Ruthless Princess (Mafia Royals 1)

I sniffed the fresh Chicago air. This would be my year, the year I wouldn’t let Junior get under my skin, the year I’d have fun at least half the time while getting groomed by my father the other half.

Most students my age were looking at job prospects while mine was already embedded in my skin—quite literally.

Blood in, no out.

I was the heir to my father’s throne, and I was going to reign supreme over all my silly little subjects, this school included.

Most days it felt like we lived on a different planet, maybe even in a different realm, where mere mortals walked among us and did mundane things like accounting and math—we learned how to cook the books, make murder look like an accident, and spied like we were part of the CIA—like they would even want to catch us, since we had friends in high places, very, very, high places.

“Ash, you’re late and drive like Grandpa Frank.” I finally brought my thoughts back down to earth and checked my gold Rolex. Already my black Gucci glasses were so tight that I felt a headache forming at my temples.

“He’s always late.” Junior hopped out of his car and gave Ash a high five and hug while Claire gave Izzy and me a sweet smile.

I didn’t do sweet.

I was more… salty. There, that sounded better.

And Claire, well, she had mafia blood, but she seemed too pure for this sort of life. Then again, she helped Ash do some serious shit, so she’d at least earned my respect that way and earned her way into our group.

I cracked my neck. “You guys ready?”

“Always.” Ash wrapped an arm around Claire again and let me walk ahead of him. Izzy hung back with them, and Junior flanked to my right. Never had there been such hatred between a king and queen.

I knew Maksim and Breaker were already around; they had earlier classes than us, and frankly, since we were the eldest, we stuck together more while the younger cousins got more freedom. Someone had to rule the free world, and it wasn’t going to be smart-as-shit Maksim who skipped ahead a year and entered into EE with Breaker only to break so many hearts I wondered if he was going to actually contract a sexual disease of some sort.

We let them play.

Because we had work to do.

Fear to build.

Enemies to make.

My stiletto boot hit the cement in perfect cadence to the increased heartbeats around us. The fear, you could almost smell it—I lived for it—it was all I had now that love was gone, now that my heart was obliterated.

I gave my head a shake and kept walking. Along our path, students parted, they stopped talking, they gave us a wide berth, and when we finally made it to the simple white building in the middle of the campus, I felt my hand shake a bit.

Behind us, Ash cursed. He hated this part; we all did.

But it was necessary.

We all turned and glanced at the student body, watching them watch us.

A person would come forward. Someone always did.

Finally, one of the football players stepped forward. I could have predicted that. It was usually an athlete, mainly because they were the only ones who could typically take it.

“Z!” Ash gave the guy a once over. “Damn man, you put on at least twenty pounds over the summer.”

He gave Ash a tentative smile then rocked back on his heels. “I knew it was probably time.” His eyes flickered from Ash to the rest of us. “Maybe with the added muscle, it’ll hurt less.”

“Yeah.” Was it me, or did Ash sound sad? “Maybe.”

Zac took a deep breath, clutching his fists at his sides. “I’m ready.”

“Swell.” I sashayed toward him, then did a small circle around him, he was at least two hundred pounds of pure American beef. He had a nice smile, sandy brown hair, and I was one hundred percent convinced he’d grow up to be an accountant.

And not the cool ones that burn the books for you and help you hide money but the really shitty ones who looked forward to pot roast on a Tuesday the way I looked forward to a manicure.

“All right, Zac, you know the rules,” I said in a low voice. “Not a sound.”

I held out my hand, and Junior handed me the wooden bat. More and more students filed around us, along with a few faculty members drinking their coffee; one yawned.

Eagle Elite, ladies and gentlemen, it would be comical if it didn’t steal our souls, wouldn’t it?

But that’s what the parents wanted. Make us hurt, make us suffer, make us understand, so that if the time ever came where we had to choose between ourselves and our family—we chose family every time.

Bred into our bones, the idea that blood trumps self.