Pretty Prey (Empire of Kings #2)

Chapter 1

GAbrIELA

A shadow falls over my worktable, and a frantic sense of awareness creeps into the edges of my consciousness.

Time’s up.

My hand moves faster, transcribing thoughts as quickly as they roll off the conveyor belt in my mind. The interruption when I’m hyper-focused sets me on edge. If I stop now, my ideas will stall. Already, I can feel them slipping away as the world around me invades my bubble.

I pause, studying the rough silhouette in my concept journal, and jot another note in the margin.

Structured or draped?

Almost as soon as that question disappears into the void, a new thought sparks about a variation I’d like to explore. Before I can pursue it, a finger taps against my desk.

An anxious feeling claws at my chest as I glance up at Professor Harlow. She hovers over me with an apologetic smile while I pull off my noise-canceling headphones and glance around the studio. The other students are already gone, and I didn’t even notice.

“I’m sorry, Gabi,” she says. “I know you’re deep in focus, but there’s a workshop scheduled here in five minutes. I have to clear the space, but you can use the lounge if you want to keep working.”

I frown at the suggestion and shake my head.

I may as well try studying for an exam in the middle of a rave.

The lounge is too chaotic to complete a single thought, let alone conceptualize my senior collection.

Unfortunately, my off-campus apartment isn’t much better.

There are parties every night in my building.

Doors slamming, yelling, laughing, loud music—the noise never stops.

It’s a sensory nightmare, but it’s all I have right now.

“It’s okay,” I tell Professor Harlow. “I’ll just go home.”

She nods and leaves me to pack up, gathering my pencils, fabric swatches, and notebooks into my backpack.

Sensing the commotion, my Chihuahua, Beppe, wiggles around inside my hoodie, using his nose to poke his head out from beneath the hem.

The university granted me a rare accommodation after reviewing my case and clinical documentation, so I’m able to bring him with me to class as my ESA. He calms my nerves, and it probably helps that most of the other students barely even notice he’s here, so he doesn’t cause any distractions.

“Have a nice nap?” I scoop him up and give him a quick cuddle before I tuck him into his fuzzy white tote bag.

“Miss Bianchi.” My guard, Julian, approaches me, reaching for my backpack. “I’ll carry that for you.”

“Thanks.” I avert my gaze, still feeling slightly awkward around him.

Like most women in my world, I’ve had protection for as long as I can remember.

I was born into the Cosa Nostra, and my family are also members of IVI—aka The Society.

They’re both powerful organizations, so guards are a nonnegotiable fact of life.

They tell us it’s for our safety, but in my case, I only have one because it would make my family look bad if I didn’t.

For the past five years, I had a guard named Theo.

He was a familiar presence I’d grown accustomed to, until last week when Julian showed up in his place.

There was no explanation offered, which wasn’t a huge surprise, given that’s how things typically go.

But I still found it strange that Theo never said goodbye or gave me any indication he’d be leaving.

Julian is a burly guy with scarred, calloused hands, neck tattoos, and a permanent scowl on his face. And unlike the other guards, his uniform consists of a black leather jacket, jeans, and motorcycle boots.

He does his job and doesn’t bother me, but there’s something about his presence that feels out of place. If this were one of those pick-the-object-that-doesn’t-belong games, it would be him. He’s less militant than the other guards and more scary biker dude.

I don’t feel threatened by him, but I dislike change, and it will take me a while to get used to him.

Fortunately for me, he doesn’t try to engage me in small talk, which I appreciate.

I have a limited social battery, and this year I’ll be depleting most of it during the last stretch of school at Laurelhaven University.

With a brain that constantly feels like it has a hundred browser tabs open, every interaction costs me something.

Julian leads me to the car waiting for us in the campus lot, and once we’re all settled in, my driver, Leo, navigates us through the streets of Seattle.

I slide my headphones back on and hit play on my audiobook, intending to switch off for a while.

But before I even get a chance, a text from my stepfather, Michael, pops up on my phone.

Dinner with Riccardo’s family Friday night. Don’t make plans.

Resignation settles in my gut.

Ever since Michael signed the marriage contract with the Venturi family, I’ve been summoned to participate in these forced gatherings. But lately, the frequency has been increasing.

I could think of at least twenty other ways to torture myself that would be more palatable than sitting in a room with Riccardo Venturi. The last time we had dinner together, he talked about himself for two hours and didn’t ask me a single question.

He’s arrogant, entitled, loud, and obnoxious—but he’s who Michael chose for me, so my opinion doesn’t matter.

Adjacent to a long list of cons, I can think of only one benefit to our union. At least with him, I’ll never have to worry about getting my heart broken again.

I text Michael a reluctant confirmation just as the car rolls to a stop in front of my building. Julian exits the front passenger seat and scans the street for threats before opening the back door for me.

My off-campus apartment is in a decent neighborhood, and typically, it’s mostly students milling about. But today, when I enter the building, there’s a group of serious-looking men in polos gathered around the lobby desk.

The frazzled property manager glances up at me from her computer screen, and I tug off my headphones.

“Gabriela Bianchi—apartment 402?”

“Yes, that’s me.” I frown. “What’s this about?”

A man with a lanyard steps forward to greet me.

“Miss Bianchi, I’m an inspector for the city. Unfortunately, it’s my job to inform you that we conducted an inspection today, and your apartment has been deemed unsafe for occupancy due to faulty wiring.”

A crushing sensation presses between my ribs as I try to process what that means.

“For how long?”

“My best guess?” He scratches at his scruff. “Months, if not longer. Your lease will be terminated, and the property manager can go over those details with you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and watch the other students come and go, seemingly unbothered. When another group enters without being stopped, I glance up at Julian. His expression is unreadable, and I can’t tell if this seems strange to him. Either way, he doesn’t ask any questions.

“Is the whole building affected?”

“That’s still under review,” the inspector tells me. “I can’t provide more details on that right now, but for your safety, you’ll need to vacate immediately. You’ll have twenty-four hours to collect your belongings.”

Sensing my anxiety, Beppe pops his head out of the tote bag and assesses the situation. I don’t even realize I’m shaking until I try to pet him.

I’m attempting to organize my thoughts and put them into words, but my brain is already powering down into freeze mode. This tends to happen when I get too overwhelmed, and suddenly, the world around me blurs as static fills my ears.

Julian says something as he leads me to the bench along the wall, but his voice sounds like it’s underwater. He guides me onto the seat, and I close my eyes to focus on my breathing.

Beppe scrambles out of the tote bag still attached to my arm and curls up on my lap. That pressure grounds me, and I sink my fingers into his fur, absorbing his warmth. My heart rate slows, and one by one, my senses return.

Exhaustion weighs me down as the situation looms. It feels too big to manage, but I’ll have to figure it out—one way or another.

“Hey, Gabs.” A familiar voice infiltrates my thoughts as the bench creaks beside me. “I’m here.”

I open my eyes, wondering if I’m hallucinating when I see my cousin Abella sitting beside me. Her husband, Angelo, is here too, standing next to Julian.

It takes a moment for my throat to relax so I can verbalize a response.

“What are you doing here?”

“You texted me and asked me to come.” Abella frowns.

“I did?” Confusion creases my brows as I replay the last few minutes, almost certain I never used my phone.

She nods, concern flickering over her face. “What’s going on? Tell me what happened.”

“They said I have to move out.” My eyes dart across the room to the men in polos, and another wave of anxiety overtakes me.

I’m usually better at hiding my emotions, but there’s been so much change in my life recently, everything feels too disorienting.

“Why would you have to move out?” Abella asks.

“There’s an issue with the wiring,” Julian explains.

Angelo examines the inspector across the room, and I can tell he knows him. It’s not surprising, given that the Cosa Nostra often has dealings with the city, and he’s the current don.

“I’ll talk to them,” he tells us. But before he can, his phone rings, and his attention shifts as he checks the screen.

“Give me a minute.” He answers the call and drifts out of earshot, pacing toward the windows as he speaks quietly with whoever’s on the other line.

Abella watches him briefly with a curious expression before she turns back to me.

“Have you called your stepfather yet?” she asks, trying to hide her grimace.

I shake my head, not even able to think about that right now.

My family might only live twenty minutes away, but the thought of being back under their roof fills me with dread.

Unlike most parents in the Mafia who prefer to keep a tight leash on their daughters, mine couldn’t wait to get me out of the house.