12. Chapter 12

Jade

Ilearn two things from Colton Wyatt's presence during dinner. One, he is also firmly on team gay cowboys. And two, there's a party tonight that my brothers won't be attending, but Dmitri might be. According to Colton, everyone but my "lame-ass brothers" always go, and it's a pretty big tradition. So the facts seem to point in my favor. I mean, what's the harm in checking?

Sneaking out on my first night here is probably the most insane thing I could possibly do. That fact doesn't keep me in my bed, though. I should be safely tucked in and snoozing by this hour, but I'm creeping around in the dark to leave without being caught. I wonder if I can pretend to be sleepwalking if I run into one of my brothers.

God, this is so stupid, but I also don't think I care. I have this deep feeling in the pit of my stomach that says I have to go. It's like I'm being drawn there by a siren or some kind of mythical pull.

It's a bit paranoid to assume I might be caught by one of my brother's when they left over twenty minutes ago for Armani's work building. It's at least an eight-minute walk from my room and in the opposite direction of the party location—which isn't a far walk at all. In fact, as soon as I get out of my building and turn toward the back forest, I see it. It would be impossible to miss.

Flashing white lights and thumping music make the place glow. I'm grateful for it, the signs of a lively party are like arrows pointing exactly where I need to go. Walking alone on this woodsy island at night has me looking over my shoulder every few hurried steps, jumping slightly at every sound. When I creeped out of my room and out of the building, I forgot that I have a bit of a scaredy-cat streak going.

So glad I decided to wear my wool-lined black tights under my skirt and my boots instead of sneakers, I tuck my hands into my cardigan pockets and continue to get closer. The light snapping of feet crushing twigs and the cold scent of pine surround me. A few people pass by, but no one says a word as I keep my eyes averted.

Upon arriving at Empire, there was a very small part of me worried that my dad or Apollo might have hired someone to watch me whenever my brothers aren't around, and so far, that's proving to be a ridiculous notion.

If it were a reconnaissance-style job, I would feel eyes on me—like a haunting sixth sense. But I don't feel like I'm being watched at all. And the only other sort of guarding I know about would have me back in my room in a second flat. Some big guy would carefully pick me up, put me over his shoulder, and report to Armani. My feet are on the ground, so I think that I'm all good in that department. Especially because I've arrived.

A white house sits in the middle of a plot of land, huge trees carved out around the space. There are bodies everywhere, and most of them are touching. Couples kiss and grind, ignoring the lack of privacy in favor of feeding their lust. The smell of the forest fades, becoming saturated by the combination of alcohol, cigarettes, and other people.

I stop for a minute to gawk at the place.

A house party, I'm getting the full college experience after all.

Refusing to stand out like a sore thumb, I follow a few people inside, keeping my head down to avoid any unwanted attention. The music is louder when I cross the threshold into the house, but not so much that I can't hear myself think. More bodies twirl and tangle around each other in hidden corners, passionate touches being exchanged with little care for prying eyes.

I take a minute to settle in, finding a not-so-crowded place to stand. It's a living room, but it's gutted. Only what looks like spare furniture is sporadically placed around, every bit of it already occupied. Standing it is.

I'm considering looking around the building some more when an argument pricks at my ears. Two girls bicker openly, each of them with other women who seemingly have their backs at their sides.

"You're delusional, Clara. No one cares as much about you as you do."

"Jealous much, Stone?"

I don't immediately recognize either of them, likely because of the lighting. Also, it's a bit difficult to decipher new faces while they're pinched with angry expressions.

"I'd be the delusional one if I were jealous of you. You have nothing I want and certainly nothing that I can't get for myself. I don't understand why you act like this. This is Empire, not a sorority house. There's no supreme head girl, no matter how badly you wish there was."

Clara fumes, fisting the side of her hips as the apples of her cheeks burn bright. "We all know that I'm the queen of this campus, and nothing can change that."

The other girl scoffs. Her name is Gabbie Stone, I'm pretty sure. "She'll take that title from you pretty fucking fast." She nods to me, eyeing me up and down as she does.

Holy shit, she's nodding at me.

"What?" I blurt out, thinking I must have misheard her.

"Her? You're kidding."

"She's a Moretti," Gabbie replies simply. "And that makes you a couple hundred million and nine hot brothers away from touching her level."

Nine hot brothers, gross.

But I'm not sure why Gabbie would be hyping me up in this way. She's the heir to The Lost Reapers, an American motorcycle gang. She's on my not-a-threat list, but I hardly thought she would speak about me like we're familiar.

The woman is gorgeous. Before, I'd only caught a glimpse of her face. Now I can see that she has thick, shiny black hair cut off at her chest, and light skin but dark eyes. She's Hispanic, if I remember correctly. Both the cowboys and the biker gang have a large number of Spanish speakers. Not to mention The Guards, all of whom speak at least three languages, Spanish being most of their firsts. It's a good language to learn, with a large portion of Americans knowing how.

If I wasn't so dead set on studying Italian to speak with my family, I'd want to try Spanish for sure. I already know a fair bit of Italian from Martha's cooking lessons and listening to guards speak around the house.

After this semester, though, Dad says he'll arrange for an Italian tutor if I really want to learn. Matteo found the offer to be insulting until Dad reminded him how impatient when teaching he is, so if he wanted to be the one to help me, he'd need to work on that. A tutor seems like what I'll be getting.

Gabbie could be a possible friend, but I'm wary. Without asking, she's drawing attention to me, and from the looks of it, it's not good attention. I don't want to fight with someone over being queen of campus. Especially not someone who looks at me the way this one is; like I'm dirt beneath her boots.

Clara Bell is also an heir, but to The Doves, a gang exclusive to Australian women who are killers for hire. Only according to my brothers, Clara is twenty and hasn't taken a life. The rumor is that she was sent here to toughen up, but it looks like she has more interest in being a queen than an executioner.

"What the fuck are you on? A Moretti? Yeah, right."

"I'm a Moretti," I speak up, feeling embarrassed for staying quiet while they fight about me in front of me. "Dante Moretti is my dad."

The mean one's eyes roll. "Sure he is."

"You were the girl sitting with Matteo at dinner," the girl next to her muses. I have no idea what her name is. She's probably one of The Doves, too. "He had an arm around you."

Nervously, I nod. "Yes, well, Colton walked up, and he felt the need to make a statement, I suppose. My brothers are very protective."

"I bet," Gabbie chimes back in, giving Clara a killer smirk. Wow, her teeth are like movie-star perfect. "You're the talk of the town, princess. Your name is getting more buzz than anyone else's, that's for sure."

I swallow hard. "I don't really think?—"

"You know, if you really think so, there's a game for that sort of thing," Clara muses, lifting a brow and tilting her head.

Gabbie sniffs dismissively. "It's a stupid game and literally means nothing to anyone. You're the only person who cares about it."

"Not true," Clara disagrees, folding her arms. "It only means nothing to people who are too scared to play it."

Too scared? What kind of party game is scary?

"You're not scared, are you?" Clara asks, eyes narrowing on me.

"I'm not really here to play a game," I respond evenly.

Clara sighs. "All you have to do is find a guy to pose within, say, ten minutes. I have to do the same. Whoever looks the hottest with their guy wins and will forever be known as the queen of campus. I've won the two years I've been here."

It's a challenge to look sexy? That's what determines superiority for us? Well, that's a bit of a bummer.

"I really don't care about being queen of anything," I confess. "It feels kind of pointless. Why should we fight over an imagery title?"

"Does it feel pointless, or does it feel like you can't win?"

My god, what is it about these mafia kids and being so damn competitive. Can't we all chill out for a second? If this is what parties are like, I'm with Matteo; they suck.

I could go back to my room right now. A hot shower and some warm pajamas with a movie would put me right to sleep. I could even go into the boy's room and wait for them to come back. All of that sounds so much more tempting than this little game.

But I haven't even had a chance to look for Dmitri yet, so it looks like I'm staying. I'll do this quick, silly competition and be on my way to look for him. I don't care if I lose. What Gabbie said is true. I don't need to prove myself, my family has already done that for me.

"The only rule is you can't touch skin. It'd be too easy that way. You could just let him eat you out or something," Clara clarifies, and I blanch.

"I wouldn't do that," I insist, feeling the need to make that clear. I couldn't imagine the first time I let someone touch me being for a game, let alone a game with an audience.

"Well, aren't you Little Miss Innocence," Clara drawls, boredly checking her nails. "If we didn't know about you until now, I assume that means you grew up without your dad. And if you didn't know you were a part of this world, then there's no way you made it through regular high school without doing something daddy wouldn't approve of."

She's so off base it's painful.

"Have a lot of experience with public school, do you?" I ask tightly. "You know it's not like the movies, right? It's very normal to abstain."

"Abstain," she mocks, chuckling. "God, if I had known I was challenging a virgin, I might not have even bothered. This will be too easy."

My cheeks are flaming, and I hope the party lights are helping to hide that. "Being a virgin isn't a bad thing," I defend, unwilling to pretend to be something I'm not.

"Clara, don't be dense," Gabbie snipes. "You know you just made her hotter to, like, more than half of the guys here, right? There's nothing a made man likes more than being the only one to ever touch his wife. They quite literally pay for it."

"And then they get mistresses to fuck them because their frigid wife can't suck cock like they're used to," she argues, smirking.

"That's when you step in then, huh?"

Okay, can we stop talking about this now?The pointless conflict is giving me a tummy ache.

"Who decides who wins?" I cut in, willing to play if only to make all this end.

Clara lifts her chin, nodding to a group of guys not far away. "Colton, Javi, and Cole can judge." She doesn't ask them, just assumes they'll agree.

Colton Wyatt, Javier Cabrera, and Cole Knight. None of them are my family's enemies, so I can't exactly object on the basis of bias. If anything, she may have just given me a leg up. Colton is friends with my brothers. Javier, or Javi—not sure which he prefers—is a guard, and The Outfit is on great terms with the Spanish business. Cole Knight is one of Ana's step-brothers. As a member of The Kings, he's also on great terms with the Morettis.

However, these three might have been good options to pick as my partner if she hadn't chosen them as judges. I imagine that was her thinking. Judges that favor me won't help if I can't muster up the ability to ask someone else to play with me. I have to be careful about who I talk to and who I trust. It seems that she's smart enough to recognize that. Her biggest advantage here is experience. She knows people, and I don't.

"Good luck," she taunts with pity. "I'm sure you'll do great."

I seriously do not like this girl.

Helplessly, I watch as Clara flags the guys over to us. Not knowing how to act, I remain still, looking lost while she explains the game and the terms. Once they agree to be our judges, Javier sets a timer on his watch, and she turns, assessing the party to decide who she wants.

I sort of freeze, not running off right away.

Colton leaves the side of his friends and comes closer, nodding down at me. "You alright?" he checks in, looking like he might help me flee if I requested it.

Lifting my chin, I ask, "Any chance you've seen Dmitri tonight? Or Ivan?"

He arches a sculpted brow, lips spreading into a lopsided grin. "Russians, huh?"

"Hey!" I hear my competitor shout. "No help from the judges."

Colton answers her before I can. "Lay off, Bell. We're chatting about perfume."

"You're such a liar," she huffs.

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, he flashes a smirk. "Sorry that Jade smells like I could lick her and taste ice cream. A man could get used to that sort of thing."

I hold a hand over my mouth to hide a laugh, and she stomps off. If my existence alone is enough for her to dislike me, that's on her. She can compete with herself because I want nothing to do with whatever psychological game she's trying to play.

I won't fight her for status, but I'm sure as hell not going to let her think that she's making me give up. Morettis aren't quitters, even in silly little challenges. If she wants to win, I won't make it easier for her because she's mean to me.

"Run along, littlest Moretti," Colton encourages. Lower, he tells me. "I'll be watching, so don't be scared. Armani would kill me if I let anything happen to you."

My heart warms, heat radiating from the center of my chest to my lungs. I can see why my family didn't hire anyone. Friendship means something in this world. Colton just met me today, he wasn't even given a heads-up about me, in fact. And the man is already telling me that he has my back.

"Thank you," I say quietly in return. "It means a lot."

He nods, his kind eyes flashing.

Unfortunately, I find out pretty quickly that I don't know enough faces here. And the people I do recognize, I'm not supposed to approach. There's Thiago Oliveria, Heir to The Spies. A nice guy, according to Matteo, but not to be trusted. You can't trust spies unless you're paying them. This honestly has me considering paying him to be my partner, but it would be mega embarrassing to be turned down while offering money.

Ares Gabris is here too. I recognize him, thinking that Matteo must have pointed him out earlier, but don't think he's a good option either. The man is betrothed, and though I don't know his fiancée or their relationship, I couldn't do that.

And then there's Dustin Wyatt, Colton's younger brother. I'd approach him if he didn't look like he'd rather be anywhere else. He's in his own little world in the corner of the living room, taking in slow drags of a cigarette. Familiar with the hope of being invisible before, I shake my head and leave him be. He might agree to help me just to be nice, and that would feel worse than losing.

It's beginning to look like Miss Rude-For-No-Reason is going to win. I can't crush her spirit without anyone to participate with me.

"Come on," I mumble under my breath. "Somebody help a girl out."

It's a private request, not made for anyone else's ears. But someone hears.

"I will do it for you." The offer sends chills up my back, prickling at the hair on my neck.

"Mystery man," I breathe, looking up to find that gorgeous face. "You're here."