CHAPTER NINE

Dante

I SKIPPED CLASS.

Something told me that what I needed to learn about the school sure as hell wasn’t going to just magically appear during chemistry.

So far, I was a half a day in.

And found I actually preferred getting tortured by all five of the guys.

I was ready to beg for starvation by the end of the day.

Nobody would look at me.

Girls would stare only to glance down and whisper in those fucking giggles that set my blood boiling.

I waited for El outside her class.

I was her ride.

And even though most days I wanted to ignore her existence, I at least still had one shred of human decency, enough to recognize that if she walked in the shitty boots she was wearing she’d most likely sprain her ankle.

The door to the business building surged open.

Kids.

Because that was what they were, piled out, laughing, raising their phones, tweeting whatever the hell they tweeted when they assumed the world was their oyster.

It made me sick.

Pissed.

Agitated.

I’d never fit into that life — even back in New York everything had been a ruse to keep my sister in the dark. Hell, I’d even gone as far as to practice my smile in the mirror, relaxing the muscles around my mouth.

The perfect liar.

That’s what I was.

Because ever since my sixth birthday when I found out my family was shit deep in the mafia that was what I’d been living.

A fucking lie.

El finally appeared, her dark hair a curtain across her face as she hurried past the crowds.

A guy chased after her.

I rolled my eyes. Wow, and on the first day.

Her scars were gone.

Any idiot with two eyes could see she was gorgeous and she knew it, that was why she always met my stare with a challenging one of her own. She knew she had power — and that the only way to wield it was her body.

Once a Petrov, always a Petrov.

I hated the Russians for having a hand in killing my father.

Almost as much as I hated El for sleeping with one of their bosses before Frank ripped his throat out.

The guy stalked after her.

She picked up her pace, her eyes darting from left to right, finally landing on me.

It was a plea, the look she had on her face.

And while I wanted to turn around and head in the opposite direction, I knew that if I didn’t come back with her it would probably cause more issues than I was ready to deal with.

Plus, I reminded myself that I cared enough not to make her walk five miles.

I pushed off the tree and slowly approached.

The guy chasing her was one of the ones who’d tried to kick my ass only to discover that he wasn’t the only one with training.

Who were those guys?

“They’re the new us,” Nixon had said.

Bosses? Russians? Murderers?

I had no time to process anything before El was launching herself into my arms, her body pressed against mine so hard that I stumbled backward, and then her lips grazed my mouth.

I was too stunned to push her away.

Too confused and immediately hard up to do anything but kiss her back, and when the guy stopped walking, when his face turned from passive to murderous, I gave him the finger behind her back and twirled her in my arms, pressing her up against the tree so hard she let out a yelp.

My hands dove into her hair.

Her mouth met me kiss for kiss, possession for possession.

And I kept track.

Of the favors I gave her while he watched.

She was shaking.

Her frail body weak and cold.

He cursed.

I turned. “Any questions?”

He tilted his head, a cruel smile plastered across his face. “She’s not yours for long… Nicolasi.”

I felt my entire body stiffen.

As far as anyone knew, I was Nixon’s long-lost cousin, an Abandonato.

The name Nicolasi hadn’t been whispered out loud to me in years.

So. Many. Damn. Years.

Even my own sister shied away from it.

She knew I was quick to punch my way through walls.

Because it triggered something deep inside, something that made me want to kill, something dark that scared me, that made me see nothing but rage.

So when I saw his back.

I acted.

Quickly grabbing my knife from the shitty backpack Sergio had given me, I threw it at his Russian ass.

He stumbled forward and collapsed.

I took a few steps toward him as he cried out in pain.

Red blood made a small mark where the knife had entered. I smiled, bent over and shoved it in further, much to the horrified cries around me. “Turn your back on me again, and this—” I pushed further. “—is going to be your fucking throat, got me?”

He winced, cursing in Russian, just as someone started to clap, one, two, three times.

The four guys stood over me as I shoved the knife deeper into their dickhead friend’s back.

“We did not think you had it in you,” one of them said in a practiced American accent. “And here you are, ready to kill — for her.”

“Not for her,” I spat. “For me.”

His eyes lit up. “Even better. I’m Vas.”

I didn’t take his outstretched hand. Instead, I jerked the knife from his friend’s back and stood. “Don’t care.”

“You like a good fight,” he said once I’d taken a step away from him and the guys surrounding him. A crowd started to form. I hung my head as the need to punch something or someone pulsed in my veins. “Ah, I can smell it on you… tell me, do you like… to bleed?”

I closed my eyes.

I’d promised.

I’d promised her never again.

I’d promised no fighting.

I’d promised.

Chicago was a fresh start.

A new start.

But I salivated at the thought…

Of fresh blood on my knuckles, of the sound of flesh tearing open, bone against bone.

“Midnight,” he dropped casually.

Something was thrust into my right hand, the one without the knife.

I stood there.

Swaying in the wind.

Feeling like nothing but a failure.

Because it wasn’t El I was thinking of.

Or my sister.

Or the family I swore to serve.

It wasn’t any of them that I was thinking of.

It was me.

And only me.

And the fact that it had been too long since I’d tasted blood.

When I opened my eyes, I expected fear. I expected El to be horrified, to look away in disgust to try to reprimand me like my sister would.

Instead, she sighed heavily and said, “I’ll cover for you.”

“Why?” My voice was hoarse with emotion that sure as hell didn’t belong in any cell of my body. Emotion got you killed. Emotion had never done me any favors.

“Because.” She licked her lips, a flush spread across her cheeks. “That’s what friends do.”

“We aren’t friends.”

“That’s my condition.” Her chin lifted in defiance. “Friendship for lies.”

“I don’t need your lies or your friendship.”

She was quiet before her hand closed over mine, as she tugged the knife free and wiped it on the inside of her skirt and very carefully closed it and placed it in my backpack on the grass. “That’s where you’re wrong. I think you need both… more than you’ll ever know.”

“I can’t trust you.”

“I never said trust was a condition.”

We stared each other down. I hated looking at her, hated recognizing her beauty. It was why I tried not to focus on her mouth, her eyes; instead I stared at her forehead like it was going to give me answers. The only hint that she was bluffing, that she was trying her best to be strong, was the slight crease in her brow, and the way that, when I did glance at her mouth, she sucked in her bottom lip only to release it when she realized it was a tell.

“You’re afraid,” I finally said.

She hung her head and whispered, “Friendship for lies. What will it be?”

I swung my backpack over my shoulder and pulled the keys for the Mercedes out of my pocket. “Let me think about it.”

We drove in silence the entire way home.