Killing him would befareasier. But given that Andrés will be…departingthe board very shortly, very abruptly, another member doing the same would start to raise questions I don’t need asked.
So we’re doing it this way.
Cyril’s face pales. “Look, Vaughn, I’m sorry, okay?! It wasn’t a personal attack, I just don’t feel that the college needs to entangle itself with?—”
“Oh, you’ve made your thoughts on the matter crystal clear,” I say, smiling icily at him. I turn to Carson. “Mr. Photographer, I believe our model is ready for his close-up.”
Carson makes a face. “Fuck that, I don’t want this shit on my phone.”
“As if that would be the worst thing your phone ever saw,” Gideon grunts. “Fine, I’ll do it.”
He pulls his phone out and starts snapping pictures of a naked, shit-streaked, cock-caged Cyril, bound to a BDSM cross.
“Jesus Christ,” Cyril chokes as he starts to cry.
“I sincerely doubt the Father, The Son,orThe Hole Spirit wants to be involved in any of this,” I say with a wry smile. “Now, you know what this means, right?” I step closer. “In case you’re unclear, the answer is, it means you’re fuckingminenow.”
Cyril looks pathetic and broken as he lifts his eyes to mine. “Or…or you’ll tell my wife?”
I smile and shake my head. Then I sigh, reaching out and patting his cheek patronizingly. “You think my threat is ending your marriage? No, Cyril.” I shake my head again and then bring my knife up. Cyril whimpers as I lift his chin with the tip of the blade. “If you step out of line, I won’t tell your wife about your kinky proclivities and your night with a Dominatrix.”
I lean closer, letting him inhale my darkness as I loom right in his face.
“I’ll cut your wife into little pieces in front of you andfeed her to you one bite at a time.”
It’s not until we’re heading back to the city that I allow myself to admit that as much fun as that was, there’s been something else taking up massive amounts of real estate in my head.
Someoneelse.
Someone who never should have come to that party the other night with her pathetic request for help, and thereby gotten my attention.
Evelina Nikitin might think I’m a monster. And she'd be right.
But she doesn’t know the fuckinghalf of it.
4
EVELINA
Wow,this place is beautiful.
Part of me has always wished I’d gone to Knightsblood, like Roman and his friends. Notjustbecause the centuries-old Tudor and Gothic campus nestled on a wooded cliff on the southern Connecticut shore is gorgeous—though it is.
But also, I've often wondered what I missed by skipping the traditional college experience…if you can call a school where the heirs of mafia families prepare for their ascension to various thrones a “traditional college experience”.
I mean, yes, part of any elite college experience is the connections you make. That’s the whole point of schools like Harvard or Princeton or Eton: not just the superior teaching staff and resources, but also the opportunity to rub elbows with other students of a similar status and background. Love it or hate it, the world really does revolve aroundwho, not what, you know.
Back when Knightsblood was founded, it wasn’t actually a school for the offspring of criminal dynasties. Initially, the idea was tocreate a “truly English” university in the United States for the heirs of lords, dukes, and other high-born families who were coming here from England. Those lords and dukes wanted a school for their kids that would match Oxford or Cambridge for prestige, with admission limited to those of aristocratic lineage.
Obviously, things have changed since then. It’s still a fiercely selective school, but these days, it caters to the heirs of a differentkindof aristocracy.
Even so, the original school motto remains the same: “To the blood of king and crown, cross and knighthood.”
Hence, Knightsblood.
I could have gone here. I mean I literally applied, and got in. But university entrance age is also right around the time you start auditioning for companies if you're an aspiring dancer. So I had to make a choice: Knightsblood or ballet.
In the end, my love of dance won.
