My father steps toward me. I shoot him a look, warning him to stay back—because even if his expression makes it clear he knew nothing until now, it was his job to know. Damn it, it was his job.
“It’s time I tell you something, Nero,” Konstantino says—and for the first time since I walked into this house, Lysandra looks truly desperate. Color drains from her face.
“No! No!” she screams, pointing at him as she lunges forward.
“It’s time, Lysandra.”
“No, no, no!” she repeats, but he ignores her and turns to me.
“I’m your father,” he says. I shake my head slowly, not understanding—until one more word leaves his mouth. “Biologically.”
I don’t respond. Too much is colliding inside my chest and head. I stare at Konstantino, processing, silent. He takes that silence as permission to continue.
“I found out when it was already too late. I was young and reckless, and my family convinced me that what was done was done. For a long time, I thought forgetting was best—but when I looked at you in that orphanage, Nero, I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.”
His voice slows, as if replaying the memory. “You were the spitting image of her…”
“No, no, no!” Lysandra’s hysteria spikes as she shouts and shakes her head. “He looks just like me! Exactly like me!”
“No, he doesn’t, Lysandra,” Konstantino says calmly. “You, more than anyone, know how long you spent trying to become the woman I loved. But I knew her first. You may share her scent, her gestures, even her features—but you’re not her. And Nero never looked like you. Not once. He’s his mother’s image. Nature was kind, sparing him my family’s rotten genetics.”
Family.
The word tolls through my head like a relentless bell—but it has nothing to do with the two people in front of me. No. It’s aboutmyfamily. My son. My woman—the one I humiliated in every possible way, trying to make her feel even a fraction of the pain I was convinced she’d caused me.
A son.
I turn and walk out of Lysandra and Konstantino’s house without seeing anything or anyone. My vision narrows into a tunnel aimed at a single destination as I get into the car and drive like a madman through Khione’s streets, seeing nothing but where I need to end up. It’s a miracle I don’t crash.
When I finally stop and pound on the door I’ve been searching for—needing it to open—I feel like I can try to breathe again.
“Nero?” Atlas says, opening the door to the house he shares with Apollo. “What are you doing here?”
“I need help.”
CHAPTER 54
NERO ZANTHOS
“Almost twenty years thinking you were adopted,” Atlas mutters, gripping his coffee mug hard. “Your mother is a fucking predator.”
He finishes the sentence and suddenly everyone in the room is staring at him.
Atlas doesn’t swear. Ever. And he would never use that word about a woman—even if she truly deserved it—but he doesn’t seem to realize he said it out loud. His gaze is unfocused, lost in the same place his thoughts are.
“She’s not my mother,” I reply calmly. “My mother died the day I was born.”
“Certifiable,” Drako declares. “One of those disorders where parents fall in love with their kids. That woman was obsessed with you.” He shakes his head, scrubbing his face like he’s trying to erase a memory. “I told you she was jailbait crazy. Shealways had that soap-opera villain vibe. She reminded me of the orphanage witch. She despised us, Nero.”
“We always knew your dad was a spineless coward,” Apollo cuts in, “but I didn’t know he was a professional one. How did he look at you every day without telling you he was your father? I don’t get it.”
“He didn’t look at me,” I say—and suddenly it clicks. “That’s how he managed. He gave me everything money could buy and hid as best he could.”
Images flash through my mind, fragments of our entire life together. “At least he had the decency to be ashamed.”
“I never thought Nina cheated on you,” Apollo says quietly. Drako’s attention snaps to him; Atlas is still lost in his head, like he’s doing math.
“Me neither,” Drako adds. “I figured she ran off with the guy just to get back at you for humiliating her. Honestly, I thought it was deserved.” He shrugs, unrepentant.
