he said, pointing to a man with a huge wave of hair. Each time he moved to sip his drink, it bounced. “He is a professional gambler.”
His services were often used by Nasso and Vitalis to catch cheaters in their underground casinos.
Then he pointed to a blond. “That is Helen Hallas. She is an art forger. I use her talents to trade relics for replicas.”
He saved Barak Petra for last. The balding man sat alone in the corner of the bar and looked very mundane, dressed in a blue suit.
“He doesn’t look like he belongs here,” Persephone commented.
“He doesn’t, but that makes him better at his job.”
“And what’s his job?”
“He is an assassin,” Hades said.
“Assassin? You mean he gets paid to kill people?”
He did not feel the need to answer that question, and Persephone made no attempt to make him.
“I don’t understand. How can you be concerned with saving souls from a terrible existence in the afterlife when you offer these…criminals a place to assemble?”
“They are not all criminals. I am not under some delusion, Persephone. I know I cannot save every soul, but at least Iniquity ensures that those who operate in the underbelly of society follow a code of conduct.”
If there was going to be chaos, he would see that it at least benefited society in some way, even if the path to getting there was somewhat murky.
“How is murder part of a code of conduct?”
“Murder isn’t part of the code of conduct unless the code is broken.”
Even then, everything depended on the severity of the rule that was broken.
Persephone met his gaze.
“We cannot all be good, but if we must be bad, it should serve a purpose.”
She did not respond, and he could tell she was still processing everything she had learned tonight.
“I don’t expect you to understand. There are many reasons for what I do.
Iniquity is no different. I have a network of the most dangerous men and women attached to strings. I could take them all down with one pull. And they all know it, so they do what they can to please me.”
“You mean everyone but Kal Stavros?”
“I told you it was just a matter of time before someone tried to blackmail you.”
“You never said anything about blackmail. What does Kal have against you?”
“Nothing.” And that was the truth. “He merely wishes to have control over me, as all mortals wish.”
Wasn’t that what all mortals wished for? Why they all bargained? In hopes that they could defy death.
Hades studied her, and while he did not expect her to accept all this so easily, there was one thing he wished to know now.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Her eyes widened.
“No,” she said instantly. “But it is a lot to take in.”
There was a note in her voice that worried him, though he was beginning to understand why she seemed to think she did not know him at all. He swallowed, looking down at his feet before he met her gaze once more, swearing, “I will tell you everything.”
She raised a brow, as if to say I will make sure of it.
“I think I’ve heard enough tonight. I’d rather go home.”
“Would you like Antoni to take you?”
He did not think she would like to return to the Underworld with him, not after everything she had learned, but she smiled and said, “You might as well take me. We are going to the same place, after all.”
He drew her close, and with her body pressed against his, a wave of relief shuddered through him, and he took her home.
When they appeared, she drew away from him and disappeared into the bathroom to shower. He did not follow, choosing instead to have a drink before shedding his clothes and lying down to rest.
When Persephone returned to the room, she was dressed in a long shirt that hit midthigh. His eyes traveled up her body until he met her gaze. She had halted upon leaving the bathroom and stared at him from across the room.
“Are you well?” he asked.
She nodded slowly, and his question seemed to thaw her frozen body. She rounded the bed and climbed in on her side. They faced each other in silence, and after a moment, Hades touched her face, a light brush across her flushed cheek. She surprised him by turning her head into his palm and pressing her lips to his skin. As she did, he leaned in to kiss her, slow and soft and sweet.
When he pulled away, they shared breath as he spoke.
“Let me make love to you,” he said, his voice low and warm, imbued with the gentleness he intended to show her. She nodded, and he kissed her once more. When he shifted to straddle her, he kept his weight on his hands and did not crush her, brushing his lips along her jaw, neck, and collarbone. As he explored, her breaths grew shorter and uneven, and her hands played across his skin, fingers gliding through his hair. He dipped to kiss between her breasts, plying each peaked nipple with his tongue through the fabric of her shirt.