Offside (Villalargos University #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Thiago

I’m still reeling from the feel of Zayden’s lips on mine. My fingertip grazes my bottom lip, still tender… reminding me of what just occurred, and a smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. Yeah. I’m royally fucked.

My heart lurches inside my chest. There’s no stopping the waves of emotions crashing into me… just like I can’t stop the snow from falling. How can I stop the corruption that swallows everything I love?

Love… is that what I feel?

I open my palm, gathering the tiny particles that dance in the night air, my gaze lingering on the soft fluff as it lands gently against my skin.

It doesn’t take long for it to melt away.

Breathing through my nose, I fill my lungs with the crisp night air.

The feeling of dread tangles around my spine, unease still crawling down my flesh and taking over my soul.

Looking over my shoulder, my gaze focuses on the light that spills onto the balcony.

Tracking the movements of each shadow as they dance and clap.

A bunch of clowns appreciating the circus that’s happening inside.

Despite the celebration, it’s really a tragedy, a reminder of the truth.

A moment that seals the fate of those I love and call my brothers.

A heavy weight settles deep in my chest. Regret quickly smothers any flicker of life inside me.

There’s no use in hoping… or wanting. My life was paved out for me the moment my father spilled his seed into my mother’s womb.

It’s just a matter of time until I have to live up to their expectations—my father, Velarium, and the team.

I’m a man stuck in the crossfire. There’s a clear path ahead of me, yet there’s one that just bloomed in the field.

I close my hand into a fist, clenching tightly, watching small webs of veins surface on my skin.

I tip my head back and look at the snow that continues to fall.

The cold bites at my skin, and I can’t feel the end of my nose or feel the warmth in my fingertips.

Still, I remain rooted in place, unable to bear witness to the farce happening inside.

Even worse, I couldn't bear the accusatory look on their faces. The one that screams, “You knew and didn’t say shit.” Even though I have no choice, my silence is how I continue to stay on the board when I’m just a disposable pawn.

You can’t win if they don’t let you play, and I’ve gotten great at doing that—playing both sides—even though, one day, I’ll have to choose, but it sure as fuck won’t be the choice they hope for.

Bringing my hands towards the railing, I wrap them around the cold metal that instantly sticks to my flesh.

The sting is a welcome relief. Pulling myself towards it, I wonder just how easy it would be to end it all.

The pain.

The mask.

The back and forth—I’ve grown sick of.

But even death would grant me no relief, and with my luck, I’d probably fall and break a couple of bones and still be expected to serve.

The ocean waves drown out the sound of my heart and self-loathing.

My breath comes out in a small cloud as my father’s words ring inside my thick skull.

The memory of earlier tonight pulls me under even though I try to resist it—it holds me captive, just like my family legacy.

“Filho.” He coughs out a thick cloud of smoke.

Sergio Safra sits at the head of the table.

Beside him, Mr. Roberts and Mr. J., while Mr. Morelli sits at the other end of the table chatting away, talking about numbers and policy I have no real interest in learning about.

My father looks over to the rest of the donors in the room.

None of them is important enough to remember.

And yet, everyone is dressed to impress, wearing proud and smug smiles as we celebrate Ezra’s Christmas gift—a promotion.

One that comes with a heavy burden and even greater sins.

“You should take notes from him.” Father pats E on the back, who coughs into his hand, looking like he’s about to choke, but he masks it well, his face contorting to match all those who surround us.

If doubt ever existed within him, that’s long gone.

In its place, nothing but hollowness. One that’s become too frequent.

Ezra’s hand trails over a Petal's legs, his mind long gone from his body and his soul locked deep inside where she can’t touch it. A place even I can’t reach.

I shrug at my father’s words.

There’s not really a reason for me to be here; I care very little about tonight’s plan—going from a senior handler to a full-blown mini donor.

The proper term is ‘Donor-in-Training.’ They treat this god damn place like a job, but I guess it sort of is.

When you’re running a black market for sex trafficking and money laundering.

But still not what I want for myself, or for E.

This place is draining; it’s practically a hell where you sell yourself and your future children.

The corruption runs deeper than what meets the eye; it’s not just Velarium.

It’s companies, sports teams, and big corporations that are all overseen by the chairman and the national council.

There are so many tiny branches that I have yet to touch the tip of it.

So many players we have never met, only hear about the more you run in the circles.

Like Ezra’s father, mine is an Elder Patron—the highest chain in the donor totem—which has been the same position for generations of the patriarchs in our family. It’s like the generational curse that keeps on giving, bleeding into the firstborn son as it would bleed into mine.

“Thiago, we talked about many things over the holidays. Not only did we decide to make Johnson a Chapter Chair, but we decided to move you to Ezra’s position.” My stomach turns. Teeth smashing together, grinding, trying to grasp the cord that pulls tighter around my throat as I smile.

“Tonight, after the important announcement, we will celebrate our future legacy,” my father adds.

My gaze falls on Peter and the smug look on his face as he takes in the scene beside his father.

He shouldn’t be here, and yet, there he was.

My eyes roam over everyone in the room. They all look so happy, in a sinister kind of way.

It’s like I missed something important. A cold dread grips around my heart, realizing that I was left out of the loop.

While I thought we were here to fake it for the University families and faculty—all in the name of Christmas spirit— with a ball that helps raise money for children, there was something far more sinister behind it all. How naive of me.

Mr. J speaks proudly, watching carefully for my reaction as he saunters over to Peter and takes his hand.

A familiar scene, two people sealing a fucking deal, and my nerves go taut, small prickles of electricity littering my skin.

Their hands firmly clasp around each other, each sporting a bright dentist Ad smile.

“Peter here is going to be marrying my daughter, once she’s graduated, of course. ”

The sound of crunching snow pulls me out of my deep thoughts, as much as I want it to be Zayden, I know it’s not.

The footsteps are too gentle—not demanding, just careful and deliberate.

Nothing like his. I open my eyes just in time to watch Peter light up a cigar in the cold, his brown hair perfectly combed back, glasses framing his face.

It’s hard to believe he’s the older brother of one of the sweetest souls I've had the pleasure of knowing. June. They look alike, share the same DNA, and yet he’s rotten to the core.

“You,” I mutter, focusing my attention on the man before me, the man in line to become the very thing you aim for when you are part of our world.

There’s no amusement or happiness in his face for someone who just announced his engagement to Shiloh.

I huff out another cloud of smoke as he inhales his.

“To what do I owe the honor, Morelli?” I open my hand, raising a brow, watching him exhale the smoke. “I’d rather be brooding in peace.”

He chuckles, patting my shoulder as if we are friends in need of catching up. “That’s why I like you, Safra, never afraid to speak your mind. All those jokes to mask your truth.”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. My brows pull together. Now I’m really fucking confused. I turn around to fully face him, leaning into the railing and crossing my arms across my chest as he smokes his celebratory cigar. He wastes no time getting straight to the point.

“I’ve got a deal for you.”

I cock a brow. “A deal?”

Peter dips his chin slowly, bringing the cigar back to his lips, and shifts his gaze to the dark skies. “Help me take down the donors, and I’ll give you the freedom you crave.”

The words catch me off guard. Peter is always the follower, the man you look up to and strive to become when you first start.

Fuck, even I, at one point, wished I could be like him.

It took me a while to start disliking him.

Not because he was like us, but because he was different.

Or maybe it’s me. I’m the one who’s different.

The outlier that refuses to fall in line.

“You want to do what?”

“Your support.”

I click my tongue and shake my head. My support. “For?”

He ignores my question and simply states, “Every empire must fall for a new one to rebuild.”

There was no need to ask him what he meant by that, of course.

The reason could only be one thing, and that’s power.

The everlasting curse bestowed upon humankind.

So much destruction in order to satiate the greed of those who already hold the upper hand.

His words should bring me joy. After all, I want nothing to do with the rot that a place like this brings.

And yet, I hesitate, even though I’m sure that my support isn’t a choice and my hands will be even dirtier.

Imagine that it’s not like I already don’t struggle with sleep, due to things I’ve been forced to do in the name of legacy.

Family.

If you could even call it that, even that is just a transaction.

A lifelong contract. I’ve grown accustomed to the demons that don’t let me rest, okay with the idea that one day I’ll be forced to marry and have some kids while continuing to live a double life.

But that’s the life I was born into. My future—it didn’t have to be his, yet I’m fucking selfish.

Making deals with my father in order to ensure that I'm the one who gets to touch him. It only took one time to witness it, before I practically sold my soul to the devil, and now, here I am. Following like a dog… Still struggling to fall in line. My head tilts, and my lips stretch into a grin as I look at Peter, who’s calm and collected. A small chuckle bubbles from my chest.

He’s nuts. Has to be.

What he’s proposing is actual insanity, and with that, I let out a laugh. Not a quiet or polite one, but one that has my brown waves falling over my face and doubling over, making tears prick at the corner of my eyes.

“You know, we do a lot of drugs in this place,” I manage to spit out, before straightening myself and containing the laughter that’s threatening to continue. “But this is absurd.”

Peter's jaw ticks, and he raises a brow to ask, “What is?” in the most nonchalant tone.

“Breaking this empire.” I stop, motioning between us. “You and I.”

Peter doesn’t look bothered at all by my reaction; it’s more like how a parent would look at a pestilent child.

He pretends to brush away lint from his clothes, already grown uninterested in my words.

“All you need to say is that you’re in. Everything else isn’t your concern besides what I need from you.

” He pauses before adding, “And when I need you.”

The amusement drains from my face, understanding his words for what they are— a silent threat. A show of power… A coup. One I will be forced to join.

“You shouldn’t litter,” I mutter, since it’s the only thing I can think of after watching him throw his cigar to the ground. It’s not logical by any means, just something to break the tension and change the subject.

He casts a glance over his shoulder, and with a shrug, he heads towards the door, but not before turning around with one final step. His hand wraps around the golden door handle.

“You don’t have forever, and neither do the boys you intend to protect. I might not be on campus, but I know everything. You’re either with me or against me.” His tone isn't flat this time; there’s a weight to it. Another threat, nonetheless. “Merry Christmas, Safra.”

I should keep my mouth shut. I know the price of making a deal, especially in a place like this.

But sometimes, to win, you have to make willing sacrifices.

And this, right here, is only to make sure I’m on the winning side.

You see, this wasn’t any ordinary deal… This is a trade-off.

One I can’t say no to. Peter didn’t tell me this just because.

He’s more calculated than that. A weight presses deep into my chest, knowing there’s nothing else to say but, “I’m in. ”

He nods, offering a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes before stepping inside and leaving me in the cold, wondering what the fuck I just signed up for. But before I can fester inside my mind, the vibration of my phone has me pulling it out and looking down at the screen.

Anonymous:

Let’s play a game: London Bridge is falling. Careful, Safra, make the wrong move, and it all comes tumbling down.