“Are you sure no one came in here?”
Am I sure this is, in fact, an alternative reality and I will soon wake up? Am I surprised no one sees my trembling insides?
Sure thing.
I’m totally certain something is wrong with me, because I plaster on my brightest smile as I face my brother.
Jeremy, who’s barged into my room and is now towering over me, is tall, muscular, a bit bulky, and is the perfect clone of our father. Like, seriously, Papa gets an A+ for the copy-and-paste efforts.
He’s also six years older than me, so I’m like a baby at only seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in about a month and a half, so mentally, I’m already at that age.
Besides, due to my stellar academics, I got to skip a grade and attend college at this age. A fact my brother isn’t fond of.
He’s always been like a lethal tiger who stands guard in front of my door. I was only able to breathe when he left the States for college a few years before me.
Well, able to breathe is an exaggeration, because I was still under Papa’s even more suffocating attention and protection.
That’s why I worked hard to get into college. But naturally, I could only apply to where Jeremy is. That, or I had to stay in New York.
My brain voted my brother as the lesser of two evils.
I came to Brighton Island at the start of this semester. It’s an island near the south coast of the United Kingdom. Ever since I reunited with my brother, that subtle feeling of suffocation, of being watched and monitored every second has returned.
I pull my sweater over my shirt, because, heck no, I’m not going to stroll around in my short-as-sin shirt in front of my brother.
That didn’t seem like a problem earlier.
I hush that tiny little voice and throw up a dismissive hand. “I was totally deep asleep until that guard woke me up. Can’t a girl have her beauty sleep around here?”
Nailed that.
Seriously.
If it were anyone else, they’d leave me be, but this is Jer. President of the Heathens, dubbed a devil, and the heir to Papa’s mafia empire.
People at home are waiting for him to finish his master’s degree and go back to his awaiting position in the heart of the New York Bratva.
This whole college experience is just a stepping stone for him, a way to soak in as much power as possible before going back to where he belongs.
His hawk-like gaze flits all over my room, stopping now and again as if he can see traces of him.
As if he can smell the leather from his gloves and feel the warmth emanating off his body.
My lips tremble at the reminder of how the intruder touched them, and my ears ring. The good type of ring. The type where I can still hear his voice in my head.
His words.
My Tchaikovsky—that’s my god, by the way, because he’s the root of my spirituality.
Get it together, me.
“You haven’t heard any commotion?” Jer pushes with the persistence of a hound that’s sniffing for prey.
“Aside from the guard’s loud voice, not really. What’s going on? He said there was a breach?”
“Yes. There was an attempted arson in the annexed house.”
“A-arson?”
Holy shit on a stick. I knew that the smell of soot had something to do with a fire. Does that mean he was the one behind it?
Instead of asking that and flaring Jer’s suspicious radar, I go with, “Is everyone okay?”
The fact remains, this mansion is the compound of the Heathens, and the founding members of the club, who are my brother’s friends, use it as a home. Not to mention the live-in guards and some staff.
I’m preoccupied with the intrusion, but not enough to forget about other people. Even if they rival my brother’s savageness.
“No one was hurt and we put out the fire before it ate up the annex,” Jeremy offers.
“Phew! So glad there were no casualties.” For more reasons than one. “Do you know who did it?”
“Not yet, but I will find them.” He steps forward. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You don’t need anything?”
“Beauty sleep, remember?”
He ruffles my hair, a rare smile grazing his lips. I can’t help but grin in return, knowing full well that my brother is a hard man and I shouldn’t take his warmth for granted.
I’m lucky enough to be on the short list of people Jeremy cares for.
“Sorry for interrupting your beauty sleep, Anoushka.”
That’s what he and Papa call me. Anoushka. A Russian endearment derived from my name, Annika.
“Apology accepted, but stop messing up my hair. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“You’re a cute little baby to me.”
“Jer!”
“What?”
“I’m really old enough to take care of myself.”
“Not hearing that.”
I snort. “Okay, but can I go back to the dorm tomorrow?”
Jeremy studies at The King’s U, one of the two titan universities on Brighton Island, which is fueled by mafia money. The other university, Royal Elite University, was founded and is funded by old British money.
The two universities and their students can’t stand each other. That animosity bleeds into sports and secret club rivalries.
To say they’re at each other’s throats would be the understatement of the century.
So the fact that I study at the art school at Royal Elite University—or REU—and stay in their dorm doesn’t sit right with my brother.
Which is why he sometimes insists that I stay here—in the Heathens’ mansion that he shares with his three friends.
He says it’s to protect me, but it’s more to keep an eye on me.
“Not yet,” he says, confirming my thoughts. “Stay here for a few more days.”
“But, Jer—”
“It’s for your safety.”
I want to groan in frustration, but I’m interrupted when a gruff voice comes from the other side of the door.
“The fucking fuck is wrong with people in the middle of the night? Can’t anyone get some sleep in this godforsaken hole?”
A tall, muscular, half-naked guy waltzes inside my room, kicks away a fluffy pen, and peers through his bloodshot eyes at us.
Or more like at Jeremy.
My status and last name erased me from Nikolai’s eyes a long time ago.
Thank you, Tchaikovsky.
He’s a scary mofo, has a mafia princehood, and belongs to the New York Bratva just like us. His body is inked with more tattoos than can be counted, and he’s always shirtless. Seriously, I wonder if he wears more than shorts to classes or if he bestows them with his half-nakedness status, too.
He lets his heavy body lean against the wall. “The fuck is going on?”
“Fire.” My brother tilts his head in his friend’s direction. “And put a shirt on.”
“Shirts are overrated. And did you say fire? Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”
“You were nowhere to be found.”
“You sure? Because I was sleeping at the bottom of the stairs. Or maybe behind the stairs. Can’t fucking remember.”
“That’s if you were asleep.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Jeremy ruffles my hair one more time and gets out of my room with Nikolai in tow. Despite the fact that Nikolai is younger than Jeremy by a few years, they’ve been close friends for as long as they’ve known each other.
My brother is the silent strategist who only uses violence when absolutely necessary, while Nikolai is the unhinged, bloodthirsty monster.
As I watch their backs, I can’t help feeling a tinge of discomfort at knowing the type of future that awaits them.
One filled with blood, mafia wars, and brutal encounters. While Nikolai fits that image perfectly, and even strives for it, I don’t want to imagine Jeremy in that light.
Even if I know he can be much worse.
“Who was the fucker?” Nikolai asks Jeremy on their way out. “I’m going to fuck up his life, burn his corpse, and spread the ashes in blood.”
“I have a hunch.”
I subconsciously step to the door, but Jeremy flashes me a glance I can’t quite decipher, then closes it behind him.
Cutting off any chance I had to hear his hunch.
He couldn’t have possibly figured out it’s him.
Right?
Hushed whispers float around me with the perseverance of buzzing bees.
My name and Jeremy’s, as well as our last name, have been murmured a dozen times.
I still smile at whoever meets my eyes and even ask them how they’re doing. I comment on their fashion and tell them I loved their last TikTok or Instagram.
Every last one of them smiles back, and even if they still murmur about me, it’s all along the lines of:
I can’t believe she’s the Jeremy Volkov’s sister. She’s such a darling.
A doll.
A sweetheart.
A good sport.
I’m the people person, the PR of Jer’s reputation, and the number one candidate to be the family’s spokesperson.
They say the only way to be popular or loved is to stomp on others and be mean, but I believe in being nice.
I believe in being social for the greater good.
Now, if I could just not let other people’s opinions eat me up from the inside, that would be perfect.
I come to a halt when an arm wraps around my shoulder. “Oh. Em. Gee. You’re alive, thank the gods and all religions.”
Ava does a whole tour around me, and it looks kind of funny, considering the huge cello strapped to her back.
She inspects every inch of my body, even patting my face to make sure it’s the same.
Today, she’s dressed in a pink skirt and a white top with a fashionable cut. She’s the most elegant person I know, after my mom, and she resembles me in personality, too.
We clicked the moment we first met about two months ago when I first enrolled in REU. As a result, I became close with all her friends, too. She and the girls even allowed me to move into their private apartment in the dorm, despite the fact that I’m the ‘American’ who simply doesn’t understand their obsession with fish and chips.
I grin. “Hi, missed you.”
She hugs me and kisses my cheek. “Missed the shit out of you, bitch. What are the chances of your brother dropping the lame patriarchy and letting you come back to the dorm?”
“At the moment? Zero.”
She groans and hooks her arm with mine. “You really okay? Everyone keeps talking about the fire in the Heathens’ mansion.”
“I was dead asleep.” I lie through my teeth. “Until they woke me up with all the noise.”
“That must’ve been so scary. I can’t imagine waking up in the middle of the night at the news of an attack.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it an attack.”
“Totally was. They were probably after your brother or his heathen friends. Like, seriously, how does he think that place is safer for you than our little dorm?”
“No clue.” Due to the fact that he has all the guards there, probably.
“Let’s have Ces talk to him. She obviously isn’t scared of the whole dark lord aura mojo he has going on… Speak of the devil!”
We arrive at the cafeteria we often eat lunch in. We, as in, Ava, Cecily, Glyndon—the girls I stay with—and Remington, Brandon, and…him.
The boy with ocean eyes and an intimidating presence.
Though when we get to the table, Cecily and Remi are bickering over some fries and Bran is trying to mediate. I don’t see Glyndon and him anywhere.
I try to ignore the knot in my chest but fail.
Ava and I take the vacant seats and I smile at Bran when his eyes meet mine. “Where’s Glyn?”
“I’m surprised you still ask about that traitor, honestly.” Ava huffs. “She’s probably out there getting the D.”
Bran pushes his plate away, his nose scrunched. “Not the image I needed of my little sister.”
Ava throws a French fry in her mouth. “That’s why I said the D and not the dick.”
Remi slides over super smoothly and grins. “Did someone mention a dick?”
“Oh, look at this. Someone recognizes they are one.” Cecily crosses her arms over her shirt, on which there’s a cute cat with a gun shooting the words Pew, pew, mudafaka.
“One?” Remi’s lips pull up in a Cheshire cat grin, and it still doesn’t take away from his symmetrically handsome face. “Say the word, Ces. D-I-C-K. Don’t be a prude.”
She flips her silver hair back. “Prude? I prefer boundaries.”
“Yawn.” Remi pretends to have fallen asleep. “Wake my lordship up when this nerd starts having a life.”
That’s what Remi calls himself, ‘my lordship,’ because of his noble blood. While everyone else sees it as arrogance, I find it super endearing.
He has the personality of a carefree angel—though Ava and Cecily would argue that he’s a hedonist devil. Remi was one of the first people who warmed up to me instantly and I will never forget that.
“Stop it.” Bran nudges him.
Cecily is ready for round one thousand of bickering but then sees me and backtracks. “Oh, Anni. Are you okay?”
“Totally cool. Physically examined by Ava herself.”
“That’s right.” My friend strokes her cello. “She’s okay from the outside.”
“Do they know who did it?” Cecily asks.
“No idea. You know I don’t get involved in that.” I smile, pulling out my food container.
My OCD can be triggered by tiny, stupid details like how one of my salad containers isn’t at the same level as the others.
My blood pushes against my rib cage and the sounds of the cafeteria start to get drowned out.
I quickly unclasp the containers full of healthy food, organize them in front of me, and only breathe when they’re perfect.
The noise from the outside world slithers back in slowly but surely.
“Who else could it be?” Remi leans back in his chair, sipping from his iced coffee. “Probably the Serpents.”
“Aren’t they from the same uni?” Ava asks. “Our club is more likely to have a beef with them.”
Bran shakes his head. “The Elites aren’t really on bad terms with the Heathens currently. The Serpents, however, were humiliated by them, especially after the last raid on their mansion, and are more prone to take action.”
“This whole thing is too messed up,” Cecily says. “Someone could’ve been hurt in that fire.”
“No one was,” I relay Jeremy’s words. “Don’t worry.”
“Still. I don’t like this.” She chews on her bottom lip, then reaches into her backpack and fishes out a purple pen with fluffy feathers. “I found this in my drawer, and I don’t use it anymore, so I thought of you, Anni.”
I grab it with both hands. “This is so cute, thanks!”
“Anytime.”
The conversation goes on and on about the feuds between the three clubs, two from The King’s U—Heathens and Serpents—and one from REU—Elites.
There are talks about war, rivalry, and payback, but I’m not really paying attention to that.
My gaze keeps flitting to the entrance for a hint of that familiar tall frame. I nearly finish my food, but there’s no sign of him.
No one is talking about him either.
So I beam and ask in a casual tone, “By the way, where’s Creighton?”
“Oh, Cray Cray?” Remi speaks between inaudible slurps. “Probably sleeping somewhere. That spawn of mine said he didn’t sleep much last night.”
I wonder why.
What I also find adorable about Remi’s personality is how he calls Creighton a spawn. They’re cousins from their mothers’ side, but Remi is totally the extrovert who adopted him.
I let them go back to discussing the fire and the clubs’ shenanigans, then say I’ll be back.
I probably won’t, but there’s no harm in a little white lie.
Usually, I’d be on my way to volunteer at the local animal shelter since I don’t have afternoon classes, but I’ll do that later.
After tucking my containers back in my bag, I slip out of the cafeteria and head to the business school. On the way, I greet anyone who says hi or even looks at me.
A part of me knows all these people only want to get on my good side because of my brother’s notorious reputation and my father’s mafia status, but that’s okay.
At least Ava and the others like me for me, and not for my last name.
Despite a few attempts by some students, I don’t stop to chat.
See, I’m on a mission.
It takes me exactly ten minutes to reach the gazebo at the back of business school.
Sure enough, someone is lying on the bench, in the shadows. Hidden from passersby and onlookers.
The only reason I know about this is because Remi offers any information I ask for.
I stop and stare at the gloomy sky that blocks the sun every few seconds as if furious about its audacity to keep peeking through.
The wooden gazebo sits in a secluded area of the back garden where not many students mingle.
Exactly why I figure he likes it here.
Inhaling deeply, I walk as casually as possible. But even if the world can’t see it, I feel the stiffness in my steps. The weight on my chest. The tremor in my lips.
Get it together, me.
The boy who lies on the bench, a leg bent and a hand under his head, looks peaceful.
He’s dressed in jeans that hang low on his hips and a hoodie that’s flung up, revealing a hint of his abs and his V-line.
I swallow, forcing my gaze to focus on his face instead.
That’s totally not a better idea.
His face is nothing less than regal. He has the type of beauty that calls out to you without words. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and defined lips.
His brown hair that’s short on the sides and long at the top is messy, finger-raked, and the most beautiful hairstyle I’ve ever seen. I’ve always wondered what those longer strands would feel like.
Wondered.
That’s all I’ve done since I met this enigma. I’ve wondered and imagined and dreamed.
But they all came crashing down into one bleak reality.
He wants nothing to do with me. Or at least, that’s what I thought.
Point is, his disinterest should make me happy. It’s for the best, considering my fate was already sealed the day I was born.
I certainly don’t want him to get hurt because of me.
But at moments like these, I find myself inching closer, reaching to ease that crease between his thick brows.
Make it go away.
In a flash, a hand grabs my own and I swallow as he slowly opens his eyes.
Rich blue, rimmed with black.
The same eyes of the masked man who paid me a visit last night.
