Chapter 24
EVELINA
Good girl.
I shiver, biting my lip as the water cascades over my body.
There’s something wrong with me.
Clearly.
I’ve spent my entire life thus far knowing exactly who and what I am. A dutiful bratva daughter. A mafia princess. Sweet. Polite. Sheltered. Probably a little too naive about the world, especially given my family's business, but I’ve also been okay with that.
Except now, I’m not so sure. About any of it.
I turn off the water and grab a towel from the hook, drying my hair before I wrap the towel around myself and walk from the showers into the dressing room.
For weeks, I’ve been desperately trying to convince myself that I’m in my current situation because of external forces beyond my control.
That I have to remain involved with Vaughn because I have to get into the Syndicate. If I don’t, Diego Torvallés will hurt people that I care about. I’ve been clinging to the narrative that I have to “endure” all of it so I can find out who the unknown Torvallés heir is.
I’m pretty sure it’s Carson King. I’ve poked around online, and Carson’s past really isn’t that hidden.
He’s the son of Rupert King, the founder and CEO of Rook Capital Investment Group, a multi-billion-dollar asset management firm.
His mother is Victoria King, the epitome of “old money socialite”.
They’ve both been linked to dozens of very public extra-marital affairs, but for some reason they've never divorced.
Carson was committed to a pediatric psychiatric hospital when he was eight. By the time he was ten, rumor has it that he’d run away from that institution, leaving a trail of police reports in his wake that were quickly buried by his parents.
Years later, after Carson was an adult, Rupert and Victoria came forward to “set the record straight”: Carson hadn’t so much escaped from the hospital as he had gone to live with an uncle out of the country for a number of years.
Sure.
In any case, never mind the tabloid articles online linking Victoria to at least two dozen affairs, Carson looks nothing like Rupert.
It’s no smoking gun, but come on.
If Diego’s bastard heir is in the Syndicate inner circle, it’s gotta be Carson.
But again, all that is part of the story I’ve been telling myself about why I have to do this.
Have to endure Vaughn and his brutal sadism.
Except… That's a lie.
Diego’s threats are real. But my brother runs one of the most powerful bratva organizations in the world, one that’s allied with a half dozen other hugely powerful criminal families.
Despite Roman’s feelings for our father, I could end this with one phone call.
But I haven’t. Because the other cold truth is that I’m not “enduring” Vaughn.
I’m craving him.
Reveling in the madness he brings, and the destruction he wreaks on me.
I finish toweling off and get dressed, stuffing my dance things into my bag. I brush my hair out in the locker room mirror, put on a little makeup, blush at myself, and then walk back out to sit on the very spot at the edge of the stage where Vaughn told me to “stay put”.
Not because I’m worried about what he’ll do if I don’t follow his orders.
Because I can’t wait to see what he does if I do.
Maybe this pull I have toward Vaughn and the darkness he offers really is a sickness. Because I know there’s no happily ever after to this story. Vaughn doesn’t want one.
The man fucks me like a god but won’t kiss me.
He won’t even let me touch him.
Well, I touch him in the context of wrapping my lips around his cock. Or raking my nails down his chest. Or grabbing his hair as he bites down on my throat.
But anything past that? It’s an uncrossable line for him.
No cuddling. No lying in bed together. He even bristled the one time I walked up behind him to hug him afterward.
And that’s the biggest problem with all of this. I can take the brutal sex. I mean, for God’s sake, I crave it, in ways that I know are probably deranged. I can also take his iron-clad “rules” and the insanely rigid way he lives his life.
But I want more than that. I could tell myself that’s my na?veté and lack of experience talking.
But it’s not just that he’s the first man I’ve ever slept with.
It’s that this thing between us—toxic, demented, and wildly unhealthy though it may be—is the closest thing to a relationship I’ve ever had.
My phone suddenly dings in my hands, startling me as it echoes through the empty auditorium. I glance down at the screen and frown when I read the text.
Unknown
Hi, it’s Sabine. Vaughn’s meeting is running late. He won’t be available until later tonight.
Unknown
He asked me to tell you to go home to the city. He’ll reach out later.
My brows knit as disappointment bubbles to the surface.
Damn.
Me
Okay, thanks for letting me know.
I scowl as I slump back on the edge of the stage, glancing at Sabine’s text again. I mean, he couldn’t tell me that himself, instead of having his friend who very obviously despises me do it?
His very attractive, glamorously French, female friend, who very obviously hates me.
I try to swallow back the sour taste of disappointment and feeling like I’m an afterthought before hopping off the stage and slumping into a front-row seat.
What am I doing with all of this when it comes to him? It’s not that I’m being “forced” into it, and it’s not that I’m scared to disobey him, as much as I keep trying to convince myself otherwise.
Is it that I’m scared that he’s unlocked this darkness inside me that only he can satisfy?
My phone vibrates in my hand, pulling me from my thoughts. This time, when I see the name flashing across the screen, I grin widely.
“Who are you and how did you get my brother’s phone?”
There’s a pause before Roman speaks. “What?”
I giggle. “Just assuming. Since when does my brother have time to call?”
Roman exhales and chuckles deeply. “Okay, I deserve that.”
“Sure do,” I tease.
“Sorry, Evie,” he groans. “I’ve just…fuck.” He puffs out another breath. “It’s a lot, being the guy at the top.”
“I bet,” I shrug, grinning. “Hey, want to trade? I can start running things, and you can learn to plié. You could spend all day with Val while he’s wearing tights.”
Roman laughs in his rumbly, deep way. “Sounds great.”
“Psych,” I giggle. “I have no fucking interest in taking your job.”
He goes silent for a second.
“Huh. That’s new.”
I frown. “What is?”
“You swearing,” he chuckles. “I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever heard you drop an F-bomb.”
I snort. “Please. I’m not that much of a prude.”
“Uhh… You actually are.”
“Ha ha ha,” I mutter with a smile as he laughs. “So, what’s up?”
“What, I can’t just call my little sister to chat?”
“You one hundred percent can, but you literally never do.”
He sighs. “We do live under the same roof.”
“And yet, we never cross paths at home,” I say pointedly.
“It’s a big house.”
“Romannnn…”
He sighs. “I’m sorry. Truly. It’s… Work’s been fucking nuts, you know?”
“Eh, it’s okay,” I smile. “I know you’re busy. So, you really called just to chat?”
“M-hmm.”
I grin. “Cool—oh, guess what, I’m at your alma mater right now.”
“Man, I gotta get back up there sometime,” he sighs. “I miss that place. Hey, I should reach out to the current leadership of Para Bellum and let them know you’re up there so often these days. I’m sure they’d be happy to show you around or take you to dinner or something.”
Normal colleges have fraternities and sororities.
Knightsblood has four secret societies, like an underworld version of the Hogwarts houses: The Reckless, which tends to appeal to the warrior, daredevil types; The Ouroboros Society, which attracts the information brokers and the secret keepers; Para Bellum, which pulls in the future leaders of families, the generals, and the tacticians; and The Order, which is for the spies.
Roman and his friends, no surprise, were all in Para Bellum.
“Maybe,” I shrug. “I dunno if Para Bellum is really my scene. I mean, I wasn’t ever a student here.”
“Yeah, but you’re my kid sister. That opens doors.”
My lips thin. “Maybe I’d like to open my own doors.”
The phone goes quiet for a sec.
“Hey, you okay?”
I exhale. “Yeah, sorry. I…”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Evie. Just, you’re there, they know me, and they could take care of you. They're my college club. That’s all.”
“No, I know…” I lift my shoulders. “But they’re not my college club.”
“Okay, I get it. Sorry.”
Roman clears his throat.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“Rome?”
“Okay, there was a reason I called you.”
The edge in his tone pricks my ears. “Oh? Everything okay?”
“I…hope so,” he growls before exhaling heavily. “Eves, were you at a party at The Moon Room the other night?”
I sit up straighter in my seat. “What?” I breathe.
“The rooftop place in that new skyscraper near Rockefeller Center.”
“Yeah, no, I know what it is…”
“Well?” he grunts.
I frown. “Well what?”
“Were you there,” he rumbles.
My brow puzzles. “Why does it matter?”
“Goddammit, Evie,” he mutters, his voice sharp. “Were you there or not?!”
“Roman, I’m allowed to go out!” I snap, jumping up.
“I know everyone pretends I’m this delicate little fucking flower, but I’m twenty-fucking-three years old!
” My voice starts to climb. “I’m allowed to go to bars, I’m allowed to have a drink, I’m allowed to talk to anyone I want, and I’m allowed to do all that without being put under a fucking microscope! !”
The phone is utterly silent.
My chest heaves, my pulse thudding as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Sorry,” I say, looking down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to explode like that.”
Roman’s quiet for another second before he clears his throat. “It’s…fine,” he grunts. “And you’re right. I’m…” He sighs. “I forget sometimes that you’re more than just my kid sister.”
“I’ll always be your sister, Rome,” I smile wryly, “but I’m not a kid anymore.”
“I know,” he sighs. “But—look, I have to say this, and it’s not just because you’re my sister…”
My brow furrows. “Okayyy?”