Kingmakers, Year One

23. Dean

23

DEAN

A nna disappears from class for several days.

She’s barely spoken to me since that night in the icehouse.

I’m equal parts furious at her, and desperate to see her.

After Combat class, I sneak into her dorm tower, planning to break into her room again. Before I even put a hand on her door, someone pulls it open from the inside, and I’m met with the petite but stubborn frame of Chay Wagner.

“She’s sick, and she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Chay says.

“Let me in.” I try to push past her into the room.

Chay blocks the way, keeping the door mostly closed so I can’t even peer around it to see if Anna’s actually in bed, or if she’s even inside at all.

“Get out of the way,” I growl at her.

“How about you get out of our dorm before I yell for Pippa,” Chay retorts. “You’re not allowed to be up here.”

It’s probably an empty threat. Pippa Portnoy is likely in class herself at the moment, but I don’t particularly want to tangle with the famously vicious Senior, who wouldn’t hesitate to report me if I annoyed her—or arrange an even more inconvenient run-in with one of her many minions.

“Anna!” I call around Chay’s shoulder.

Chay just scowls at me. “You broke up. Get over it,” she says, and slams the door in my face.

Technically Anna and I can’t break up, because technically we were never boyfriend and girlfriend.

But that’s irrelevant.

I claimed Anna the moment I saw her.

I thought she might run back to Leo as soon as she fled the icehouse. But she hasn’t done that—not yet at least.

I have a few theories as to why.

First, though she’d never admit it, I know that seeing Leo getting a BJ from Gemma Rossi cut Anna deep. The continued presence of Gemma, and her obvious interest in Leo, has been salt in the wound ever since. I’ve seen Anna carefully refusing to look at either of them when we’re all in class together.

She avoids Gemma’s whole cavalcade of Spies—luckily for me, because that nosy redhead Shannon Kelly is the only person who could possibly throw suspicion on what happened that night. Gemma obviously has no idea, and it seems like Leo doesn’t either—he just thinks he was smashed and made a bad choice.

Anna may still be hung up on Leo, but she hasn’t given up on her resentment from that party, either. My little scheme was more successful than I ever could have dreamed.

I assume it wasn’t the first time Leo fucked around with some random girl, but as far as I know it was the first time it happened here, at Kingmakers, and apparently that means something to Anna. She must have thought things would be different once they went away to school together.

Maybe she would have forgiven him if Leo begged and groveled. As far as I know, he never did. He’s probably too proud, the fucking idiot. Or else he knew it wouldn’t work.

Anna is intense. She loves hard and hates harder. That’s exactly what I like about her.

I want her to take all that misplaced affection for Leo and turn it on me instead.

For all the pleasure I’ve had with Anna—holding her hand, walking with her, talking to her, touching that silky skin and those full lips—I’ve barely sipped from that cup yet. I want to drink her down all the way to the bottom. I want all of her, every last bit. Not a scrap left for Leo.

I made a mistake though, that night when I finally had her alone.

I was desperate. I tried to do whatever it took to take her virginity. I thought that would connect her to me whether she wanted it or not.

But it was a miscalculation.

What I actually have to do is make her choose. I have to show her indisputably that I’m the better man. Smarter than Leo, stronger than him. I have to humiliate and destroy him. And then when she sees how pathetic he really is, then she’ll come back to me. Willingly and fully.

For that reason, I look forward to the second challenge in the Quartum Bellum almost as much as Leo himself.

He thinks it’s his chance for redemption.

I know he’s about to fail, publicly and spectacularly.

At least if I have anything to say about it.

With the Sophomores ignominiously defeated in the first round, the Freshmen are facing off against the Juniors and the Seniors. They’re confident in their ability to crush us. But there’s a certain level of frisson in the air—the uneasy acknowledgment that this contest isn’t quite as lopsided as they’d hoped.

Damari Ragusa tells me there’s an alliance between Calvin and Pippa. They’ve agreed to finish Leo off quickly, so they can face off against each other in the final round.

The problem is that Calvin doesn’t really want to clear the way for Pippa to sail through to the finals. As arrogant as he is, he must know that Pippa is smarter than him, and she runs her crew of Seniors like a generalissimo. She’ll use Calvin to get rid of Leo, then slaughter him in a head-on match.

I know all these things. I wonder if Leo knows them, too?

I see him holed up with Ares and Hedeon, strategizing.

Despite moping around about the loss of Anna, Leo is still the darling of most of the Freshmen. Through his friendships with Hedeon and Kenzo, he’s got the Londoners and the Yakuza working with him enthusiastically. The Paris Bratva seem to like him too, despite the fact that he abandoned Jules Turgenev in enemy territory.

It’s only my crew who despise him almost as much as I do. But even they feel the allure of an unprecedented Freshman victory.

“Do you think we could beat Pippa? If we made it through to the end?” Bram asked me one night, with pretend nonchalance.

“No,” I say flatly. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. We barely made it through the first challenge. We’re not going to win the second.”

The weather seems to agree with me. The morning of the second challenge is lightning-stricken with thundering rain. The fields around Kingmakers are soaked and muddy as we take our places at the three vertices of a triangular pitch marked out with bleeding spray paint.

We’re all wearing pinnies to show our class colors—white for the Freshmen, green for the Juniors, and black for the Seniors.

Squinting across the field, I see Calvin Caccia staring back at us, his hair plastered to his skull with rain, and his gray gym attire already soaked through and clinging to his bulky body.

Pippa’s team looks even more intimidating. The Seniors on average are significantly bigger than us, and more muscular. Pippa stands in front of them, the smallest of the bunch but the most unsettling. With her dark, wind-blown hair, she looks like a witch commanding an army of giants.

I watch Leo, trying to gauge his mood. He’s pacing back and forth, not in nervousness, but in prowling strides like an animal. He looks like his father. I don’t see anything of my aunt in him.

I know what Sebastian Gallo looks like—he’s not careful to scrub his image online. Not like my father. You won’t find a picture of Adrian Yenin anywhere, not even in our own house.

There used to be a wedding photo on our mantel—my mother trim and pretty and laughing in a short 50s style wedding dress, my father also smiling, his face turned toward her so that only the handsome side of him showed.

I think he burned that photo after she left.

You’d think he’d be afraid of fire, but he isn’t. Fascinated by it, more like. I’ve seen him burn plenty of photographs of himself from his younger years, letting the flames take both sides of his face.

The rain pounds down on my head. My rifle is slung over my shoulder on a strap.

Professor Howell has already explained the rules of the second challenge.

Each team has a bomb. Not a real bomb—it’s a metal sphere tripped by a pull-tab and loaded with paint.

Likewise, our rifles are only paintball guns. But not the usual type of pellets—these paintballs are the size of a chicken’s egg and they fucking hurt. They’re closer to the rubber bullets shot at rioters. A direct shot could easily fracture a rib, and will certainly raise a bruise bigger than your fist.

Unlike in the first challenge, being shot doesn’t mean you’re out. You can keep going if you’re able. But a paintball to the wrong spot—to the balls, for instance—will knock you out of commission pretty quick.

I’d fire one right in Leo’s eye if we weren’t wearing safety glasses. They’re not much use in the rain—I can barely see out of mine, and they’re not even fogged up from running yet.

The goal is simple: get your bomb to one of the opposite corners and detonate it. First two teams to succeed are the winners.

Leo is muttering orders to our team, laying out his strategy. It sounds like he intends to make a spearhead to take the bomb across to the Junior’s corner.

“Why the Junior’s corner?” Hedeon says. “Shouldn’t we wait to see which side is easier?”

“That will be the easier target,” Leo says with supreme confidence.

Hedeon nods, going along with the obvious assumption that the Seniors will be harder to get past.

I’m not so sure he’s right. Pippa Portnoy is aggressive as hell. Speed and intimidation are her favorite weapons. I think there’s a good chance she’ll try to rush us again, like she did in Capture the Flag.

“Once we get through, our little battalion will split,” Leo explains. “I need the fastest runners to stay with me—Erik, Kenzo, and Thomas, you stay right up front. Hedeon and Silas, you flank us and run their defenders over if you have to. I want the best long-distance shooters to stay behind us—Chay, that’s you for sure. Why don’t you take Anna, Ares, and Zoe along, I know you all work well together.”

Anna gives Leo a quick nod but doesn’t say anything. Her pale skin looks almost translucent in the rain and the botanical tattoo on her forearm stands out like a brand. She’s stubbornly refusing to meet my eyes, though I know damn well she can feel me watching her.

“We got you covered,” Ares says to Leo. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself because, despite the rain, he’s only wearing a thin white t-shirt, no pullover. Probably ‘cause he can’t afford half the things he was supposed to bring to school.

He may be from one of the founding families, but nowadays the Cirillos are a disgrace. It pisses me off that his name still carries clout when he’s a fucking pauper, while I had to trade two years of my life to even get into this school.

“Dean, Bram, Valon,” Leo says, fixing me with a direct stare. “Keep your people here as defense, picking off attackers. Jules and the rest of the Paris kids will act as snipers on the edges. Remember to stay inside the lines.”

He thinks if he leaves the Paris Bratva with us, it’ll ensure we don’t let the attackers through too easily. Mafia honor dictates that you obey the orders of your boss, regardless of your opinions or feelings on the matter. Even if you didn’t pick this particular boss. Even if you hate his fucking guts.

I’d like to fire my full clip into Leo’s back the second he turns around.

But it is true that I can’t let anyone see me sabotaging the team. For one thing, most of the Freshmen genuinely want to win. Even the Bratva and Penose, who have no love for Leo.

The other issue is that the Yenin name isn’t exactly shining with honor right now.

My grandfather was KGB before he turned Bratva. And what Leo said on the ship had a kernel of truth to it—my grandfather did breach his blood oath with the Gallos. It’s a grave offense. One that would have ensured that he was shunned by the other mafia families until his dying day, had that day not come so swiftly after.

The part Leo wants to forget is that his family fucking deserved it. They lied, murdered, and stole from us for years. They transgressed every rule of our people, including when Sebastian Gallo defiled my grandfather’s one and only daughter. So they had it coming.

But it’s still a black mark on my name. I want to rebuild my reputation at Kingmakers. Not show myself as a traitor all over again.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to help Leo win, though.

I’ll do the bare minimum I can get away with.

And if I get the chance to stab him in the back secretly, without anyone knowing, I’ll take it.

Leo’s still staring at Bram and me, waiting for a response.

Bram grunts his reluctant consent.

I just give a half-smile that could mean anything. Leo narrows his eyes at me and turns away, the bomb cradled under his arm like a football.

All three teams crouch in our respective corners, our soaked sneakers making a squelching sound.

Professor Howell stands in the center of the triangle, starter pistol raised to the cloudy sky. The raindrops shatter as they hit the unyielding surface of his poncho, and his pistol looks slick and shining. He fires, signaling the start of the match.

Immediately, almost all of the Seniors and a third of the Juniors rush toward our corner. They’ve obviously collaborated ahead of time, planning to take us out before they attack each other.

I assume Pippa had to agree to send out the bulk of her force and allow Calvin to keep most of his people on defense, because he wouldn’t trust her otherwise. It won’t matter—if they work together, they’ll run train on us.

They converge in the center of the triangle, charging at us in one mass, planning to overwhelm us with their superior size and numbers.

“Tighten up!” Leo bellows, shouting for his group of Freshmen to form a phalanx.

Instead of giving into the temptation to run at the other teams, Leo orders his team to hold their ground, tightly bunched together.

“Aim and fire!” he shouts.

The Freshmen at the front of the spearhead start firing at the onrushing Juniors and Seniors. Because the aggressors are running and the Freshmen aren’t, Leo’s team has better aim. And because the Freshmen are in a close formation, the Juniors and Seniors can only shoot at the Freshmen on the exterior of the pack.

Leo’s positioned some of his best sharpshooters right at the apex of the phalanx. They’re wreaking havoc on our aggressors in tandem with his snipers. Paintballs smash into their chest, limbs, and even their faces, leaving garish spatters of bright red paint that drips and runs as it mixes with the rain.

Subtly, Pippa’s Seniors fall back, allowing the Juniors to take the brunt of the hits. A dozen Juniors stumble and fall, and the rest falter, looking to Calvin for direction.

“Keep going, you fucking idiots!” he shouts.

He’s got his bomb in his hands, and he looks like he plans to plant it in our corner. But I notice that Liam Murphy, Pippa’s right-hand man, is likewise carrying their bomb. I have the sneaking suspicion that Pippa will make sure to detonate hers first, no matter what else might happen.

Sure enough, Pippa gives a sharp whistle and her Seniors split off, trying to flank Leo’s phalanx. Leo takes the opportunity to charge right through the center, his group staying tight and swift with Leo at the head of the spear, the bomb protectively cradled under his sweatshirt to keep it out of the rain.

I expect Leo to try to cross the field to the Senior’s side instead—it’s barely guarded. But Pippa has been careful to force him the other way toward the Juniors’ corner.

It’s a fool’s errand. There’s no way Leo can make it through. I expect him to turn, even if he has to cover more ground. Instead, he continues sprinting right at the wall of Juniors, thinking he can bash his way through.

As Leo passes center field, the rear portion of his phalanx splits off, huddling down and raising their rifles to provide cover for Leo as he charges. I see Anna, Ares, Chay, and Zoe far off on the pitch, trying to clear a sideline for Leo. They’re out of position and not doing much good.

Leo barrels forward with his remaining soldiers, ducking and dodging, trying to avoid as many of the defending Juniors as he can. It’s not working. Leo is hit with paintballs again and again in his chest and legs, almost all the shots aimed at him as his Freshmen do their best to shoot, tackle, and pummel as many guards as they can.

Meanwhile, Pippa and Calvin’s teams are still attacking our corner. I shoot a couple of incoming Juniors, just for the fun of seeing them jolt and stagger as the oversized paintballs explode, staining their shirts with garish scarlet spatter.

I steer clear of the Seniors because I don’t fancy making enemies amongst the upperclassmen. I’m perfectly happy to let Pippa set her bomb. I’d help her pull the pin myself if nobody was watching.

I can see her stealthily creeping along the sideline, right behind Liam.

Calvin Caccia is plowing down the middle, thinking he’s got a clear shot at our goal. Like Leo, Calvin is carrying the bomb himself, but he’s not as willing to take shots from our defenders. For that reason his progress is slower as he’s forced to huddle in the center of his knot of protectors. Still, he advances on us steadily in a straight line.

I continue firing now and then just for appearances, barely aiming. I don’t particularly care whether Calvin or Pippa makes it to the corner first. All I want is for Leo to fail.

I keep my eye on him as he continues his mad, desperate onslaught on the Junior’s corner. He gets shot again and again in the shoulder, in the thigh, then right in the gut. He doubles over, stumbles, almost falls. He takes a paintball to his right leg just above the knee, and this time he does fall.

The Juniors are laughing and jeering at him, taking great pleasure in firing at this cocky little shit who had the audacity to think he could beat the whole school. Even some of the few Seniors guarding their own corner have drifted closer so they can watch.

Leo lurches up once more, but he’s facing a veritable wall of Juniors. There’s no possible way he can make it to the corner. He should just give up.

With a roar, he charges at them anyway. They raise their rifles and fire their paintballs en masse.

The barrage drowns out the shouts from the other side of the pitch. In the pounding rain, the thundering rifles and the jeers and yells, I don’t realize what’s happening. Until one high-pitched scream cuts through the noise:

“THEY’VE GOT THE BOMB!!!”

In slow motion, we all turn to the Senior’s corner. Ares is sprinting for the vertices, carrying the bomb tucked under one arm. Anna, Chay, and Zoe are right behind him, firing at any remaining defenders. They’re aiming for the Senior’s hands, hitting them right in the fingers so they drop their rifles, howling and shaking their paint-splattered hands.

In disbelief, I look back at Leo Gallo sprawled out on the soaked grass, covered almost head to toe in red paint. He groans and rolls over on his back. He’s grinning as he pulls a wadded-up sweater out from under his shirt.

The last two Seniors try to physically block Ares’s way, but even Seniors are no match for his size. He barrels through them, shouldering them aside with such force that they go flying out of bounds. He sets the bomb right in the corner and yanks out the clip. It erupts like a volcano, belching white paint straight up in the air.

Calvin Caccia stares stupidly at Pippa Portnoy for a moment, as the enormity of his situation washes over him. Only now does he realize why Pippa agreed to send her team out, leaving her end zone unprotected.

Almost all the Juniors are clustered in their own corner, while Pippa’s Seniors have reached their goal. Calvin has twenty men around him, while Pippa has fifty. They run at us like swift, dark shadows, and we let them through. It’s already a foregone conclusion.

The Seniors detonate their bomb, the pitch-black paint securing their place in the finals. Calvin watches it happen, his face contorted in fury.

The Freshmen pour across the pitch, physically hauling Leo up off the ground so he can hobble over to Ares and join in the wild celebrations. Their elation is twice as high as it was in the first challenge. The first win seemed like a fluke—this one is much more real.

They’re slapping each other on the back, Leo wincing anytime he’s touched on his bruised and battered flesh. They’re all laughing and shouting, every one of them.

Except me.

I’m watching, silent and motionless, as Leo and Anna slowly push their way toward each other through the crowd.

They stand there facing each other, the rain pouring down on their heads harder than ever. They look into each other’s faces, Leo covered almost head to toe in red, dripping paint, Anna with only two bright splotches on her body: one on her bicep and one on her hip.

Leo says something, and Anna replies. I’m too far away to hear or even to read their lips.

But I see clearly Leo sweeping Anna up in a hug, his arms wrapped tight around her.