Chapter 7
EVELINA
Primal play refers to the exploration of raw, instinctive, animalistic behaviors in sexual situations, often involving hunter/prey dynamics, chasing, growling, and psychological intensity.
Oh my.
Sitting on a bench on the Knightsblood campus, my eyes widen as I reread the definition on my phone. I’ve spent the last couple of days trying to put the question out of my mind. But it’s still been there in the background.
Lingering.
Lurking.
With a shiver, I glance up, nervously eyeing the older gentleman sitting on a bench across the small square from me, on the other side of an ivy-covered statue of one of the founders of the college.
He’s just a professor here, dummy. Not a mind-reader interested in your dirty internet searches.
Exhaling, I glance back at my phone. A tingle chases up my spine and my thighs press together when I read the definition of primal play again. Instantly, I’m back in the woods up on Griswold Hill.
Heart racing.
Pulse thudding.
Body tightening and electrified with a sense of fight or flight, a hand wrapped around my throat, pinned roughly to a tree.
“Evelina?”
I almost drop my phone. My eyes snap up, and my brows knit as I find myself looking at the familiar but unplaceable brunette standing in front of me with a puzzled look on her face that mirrors my own.
“Evelina Nikitin…right?”
Then it hits me.
“Gabriella!”
Gabriella—Gabby—is Nero De Luca’s younger sister, Milena’s sister-in-law. She’s about same height as me, but with a lot more curves and gorgeous dark hair that falls in waves past her shoulders.
I jump awkwardly to my feet, both of us smiling as we hug.
“Hi! Sorry, I’m scatterbrained today.”
“Tell me about it,” she laughs, hefting the enormous tote bag full of books on her shoulder.
My eyes drop to it, brows furrowing. “Are you a student here?”
She nods. “Yeah. I got in when I was younger, then decided I’d much rather party, drink, and be a general thorn in my brother’s side.
” She grins, shrugging. “But over the last year, my priorities changed a little. I was seeing someone, but then…” She frowns and looks down.
“Well, long story short, it didn’t work out.
So I thought now would be a good time to finally see why Knightsblood is such a big deal.
Nero pulled some strings, and here I am.
I'm enjoying it, but I do not recommend being a college freshman at twenty-four. I feel like everyone’s fucking mom.
” She grins. “So… What are you doing here?”
I laugh. “Teaching, actually. Dance,” I add when I see her brows arch. “To some of the advanced ballet students in the fine arts program.” I shrug. “I dunno. It’s a nice break from things in the city. I like it.”
“That sounds awesome,” she smiles.
I frown suddenly. “Hey, do you want to sit?”
She glances at her phone and shrugs. “Why not. I’ve got a few minutes before my Econ class.”
I turn to grab my dance bag and my own oversized canvas tote, full of dance theory books. “Sorry, let me get my stuff out of the—shoot.”
The tote slips out of my grip, spilling its contents onto the walkway. My chest instantly tightens.
…As my invitation to the Obsidian Syndicate initiation slides out of my copy of Ann Cooper’s Engaging Bodies: The Politics and Poetics of Corporeality.
For a half-second, I’m frozen. Then the moment passes, and I quickly drop to my knees and shove the black envelope with the green seal back between the pages of the book.
Why are you freaking out?
I stop frantically shoving my books back into my bag and take a breath.
It’s just an envelope. It’s not like a sex toy just fell out of my bag.
Exhaling my anxiety, I finish shoving the books back into my tote and stand.
“Wow, I’m clumsy today—”
I stiffen. Gabriella is looking at me with a half-shocked, half-intrigued expression. My cheeks burn as I squirm under her gaze.
“Um… What is it?” I croak.
Gabriella’s full bottom lip sucks between her teeth. Her eyes snap to mine, then back to my tote, then up to my face again. Then, she quietly reaches into her bag, fishes around for a moment, and pulls her hand back out.
She’s holding a black envelope with a green seal on it, just like mine.
The color drains from my face as our eyes lock.
“I…” She smiles wryly. “I don’t think we’re supposed to talk about it,” she murmurs. Then her lips pull into a grin. “But holy shit!” she whisper-squeals.
She grabs my hands, yanking me down beside her on the bench and leaning close.
“You’re going to the initiation too?” she whispers conspiratorially.
I smile weakly, nodding. “Yeah, I…look, I haven’t told anyone—”
“Well, duh,” she laughs. “I think that’s one of the big rules: don't tell anyone. I don’t want to, anyway. Nero would fucking kill me.”
I smile again. “Can… Can I be honest?”
She nods. “Of course.”
“I think I’m a little out of my depth with all of this. I’m not even sure I’ll go.”
She nods. “I get it. It’s a little intimidating.” She rolls her eyes. “Okay, it’s a lot intimidating. I mean risk of serious injury or death? Like…what?!” She shivers, then shakes her head. “But, I mean, it’s the Obsidian fucking Syndicate. Becoming an acolyte would be huge.”
My brows knit. “Um…why? I mean, why do you want to join?”
She gives me a strange look. “Probably for the same reasons you do? I’m a second-born in a mafia family—and a girl, at that.
Nero knows I’d stab him through the fucking eye if he tried to force me to marry some mafia prince.
But that’s our lot in life. I mean, I can’t imagine your brother would make you marry anyone, but…
” She shrugs. “Anyway, I want more than that. I want power. I want to lead. And that’s not going to happen in the De Luca family as Nero’s kid sister.
” She glances back at me. “I like that the Syndicate doesn’t care what order you were born, or if you’ve got a dick, or a pussy, or fucking tentacles,” she laughs.
Then she shrugs again. “What about you?”
Uhh…
“Same,” I blurt quickly. “Pretty much.”
“That’s my girl,” she beams. “Seriously, it's so cool that you’re going to be at the initiation too! I mean, I think it’s supposed to be anonymous…
” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard there’s masks and shit.
But it’ll still be comforting to have someone I know there.
I’ve heard the initiation process can get insane.
Plus, the new Marquis is supposed to be super intense. Like, a real psycho.”
I frown. “Marquis?”
“The leader.” She furrows her brow. “Of the Syndicate. That’s his title.”
Vaughn.
The “intense” Marquis is Vaughn.
Hoo boy.
Gabriella glances at her phone again and winces. “Shit, I actually need to get going.” She looks up at me and smiles. “Can I get your contact info? We should, you know, hang. Especially if you’re here on campus now and then.”
She and I exchange numbers. Then I stand and hug her before she scoots off to class, promising to be in touch.
I sit on the bench again, my mind whirling: thinking about the initiation, the fact that I know someone else who’s been pulled into the strange, shadowy world of the Syndicate…
“May I?”
I startle, looking up quickly. The older gentleman who was sitting on the other side of the square—the professor—is now standing over me, a smile on his face as he gestures to the bench I’m sitting on.
“Uh…of course,” I mumble, shuffling over to make room, trying not to frown. Like, there are three other benches around the statue, and they’re all empty.
The man is elegantly dressed in a tailored linen suit. He smells elegant, too…both of which feel strange for a college professor. He settles next to me on the bench, folding his hands in his lap and looking straight ahead.
“I think you should.”
I frown, glancing at him.
“Beg pardon?”
He’s still looking forward ahead, a benign smile on his lips and an impassive expression in his eyes.
“You should go to the initiation, Ms. Nikitin.”
Anxiety, cold and sharp, twists in my chest. The air leaves my lungs, and an uncomfortable tremor drips like ice water down my spine.
“I—I’m sorry,” I blurt. “Do we know—”
“No.”
The benign smile is gone now, and his voice has become lower and colder.
The accent is much more noticeable now, too.
Spanish.
He turns to level an icy look right into my eyes. “No, we don’t know each other, Evelina. But you know my son, Andrés.”
My face goes white as the ground drops out from under me.
“I—”
“My name is Diego Torvallés, Ms. Nikitin. And I know that you and my son know each other, because he spoke to me the other day, and mentioned that you and he were going on a date.”
I swallow heavily, trying not to shake.
“I—not a date,” I blurt. “We… We were just talking.”
His eyes narrow. “Ahh, so you were with him the other night.”
Darn it.
Part of me feels I should lie, because the vibe is all wrong here. Plus, he seems like the kind of man who could sniff out the truth from a mile away anyhow.
He also seems like the kind of man you in no way, shape or form lie to.
“I… I was,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “We walked together after the ballet class that I sometimes teach here. Then he…” I swallow. “He gave me a ride into town.”
Diego says nothing. He just sits there next to me, his dark eyes peering into my very soul. The seconds tick by as my heart thuds loudly in my chest.
“A ride into town,” he finally says, his voice edged, his eyes glinting as they lock with mine.
I nod firmly. “Yes.”
Another few long, agonizing seconds tick by.
“You see, Evelina,” he murmurs, “my son is missing, and has been since the night he gave you a ride.”
A razor slips dangerously down my spine, snapping it straight as dread pools in my belly.
“He… He is?” I gasp, hoping to hell I sound suitably surprised.
Diego nods. “Yes. But in my world, heirs as important as Andrés don’t go missing.”
Alarm bells start whining in my head.
“They… They don’t?” I croak.
I shiver at the vicious way his eyes remain trained on me.
“Why don’t we stop playing games, Ms. Nikitin,” he growls, the low, gravelly timbre of his voice raking over me like knives.
“I know my son is dead, and judging from the overly rehearsed way your eyebrows shot up just now,” he snarls, “I can tell that you know, too.”
Whatever color was left in my face drains instantly. My hands are shaking as I grab my bags.
“I…I’m sorry, I need to go—”
I jolt as he grabs my wrist tightly, keeping me pinned to the bench.
“No, what you need to do is listen very closely,” he says icily. “I very much doubt you personally had anything to do with my son’s death. But I also sincerely doubt that you’re not connected somehow.”
He leans closer to me, making my throat seize up as my skin ripples with fear.
“You are going to go to that initiation, Ms. Nikitin. And then you are going to do whatever it takes to make it through.”
My brows pinch as my throat bobs heavily.
“I have a bastard son.” His eyes narrow.
“An illegitimate child, born out of wedlock. I’ve never met him, and I very much doubt he knows I exist. But he’s out there.
And while I’ve never cared to seek him out, I now find myself in a situation where it might become necessary.
” His dark eyes pierce into me. “I have no other sons, Ms. Nikitin. I think we both know how problematic that can be in our world for the transfer of power. Now, I don’t know who he is, don’t know what he even looks like.
But I do know that he’s in the upper echelon of the Obsidian Syndicate. ”
My heart races. “M-Mr. Torvallés—”
“You’re going to that initiation, Evelina,” he says quietly. “Because you’re going to become a member of the Syndicate, and then you’re going to find my heir.”
The world starts to shrink around me, so tightly that the air feels squeezed from my lungs.
“And I know you’re going to do this for me, Evelina,” Diego Torvallés continues, “because if you don’t, I’ll kill your father, and your brother, and his little boyfriend, and I’ll make you watch while I do it.”