“Are you saying you drug everyone who enters this club?”
“It is part of why people come to Iniquity. Whoever gave you the password should have warned you.”
At his comment, she shut down. He could see it in her eyes and the press of her lips.
“Show me more,” she said, stepping to the side to escape him, or at least that was how he felt, as if she were running from him, putting more distance between them, but he said nothing, only leading her from the overlook and back into the dark passageways of Iniquity.
This time, he took her to the lower levels, and as they rode the elevator down, she stood opposite him, studying him, as if trying to figure out exactly who he was.
He didn’t like it.
“Where are we going?” she asked, as if she wanted to be prepared for whatever laid beyond this elevator.
Hades stared at her for a moment. “I’m not sure what you expect to find here, but it isn’t what you are thinking.”
“And what am I thinking?” she challenged.
“The worst,” he replied.
She did not deny it, but then she said, “Knowledge changes perception, Hades.”
When the doors opened, he offered his hand, and he felt a little more relief when she accepted. As they stepped into a darkened hallway, he spoke. “This part of the club is reserved for guests who possess a token for entry,” he explained. “An obol.”
“I see you have repurposed the idea of paying to enter the Underworld.”
He chuckled, though coming into possession of an obol was not as easy as it was in ancient times. The ones Hades issued were gold, not silver, and they were tied to the soul, which meant as soon as the possessor died, the obol disappeared. It also made forgery impossible, as each of them was unique to the grantee.
He did not give them out lightly, and because he was the only one who could grant them, he could ensure those who were given a token were honest—at least, in the ways that counted.
He continued leading Persephone down a darkened hall and into his office. It was similar to the last in how it was structured, a wall of dark windows allowing him to peer down at the activities on the floor below. Unlike the public side, there was no dancing here, no loud music. This was not a place members came to let go of their inhibitions, though now and then, someone would get too drunk and spout off, and they were promptly escorted from the building.
This was a space to set aside differences. A place to establish connections.
It was the pulse, and Hades kept his finger on it at all times.
He watched Persephone as she peered down at the bar, and he hoped it was rather underwhelming.
No blood, he wanted to say. Or whatever she’d imagined after her encounter with Kal.
Her fingers traced a line down the window.
“Can they see us?”
“No,” Hades said.
In fact, from where they sat, this part of his office was mostly in shadow but would appear as a solid black wall. Despite this, none of his members were ignorant. They knew every movement they made, every word they spoke, was being recorded. It was the price they paid for their membership at Iniquity, but in exchange, they received his resources, which were invaluable and, as many were discovering, needed to survive in this part of New Greece where he too ruled.
“So you spy on them from up here?”
She looked back at him from over her shoulder, and he liked the way the light haloed her, even if her question was delivered with an element of coldness.
“You can call it spying if you like.”
She turned back to the window. After a moment, he heard her intake of breath as she began to recognize faces below.
“That’s Madelia Rella,” she said.
“She is in debt to me.”
“How?”
“I loaned her the money to start her first brothel.”
It had begun that way, at least. Now she owned the whole of the pleasure district, which meant she was, essentially, a landlord, and while she owned every building in the district, it came with a great deal of responsibility. Though Madelia was more than willing to take up the gauntlet. Prior to his deal with the madam, she was already a staunch supporter of women and sex workers’ rights. It was how Hades had become interested in her proposition—she wanted to own the pleasure district and reform it. Under her direction, she had promised to create safer spaces for the workers, something she had succeeded with when it came to her own brothel.
So he agreed.
“Why?”
“It was a business opportunity, and in exchange for the money, I have a stake in her company, and I can ensure the safety of her escorts.”
Though he did not have to worry as much, because Madelia was a force to be reckoned with. Those who disobeyed her rules, depending on the severity, found themselves fired or dead. It was as simple as that.
“Send me to Tartarus,” she had told him once. “I will gladly face eternal punishment for the lives I take. It likely means I have saved ten more.”
Hades had smiled at that. “If I sent you to Tartarus, Madelia, you’d likely decide that my choice of punishments was not good enough.”
“Who else is down there?” Persephone asked.
Hades came to stand beside her and searched below, looking for people she might know, not because of their involvement in the criminal underworld but because of how they presented themselves to the public.
“That is Leonidas Nasso and Damianos Vitalis. They are billionaires and the bosses of rival crime families.”
“Nasso?” Persephone asked. “You mean…the owner of the Nasso Pizzeria chain?”
“The very one,” Hades confirmed. “The Vitalises are also restaurant owners, but they make their real living from fishing.”
Nasso and Vitalis both specialized in gambling and loan sharking, and only a single road separated their territories within New Athens. Under the rule of Iniquity, they could continue to expand their reach with the caveats that a percentage of their income had to be funneled into charities and they could not make or deal drugs.
“If they are rivals, why are they playing cards?”
“This is neutral territory. It is illegal to cause harm to another person on this property.”
Though Nasso and Vitalis had a truce since joining Iniquity, and so long as they continued to work together, they were on track to becoming the two most powerful mortal families in New Greece.
“I suppose you are the exception to that rule?”
“I am always the exception, Persephone.”