The sincerity shocks me. Most men here don’t care if a woman is taken, let alone wish her well.
I open my mouth to reply, but the classroom door opens.
And there she is.
Keira.
Prim and proper, as always. Elegant. Moving like she’s balancing an invisible book on her head. Not a single glance in my direction. Not a flicker of recognition. Just that chilly, professional composure she wears better than any couture dress.
She sets her bag and gloves down with precise, almost ritual movements before addressing us.
“Today,” she begins, her voice smooth as glass, “we will discuss Card Law.”
A murmur spreads across the room. It’s a hot topic. Everyone knows about the cards, but hardly anyone knows all the rules.
“A card,” Keira continues, “is assigned to individuals the Council considers high-risk, untested, or extremely dangerous. They are not rewards. They are deliberately crafted traps, designed to reveal whether someone is fit to lead.”
Her gaze sweeps the class. She still doesn’t acknowledge me.
“The blue card is given to certain bosses running prostitution enterprises. It grants them permission to take five high-value women from any family — except wives — to upscale theirbusiness.”
Gasps. Whispers. A few disgusted faces.
“The red card is for a new-to-mafia boss who rose too quickly. He may choose five skilled men from any family to stabilize his new bratva.”
Then she reaches the final card, the one that makes the room go still. She looks directly at me for the first time since entering.
“And then there is the Yellow Card.”
My stomach tightens.
“A Yellow Card is given to heirs who are considered unstable, untested, or suspected of betrayal. They are granted five lives to use however they see fit: marriage, alliance, or execution. Their choices determine whether they survive their first year as boss.”
She pauses.
“History shows Yellow Card holders almost never choose correctly. Only twice in the last century has the Council spared such a man.”
I feel everyone staring at me, though Keira hasn’t said my name. Not yet.
“Who,” she asks, “in Russia received a Yellow Card this year? And why?”
Hands shoot up instantly.
A girl with glossy red lips answers, practically bouncing in her seat.
“Gustav Sokolov. The Council thinks he killed his own father to take over the Raven bratva.”
Brutus nods and adds, “He also talks to himself. People say he’s insane.”
Another voice joins in. “He kills with a hatchet even if a gun is right next to him. Likes the gore. That’s why they call him the mad butcher.”
“He chopped his dad into pieces,” a guy in the back says. “Nobody can prove it, but still.”
A beautiful blonde girl lifts her hand with a coy smile. “If I were one of his picks, I’d kill myself... if he wasn’t so damn hot.”
A woman next to her fans herself dramatically. “Honestly, same. He’s terrifying, but I’d... be open to it.”
Keira cuts through their giggles like a knife.
