It’s a small wedding, with only maybe thirty people in attendance—my family, the Drakos family, Owen and a few of his men, Ezio and a few of his, and a couple of other “business associates” of both families.
But the guest list could be one person, and it’d still be too big a wedding for me. And the reception following the ceremony is the icing on the cake.
Standing up there and marrying Ares, actually reciting vows and everything, was bad enough. But being paraded around in front of all of them at the reception in the ballroom of the Drakos estate is a whole new circle of hell.
Mostly, it’s because it’s all so disingenuous. People like Owen are coming up to me with bright smiling faces to congratulate me—as if this is actually is real. I feel like there was a part of this wedding where everyone drank the crazy koolaid, and I didn’t get a cup.
So now here I am, improvising the part live on stage. And it’s exhausting.
At least some of the guests are having fun. I grin when I look over to see Callie and Eilish whooping it up on the dance floor in front of the live jazz band hired for the event. Kratos—who’s like six and a half feet tall—joins them, grinning as he fumbles his way through some dance moves.
Even Hades, god of death that he is, seems to be enjoying himself. Or, at least as much as I’ve ever seen.
Meanwhile there’s me, the blushing bride, meandering through the small crowd trying to keep the plastic smile from falling off my face.
On the plus side, my hangover is pretty much gone, though I still wrinkle my nose and shake my head no whenever a waiter comes by and offers me a flute of champagne.
“There you are!”
I sigh, plastering the smile even more firmly onto my face as I turn to face Owen yet again. He grins a wide, ruddy-faced smile, raising the large glass of whiskey in his hands.
Well, at least someone’s not too hungover to drink the Drakos family out of house and home.
“Your mother and father would be so proud of you, you know.”
“Thanks, Owen.”
“And you know? You’re the spitting image of Sheila in white, with your hair up like that. Christ, she’d have loved to see you like this.”
I smile quietly. Sheila was my maternal grandmother, who ended up having a torrid affair with Cillian’s father, Brendan, which is how my father came to be. Sheila never actually married or anything, but Owen’s always carried a bit of a torch for her, especially when he’s been drinking.
“Well, Owen, I know if she were here today, she’d be plucking that glass out of your hand and asking you for a dance.”
He grins widely. “Especially with your grandfather Brendan out of the picture. No offense.”
I chuckle. “None taken.”
“Your father, God rest his soul, was a great man and a great friend. But his father?” Owen scowls. “A real asshole.”
I laugh when he shrugs and then gives me a hug.
“Forgive me, I’m drunk.”
“Good. Go have one for me.”
His brows shoot up as his gaze drops significantly to my stomach.
“No way,” I make a face. “Just had too many last night.”
“You know hangovers are like women, right?”
I roll my eyes. I’ve heard this joke before from him. But it still cracks me up.
“Best way to get over one is to get under a new one.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Yeats I know.”
I grin at Cillian’s voice and turn to see him arching a sharp brow at Owen. Owen just chuckles a wheezing laugh and claps him on the shoulder.
“Like any good true Irishman, I’m a fuckin’ poet when I’m in my cups.”
“Clearly. Do me a favor though and go recite to your cups elsewhere for a minute. I need to speak with my niece.”
Owen chuckles again, giving me one last hug before he shuffles off in the direction of the bar.
“I heard you really painted the town red last night.”
I groan. “Let’s just say mistakes were made.”
“Heard you painted Ares’ shoes, too.”
I make a face. Cillian just grins.
“I know congratulations are in order, but I’m willing to bet you’ll stab the next person who says it to you.”
“You have no idea.”
Cillian nods, then lowers his voice. “You know I’d never have agreed to this if I thought he was a bad man, right?” he murmurs.
I shrug, turning to scan the crowd when suddenly my eyes land on Ares. He’s across the ballroom, chatting with the lead singer while the rest of the band finishes up an instrumental piece.
The singer flashes Ares a grin, nodding before she turns back to the stage and slinks her way over to the mic.
“This next one is a request from the groom to his special lady of the hour. Mrs. Drakos, this one’s for you.”
Everyone around me claps and cheers, turning to smile at me and fawn all over me. I bite my tongue, waiting for whatever snarky bullshit Ares is about to toss at me via the band.
Until suddenly, they launch into “Sinnerman” by Nina Simone.
Which just happens to be one of my favorite songs ever.
I stand there speechless, my frown and the last traces of my hangover forgotten as I just listen, getting lost in the song. By the time she gets to the part about running to the river, I slowly turn, faltering as my eyes suddenly find Ares.
He’s looking right at me.
I frown quizzically. He just lifts a shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile curling the corners of his mouth up before he turns away.
Was that pure luck? Or does the man whom I know nothing about, who knows nothing about me, somehow know my favorite song?
And if he does know my favorite song, is it an olive branch to have the band play it, or is it just a preamble to him fucking with my head? A message to let me know I’m not as much of a stranger to him as I might like to think?
“Someone’s done their homework.”
I glance at my uncle. Judging from the set of his jaw and the way his green eyes seem to be dissecting Ares from across the room, I’m guessing I’m not the only one wondering if there’s a deeper meaning to “Sinnerman” right now.
“You did just say he’s a good man,” I murmur, as the band tear their way through the song.
“I did. But I’ll also add this.” He turns, setting his drink down on a table next to us and putting his hands on my shoulders.
“If he ever does hurt you, or wrong you in anyway, if he’s out there fucking other girls and creating a scandal for you, or talking ill of you to anyone. If he’s even unkind to you…” His venomous green eyes glint dangerously. “I’ll cut his throat, treaty or no treaty. I want you to know that.”
I smile as I sink against my uncle and hug him tightly.
“I do know that.”
He grunts, stiffly embracing me back. Which is more than I was expecting. Because Cillian is not one for showing much affection. And he’s definitely not a hugger.
When he pulls back, he gives me a curt nod. “Feel free to let Ares know that too.”
I grin. “I’ll be sure to pass along the message.”
Cillian lifts a brow, plucking his drink back up from the table before turning and wandering back into the crowd.
I exhale, grinning despite myself as I turn to watch the band. They’re absolutely killing it with this tune. And I’m having a blast watching Eilish and Callie spaz out on the dance floor.
“Neve Kildare?”
Goddammit.
My shoulders slump and the fake smile goes back onto my face as I turn to see who it is who wants to test my patience by giving me their congratulations now.
When I see who it is, I’m puzzled.
I don’t know the stoic man in the gray suit. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve actually seen him before at all, never mind today at the wedding.
“Hi, sorry,” I clear my throat as I extend my hand. “I’m not sure we’ve met—”
“An Seiceadóir says hello.”
The instant I hear the name, it’s like getting plunged under icy water as every nightmare I’ve had for the last fifteen years comes rushing back all at once.
Every terrified scream I uttered when I was locked in that shack all those years ago.
Every choked sob.
Every expectation each time I heard the snap of a twig under his boots outside, that I was about to die.
An Seiceadóir.
The Executioner.
My monster.
I go numb, and the world around me slows to a crawl as I watch the man raise his hand. I see the glint of the gun in that hand as it levels at my face.
And then suddenly, everything speeds back up again and I’m aware of something charging past me.
Not something. Someone.
A scream lodges in my choked throat as I watch Ares slam into the man. He shoves his hand up into the air, and the entire room explodes into chaos as the gun fires wildly into the ceiling.
In one fluid motion, his face utterly blank and focused, Ares whirls and with a muscled arm grabs the man around the neck from behind. He reaches back with his other hand, fingers curling around a steak knife from a place setting on the table behind him.
The knife flashes. The man in the choke hold who just had a gun to my head gurgles as his eyes go wide. And suddenly, his entire throat opens up in front of me, and a tsunami of blood floods down the front of his suit.
I just stare, unable to breathe, unable to even blink as Ares lets the body drop to the puddle of blood on the floor, dropping the knife down next to it.
Slowly, his eyes raise to mine.
No longer blank. This time, they’re filled with a whirlwind of emotions.
Rage. Power. Vengeance.
And possessiveness.
