Chapter 64: Lukiyan

Tell me not to do something, and I’ll do it a million times.

It’s the rebel in me.

My nature is to defy and follow my own desires and instincts.

That’s what led me here to the hotel’s theater, where I found myself watching the princess dance to Debussy’s Clair de Lune.

She’s doing ballet.

I’ve blended in with the shadows so she can’t see me.

This—dancing here by herself when the theater is free, seems to be something she does regularly.

I was making my last rounds of the hotel for the day when I found her.

The music she’s dancing to is the kind of music my father used to play all the time, especially when we trained. He always had on classical pieces like Bach and Debussy—music that speaks directly to the soul.

Music that has the ability to make you feel alive and at the same time take life in the art of death.

I should have guessed she was a dancer from the way she moved at the club in Brazil. I never figured her for ballet though. Not that it doesn’t suit her.

It does. It suits her more than anything, and she has raw talent accompanied by skill.

It’s just that although she has the grace of a swan, her body looks more athletic than willowy like most dancers I’ve come across.

Put simply, she has a body made for fucking and the kind of debauchery my devilish mind can conjure.

The black sleeveless leotard she’s wearing only serves to illustrate my point perfectly. The criticized vision of her is only tamed to a meager extent by the light pink chiffon skirt flowing around her hips.

The way she moves, twirling and leaping across the stage, shows she was born to dance. She moves as if she’s a part of the music. As if they are one and the same.

Both have had me rooted to this spot on the second-floor balcony for the last hour.

I wonder if this was what happened to Hades when he first became obsessed with Persephone. Did he watch her for hours on end getting lost in time before he stole her?

Did he ever think he would lose himself the way he did?

He knew exactly where to find the maiden when she was gathering flowers on that plain in Sicily. When he appeared in all his glory, in his four-horse chariot from hell, he planned her theft with such efficacy, not a soul knew when he struck until after it happened.

It’s curious and odd for the God of the Underworld to succumb to love, but that was something more sinister than love.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil…

Hades acted with obsession, not love.

Love came after, when he allowed his maiden to see the light.

My maiden and her music have soothed the beast inside me that’s always raging to kill, kill, kill and satisfy my thirst for revenge.

The beast resided in my dark soul long before Melissa died.

The creature has always been fueled with rage because I felt that life dropped me in the deep end of the ocean and expected me to learn to swim in shark-infested waters.

Persephone leaps through the air again as the intensity of the music heightens and I’m reminded of the last ballet my birth mother took me to.

It was she who introduced me to the world of classical music and dance.

She loved ballet and loved this piece of music in particular. When she taught me how to play the piano, this was the piece I first learned.

She did ballet briefly when she was a little girl and learned to play the piano. Her parents were too poor for her to continue lessons.

Even when we were in Russia, Mom would take Melissa and me to the opera and the ballet. She’d even sneak us in when we couldn’t afford it.

Those memories are some of the only good ones I have of her—the more peaceful ones.

The ones that didn’t see her high on crack or battered after a run-in with one of her many boyfriends who loved to show her the end of their fist.

I never knew who my birth father was. All I know about him is that he was Italian. I assumed he was in the mafia from some of the things Mom told me. She was always vague and sad when she talked about him.

She was a student when she met him and she dropped out of school when she got pregnant with me. She never specifically said this, but I think my real father was married and had an affair with her.

When I first met my adopted father, it was the music that made me trust him. It felt like a piece of my past I could rely on. Even though the only thing I could trust about my real mother was that she loved me and wanted to keep my sister and me safe.

The music slows, coming to the end of the piece, and I straighten, readying to leave because I should. However, when I think of leaving without getting closer to Persephone, my mind shuns the idea.

I don’t know what the hell it is about this woman that’s gotten to me and loosened my iron-clad control, but I find myself making my way down to the stage against my better judgment.

I take the little steps leading up and wait by the curtains until the music stops and she turns into one last pirouette then curtseys as if she’d performed for a full audience. Not just me.

She stays in that curtsey for a few moments, as though savoring the feel of it.

It’s not until she lifts her head that she sees me and she moves out of the position, staring at me with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression.

Her full lips part, and an elegant flush of crimson skates over her pale cheeks and down the silky skin of her neck.

Panic and fear invade her beautiful eyes, as they should.

She’s right to be alarmed by my presence.

There is nothing good in me and nothing good to expect from me if I’m planning to kill her father.

Aside from that, the number of sexual encounters we’ve had vastly outweighs what can be expected for strangers.

The first night we met, we’d barely known each other for an hour before I was balls deep inside her. I had her three times that night and would have kept going if she hadn’t passed out. Not to mention, I owned her ass, too.

So yeah, that look on her face is a sea of emotions clashing together like a tempestuous storm.

“I didn’t know you were there.” Her voice comes out in a rasp while her chest rises and falls like she’s out of breath.

That’s not from dancing. It’s from the quickening of her heart at the sight of me.

“Because I didn’t let you know until I wanted to.”

I move closer, stopping a breath away, and I’m reminded of how tiny she is.

With a lift of her chin, she seems to find her courage. She folds her arms under her breasts and stares at me head on, her gaze unwavering.

“Are you here to screw with me again?” Her throat works as she swallows hard.

“Do you want me to?”

“Does that even warrant an answer?”

A hint of a genuine smile twists my lips, a record for me considering few things truly amuse me. Normally when I smile, it’s to intimidate. “I think it does.”

“I don’t.” She glares at me with undiluted distaste.

“Don’t worry, this meeting won’t end with my cock in your mouth again.” My venomous words make her recoil, taking a few steps back. “That is, not unless you want it. I certainly wouldn’t say no.”

“Could you be more arrogant?”

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t like me as much as you do.”

She smirks without humor. “I don’t like you.”

The incensed press of her lips and the blaze in her eyes are supposed to support what she’s saying, but her body betrays her, telling a different story.

From the state of her diamond-hard nipples to the dilation of her pupils, I know she’s fighting a losing battle.

She likes me well enough, and I’m sure by now it’s no secret that I like her too.

I lean in, and she lifts her head higher so we’re eye to eye. “I’d believe you a lot more if your tits didn’t look hard enough to cut glass.”

“You’re an asshole. A complete jerk after what you did to me, and if you think I like that, you’re surely mistaken.”

I love the fire that’s suddenly entered her eyes. It reminds me of what attracted me to her when we first met. The woman I met in Brazil was the real her. She was wild and reckless as hell. Knowing who she is now, I know the risks she took that night. But part of me loves that she did it anyway to taste freedom.

I like the whole package, but I want that woman back. Nobody but me got to see her that way.

She was herself when she was with me.

“I don’t think I’m mistaken,” I say, infuriating her even more.

“What do you want?” Her pulse throbs at the side of her throat as she attempts to imbue her voice with confidence, but the quiver lacing through her words lets her down. “I thought you said we never happened.”

I did say that, and I should go with the plan I first hatched, but nothing about Persephone Vittorio is following my rules.

“If you’re here to make sure I don’t talk about Brazil, you don’t have to worry about that.” She brings her hands together. “I’m not saying anything to anyone. Do I have to worry about you?”

Of course, she’s still worried I might do that.

“No.” I keep my tone even as I observe relief enter her taut expression.

She blinks and releases a deep sigh, which causes her tits to lift. The sight makes my dick fill with blood, and I want to suck on her nipples again to hear her moans of pleasure.

My eyes rove up and down her body, and the tension returns to her face.

“Thank you.”

She shouldn’t thank me. I’m her worst enemy, and when she finds out, she’ll despise me.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” I change the subject because we need to.

“I’m a dancer. Or… rather I was one. I’ve been dancing all my life.” She presses her lips together.

“Why was?”

“I…” Her voice trails off as she thinks about her next words. “With my upcoming marriage to Antonio, I’m not going to be allowed to do it anymore. I went to Juilliard.”

Even I’m impressed to hear that, but not surprised after watching her.

“I didn’t finish,” she adds.

“Sorry to hear that. You’re very talented.” I never compliment anybody unless they truly deserve it, and even then, I’m not the guy to issue praise easily.

A twinkle flashes in her eyes, making my dance around my rules totally worth it.

“I appreciate that.” She studies my face, and when curiosity fills her eyes, I know she’s going to want to know about me next. “Where did you come from, Lukiyan?”

I lean in again. “Maybe it’s best if you don’t know.”

“Why would that be best? It’s a big coincidence that you’re here, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

“Was it … a coincidence?”

“It was.”

Her features soften, slowly loosening her up almost to how she was in Brazil. “That makes me want to know who you are even more.”

I couldn’t tell her that even if I weren’t keeping my identity a secret. So I decide to give her an answer to make her think.

“I’m your Hades,” I say.

She’ll know what I mean by that. The blush creeping into her cheeks again tells me she does, and although I remind myself of where my focus should lie, it doesn’t eradicate my desire to be inside her again.

Her lips part as if she’s going to comment, but the words don’t come. Instead, her gaze lifts past my shoulder and she looks up at something with trepidation in her eyes.

I follow her gaze and find her old man standing on the highest balcony, watching us. Dressed in full black, he looks like he’s part of the mass of shadows behind him.

Persephone steps away from me and dips her head.

“I have to go now,” she stutters, then turns on her heel and leaves.

I’m taking risks I shouldn’t take and asking to get my ass fired. I was warned to keep my dick in my pants, and look at me.

Returning my gaze to Emilio, I catch the hard stare he casts my way and the unspoken warning before he turns and leaves, disappearing into the shadows.

I know the risks and how important being here is to me, but my recklessness isn’t about that.

It’s about her—Persephone.

I can’t resist the lure that draws me to her because she’s the kind of woman who makes men like me drop their guard.

She’s the kind of woman who makes a man think of all he would do to own her, possess her, and make her his forever.

She’s the kind of woman to steal your heart and soul.

I think that’s what happened to Hades.

It wasn’t the other way around.

It was Persephone who ruined him.

The image of my sister lying dead on the floor of her room fills my mind, along with that final doom I felt when I knew I couldn’t save her.

This is the only thing I can do for her, and I can’t allow anyone to stand in the way.

That needs to include Persephone too.