“No,” Jasper says, coolly. “I’m not interested in fucking the librarian.”
All this seems to have distracted Rocco enough that he forgets about the mystery backpack.
“Let’s go,” Dax says. “I don’t feel like studying.”
“When do you ever,” Rocco says, waspishly.
“It’s almost dinner, and unlike you two I actually like to eat.”
“If you call the pig-slop they serve at this place eating.”
Not waiting for Rocco to agree with anything like grace, Dax gathers up his books. Rocco and Jasper follow.
I stay exactly where I am, legs too weak to support me even if I was brave enough to move.
I heard every word that Rocco said. And just like Dax and Jasper, I know he wasn’t joking.
Rocco will get his revenge on my sister. He’ll wait as long as he has to. Neither time nor distance will erase his hatred. He’s a danger to her for as long as he lives.
This problem has only one solution.
I don’t want to admit it. I don’t want to allow the thought in my mind. But I know it, as surely as I can see the sun rising in the morning and the moon in the sky at night.
The only way for Zoe to be safe . . . is for Rocco to die.
22
Zoe
The last few weeks of school are the most blissful of my life.
Rocco is so bitter that he won’t even look at me, which is exactly what I like.
Miles and I are free to spend every possible moment together. We walk to class hand in hand, we sit together for every meal, we stay up late at night laughing and talking, watching old movies, or fucking like rabbits every chance we get.
The joy of being flirty and romantic out in the open is ten times greater than I imagined. I’ve never felt so light and so free.
Often Anna and Leo join us for movies or exploring the island. Chay comes along sometimes, but I know she feels a bit like a fifth wheel. She’s been in an awful state over what happened to Ozzy’s mom. She only cheered up once Ozzy started accepting her calls on Sundays. Miles gave her a cellphone, and now she’s holed up in her room for hours at a time, talking to Ozzy.
“I’m going to visit him in Tasmania,” she tells me. “As soon as school lets out.”
“As friends, or . . .?”
“It’s not a pity thing,” Chay tells me, fiercely. “I’ve missed him since he’s been gone. Missed him a lot, actually.”
“That’s great, Chay,” I say, honestly. “I always thought Ozzy was good for you.”
I’ve got my own visit planned for the summer holidays—I’m going to Chicago to meet Miles’ family. I asked Cat if she wanted to come with me. Neither of us has been to the States before, and I really don’t think our father will object. Miles showed me the ongoing transactions on the offshore server, which are already surpassing the generous projections he made that night in Dubrovnik. Our father will be too busy counting his money to do anything else.
Cat didn’t seem as excited as I expected. She’s been strangely quiet lately, almost avoiding me. She says she’s busy studying, but I wonder if it makes her feel isolated to see me so wrapped up in Miles. Like she thinks I’ll forget all about her.
I try to tell her that will never happen.
“You know you’ll always be my best friend, and I’ll always take care of you, Cat. No matter what happens with me and Miles, that will never change.”
“I know,” Cat says, looking at me with her huge dark eyes that seem to take up half her face.
“What’s wrong, then? Are you still worried about Rocco? He hasn’t said a word to me. I really think he’s going to drop it. The Princes won’t want to jeopardize all the money they’re making. Miles could still shut down the server if Rocco tries to fuck with us.”
Cat just looks at me, solemn and pale.
“Is it final exams?” I prod her. “Your grades are much better now, I’m sure you—”
“It’s nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long year.”
The last event of the Quartum Bellum takes place on a sweltering Friday in May.
The sun beats down on our heads like we’re in the tropics, every member of our team sweating before the challenge has even begun.
The Sophomores face off against the Juniors. Bleachers have been re-erected around the open field so that the rest of the school can watch.
Leo is, of course, hoping to lead us to victory for the second year in a row. If we’re champions four years running, he’ll beat the record previously set by Adrik Petrov, the St. Petersburg Enforcer whose name has gone down in legend as the only Captain to win three years in a row.
Adrik graduated right before I came to Kingmakers, so I never laid eyes on him, but Miles assures me that his exploits are not exaggerated.
“He was the fuckin’ man alright,” Miles says. “I never saw somebody so good at absolutely everything. Some people thought he was an asshole, but I liked him.”
“You like assholes,” Leo says.
“That’s why we’ve always been good friends,” Miles grins.
“I’m gonna beat his record,” Leo says, full of competitive fire. “In the Quartum Bellum, and everything else.”
“Good luck with that,” Miles says. “You’re off to the right start today—I don’t think it’s gonna be that hard to beat the Juniors.”
“That’s your team,” I remind him.
Miles and I are standing across from each other on the field, him in a black shirt, me in white. Technically we’re adversaries and I’m supposed to do my best to defeat him. In practice, I can’t stop staring at his handsome face, and I think I’d hand him a trophy right now if he asked for it nicely.
Miles looks around at the rest of the Juniors, which include the Captain Simon Fowler, Kasper Markaj, Jasper Webb, and Dax Volker, as well as the Bratva Heir Claire Turgenev and her cousin Neve Markov, and my own cousin Martin. That would be their “all-star lineup,” if you wanted to pick out the best. The rest range from mediocre to poor in strength and skill-set.
“My team’s shit,” Miles says, bluntly. “It’s just the way it goes. Some years are stronger than others. I don’t care. I’d rather you beat us quick so I can get out of this heat.”
“Where’s Rocco?” I say suddenly, looking around.
Rocco is a Junior. He’s supposed to be here on the field. Attendance to the Quartum Bellum is mandatory.
“Who cares?” Miles says. “It’s his problem if he gets caught skipping out. Kinda wish I had the same idea. Too late now, though—Professor Howell already saw me.”
Professor Howell strides to the center of the pitch, his favorite silver whistle bouncing against his chest. Sweat already gleams on his lean, tanned face and in his tightly-cropped black hair.
“Ready everyone?” he bellows.
There’s a weak, heat-blasted cheer from the crowd, and an even weaker shout of acknowledgment from the competitors.
Professor Howell raises his starter pistol to the cloudless sky and fires.