He nods with his perfect chin as if to say “alone”. I stand and follow him out of the common room. We exit the mansionthrough 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’sintense. He’s tall, very muscled, heavily tattooed, and has one of those genetic lottery-winner faces that looksbeautifuland 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 littletooneatly organized. His clothes are a littletoopressed 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, youdidask?—”
“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 fuckingshitI 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 pressis 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.
Ihatehearing his name.
But also, how thefuckdoes 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 thinkIdon’thave little birds everywhere who would whisper to me when my little cousin, whom Uncle Nero wasquitefirm 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.
Ireallyshould have been smoother about that. Damiano isnotoriouslywell 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 wasnotwhat you might think it was. Promise.”
