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In the past week, he missed our tutoring session and he’s ignored every text I’ve sent him. I even called him, which is just plain pushy in this day and age, but he didn’t have the decency to pick up. I was busy with my own work, and quite honestly, I was also procrastinating. It’s hard to run after a guy who you have twisted, complicated feelings for. And with each passing day he ignored me, my budding hope took a nosedive.
But the week is almost over and the deadline for the Shakespeare paper is tomorrow. If he doesn’t hand it in, there really will be no saving him.
Looking over the array of lunch options, my stomach churns with worry. I doubt I can swallow anything, but I point to some random item of food anyway. The cafeteria worker plops spaghetti and meatballs onto a plate and slides it over the counter.
I should’ve gone to Cristo, but the thought of approaching him was justyikes. Not only does tattling rub me the wrong way; it just goes against ourmafiecode. I’m also willing to do just about anything to avoid standing in front of him again, especially if it’s to admit failure.
And this late in the game, that failure would be on me. I’m the smart girl here, so it goes without saying that I should’ve been smart enough to get Lucian to comply. Cristo won’t be impressed by my arguments of honesty and integrity. He wants Lucian to graduate, end of story.
His earlier words ring in my ear.
Just do it.
I know what those words mean.
It means that I need to get it done, period. If I can’t get Lucian to do it, then I should write the paper myself, slap his name on it, and submit it for him. That’s what Cristo expects. I know it, and he knows I know it.
And you know who else knows it?
My blood simmers with anger.
Lucian.
Not only does he know it, but he’s taking advantage of it. My face flushes hot with anger. My eyes flickers toward the entrance to the lunchroom and narrow on Lucian.
In every high school under the sun, the lunchroom is a war zone. Empire Academy is no exception. Lines are firmly drawn; certain tables are reserved for certain cliques.
The table nearest to the lunch counter, front and center of the entire cafeteria, is a prime location. And it’s for Popescu royalty only. I couldn’t tell you how it happened, but the Popescus have long established this table as theirs. A kid can’t get a seat at this table without being inducted, which means that every one of these boy-men are certified killers.
Lucian sits on the tabletop like it’s a throne, feet firmly planted on the bench seat, flanked by Anton and Marku. The rest of the table is populated by Popescu boys, or what I like to callthe minions. Even Dinu, Lucian’s primary competitor is there, with his crew. They may hate each other, but as high-ranking clan members, they divide the table, every inch viciously contested.
Lucian throws his head back and laughs without a care in the world. Yeah, of course, the lazy bastard is laughing; he’s saddled me with his work.
White-hot rage boils over inside me.
Fuck him.
He did this on purpose. He was just appeasing me with hisI’ll do it your waybusiness when he obviously intended to stick me with the work all along.
Taking advantage of me, yet again.
But this time, it’s worse.
It’s about more than just me and him. It involves Cristo, and that man can make my life difficult in ways I can’t begin to fight off. With my brother gone, I have no protection. I’ve heard whispers of Cristo wanting to marry me off to Simon. If he pushed it, I’d have no recourse. And that’s the least of what he can do. Bottom line, I’m at his mercy.
Lucian knows this, but he’s screwed me over anyway.
My fingers curl around my tray, laden with my lunch. Adrenaline floods my bloodstream, making me skin feel prickly hot.
How could he?
Selfish bastard.
He won’t get away with this. Not today.
It’s a split-second decision, but instead of walking on, I find myself halting in front of the Popescu table.
Not only is the table like a throne, but he looks like a king. At well over six feet, he’s bigger than any other man here. Even Dinu, who works out at the school gym like it’s a religion. The cotton of Lucian’s white button-down uniform shirt stretches over his wide chest, clinging to every defined muscle.
