Chiara
CHIARA
G iovanni has ignored me the entire week since our last confrontation and I couldn’t even enjoy it. I kept thinking he was around every corner, just waiting to make my life hell.
And it was only last night when I realized that it might have been what he wanted all along. I hate the fact that I can’t even enjoy my time at this school without knowing if its resident Prince Asshole will be trying to intimidate me.
Then there’s the fact that nearly everyone looks at me like I don’t belong here; even the others living in the Suites with us. Fair enough, I don’t, but there’s no reason for them to regard me with disdain. Every time I’m walking with Nikolai or Mihai, the looks I get could’ve killed me.
I don’t want them, damnit. Even Connor feels like a big brother to me.
It’s my last class for the day and when the professor dismisses us, I take my time to pack my things away. There’s no rush for me to head to the Crown Suites because it’s Friday and I’ve actually scheduled some time in Studio 3 to paint .
I need this; I need to lose myself in something that doesn’t involve calculating my next move or watching my back.
I make my way across campus, taking the long route to avoid any potential run-ins with Giovanni. When I finally reach the studio, I push the door open and step inside, only to stop short. The room is already occupied.
A guy with long blond hair pinned in a bun stands in front of an easel, with paint smudged across his cheek. His blue eyes are focused on his canvas, and he’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and gray sweats, revealing a toned physique. He glances up at me and smiles.
“Hey, you must be . Sorry, I was warned you’d be here, but I got caught up,” he says, a hint of an accent in his voice.
I hesitate for a moment, then shrug. “It’s fine. You can stay.”
He smiles wider, turning back to his canvas. “Thanks. I’m almost done anyway.”
I set up my own easel and start pulling out my supplies, trying to focus on the familiar routine. As I mix my paints, the tension begins to melt away.
There’s something soothing about the smell of the paint, the feel of the brush in my hand. I lose myself in the strokes, creating lines and colors without really thinking about what I’m painting.
Before I know it, I’m completely absorbed. It’s only when I feel someone standing close that I snap back to reality, startled. I look up to find the guy next to me, eyes wide with admiration.
“That’s incredible,” he says, his voice filled with awe. “Is that your mother?”
I blink, stepping back to look at my work. It is my mother, though I hadn’t realized it until now. She’s smiling, the way she does when she looks at Dmitri. A pang of longing hits me, but I push it aside.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I guess it is. ”
“She’s beautiful, you’ve captured something really special,” he says, genuine admiration in his voice. “I’m Leo, by the way.”
“,” I reply, wiping my hands on a rag and then rolling my eyes. “But of course, you knew that. What are you working on?”
Leo steps back, giving me space. “I’m in my final year here, working on my painting for my first gallery debut.”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” I say, genuinely impressed. “Can I see what you’re working on?”
He shakes his head, a small, apologetic smile on his lips. “I can’t show it to anyone yet. It’s... kind of personal.”
Wow, he has dimples. And a tongue ring . And there’s no tattoo on the side of his neck. Just who is this guy and why does he seem perfect?
“Fair enough,” I say, returning his smile. “I know how it feels to keep things close to the chest.”
We clean up our supplies, the comfortable silence between us a welcome change from the usual tension. As we head out of the studio together, Leo tells me about his plans for the future, his excitement about the upcoming gallery show.
His enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself laughing at his stories. It’s nice to meet someone here who isn’t trying to make my life miserable.
We walk out of the studio together, chatting easily about art and our classes. Leo is intelligent and easy to talk to, and I find myself not needing to put on a fake smile at all.
As we walk through the halls, laughing at something he’s said, I suddenly see Giovanni standing a little way off, looking absolutely livid. My laughter dies in my throat, and I feel a cold chill run down my spine.
Leo notices my change in demeanor and follows my gaze. “Why does Giovanni Basile look like he wants to murder me?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious .
I sigh, rolling my eyes. “He’s been on my case since I enrolled on Monday. He expects me to bow to him, but I won’t.”
Leo chuckles, a warm, comforting sound. “You’re brave. That’s a good thing.”
We split up when we reach the SUVs, and it’s only when I get home that I realize Leo must have a criminal background too.
No one gets into Willow Bridge without some kind of connection to the criminal underworld.
S unday night I’m jolted awake by rough hands yanking me out of my bed. Confused and scared, I try to fight back, but the blindfold they slip over my eyes leaves me disoriented. I don’t know who’s dragging me, but I try to fight them off, even though my hands are pinned behind my back.
“What the hell? Let me go!” I shout, my voice echoing in the silence. But my captors remain silent, their grip firm as they drag me out of my room.
What the fuck did I take self-defense lessons for?!
I don’t know how long they drag me, but the cold air biting at my skin and the occasional stumble over uneven ground tell me we’re outside. Panic wells up inside me, a cold, sick feeling in my stomach. I have no idea what’s happening or why.
Finally, we come to a stop. The blindfold is ripped off, and I blink against the sudden brightness. I’m standing in what looks like a courtyard, with nine other people, all looking just as confused and scared as I feel. Among them, I see Cat with her arms crossed, her eyes not filled with fear like the rest of us, but annoyance.
It’s only then that I notice in front of us are four people wearing black masks, each with a different playing card suit engraved in silver over their left eyes: a spade, a diamond, a club, and instead of a heart, there’s a jester’s hat. They stand tall and imposing, the masks hiding any hint of their identities.
But I know who the fuckers are; I’ve seen the tattoos on their fingers.
“Welcome to Legacy Week, you fuckin’ heathens,” says the one with the Jester Hat mask, his voice distorted by the mask but I know it’s Connor.
“Let me guess,” he continues, pacing in front of us, his voice dripping with that casual arrogance he always wears like a second skin. “You thought you were here to join the elite, to step into your rightful place among the Crowns. But here’s the thing, darlin’s—Legacy Week isn’t just about survival. It’s about proving that your families are worthy of standin’ beside ours, tied to our bloodlines in the long term. So if you thought this was just a fuckin’ formality, you’re dead wrong.”
What the fuck? I start to freak out, my breath coming in short gasps as I take a step back. I can’t do this. I’m not made for this kind of thing. This isn’t me! I’m not cut out for this world.
Connor stops pacing, turning to face us, his head cocked to the side as if daring someone to challenge him. No one does.
“We’ll be watching you,” Connor continues, that signature smirk of his practically oozing through the mask. “Every move you make, every decision we’ll be reporting back to your fathers. Make no mistake, if you fail this week, you fail them, and trust me, no one walks away from that unscathed.”
I’m about to bolt, when the Spade mask steps towards me.
“Running already, Micetta ?“ His voice is a cold taunt, dripping with mockery. “I thought you had more fight in you. You wanted to play with the big boys, so this is your initiation.”
I freeze at the familiar voice and that condescending tone, the nickname— fucking Giovanni.
“Fuck you,” I whisper back, my voice shaking .
My heart hammers in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to push him away, to run, but I can’t move. I’m trapped in his gaze, in this moment, in the web of power he’s spun around me. He reaches up, the leather of his glove brushing against my cheek in a mockery of tenderness.
“Welcome to Legacy Week,” he murmurs and takes a few steps backwards. “This is where the real fun begins.”
What the fuck are they planning?
“Legacy Week is one long fucking trial,” Giovanni, starts, his voice cold and sharp, just like him. “This is about loyalty, strength, and endurance. If you think this is just hazing, you’re not paying attention. We want to know if you have what it takes to protect what’s ours.”
“And this is just the beginning,” Nikolai takes over, his voice low. “Will you still be standing by the end of the week? Or will you crumble under the pressure, proving that your family name isn’t worth the dirt on our shoes?”
“First up,” Connor says, his voice taking on a darker edge, “we’ve got the Blood Oath tonight. And that’s where Nikolai comes in.”
Oh, I do NOT like this.
“The Blood Oath is not just a test of loyalty,” Nikolai begins, his voice smooth and cold. “It’s a test of sacrifice. Tonight, you’ll swear your allegiance, not just to us, but to the legacy your families claim to uphold. You’ll bleed for it. You’ll prove that you’re willing to give up a part of yourself for the privilege of standing beside the Crowns.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my expression neutral, but the tension in the air is thick, suffocating.
“And then we’ve got The Night Hunt,” Connor says, dragging out the words for effect. “My personal favorite. I’ve hidden somethin’—an important item from each of you, somethin’ that means a hell of a lot more than you think. Your task is simple, sweethearts: find it. But of course, it’s never that easy, is it?”
There’s a long, heavy pause before the next figure steps forward—Mihai, the one with the club painted over his mask. He’s more imposing than the rest, his posture almost too calm, too controlled.
“The Day of Silence,” Mihai says, his tone clipped and to the point. “A full day where you will not speak. Not a single word, and trust me, we’ll know if you break the rule. The point? To show discipline. To show control. If you can’t control your tongue, how can you be trusted with anything else?”
There’s no room for argument in Mihai’s tone. It’s a command, not a suggestion.
“And lastly,” Giovanni says, taking center stage again, “The Chase. The final trial. The one that breaks you or proves your worth. We’ll be hunting each of you, and trust me, we’re relentless. I catch you, and you’re out. You have to survive the night, running through the dark, with nothing but your wits and instincts to guide you.”
“Because when all is said and done, we’re not just looking for heirs. We’re looking for wolves.” Giovanni’s eyes flash behind the mask, and even though I can’t see his face, I know he’s grinning. “And we’ll find out which of you is ready to run with the pack.”
Connor walks up to Giovanni, his playful smirk evident even through the mask. “Legacy Week is more than tradition. It’s survival. You fail here, and you fail everywhere. Only those who understand power, who can bend it to their will, will walk out of here with their heads high.”
Nikolai leans back, his voice low and menacing. “But if you fail, remember this—you’ll be returning home with more than just disappointment. Your families are watching. And they will know if you’re weak. So don’t give us any reason to doubt you. Or them. ”
I swear to fuck, I am going to kill Nikolai tomorrow.
“Now,” Nikolai growls, stepping forward. “The Blood Oath. Get ready to bleed for what you claim to believe in.”
He leaves the rest unsaid, but the implication is clear. My stomach churns with dread. Mihai hands Nikolai a small, ornate box.
This can’t be real. This has to be some kind of sick joke. No one explained anything to me!
“Step forward,” Connor says, pointing to the first person in line. “And say the followin’ oath.”
“With my blood, I seal my fate.
With this oath, I bind my soul.
To the Crowns, I pledge my life.”
One by one, they step forward, repeating the oath and cutting their palm with the dagger. Blood drips into a silver chalice, the ritual both mesmerizing and horrifying. When it’s my turn, my legs feel like lead as I force myself to move.
The dagger feels heavy in my hand, the metal cool against my skin. My mind is screaming at me to run, but I know there’s no way out. I’m essentially pledging myself to the Bratva.
What is my life?
I take a deep breath, reciting the oath with as much conviction as I can muster. When I cut my palm, the pain is sharp and immediate, but I don’t let it show. Blood wells up, and I hold my hand over the chalice, watching the crimson drops mingle with the others.
“Good girl,” Giovanni murmurs as I step back, his eyes locked on mine through the mask.
I start to pull my hand back, but before I can, he reaches out, grabbing my wrist gently but firmly.
He removes his mask, and without breaking eye contact, he leans forward, bringing my hand to his mouth. My heart stutters as his lips touch my palm, and then he licks the blood from my skin, slow and deliberate.
A shock runs through me—equal parts horror, disbelief, and something … else. My breath catches in my throat as I watch him, his tongue tracing the line of the cut, tasting my blood like it’s something sacred.
I should be disgusted, but instead, a wave of heat rushes through me, leaving me breathless and confused.
He pulls back, his lips stained with my blood, and grins; dark, cocky, and utterly unapologetic. The sight of him like that—my blood on his mouth, the hunger in his eyes—sends a shiver down my spine.
“Sweet as sin,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “You taste like mine.”
“I should fucking kill you,” I hiss, finally finding my voice, though it comes out weaker than I want. “You’re disgusting.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, using his thumb to wipe the rest of the blood from his bottom lip, “you’re looking at me like you want more.”
I step back from him, but I can’t deny the twisted sense of accomplishment that comes with completing the ritual. I have so much to say to Nikolai tomorrow, but for now, I need to get through this.
Connor chuckles, the sound low and mocking. “Welcome to Legacy Week, assholes. Try not to die.”
The masked figures disperse, leaving us standing in the dark, disoriented and shaken. We’re dismissed, and as I walk, I realize we’re close to the Crown Suites. I can see the outline of the Suites in the dim light.
When I approach the entrance, I see Cat waiting for me, her arms crossed and her expression livid. She was glaring at Connor the entire night, openly annoyed .
“Cat!” I rush over to her, relief flooding through me. “What the hell is going on? Why were we out there, too?”
Cat’s eyes flash with anger. “Because according to the Bastard Princes, no one is exempt, not even us. I can’t believe they dragged you into this, too.”
I blink, trying to process her words. “What the fuck? So, they’re really just testing us? To see if we’re worthy?”
Cat nods. “Exactly. It’s about loyalty, strength, and endurance. They want to break you down to see if you can handle it.”
Is this why Nikolai didn’t mention anything to me? “I don’t even wanna be in this life!”
Cat gives me a grim smile. “I know, the same goes for me, but be careful, . I may have grown up with them, but I know these guys don’t play fair,” she says with a sigh, then she nods towards my Suite. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”
I nod, feeling the exhaustion settle in. “Thanks, Cat. See you in the morning.” Then she gives me a small smile before heading toward her Suite.
I wasn’t even born into this life. What the hell am I going to do?