Octavia
After my breakdown in the bathroom, or so to speak, I finally pull myself together enough to leave.
Once I’m back in my room, I tug on jeans and a loose knitted jumper, then run my fingers through my wild pink hair.
When I step out, Ophelia is in my living room, waiting.
“Your coffee,” she says, nodding towards the cup on the island.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I say, taking it. “Black, right? You’re not trying to poison me with milk.” I shudder.
“Indeed. As black and bitter as your soul,” she jokes. “And for the record, you wouldn’t die if you drank milk.”
I shudder again. “Don’t joke about it. I’d absolutely die. Or at least vomit, yes, definitely vomit.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who despised milk quite as much as you.”
“Despise is putting it mildly,” I retort, and she laughs.
I grab my bag, and we make our way out of my dorm towards the lift. The doors slide shut, and it carries us down in silence.
A black car is already waiting outside. The driver, dressed in a suit, he steps forward and opens the door without a word.
We slide inside, and within minutes we’re pulling up in front of the main building, a vast stone fortress rising out of the grounds.
This is where the classes are held, where the immense library sits, where the dean’s office is tucked away behind the heavy doors.
Beside it stands a smaller building that houses the dining hall, the infirmary, and a handful of other facilities, and beyond that, further back, another large structure rises from the grounds.
The dormitory. Where almost every student here lives.
Almost.
The heirs of the founding families don’t. Me, my sister, Piper, Eleanor, and the cartel stronza—Adelaide.
Our residence is set apart, hidden from view, which is why we drive rather than walk, though it’s possible to do both if you’re willing to spend fifteen, maybe thirty minutes depending on your pace.
As soon as we step out, whispers ripple through the courtyard, heads are turning, fingers pointing at us.
I keep my eyes forward and my jaw tight, doing my best not to snap and let one of my blades meet someone’s skin.
We reach the assembly hall and step inside. At least half the seats are already taken.
Seating is assigned by dorm building, so we head straight for the front left section.
That’s where the seats for the two private dorm buildings are.
Our building holds five dorms in total, and the girls and I share it. Normally, it’s ideal—no outsiders in our business, no unnecessary scrutiny.
Right now, less so, considering it also means enduring the sight of Adelaide’s stupid face.
There’s another private dorm beside ours, usually reserved for the heirs who sit just below us in the hierarchy.
Five seats. This year, they’re empty, and I find myself wondering who will take that building next. It changes every time.
I shake my head and push the thought away.
Piper is already there, her head bent over a book. My sister takes her seat, and I sit beside her.
The murmur of the room settles as the headmistress steps onto the stage, tapping the microphone and launching into her usual speech.
I’m only partly listening when the doors at the back of the hall open.
I turn my head just in time to see Adelaide walk in.
She holds her head high, her expression unreadable, and doesn’t spare us a glance as she moves down the aisle and takes the empty seat beside Piper.
The doors open again.
I look back, and this time my stomach flips unpleasantly.
Three men step inside.
For a moment, I don’t believe what I’m seeing. They move with purpose, straight down the aisle towards us, and the room feels as though it’s holding its breath.
He stops directly in front of me.
I grind my teeth and lift my gaze to meet his.
Icy blue eyes.
His stare burns into mine, possessive and unhinged, like he wants to devour me alive, that familiar smirk firmly in place.
Milo Markev stands before me, wearing nothing but a hoodie and jeans, his hair a mess, looking like sin.
The thought barely forms before I loathe myself for it.
He’s a Markev.
I can’t forget what he did to that girl. The only thing I should be noticing are his weak points, cataloguing them, making my job easier when the time comes to kill him, not the way he looks.
“What are they doing here?” I spit.
My eyes snap to Adelaide, my nails digging into my palm.
She feels my stare and sends a stupid smirk in my direction.
I narrow my eyes at her and fear I might visit the headmistress’s office on the first day back for ripping a certain cartel princess’s head off.
“Long time no see, spitfire. Missed your beautiful face,” the man in front of me says, and I look back up at him.
I narrow my eyes.
What the hell is he doing here?
What the hell are they all doing here?
The Ferrum Syndicate.
On our ground.
At St. Monarche?.
It’s unheard of. And yet, here they are.
I fucking jinxed it the moment I told myself I was safe here. There was no way they were stepping foot on this island without getting shot, and yet they’re standing right in front of me.
No open wound in sight.
I study him carefully, waiting for some sign of hostility, vengeance… intent.
After all, the last time I saw the man, my blade was lodged in his side and he was bleeding.
On top of that, I’d gone and stolen his car, which obviously didn’t earn me any brownie points.
But he only winks.
The psycho.
My stomach tightens. But before I can gather a response, he turns and walks away, not far.
Straight to the chairs beside ours.
The seats reserved for the second private dorm. The ones right next to us.
Fuck no.
If the Ferrum Syndicate have taken those seats, then they’ll take that building as well.
Which means every time I leave my dorm, I might see him. It puts us in close proximity, and that’s the last thing I need. And depending on which room he’s given, he might even have a direct line of sight into mine.
Perfect.
Bloody perfect.
I can’t believe this was allowed. The Thirteenth Circle should have voted on it. Instead, someone made the decision without consulting the rest, exercising authority only the Circle’s leader holds.
Allowing a rival syndicate onto our island without preparing for war should be impossible.
This won’t end well. I can feel it.
You don’t spend generations as enemies only to arrive at something resembling a truce. In our world, the only truce that ever holds is marriage. Nothing else comes close.
Contracts fail, alliances fall apart. Blood ties are the only ones anyone truly respects—hence marriage, and children.
And there’s only one person reckless who would orchestrate something like this.
I grit my teeth.
That fucking…
The headmistress continues speaking, dragging me out of my thoughts, but her voice quickly dissolves into meaningless noise. Another teacher steps forward, droning on. I don’t hear a word of it.
Because on my right, I feel him watching me. Markev’s stare burns into my skin. A certain Markev’s stare, because there are two. There is Milo Markev, and Isaak Markev.
They’re cousins, their fathers brothers.
Isaak’s father is the Pakhan, which puts him next in line for the title.
I don’t know much about Milo’s father, only that he’s reckless and powerful, with his own hand in the business.
Milo, on the other hand, is said to be the loaded gun. The executioner. The one you send when things need to end. He might even become Isaak’s second in command one day—if he lives that long. And if I have any say in it, he won’t.
What matters right now is why they’re here at all.
They’re a bit old for university, aren’t they? I know for a fact that he’s twenty five.
Maybe he keeps failing his courses. Or maybe this has nothing to do with a degree, because I’m not na?ve to believe anyone switches academies this late in the game, third year, fourth, even a master’s, just for a diploma.
And then there’s Arlo Vass standing with them. No mafia blood. Just diamonds and old money, clean on paper.
Still, I don’t buy it. Not when he’s that close to the Bratva. People don’t end up that involved without something going on behind the scenes.
And if the three of them are here, then two more won’t be far behind.
Like the Thirteenth Circle, the Ferrum Syndicate has five heirs.
I lace my fingers together in my lap, my sparkly pink nails biting into my palms.
When the assembly finally ends, everyone gets to their feet, chairs scraping as bags are grabbed and the hall begins to move again.
I stay seated, letting the crowd thin. I need the space. Piper stands a moment later, withdrawn. Adelaide follows, her expression cold.
My eyes flick to the main doors, where my sister slipped out halfway through the assembly.
Vass followed her soon after, for whatever damn reason.
I don’t like it. Not one bit.
I’ll have to check on her. If something happened, I wouldn’t forgive myself. I need to know she’s alright.
Always.
Only when half the hall has emptied do I stand.
Footsteps fall into place beside me.
I know that stride… that audacity. I keep my eyes forward as the aisle narrows, already bracing myself for how hard it’s going to be not to put my fist through his face the moment he opens his damn mouth.