10. Chapter 10

Jade

I'm pretty bummed when I don't catch a glimpse of my mystery guy deboarding, but Armani makes up for it by getting us out of the crowd faster than any other group around. Matteo distracts me—on purpose or not—by subtly pointing out key people and putting names to the faces. People our family is cool with and people they're not.

It's a blur of names and passing faces, but I think I may be able to remember a good chunk of them. Like he did with our family, Matteo hand-made several graphics for me before we left so that I could study. One that had the biggest groups that currently attend Empire Academy with the names of those who rule them and those that will inherit control of them. Another, which was more of a list, had those same syndicates, but this one also had what they're known for.

By the time we make it to the building where my brothers and I—minus Armani—will be staying, I have a better picture of The Kings, The Outlaws, and The Guards. It's a little overwhelming, and it's only a few names. Thankfully, I brought my handy little cheat sheets to help me out in the first couple of weeks.

The first room we go to is mine, where my bags are already locked securely. How some guards fully beat us to our building with luggage is entirely a mystery to me. It's greatly appreciated, but also has me questioning whether some of the men working for my father have actual superpowers.

Matteo and Armani take me inside and do a quick security of the space before actually beginning to lighten up. They're a regular pair of worriers, my brothers.

While they check that my bags are all here, I get my first good look at the place. A full-size bed, nice window, enough space to store my things, and my own bathroom. It's not bad at all, certainly bigger than any first-year college dorm I would have had if I had gone somewhere else.

Empire sort of is a college. There's just no fancy degree to show off once you're done. There are skills though, and if my brothers are any proof, the skills learned here are nothing to turn your nose up at.

My smile grows. "This is all mine? It's cute!"

I toss my cardigan onto the unmade bed and smile when I think about how much cuter it will be once I get settled in.

Matteo scoffs. "It's tiny, like a closet."

Armani smacks him on the back of the head. "Watch your words, asshole."

"Ow!" Matteo protests, rubbing the affected spot. "What did I say?"

"My room was half this size back at the old house," I offer, assuming that's Armani's point. "It's okay. You didn't see it, so you didn't know."

He sighs sadly. "Nah, but I could have guessed." Gesturing me over to him with his hands, he holds his arms out. "Come here, hug your idiot brother while he says he's sorry."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "No need to apologize and definitely no need for a hug. I'm not upset. I'm pretty sure that it is technically a small room. You're allowed to make observations."

"No hug?" His face scrunches. "My therapist said physical connection is important to girls with absent fathers. Unless they don't like hugs, and you love hugs."

I roll my lips, hiding a smile. "You see a therapist?"

"I do since you showed up," he exclaims. "You took away my status as the youngest sibling and gave me a complex."

When my eyes widen, he cracks up. "Kidding, that's what I told her though. Just wanted to see if the lady had any solid advice to help you adjust. Couldn't really get any applicable information on account of keeping the mafia thing a secret. So hugs are all I've got, I'm afraid."

That's so fucked up and so sweet at the same time.

"Going for brother of the year?" I joke, opening my arms for a quick hug.

"Brother of the decade," he counters, sweeping me into a gentle hug but lifting my feet from the ground. "Can't have any of the other losers beating me out for the title."

"So competitive," I tsk.

"Anyway, you're right across the hall, but you can sleep in our room anytime you want," he offers, referring to the triple room he shares with Remo and Nico. "We have a no-girl rule, but you're the exception, of course. Sister privileges and whatnot."

"Of course," I agree. "Sister privileges, huh? Is another one of those that my super strong and capable brothers have to help me put my fitted sheet on?"

Matteo's face twists. "Ask Armani, I don't do housework. These hands were made for destruction and chaos, not sorting your frilly bed sheets."

"Frilly bed sheets," I mock, echoing his tone. "You sound like a frat boy."

"You don't know what a frat boy sounds like," he argues.

"I can guess," I shoot back, rolling my eyes. "You're telling me you've never made your bed? Don't tell me you make Martha do it?"

He harrumphs. "Martha would never touch my bed. I've made it under duress before, but I don't make a habit of it. Why should I waste precious minutes breaking a sweat to give my bed an outfit?"

Give his bed an outfit?Matteo can make anything sound ridiculous. Even the most normal things, like keeping a neat bed.

"You ever think that you like hanging out in my room so much because it's clean and taken care of?" I challenge, lifting an eyebrow.

"What an odd thing to think," he replies seriously. "I didn't hang out in there before you came, did I?"

"Well—"

"I like hanging out in your room because my best friend lives there," Matteo informs me sweetly. "Seems like that'd be obvious."

"Did you just turn your aversion to making beds into somehow complimenting me?" I can't help but laugh. "You have a way with words, brother. A way with words."

"Done," Armani says, scaring the breath out of me.

I hold my racing heart, turning around to find that he's made my whole bed. I wouldn't have been able to get my sheet on, let alone all of my bedding, as fast or as quiet as he just has. He's like an athletic, tattooed magician.

"You didn't have to do that," I say, heart warm with appreciation. "Thank you, Armani."

"S'no big deal." He shrugs. "I'd offer to do your wardrobe but?—"

"No need to offer," I interrupt. "I prefer there be zero possibility of you seeing my underwear." Back home, Armani filled my entire closet with clothes, but I made it clear that bras and panties were my responsibility. I did not need someone to pick those out for me, let alone my brother.

Armani didn't have a problem with this, but he did make himself the director of everything I wear. He consulted me, of course, before just buying whatever he liked. He sat me down five days into living with them and asked me question after question whilst having me touch-test different fabrics. He really is the fashion guru that Matteo and Dad lead me to believe, that's for sure.

When he asked me if there was a style I favored, I shyly asked if he'd ever seen Coyote Ugly. It's one of the only movies Kim had on DVD. Anytime she went out of town or away for the night, I was safe to pop it on the TV after 8 p.m. when the electricity switched into free mode.

I'd probably seen it a hundred times, and the girl's outfits always stuck with me. I'm not a leather girl, but the other 2ooos era elements were fun to imagine on myself. And if the main character of the movie could afford it while struggling, I figured there could be a day when I could afford it, too.

Armani looked affronted by the "messy y2k" look I favored but didn't expect me to pick something else. Instead, he asked more pointed questions to narrow down what I liked and what I loved. Now my closet at home is stuffed full of girly Coyote Ugly style outfits. Turns out, I really freaking like pink. It's so pleasing to the eyes.

Most of what I wear is also a bit more modest than the girls in the movie. My cropped tops aren't quite as cropped, and my dresses and skirts aren't as hemmed either. Somewhat because of Armani being the one to source everything—protective as he is—but also because I get cold easily. I like the feel of clothes and how they sit on my body, so I'll never shake my head at some extra fabric.

My fashion-snob of a brother considered my need for comfort when curating my home clothes. Oversized sweaters and soft pants with slippers are a must on a day when you don't have to leave the house. Not that Armani would ever be caught dead in some of the basics he got me, which only makes the thought more meaningful.

Matteo, though, Matteo lives in sweatpants. Being at Empire, I think I'll see him wearing more shirts than I did collectively all these past months at home. The man is a space heater, I swear. Sometimes he'll touch my arm or something casual in passing, and it's like a hot stone hitting ice.

"Hate to break it to you, sis, but I see your underwear like once a week when I help Martha fold clothes." Matteo chuckles like I'm silly.

I grimace, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You just said you don't do housework or make your bed, but you help Martha fold laundry?"

"That's not housework," he argues, affronted. "That's just my bonding time with Martha. She won't talk to me unless she's getting work done, and I'm not a total dick. If I'm going to chat with her, I'm not going to watch her work alone."

How can he be so wholesome and so unhinged at the same time? Wonders will never cease.

"We'll show you my room tomorrow morning," Armani cuts in, changing the topic. "Unless you want to come with us tonight?"

"No thanks," I snort.

The boys will all be helping Armani get set up in his classroom—if you can call a gun range a classroom. I would so rather eat rocks than help Armani clean rifles ever again. Being taught once by him was one too many times. The man is a perfectionist when it comes to weapon safety, cleanliness, and handling. I'm pretty sure I made him cringe more on that day than he's cringed throughout his entire life.

I will take an early night of sleep over gun cleaning any day of the week.

"Oh, I see how it is," Matteo teases. "Leaving all the grunt work for us while you paint your nails and braid your hair."

"My nails are already painted," I tell him, flashing the light blue painted tips at him. "You did it, remember? Pretty sure the last time my hair was braided, you did that too." I'm not sure why I say it like that, because I'm not just pretty sure, I'm certain.

No one ever taught me to do it, and when he caught me trying to learn with a YouTube tutorial on my phone, he brought in strips of leather and showed me how to practice. Once he showed me with the leather, he showed me with my actual hair. I didn't take them out for three days since they meant so much to me, and I haven't tried to recreate them since.

He huffs. "Well, you could invite me to stay and do it again. Armani might let me off the hook if you give him that pleading look you hav?—"

"Nope," Armani interrupts, heading for the door. "You're not getting out of shit. I'm checking on Remo and Nico. Get Jade settled and meet us over there; we'll go to dinner together."

Matteo groans, throwing his head back. "Fine, Father. We'll meet you there, but you forgot to remind me to lock her door. You're off your game."

"You'd never forget to lock her door," he calls back, already out of the room.

"What a jerk," Matteo sighs. "Alright, let's get you ready."

I hide a laugh, biting my lip. "Cardigan or no cardigan?"

"No cardigan," he answers immediately. "Dining halls are heated, and if you get cold, it'll give me an opportunity to take this stupid fucking shirt off."

I don't remind him that he hasn't ever needed an excuse to go shirtless before because I refuse to give this man any ideas.

"Sounds like a plan," I say instead.

Full of juice from Armani's pestering, I use the bathroom quickly and then let Matteo pull me into the hall, ready to tackle my first dinner here like a pro.