Page 7

ERO

Y ou’d think after months of nearly getting trapped by Circe repeatedly and being hunted for months, attacked, and nearly murdered, I’d learn my lesson. You can’t trust a pretty face.

You can’t trust anyone.

We arrived in Italy early in the morning after an eighteen-hour train ride.

I think I slept. For a few minutes anyway.

Circe was bright-eyed and way too alert when we got off in Milan. Should have been ready to bolt. Wasn’t until we got in an SUV, drove across town, and pulled into an estate with military-level security, that I really got antsy.

Guess the lack of sleep caught up to me.

They had me cuffed and gagged as soon as I stepped out of the car. And that conniving bitch just let it happen. Said it was protocol, that everything would be fine.

Can’t. Trust. Anyone.

“Not even yourself.” Ciro yawns, swinging his feet up onto the table in the middle of the long, featureless room. Reminds me of an interrogation chamber.

“Not even my hallucinations.”

“Shh…you look crazy when you talk to me.” He points up toward the blinking red light of a camera. “Not that I’m complaining. Living rent-free in your head is booooring.”

“Then get the fuck out.”

“Nah. Then you’d be lonesome.”

“Then I’d be—Shut up, someone’s coming.”

“Really?” Ciro snort laughs, kicking his head back. I keep the scowl from my face as the door to the chamber I’m being held in opens. The guard glances around, narrows his eyes, before saying, “ Silenzio! Nessun trucco …” He gestures meaningfully with one hand on his automatic rifle.

No tricks, huh?

“ Avvicinati, ti mostrerò un trucco ,” I rumble, leaning forward and pulling against my handcuffs.

The broad-shouldered Italian sausage in a suit steps into the room, trying to look imposing.

With a flick of my wrist and only a mild amount of pain, I slip my hand free, popping my thumb back into joint and snagging his tie.

A short jerk puts him off balance, his eyes bulging with rage, surprise, and the tightness of his collar.

“Fucking lunatic!” he chokes, whipping the butt of his gun around at me.

I’m back in my seat in a flash, kicking the table toward him and shoving him toward the door. Before he can come at me again a smooth, imperious voice fills the hallway outside.

“Brencio!”

Immediately the thug straightens to attention, practically banging his head on the wall behind him.

“Quit toying with death and get me a cup of tea.”

With a low growl and a face turning a vicious shade of wine, Brencio snarls at me, storms out.

A second later, a woman steps into the doorway, a half mask hides some of her facial features. Dark, sleek hair disappears under a scarf draped around her head, hiding just enough to pinpoint where she’s from, her age.

Now, I’m not gonna say that anything in this world really scares me.

I’ve done terrible things in the months I can remember. I have fleeting memories of other crazy shit too. Nothing phases me.

But my blood runs frosty, like fucking nitrogen through my veins.

She’s tall. Imposing. Calm, yet threatening in a way that I can’t quite put my finger on. Beautiful is the wrong word to describe the way she looks, the way she carries herself. If she is, it’s the way a predator is beautiful in the wild. This woman doesn’t kill.

She orchestrates deaths.

I’ve met people like her before, but something about her…makes me want to hurl my guts up in panic. Maybe it’s the two-inch nails, lacquered at the end of each finger. Maybe it’s the scent of her faint perfume.

Reminds me of poisonous flowers.

The rest of her appearance is peripheral to the spine-locking curve of her full lips, taunting me with a faint sneer. All of her features are sharp, yet elegant.

But it’s the eyes…

Gray. Unyielding.

Cold like granite. Like a gravestone.

“Let me guess. Hades?” Ciro chokes out, pressed against the wall of the room, as far from her as he can get.

“Ero. I apologize for your treatment thus far. You are rather…intimidating. Your skills are unrivaled, so I had to take precautions.”

Fighting past the initial reaction, I cross my arms, leaving the cuffs on the table. Just gotta look calm.

“The maze of hallways down here, under classical architecture. Guards out the ass, some of them wearing some very distinct colors. Old-world tapestries. Definitely Italian. Clearly mob related, or the like. You’re ’Ndrangheta, aren’t you?

” A term I don’t know I know until this very instant.

They’re a myth, a bogeyman story in the Italian criminal underworld.

She barely reacts, but I see the slightest flare in her eyes. Her chuckle is damn near sinister.

“Even without your past, you seem to have a knack for putting puzzles together, Ero. I am always impressed, never surprised.”

Like she fucking knows me?

“Maybe you could surprise me. Like with, I don’t know, the truth? Instead of this bullshit cloak and dagger, smoke and mirror crap.”

She watches me for a moment, pinning me with a stare that I can’t read to save my life.

“Hm. Follow me.”

I’m on my feet, walking out behind her before I realize I made the choice to do it. We wind through a few corridors before she opens double doors, her heels clacking authoritatively on marble, echoing up into a vaulted ceiling.

The room is beyond impressive. It’s damn near Vatican-level art. It feels about almost the same, in that holy sort of way. Only this place isn’t a sanctuary.

It’s an arsenal.

Weapons line the alcoves along the walls, ranging from medieval to modern tactical and as high tech as it comes. All of it is expertly maintained, organized.

And clearly not just for show.

A gleaming battle-ax catches my eye, clean and sharpened, yet scored and dented from real battle. Or maybe just plain ole murder.

“Is this where you threaten me, torture me? Not sure if you got the memo, I don’t know shit about shit. Not even about me. So torturing me won’t get you fucking anywhere.”

“So blunt. So crass. I know there are manners floating around in there somewhere.”

“I didn’t hear you introduce yourself or welcome me to your home,” I snap, shrugging.

“Touché. You may call me Ananke.”

Great.

More mythological bullshit.

“And you shouldn’t have brought me here. Not alone.”

“I am never alone, Ero. And I am not worried in the slightest.”

“Right. Goddess of death. Huh. I could kill you before you could even gasp to scream for one of your guards.”

“Oh, I’m sure you think so. But I am not defenseless. Nor am I your enemy. I think we could be of great value to one another. If you will indulge me for a moment. At least to hear me out, Mr. Diamante.”

The name hits me like a battering ram in the chest.

Too many images, random flashes of people, faces, places, clothing, events, all bombard my mind, fluttering back into the darkness like bats in a cave. I catch myself on the wall, my breathing labored.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“A question I am sure you’ve asked the mirror more than once.

You know, Ananke was not just the goddess of death.

She was originally the heart of necessity.

Fate. The compelling drive of what must be done.

Life. Death. Those are nothing if not necessities.

Consider me an agent of fate, an influential hand for those who would shape the world in ways that must be guided. ”

“Illuminati?” I almost laugh, channeling the comment from Ciro’s voice in my head.

He’s also nowhere to be found at the moment.

That honey-sweet chuckle bubbles from her lips again, like a pile of skulls tumbling. “We are called the Pantheon. Clandestine and dramatic, yes. But also ancient. Far-reaching.”

“And almost unheard of. Convenient. Playing goddess from the shadows, pretending to make big moves and shift your little chess pieces on the board to feel important.”

“My chess pieces are world leaders, child.”

“So what the fuck do you want with me?”

“We—”

“Who’s we?”

“My partner and I. Each branch of the council works in pairs.”

“Let me guess. Kronos?”

“Nothing gets by you. Yes. Time and Fate.”

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard or seen. And I’ve watched my brother learn TikTok dances.” It’s a sudden memory, a flash of annoyance and internal laughter. Ciro was always so fucking ridiculous. I wish I could remember more.

“Ignorance blinds you to the possibilities, I understand. And why would you believe me? But all I want is to give people like you and Circe a purpose. Wayward, lost souls with tremendous talent should not go to waste.”

“You know? I think you’re right. You’ve definitely missed your calling.”

“Oh? And what calling would that be?”

“The one where you go fuck yourself!”

“You’re angry. I would be too if I had lost my family. My past. Wouldn’t you like to know what happened to them?”

My heart pounds, clenching in my rib cage. Fingers dig into my shirt, my fist gripping tight, involuntary. Swallowing hard against a rising panic, I let the fear fuel my rage.

The ringing in my ears starts softly as I take a step forward, snatching the nearest weapon from its stand. Three steps toward Ananke and I’m raising the spiked mace, an echo of my own shout barely reaching me over the noise in my head.

She’s an instant from death when I see her lips move.

I can’t hear the word.

But I feel the word. In my fucking soul.

It tears through me like a hurricane, stripping away my faculties, my will, freezing my body mid-swing. Frigid terror grips every muscle fiber in my body.

“W-wha—?” It’s all I can force out.

“I see why she loved you. Why she told me about you in the first place. Who would guess that the quiet one, the brooding brother, would have so much fire in him. Now don’t go getting notions of retaliating against Circe.

She is loyal to me for a reason. And she hardly has any more choice than you do.

Only she understands the difference we must make in the world. The need for our guidance.”

“Why?”

“Good question. With so many layers. Why would I do this? To save those who cannot save themselves. To stop organizations like your family, like the Mocro, and others, from taking power and spreading death and destruction.

“Why would you work for me? Because deep down you hate what you are, what you have become. What you have done, whether you remember it or not. This is your chance to make amends. To give back and undo the pain and devastation you and your ilk cause!”

Her voice rises finally, strong and full, filling the room, my ears, my head. Every word hammers into me, knocking down my defenses. Making me…

Believe her.

“C-can’t trust you…” I hiss through my aching jaw.

“Certainly not yet. However, you know I do not lie. And I know who you are, at your core.”

“How?”

“I have known your family for decades, Ero. Give me your time and your skill, and I will give you your life back, a bit at a time.”

“What if I don’t want it back?”

“Then at least give in to a new life. A life with a mission. A reason for living.”

Deep in my heart, I feel a rattle, like rubble crumbling down. A crack in a wall, trickling dust and mortar.

No. Stop.

But she leans in close, right in my ear, those smiling lips forcing words into my head like a knife through my ribs. “Alessandro died trying to flee his secret home. Isabella was in the car when it went over the cliff.”

“N-no…” I whisper, two faces surfacing from the tar pit of my mind. My eldest brother… who raised me. Gone.

“All because you gave them up. You shared their location.”

“NO!” The scream tears through my throat, agony lancing through my entire body. I barely know the people she’s speaking of, can’t bring a single memory of them to mind. But my soul cries out for them.

My skull feels like it’s gonna split wide open.

“Stop, stop it!” I shout, wishing I could clutch my head to stop the spinning room, the noise roaring through me.

“I can stop all of the pain. Just ask.”

I’m coming apart at the seams. Memories swell and push at the bleak walls of my inner self, crushing, the pressure bone shattering.

“P-please …”

Ananke utters another word I cannot hear.

And the pain abruptly stops. Agony sweeps back like the tide, pulling any clarity of what just happened with it.

The sensation feels familiar, like waking from a dream, remembering less and less of it within seconds of waking.

I grasp for the memories, the images, but they wisp into smoke through my fingers.

“Serve me and Pantheon for a time. You will earn the right to your memories, or the choice of never having to remember them again. Give me a year, and I will give you everything, Ero.”

“No one can help,” I sob, only just realizing that I’m on the ground, curled around my knees, shivering. “Everything is gone.”

What little I can bring to mind surfaces, the past few months of drinking, fighting, running. Pain. So much pain and loneliness. All of it making me weak. Wearing me down.

And Ananke somehow grasps the core of that weakness.

“Ah, but at your lowest, I can rebuild you, my suffering knight,” Ananke hums, crouching to rest a hand on my shoulder.

Something in me stirs at that thought, at all of the cruel treatment she’s put me through so far. A caged animal raises its head within me in protest, like the last vestiges of my pride and anger working their way up and out through my quivering lips. “I s-said… fuck you .”

“Hm. Bold. And stupid.”

Before I can move, I feel the chill of a knife at my throat. She’s going to kill me.

And for the first time since I can remember…

I don’t want to die.