Page 162 of The Devil We Crave
“You have nothing to be nervous about. Also, Ya-ya is going to love you.”
The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. My gaze shifts, and instantly, my jaw is on the ground.
Holyshit.
It’s not like I didn’t grow up surrounded by insane wealth and privilege. Greymoor Manor, the gorgeous Gilded Age Manhattanmansion that my parents took from haunted house to warmth-filled home, is basically a palace.
But the Drakos estate, sitting atop a forty-story building on Central Park South, is next level.
It’s a neoclassical mansion that Achilles’ great-great-grandfather literally had moved brick by brick from the English countryside to the top of the Midtown Manhattan building he owned.
Twelve bedrooms, twice as many bathrooms, terraces with grounds including two pools and a tennis court, and a wine cellar that apparently rivals almost any private collection in the US.
I’ve heard about the place, of course, but when Achilles leads me from the elevator and into the grand foyer of the estate, I realize I’m stepping into another world of wealth and power.
“Whoa…” I breathe, staring up at the gilded vaulted ceiling, the Corinthian columns, the old-world hardwood floors, and?—
Holy shit. I think the painting hanging on the wall of the entryway is the originalNymphéasby Monet.
“Yeah…” Achilles arches his brow. “It’s all a bit…much.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Engonós.”
My gaze snaps from Achilles to the elderly woman who’s just appeared at the other end of the entryway.
Achilles smiles warmly. “Hi, Ya-ya.”
Dimitra Drakos, the matriarch of the Drakos family and Achilles’ great-grandmother, stands a whopping four foot ten inches and looks like a light wind could blow her away. But I know you’d bean idiot to underestimate the bird-like woman leaning on a black cane with the image of a dragon carved into the silver handle.
Dimitra is a freakinglegendin the New York underworld, and her quiet and unassuming but formidably influential power is near-mythologically infamous.
She smiles as Achilles leads me over to her and then lets go of my hand to wrap his arms around her.
“Ahh, my favorite great-grandson,” she beams, hugging him tightly.
He chuckles as he pulls back. “What do you say to Lochie, or Ronan, or?—”
“I tell themthey’remy favorite, ” she smirks.
She winks at Achilles when he laughs. Then her hawkish gaze swivels to me.
“Well now,” she murmurs, studying me curiously. “You must be Yelena.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Drakos,” I say with a stiff bow.
Dimitra starts to laugh. “What scary stories about me has Achilles been feeding you?”
She smiles as she draws me close and hugs me with an unexpected strength.
“And please, just call me Ya-ya.”
Achilles has already explained that “Ya-ya” is Greek for grandmother.
She pulls back and lets her steely gaze drag over me again. “Russian and Italian,” she sighs, clucking her teeth. “Beautiful.”
I blush deeply. “Thank you for having me. Your home isgorgeous, Mrs.—” I clear my throat. “Ya-ya.”
