Chapter 8
Piper
My alarm goes off and I groan, blindly reaching for my phone on the nightstand to silence it.
I tossed and turned the entire night. I think it was nearly five when I finally drifted off.
Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling and press the heels of my hands over my eyes as the memories of what happened a few nights ago come crashing in.
I still think about it, it seems.
That is all I think about, it seems.
What I did was meant to be one moment of freedom.
A final moment of freedom.
But it appears to have backfired on me.
I can’t believe I lost my virginity, and nonetheless to Hunter Wardgrave.
And yet, even thinking about it sends a rush of excitement through me.
As it has for the past forty eight hours.
How utterly pathetic.
I am the very definition of a cliché. Of course the first man I have ever felt drawn to, the first man I ever wanted to sleep with, is someone I can’t have for more than a single night.
I actually can’t have him at all.
I should never have allowed him to touch me in the first place.
But I begged for his touch.
When he finds out the truth…
I shake off the thought.
It was one time, and it should stay that way.
And besides, he is not in my life. I am here at St. Monarché Academy, and he definitely isn’t.
He can’t be.
So I shouldn’t worry about him hating me.
My chest tightens painfully at the thought of yesterday, but I blink back the tears burning at my eyes.
I refuse to cry.
I never cry.
It’s useless, really.
Why cry?
To pity myself?
No, thank you.
This had to be done. And I must remember why I made that sacrifice in the first place.
And tears won’t undo it.
I have put my signature on that paper, and it is done.
I signed my life away for good.
My alarm goes off again, startling me. I quickly silence it and push out of bed, crossing the room to the window.
Pulling the curtains open, I look outside.
The sky is grey, as it is most days on Elaris Isle.
Being an island situated between Scotland and Norway means inheriting English weather, though in truth ours is often worse.
The road below is empty. Beyond it, the woods are quiet except for birds in the distance and the wind moving through the branches.
I open the window and take a deep breath.
It’s my final year at St. Monarché Academy. I was supposed to begin a master’s degree afterwards, but after yesterday, my entire life changed.
I suppose I should be grateful I was at least allowed to finish this year and earn my degree.
Not that I will ever use it. If I have any say in the matter.
My love is ice skating. But even that, I don’t know if I will ever pursue professionally.
I glance towards the dormitory beside ours, identical in every way, which should house another five students this year.
St. Monarché Academy accepts only the heirs of powerful people, sons and daughters of mafia dynasties, old money families, and those raised to inherit influence.
At the centre of it all is the Thirteen Circle, a ruling group created by the academy’s four founding families. They keep order among students raised with too much privilege, money, and far too much power.
Truthfully, it is also another way for our parents to show their influence and start steering us towards the futures they already picked for us.
My father belongs to one of those founding families, which means I represent our name while attending the academy.
Because of that, I live in one of the two private dormitories. Only me and my closest friends live here—Octavia, Ophelia, Eleanor, and Adelaide—the daughters of the other founding houses.
It is probably one of the reasons we are so close. We were pushed together from the start, part of the truce our families have always kept.
The rest of the students live in the larger dormitory beside the main building.
Our dorm is separate, which is a blessing. At least we don’t have people watching us every second.
Then there is the other private dorm. It is usually given to those ranked directly beneath us.
The hierarchy changes, though. Power is handed out easily, and taken back just as quickly.
I only hope whoever moves in this year is decent.
Last year, one of the residents was an insufferable gossip. Every trivial detail of our lives somehow became common knowledge, picked apart by the entire academy.
The girl even took a photo through her window and mine after I forgot to close the curtains. It was posted all over the internet the next day.
I was changing.
My bruises were visible.
A splendid tabloid topic, if you were wondering.
I look away from the window, dragging myself out of my thoughts as I head for the bathroom.
Once I am ready for the day, I put on some make-up and pull my wild, curly ginger hair into a messy ponytail.
I dress in a satin corset dress that hugs my body perfectly. I slip on my platform heeled boots, gather my bag, and tuck a few essentials inside.
Then I leave my room and make my way towards the kitchen.
Our dorm is more like a private apartment than student housing, and I adore it. Over the past few years, it has become a home.
And now this is my final year here.
Once, I would have been thrilled to be nearly done with the academy and ready to start my life. Now, the thought of what comes next fills me with dread.
Because my life has already been decided for me.
I don’t have that freedom anymore. Nor any choice in where I will be forced to live once my time here ends.
A shiver runs down my spine, but I push the thought away.
I have never been the most optimistic person, but I try to look at the brighter side of things.
At least I still have a few months to prepare myself for the life waiting for me.
To go and be locked inside a gilded cage.
I make a quick breakfast—Greek yoghurt with muesli, fruit, chia seeds, and coffee—and when I glance at the clock on the wall, I realise I will be late if I don’t leave now.
After finishing my coffee, I drink a glass of water, take the smoothie I made for later, and tuck it into my Polène bag. I make sure my key card is with me and head out.
In the corridor, I look at each of the doors belonging to my friends.
It is completely silent.
A pang tightens in my chest.
There was a time we used to walk to class together, laughing and teasing.
Not anymore.
When Adelaide asked me to attend the Ferrum Syndicate party the other day, I suspected something was amiss.
I didn’t ask questions, though, I simply didn’t care enough to. For some reason, I accepted the invitation, especially after learning all my friends were going as well.
But something happened that night.
Something happened to all of them.
And now our friend group feels… broken.
Octavia and Adelaide are constantly at each other’s throats. Well, mostly Octavia. The hatred she directs towards Adelaide… I know something must have happened between them.
And the way Adelaide delights in antagonising her only makes it worse.
Ophelia, on the other hand… that situation is complicated. Whatever happened to her, it left its mark, judging by the stitches on her forehead.
And Eleanor…
My chest tightens.
She is not here.
We have no idea where Eleanor is. Adelaide says she has tried reaching her, but without any success. The last time we saw her was at the party, and after that she was simply gone.
I texted her and received no reply. Then I called several times.
On the fifth call, her father answered.
My concern intensified tenfold.
Why would he answer her phone?
Why would he even have it?
He assured me she was fine, that she was with family and would return when she was ready.
Whatever that means.
I don’t trust that family of hers in the slightest.
Still… this is very like Eleanor. She has a habit of disappearing for days, sometimes months, then turning up again as if nothing ever happened.
But this time it feels different.
Wrong.
I take the stairs down and step outside. I take a deep breath and begin walking towards the main building.
Today is the first day back. The semester begins.
As our private dormitory sits slightly apart from the rest of the campus, it’s a ten to twenty minute walk depending on your pace. There are cars assigned to us, and drivers we can call for whenever needed.
But I prefer walking.
Provided it is not pouring rain, of course.
I don’t mind running through the rain, but sitting in class soaked for hours like a drowned rat?
Absolutely not.
And my curly hair?
Don’t even get me started.
Before long, the academy comes into view.
The main building looks as if it belongs to another century, maybe it really does. Tall stone towers reach into the grey sky, severe and imposing.
Students are already gathering outside and along the wide staircase leading to the entrance.
I scan the crowd automatically but don’t see any of the girls.
As I begin climbing the steps, I feel the familiar attention turn towards me.
Everyone whispers, stares, points at me, none of it subtle in the least.
Nothing new, really.
Why I thought this year might be any different is beyond me.
The Thirteen Circle is always a hot topic.
I saw Instagram this morning.
Octavia and Ophelia Bellanti are already all over social media. The cut on Ophelia’s forehead is clearly visible in the photo.
If the rumour attached to it is salacious enough, it sometimes finds its way into the actual press as well.
As I climb the steps, I feel my phone buzz inside my bag.
Again.
Then again.
And again.
I leave it where it is.
I am not in the mood to ruin my day before it has properly begun. Whoever is trying to reach me is unlikely to have anything pleasant to say.
I step inside the academy and make my way towards the main assembly hall.
The room is already partially filled when I enter. The seats are arranged in rows, and each section is assigned according to dormitory.
Ours, sits at the front on the right side.
I slide into my seat, pull out my book, and flip it open.
A few moments later Ophelia and Octavia arrive.
I lift my head and give the sisters a small nod.
The Bellanti sisters.
Mafia royalty.
Their father is the Bellanti Don in Florence, one of the most powerful figures in the Italian underworld, and everyone knows Octavia is destined to inherit his legacy one day.
And even now, she looks every bit the part. Don’t let the pink hair fool you. I know for a fact Octavia loves her blades and doesn’t hesitate to use them on anyone who deserves it.
Ophelia, however…
If you looked at her without knowing who she was, you would never guess she is mafia. There is something softer about her, something too good to belong to this tainted world of ours.
With her white hair, Ophelia is a striking contrast to Octavia. They don’t look much alike, and as I said, even their natures are different.
Ophelia is an angel.
Octavia is one too. Just the fallen sort.
The assembly begins shortly afterwards.
The headmistress steps onto the stage and speaks into the microphone, welcoming everyone back for the new semester.
She has barely been speaking for five minutes when the doors at the back of the hall open.
The sound echoes through the room.
Nearly everyone turns to look.
Adelaide walks down the aisle towards us. Her dark curls fall loose over her shoulders, and she is wearing her usual leather jacket, moving confidently.
She reaches our row and takes the empty seat beside me.
“Hi,” she murmurs.
The look Octavia sends Adelaide makes me wonder whether she is imagining starting a fight right here and now.
Adelaide notices it, of course.
The small, wicked smile she sends in Octavia’s direction makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Something is very wrong between them.
And as if the tension in the room were not already thick enough, the doors open again and three men walk in.
I recognise them instantly. Isaak Markev, Milo Markev—his cousin—and Arlo Vass.
All three are members of the Ferrum Syndicate, the very same syndicate whose party we attended only a few nights ago.
The same syndicate that has been the sworn enemy of the Thirteen Circle for years. They should not even be here.
They belong at Velmark Academy.
Stepping foot on our territory alone is enough to spark conflict between families, and by conflict, I mean war.
Death.
The leading power within the Thirteen Circle is the cartel, Adelaide’s family. The leading force behind the Ferrum Syndicate is the Bratva, Isaak Markev’s bloodline.
And the blood between them has been bad for longer than any of us have been alive.
Which means their presence here can only mean one thing.
Something has changed.
Or someone has made it change.