His blond hair was swept back, perfectly styled, like he’d just stepped off Wall Street. For some reason, he reminded me of crooked wealth, like the kind that’d eventually run for office, then get a felony for insider trading.
He gave me a bright, calculated smile.
“Excuse me?” I croaked, grabbing my water bottle and taking a sip.
“The guy who cut your hair,” he said. “He’s a Night Son.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “And what does that mean exactly?”
“The Night Sons are the secret society that runs Saint Vale.”
“Okay,” I drawled slowly. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
Honestly, it kind of did.
Men like the one who cut my hair fed on fear. Thrived on it. Devoured it like it was their favorite carb.
And the fact that he belonged to some secret society that supposedly ran the university made things even scarier.
The guy scratched his clean-shaven cheek, though I noticed there was a fresh nick, like he’d cut himself this morning. “It should scare you more than anything.”
I scoffed, faking indifference. “I’ve attended enough universities to know exactly who the guy who cut my hair is. That prep-school jerk will peak early. Give him a few more years, and he’ll have a receding hairline and erectile dysfunction before he hits thirty. Men like him aren’t a rarity, particularly inthistax bracket.”
He shook his head violently. “Enzo Marchettiisa rarity.”
Enzo. The name of my tormentor.
His name hit me like a warning label of poison after you took a drink of it.
“He’s not some prep-school jerk,” he continued. “He’s fucking crazy.” His voice lowered a notch. “Your haircut? Child’s play compared to what he has planned for you. You need to watch your back here.”
Fear shot through me.
He adjusted the cuff of his blazer, deliberately showing off his gold diamond watch.
I forced a polite smile, thankful he’d at least had the guts to provide a name. “Thank you for the warning. Is this a club they just started? Do they meet on Thursdays?”
He unfortunately didn’t share my sense of humor or return the smile. “The Night Sons existed before the university. They created the society to protect the university’s secrets. To keep powerful families safe from outsiders. Every year, new members are recruited.” He cleared his throat. “And every generation becomes more ruthless than the last. Now, it’s nothing but sadistic rituals, like who can be the most brutal.”
The more he explained, the more his tone changed.
It sounded like envy, like he desperately wanted to be one, but had never been invited.
“How does one join the Night Sons?” I asked, tapping my nails against the wooden table.
He drew his shoulders back. “Only the Sons know that. What Idoknow is that all of them come from bloodlines of powerful families. Royalty, politicians, drug lords, and the Mafia.”
“Mafia?” I snorted. “Didn’t they wipe out the mob, like, decades ago?”
He scoffed. “The Mafia never died. They just got better at hiding. They pay the right people to pretend they disappeared and then sent their heirs here.”
The crumbs of the granola bar threatened to make their way up.
“Which powerful bloodline is Enzo?” I asked, taking another drink of water. “Royalty? Mafia? Drug lord?”
“His father is one of the most feared Mafia bosses alive. And believe me, Enzo inherited every ounce of his father’s viciousness. He makes the devil look like a saint.”
I slowly capped my water. “Why are you telling me this, then? If he and this … society are as dangerous as you say, shouldn’t you be too afraid to warn me?”
