Chapter 4
YELENA
Ravencroft Library, for instance, is named for Thaddeus Ravencroft. Pembroke Hall and Blackwood Hall, two of the academic buildings, are the same.
The ultra-creepy Morvaine Manor, which houses The Order, was once the mansion that Silas Morvaine lived in.
Wren and I groan as we gulp down coffee. Then we top off our mugs and follow the sounds of voices into one of the house's large common areas.
“He’s a fucking menace, is what he is.”
Across the room, a fellow member of The Order, a tall, dark-haired guy with a sculpted face somewhere between a supervillain and a Balenciaga model paces in front of the large fireplace, a storm brewing in his intensely blue eyes.
Jude is a junior and heir to the Nikolayev Bratva.
We’re not super close, although technically we're family—his dad is my dad’s uncle, which makes us first cousins once removed, plus his mom and mine also used to dance together in the Zakharova Ballet.
His father, Kir, actually still owns the Zakharova Ballet and the Mercury Theater in midtown Manhattan that houses it.
A few other members of The Order are sprawled on various couches and armchairs in the common room, talking and drinking coffee or tea.
Some even appear daring enough to try to eavesdrop on Jude’s clearly private, growled conversation with a huge, bearded Viking of man sitting in a large armchair, a big cup of black coffee looking petite in his massive, tattooed hand.
The Viking would be Theo Ulst?d, my second cousin and technically Jude’s nephew, despite them being the same age.
He and his sister Aurora, who also goes to Knightsblood, were mostly raised in Japan, since their parents are part of the Mori-kai Yakuza family.
So it’s been pretty fun getting to know them better since I started college.
Lucia is here too, of course, not just because she’s pledging the club later this year but also because of her basket case of a roommate. She grins when she spots Wren and me and pats the empty spots on the leather couch next to her.
Theo smiles and gives me a fist bump as I walk past him that almost knocks me off my feet. I mean, the guy is pushing seven freaking feet of muscle. He’s huge in this country. Most of Japan probably assumed he was an actual giant.
“A fucking menace,” Jude hisses again as he slowly continues his pacing. “He needs to be put down like a rabid dog.”
“Who is he talking about?” I whisper to Lucia as Wren and I flop down on the couch next to her.
“I’m not sure,” she giggle-whispers back. “I just got here two minutes ago.”
I’m about to ask her how the rest of her night at the party was when Jude’s icy voice cuts through the air again.
“Ash, you feel like contributing here? I know you’re eavesdropping.”
Across the common room, Asher Volkov glances up from his phone and sighs heavily. “Not really, man,” he says in a bored tone, running a tattooed hand through his short hair. “I don’t get involved with drama, and I definitely don’t get involved with Kirill’s drama.”
Ohhh, I get it. The target of Jude’s ire is Kirill Tsarenko, heir to the Tsarenko Bratva empire.
I know nothing about him aside from the very public, well-known parts: he rides a very loud motorcycle around campus, has a ton of tattoos, apparently sleeps with anything with a pulse, and is quite possibly legit insane.
Jude’s icy blue eyes narrow on Asher. “You’re friends with him, though.”
Asher rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know the guy. But if you’re looking for insider info, talk to my brother or my cousin. I just told you: I’m not getting involved.”
Asher has become somewhat of a de facto link between The Order and The Reckless, due to his brother Cade being a member of that particular group of lunatics and psychos.
With a few exceptions, like Asher and Jude being in The Order, or Drago and his sister Tatiana being in Para Bellum, the more hardcore bratva heirs tend to gravitate to The Reckless.
It makes sense, given that the president of that club is none other than Adrik Volkov, heir to the Volkov Bratva, Asher’s cousin, and quite possibly the literal Prince of Darkness.
I mean, the guy makes Drago Krylov seem warm, fuzzy and approachable.
Having a liaison like Asher is pretty useful, since The Reckless are sort of their own entity on campus. The other clubs intersect at times, but Adrik Volkov runs The Reckless like its own dark fiefdom, hanging off the edge of the cliffs like a dragon’s lair.
Asher frowns. “What’s your issue with Kirill?”
Jude doesn’t reply, his steely gaze stabbing out the window as the Machiavellian wheels in his head turn almost visibly.
Plenty of people are scared of Jude, and I totally get why. He’s freakishly smart, calculating, and at times, downright sinister. For instance, late last year, some drunk guy at a party tried to get handsy with Aurora, and Jude saw it.
That same guy was later found whimpering in one of the lesser-used faculty parking lots with two smashed-up hands and the phrase “I will keep my hands to myself” written fifty times on the pavement next to him.
…In his own blood.
Next to me Lucia sighs heavily, and I turn to arch a brow at the dreamy look on her face as she eyes Jude.
“Hon, no,” Wren says, making a sour face and shaking her head. “Just, no.”
Lucia pouts as Jude rolls his neck, shoves his hand through his dark hair, and strides out of the room like a regent.
“But he’s so hot.” She winces and glances at me. “Sorry.”
I shrug. “I’m with Wren, but not because he’s my cousin. He’s…”
“Legitimately sociopathic?” Wren interrupts. “Dude's going to be a fucking Bond villain when he grows up, I swear. For real, Lucia… He’s crazy.”
Lucia sighs. “All the good ones are.”
“Fitting in nicely already, I see.”
We’re all still giggling when we hear Damiano's low bass-toned voice as he steps around the side of the couch.
“Morning, cuz,” Lucia grins. “Okay that I’m crashing your clubhouse?”
Damiano chuckles, running his fingers over his short dark hair. “Please. Already got a room picked out for you for next year, kid.”
“Lay off the kid stuff and I might actually pledge The Order!” Lucia winks.
Damiano chuckles deeply. “It’s adorable that you actually think you’ve got a choice in the matter.”
Lucia looks like she’s got a biting reply in the chamber, but Damiano turns his attention to me, his brow furrowing slightly.
“Lena, can I have a word?”
He nods with his perfect chin as if to say “alone”. I stand and follow him out of the common room. We exit the mansion through a side door near the kitchen and step into the walled rose garden adjacent to the house.
Damiano, like Jude, tends to freak a lot of people out.
I mean, he’s intense. He’s tall, very muscled, heavily tattooed, and has one of those genetic lottery-winner faces that looks beautiful and terrifyingly sinister at the same time.
He’s always been like a protective older brother or cousin to me, but I know plenty of people consider him to be a total psycho, in a freakishly calculated way.
You know the type. His room is a little too neatly organized. His clothes are a little too pressed and perfect. And he always looks like he just took the longest, most cleansing shower in the world.
He has a quiet frown on his face as he turns to look at me after we step into the rose garden.
“I need to know what your little prank involved.”
I swallow, forcing myself not to look worried. “Hmm?”
He sighs. “Lena, I didn’t ask questions when you asked me if I had connections within the Hawthorne Hollow PD to get a piece of that Jane Doe evidence.”
My brows knit. “Well, you did ask—”
“Yeah, I asked what the fuck you were up to when you asked me to steal a dead girl’s panties from the police evidence room. Because no fucking shit I asked.”
Just before school started this year, a morning jogger stumbled upon a body on the rocky shore just outside of town, along with a suitcase full of clothes and some personal belongings.
The contents of the suitcase—including the pair of panties Damiano stole for me to plant last night—suggest the victim, who the press is calling Jane Doe since she still hasn’t been identified, was a twenty-to-twenty-four-year-old girl.
Do I feel gross about stealing from the dead?
Duh, obviously.
But again, sometimes bad things have to be done to catch bad people.
I smile weakly.
Damiano sighs. “I then made the conscious choice to buy your bullshit when you told me it was for a prank.”
“It… It was,” I mumble.
Damiano folds his huge arms over his chest. “Then what was the prank.”
I flash another weak smile. “You said before you didn’t want to know.”
“Well, now I do,” he growls in that deep tone.
My bottom lip twists between my teeth. “It was nothing. Just a dumb prank.”
“On Kyle Santoro?”
My eyes snap to his as an icy, sick sensation finger-walks down my spine.
I hate hearing his name.
But also, how the fuck does Damiano know?
Damiano sighs, shaking his head like he’s just read my mind.
“I’m the president of The Order, Lena. Do you seriously think I don’t have little birds everywhere who would whisper to me when my little cousin, whom Uncle Nero was quite firm about me looking after, starts asking questions in Para Bellum-adjacent social circles concerning which bedroom Kyle Santoro is going to be staying in when he’s visiting Knightsblood for that party? ”
Shit.
I really should have been smoother about that. Damiano is notoriously well connected and doesn't miss a thing that happens on campus.
“Look, stay the fuck away from Kyle Santoro. I mean it. I know you guys know each other since your pops and his are in that real estate deal together, but… Seriously, Yelena. Stay away from that fuckhead.”
I fight the urge to throw up.
“Yeah…” I swallow a sour taste in my mouth. “You don’t have to worry about that,” I say. “And last night was not what you might think it was. Promise.”
He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.