Chapter 13
Mila
It doesn ’ t take long for Dante and Cillian to walk into the cafeteria. Everything stops. It ’ s the second time it ’ s happened. Utter silence. The other time was moments ago when Dash pulled out a chair at this table and sat down. Thankfully, he didn ’ t choose either of the seats Dante or Cillian sat in.
I ’ ve never been so uncomfortable in my life. I know Dante and Cillian are glaring at my back. The noise starts to turn into whispers, and I dare a glance over my shoulder. If Cillian aspires to rival Hulk, he ’ s on the right track. Is it possible to make eighteen-year-olds that size?
Sweet Jesus, help us!
My eyes track up along his towering six-foot-four frame. His muscles practically need a table of their own.
Cillian is part of the Irish mafia, or as they like to refer to it, Collins Inc. It ’ s a mixture of old-world illegal businesses and new-world monopolies.
Once you get over the shock of Cillian, there ’ s Dante, who is a different breed. His seductive accent that melts hearts is Italian. Tall, tan, and dark, thick hair. Enormous thick cock. It ’ s what the rumors claim, not my filthy mind. I heard he ’ s unbelievable in bed, too.
Just because Cillian and Dante are feared doesn ’ t mean they don ’ t get girls. They usually don ’ t hook up with girls from school, but rather ones who don ’ t attend here. But they are so good in bed, the rumors have reached the girls here who are desperate to be their next fuck.
Dante turns eighteen soon, but you ’ d never know he wasn ’ t in his twenties. He has an air about him that people just don ’ t possess nowadays. Like a philosopher who sits back and listens, not to social media because that ’ s just fake, he observes people and sees the truth behind their false profiles.
It ’ s a rare but dangerous trait. Dante watches your every thought first take root deep inside your mind. He ’ s like a gardener of your mentality; he can cultivate your thoughts or pluck them from your head like an unwanted weed.
Dante knows everything, and I ’ m sure before he stepped into the cafeteria, he knew what Dash did.
I just hope he knows I was forced to comply.
I turn back to Dash, who is nonchalantly eating his food. “ Why do you think they are getting food first?” I nervously ask.
Dash pops a bite between his thick lips and chews slowly.
How the hell is he so relaxed?
“ I ’ d assume because it ’ s lunchtime, and they are hungry.” He snidely remarks.
I exhale, feeling like I ’ m running on a treadmill.
“ Calm down, Mila. Eat some pizza.”
“ Eat?” I pant.
“ Yeah. Pick up that pizza. Now.”
I lick my lips. “ I can ’ t eat. I ’ m too nervous.”
“ Stop fighting me and eat. It will calm your nerves.”
Maybe he ’ s right. I should have a last meal before I die. I grab my fork and stab it into my salad.
“ I said the pizza.”
“ I…I can ’ t eat pizza.”
His eyes narrow. “ Why?”
Lose two pounds, Mila. I hear Mr. Leblanc ’ s words echo in my mind. “ I ’ m on a strict diet for ballet. High protein.” I poke at the beans and tofu in my salad.
“ Pick up that pizza, or I ’ ll do it for you,” Dash warns.
Where is my fight now?
I do as he says. The grease sinks into my fingers. It smells delicious. God, it ’ s been years since I ate pizza.
“ I shouldn ’ t,” I whisper hesitantly.
“ Open your mouth. Do it.”
I want to. So I do.
I sink my teeth into the hot cheese and moan. Oh, it ’ s good. Too good. I start to chew and then realize what I ’ m doing.
“ Don ’ t,” Dash warns. “ I don ’ t know who is making you so thin you could break with one wrong step. I see your muscles, but I also see too many of your bones. Eat, Mila. Enjoy. Life can be short or, if you ’ re unlucky, painfully long. So eat the pizza and stop making yourself feel guilty over it.”
You see, when he speaks like that, I think he ’ s trying to be my friend, trying to fix what is broken.
I hesitate, the cheese melting into my tastebuds. How can he see me so well? I want to cry. I want to thank him.
“ Swallow,” he says. His glare darkens and sparks with delight as he watches the bite roll down my throat.
The slice hovers in my hand. “ I can ’ t eat like this every day. I have to maintain a dancer ’ s body.”
I can tell he wants to reply, but his eyes dart over my shoulder, and then the whispers heighten. Chairs squeak against the floor as if rushing to watch the bloodbath about to begin.
I drop my pizza, happy I indulged before I die. Footsteps sound up from the dais, and then two imposing figures pause at their normal chairs. Dante and Cillian have arrived… and so has my death.
Their eyes skim from Dash to me, then back to Dash.
Dante is the first to grab his usual chair, calmly sinking into it like a jewel being placed into a ring mounting. It is such a perfect fit—a throne for a future ruler.
Cillian follows with a creak of the chair under his weight. I catch sight of his meaty hands that will snap my neck in a second.
My heart is trying to escape through my ears. I find my hand drifting under the table, searching for Dash ’ s. His fingers twitch when I grasp his hand. He doesn ’ t push mine away; instead, he covers my hand with his warm palm, as if reassuring me.
“ King,” Dante purrs. At least his accent is calming.
“ De Luca,” Dash replies in a cold, sharp tone. “ Collins.” He regards Cillian now.
Cillian grabs his steel knife, slowly places it onto the top of his sirloin, and begins to cut. Red juice seeps out, making me never want to eat meat again.
Will he take his time cutting me up to bits?
Dash reaches out for a French fry and pops it into his mouth. I look at Dante, who slowly grins as he suddenly pushes back his chair, stands, and rounds the table, stopping directly in front of Dash. Cillian stops eating and stands, too.
I, on the other hand, the only sane one here, am about to pass out from hyperventilation. This is it. They are going to kill us right on the table to make a show of us. Everyone is watching, waiting, bracing themselves to run for cover or join the fight.
“ It ’ s about time,” Dante grins, causing Dash to stop eating fries. “ You fucked up enough to get your ass here.” Dante ’ s feral smirk turns…friendly.
Huh?
Dash pushes to stand, and then the most bizarre thing happens. He and Dante hug.
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