There was more to Iniquity than her experience as a customer on the dance floor. It doubled as a hangout for New Athens crime families, secret societies, gangs, and the freelance criminal. Their lair was in the basement of the building, accessible only with an ancient coin called an obol.
Persephone glanced at Hades. “I see you have repurposed the idea of paying to enter the Underworld.”
He chuckled quietly, but said nothing as he guided her down a long, dark hallway and into a spacious room, lit only by light that filtered in through a wall of windows. Persephone approached, and found that the suite overlooked a casual sitting area. There was a bar and several smaller tables and chairs. People sat around, playing cards and chatting, drinking and smoking, filling crystal trays to the brim with ashes.
Persephone touched the glass and asked, “Can they see us?”
“No,” Hades said.
“So you spy on them from up here?” she asked, glancing at the God who hung back, sticking to the shadow.
“You can call it spying if you like,” he said.
She studied the people below and found a familiar face.
“That’s Nefeli Rella,” Persephone said, surprised to see the madam and owner of the Pleasure District—literally a whole neighborhood of brothels. She was a beautiful, middle-aged mortal. Her hair was dark and she wore sequins and feathers. A jade cigarette holder was poised between her pointer and middle finger. Persephone had never seen anyone look so glamour as they smoked.
Nefeli was often in the news, advocating on behalf of sex workers, arguing for safer conditions and harsher punishments for offenses made against them.
“She is in debt to me.”
“How?”
“I loaned her the money to start her first brothel.”
Persephone wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Why?”
“It was an opportunity,” he said, matter-of-fact. “In exchange for the money, I have a stake in her businesses, and I can ensure the safety of her escorts.”
Persephone hadn’t expected Hades to say that last part, but it didn’t really surprise her. He was protective of women.
“Who else is down there?” she asked.
She felt the God of the Underworld beside her, and she glanced at him as he scanned the crowd below. He indicated to a small, round table in a darkened corner where two men were playing cards.
“That is Leonidas Nasso and Damianos Vitalis. They are billionaires and the bosses of rival crime families.”
“Nasso?” Persephone asked. “You mean…the owner of the Nasso Pizzeria chain?”
“The very one,” Hades confirmed. “The Vitalis are also restaurant owners, but they make their real living from fishing.”
Persephone also recognized that name from the Vitalis Fish Market. They were one of the oldest and most important fish wholesalers in the country.
“If they are rivals, why are they playing cards?”
“This is neutral territory. It is illegal to cause harm to another person on this property.”
“I suppose you are the exception to that rule?” she asked, lifting a brow. He had, essentially, tortured Kal.
“I am always the exception, Persephone.”
She felt that truth keenly.
All gods were the exception.
It was how Apollo got away with his inappropriate behavior.
“You said earlier you created a world where you could…watch the these…criminals. Why?”
Hades stared at her for a moment, then he answered. “Fate weaves good and evil,” he said. “And I would rather hold evil in the palm of my hand than keep it at a distance.”
“Then why not…end it?”
Hades chuckled and Persephone glared. “Because that is not possible.”
“How is that not possible?” she demanded.
“Evil is born from circumstance, Persephone. It is a matter of biology and resources and environment. One mortal’s fight for freedom is another’s mortal’s terrorism.”
Persephone shivered. It was a vicious cycle.
“So what? You just…nurture it?”
“As you would a rose,” he answered. “This is the Underworld of the living world, and here, I am all-powerful. It is my money that feeds their wealth, that has built their empire, and like life, I can take it all away with a flick of my wrist.”
Persephone let that sink in, feeling a little unnerved by her reaction. She should feel shocked by this, by the sheer power Hades had over the living and the dead. Instead she felt curious.
“And have you? Taken it all away?”
She knew the answer to the question, but she wanted to hear him say it.
“Yes,” he said.
“How do you decide?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes for as much bad as someone commits, they do just as much good. It’s a balance.”
Persephone’s brows knitted together. “How? How can someone who is evil also be good?”
Hades stared at her for a moment, and then nodded to the floor below.
“Take the Vitalis. They’ve created an organized crime empire. They’re the greatest wholesalers in the country and they’ve done terrible things to get there—threats, arson, extortion, but they also funnel millions of dollars into orphanages across New Greece every year.”
“How does that make what they’re doing okay?”
“It doesn’t,” he said. “And it doesn’t mean I won’t punish them for their crimes when they die, but it balances the scale and that’s all I’m trying to do.”
“And what happens when they tip the scale?”
“I destroy them.”
He said it so confidently and Persephone was strangely consoled by the thought that Hades brought order to such a dark and devastating world. Still, this was a lot to take in and she wasn’t sure she completely understood it.
“Tell me more.”
She couldn’t discern Hades’ thoughts by his expression, but she got the sense that he was reluctant to proceed. Still, he continued, pointing out a few people on the floor below.
“That’s Alexis Nicolo,” he said, indicating to a man with short dark hair and a giant wolf ring on his finger. “He’s a professional gambler and a cheater. I employ him to catch other cheaters. That’s Helene Hallas. She’s an art forger and makes billions selling her paintings. When I confronted her, I gave her an ultimatum: she could spend an eternity in Tartarus or she could donate half her earnings to organizations for homeless teenagers. She, of course, happily agreed to the latter.”
Persephone thought she was starting to understand, but then Hades said, “And that is Barak Petra. He’s an assassin.”
“Assassin? You mean he gets paid to kill people?”
“You cannot bargain with some types of evil, Persephone.”
She had a feeling she knew what kinds of evil he was referring too–the likes of the likes of the Impious. She shivered. It was strange to realize that Hades’ wasn’t just powerful because of the control he had over his magic. He was powerful because of the deals he made and this proved it.
“But what about the Magi?” she asked. “What about people like Kal Stavros? You’ve given them the space to practice dark magic? You’ve let them destroy people’s lives!”
“It is a balance,” Hades answered. Persephone had a feeling she was going to start hating that response. “People like Kal Stavros have already bargained their soul in exchange for magic.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the price Kal pays for his power is his life,” he explained. “And the Fates say that is a better destiny than allowing him a longer one.”
Persephone swallowed, realizing again how complicated the rules of the Underworld–of Fate and Destiny really were. It was a convoluted network of bargains that all seemed to lead to a greater good, but the path there was hell.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked after a moment of silence.
The question surprised her. She knew it was born out of fear, and yet, when she looked at him, his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts.
“No,” she answered quickly. “But it is a lot to take in.”
And an obvious example of why she couldn’t marry him.
Not yet, anyway.
How could he think of asking her to be his wife—his queen—when she had no idea about any of this? Was this not an empire she would also inherit?
Hades looked away, his throat constricting as he swallowed whatever unease had crept into his consciousness. “I will tell you everything.”
She had no doubt. She would make sure of that. She had so many questions. She wanted to know every person who entered this club, what businesses they owned, and just how much of the world Hades controlled.
Part of her wanted to ask him what he thought she’d do when she found out about Iniquity, but it was obvious he thought she’d leave.
“I think I’ve heard enough tonight,” she answered. “I’d rather go home.”
“Would you like Antoni to take you?”
She smiled a little, realizing that he thought she meant she wanted to return to her apartment.
“You might as well take me,” she said. “We are going to the same place, after all.”
His lips curled, and he put an arm around her waist, drawing her close before teleporting to the Underworld.
***
Persephone couldn’t sleep.
She lay still, cradled against Hades’ warmth, and agonized. Not over what she had learned about the God of the Dead, but over what Kal had said about Lexa.
If you thought Lexa was going to live, would you have come?
Kal was right, of course. Persephone couldn’t deny that she had sought a cure for Lexa’s injuries at Iniquity, and she’d done so out of the fear that she wouldn’t recover. The fear that, even if she did, she might not be the same.
She closed her eyes against the pain and left Hades’ chamber.
The halls of the palace were quiet and lit by the light of the night sky. Hades hadn’t succeeded to capture the brightness of the sun, but he managed the moon well. Maybe that had something to do with Hecate’s presence in the Underworld, though, she did not know for certain.
She cut through the dining hall and made her way into the kitchen. She’d never been in this part of the palace before. Hades always had food brought to them at the dining table or the library, the office or the bedroom.
Turning on the light, she found a modern and spotless kitchen. The cabinets were white, the countertops black marble, and the appliances stainless steel. She shuffled over the cold floor and began to search the cupboards for supplies, finding pans, mixing bowls and utensils.
That was the easy part.
The hardest part was finding the ingredients to bake something.
Anything.
She ended up gathering enough ingredients to make a simple vanilla cake and icing. It took her a few minutes to figure out how the stove worked. The one she used in her apartment was much older and had knobs not buttons.
Once the oven was preheating, she set to work, focusing on her task. There was something relaxing about baking. Maybe she liked it so much because it felt like alchemy, measuring each ingredient to perfection, creating something that would bewitch the senses.
Not to mention that the act always took her mind off things, but as soon as she popped her cake into the oven, an overwhelming sense of dread stole her breath. Frantic to stop it, she started to clean. Even though Hades’ kitchen had a dishwasher, she scrubbed every item by hand, rinsed, dried, and replaced them in the cupboards. After that, she focused on cleaning the stainless steel she’d smeared with her fingerprints.
By the time she was finished, the only indication anyone had used the kitchen was the smell of her cake baking.
The timer on the oven still showed she had fifteen more minutes. Fifteen minutes to be alone with her agonizing thoughts.
She turned on her music, hoping it would provide the distraction she needed. She clicked through the first few songs, their timbre dark and cold. Those songs reminded her of Lexa, the lyrics tangled with her thoughts and drudging up memories she didn’t want to recall. The longer she clicked through each song, the more she realized that it didn’t matter how the music sounded, it all reminded her of Lexa.
She turned it off, suddenly feeling exhausted. Her eyes were gritty, and her limbs were heavy. She sank to the floor; her body illuminated by the oven light, and drew her knees to her chest.
“Couldn’t sleep?” The sound of Hades voice made her jump. She swung around to find him leaning in the doorway, thick arms crossed over his bare chest. A tunic hung low on his waist and his hair pooled in dark layers around his face. He looked sleepy and beautiful.
“No,” she said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me,” he said. “Your absence did.”
“I’m sorry.”
He smiled a little. “Don’t be—especially if it means you are baking.”
Hades crossed the kitchen toward her. She thought he might pick her up and carry her off to bed with the cake still in the oven, but he surprised her and sat beside her on the floor.
She found herself looking at him—at the way his muscles rose to the surface of his skin, at the shadow of stubble gracing his jaw, the full curve of his lips. He was impossibly handsome, unimaginably powerful, and he belonged to her.
“You know I can help you sleep,” he said.
She knew that because he had done it before.
“The cake isn’t finished,” she whispered her reply. It wasn’t because she wished to be quiet, it was that her voice wouldn’t go any higher as her exhaustion took over.
“I would never let it burn,” Hades replied.
After a moment, he shifted, and Persephone rested her head against his chest. Hades’ skin was warm, his scent as intoxicating as the vanilla in the air, and despite how much she wanted to see this all through to the end, she fell asleep in his arms on the floor of the kitchen.
