“The boy he fought in the hall,” he says. “He was Castillo. There are more.”
I nod. “There always are.”
Ciro is quiet for a moment. “Your father is worried you will be the next message.”
“I know the game.”
He shakes his head. “You know the rules. The game changes every day.”
We are both silent.
He stops and grabs my elbow, forcing me to stop and face him. “They want you to accept closer protection. Two men, by yourside, not in the shadows. Can be me and Leone, or we can rotate out. No arguments.”
I want to argue. I want to say I don’t need a shadow, that I’m safe enough on my own. But that would be another lie.
Instead, I huff out a small puff of air.
I remember being six, standing on a chair in the kitchen while Ciro taught me to hold a knife. “Never hesitate,” he said, guiding my hand over the carrot as we pretended it was a blade handle. “The hesitation is when they hurt you.”
He looks at me the same way now—waiting to see if I’ll hesitate, or if I’ll do what’s necessary.
“Will you let them help you?” he asks.
I nod, once. The truth is, it doesn’t matter. They’ll be there whether I want them or not.
Ciro bows his head, then steps back, always positioning himself between me and the door. Always the shield.
As I move to pass him, he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Your father loves you,” he says.
I shrug it off, but not as hard as I want to.
“Try not to get killed,” he adds, and this time the smile is real.
“I’ll do my best,” I say, and mean it.
He watches me walk away, sunlight and dust spinning in the space between us. I don’t look back, but I know he’ll stand there until I’m out of sight.
It’s what he does.
Back in my room, I head to the window facing the quad and stare out. But I’m not looking at the quad, I’m looking at my own reflection.
I stare at it until I see myself, and no one else.
Then I start to laugh, because it’s either that or scream.
Chapter 10: Bam
TheysummonusonFriday, just before dusk.
The invitation is a “request,” but the Board doesn’t request. They summon, and you show. Rhett gets it first, coded language that makes him laugh, and then the rest come in a blizzard. Julian ignores his until Rhett calls and tells him to put on a fucking tie. Colton is ready early, because of course he is. I rip my shirt out of the dryer, still hot, and let it burn my back as I walk across campus with my boots echoing every step.
They want a show. I’ll give them one.
The Boardroom is buried in the oldest wing of the main hall, three stories up and impossible to get to if you don’t alreadyknow the tricks. Even the air here feels different: colder, heavier, like all the oxygen is siphoned off for the benefit of the old money vampires nesting in the walls.
Rhett’s suit is dark blue, subtle, and he wears it like it’s custom (it is). Colton has a jacket, but he hasn’t bothered with a tie, and his black shirt is buttoned to the neck, a look that makes him seem even more like a shadow than usual.
Julian is late. He always is, and he always acts surprised by it.
