing partner, and a repeat one at that, is a new thing for me.
It’s that the little ballerina does something to me. She…quiets something inside of me.
