Page 44 of Malevolent King

5 years ago

Prom Night

“Ican’t believe I’m sitting next to a real live prom queen,” Chiara cackled, leaning into me and knocking me to the side.

We were standing at the bar in an exclusive New York hotel, where the all-girls St. Teresa’s School and the all boys Francis Prep were hosting a joint prom.

I’d done it. Graduated high school. The sash felt tight around my chest. I fingered the satin fabric. No one had been more surprised than me to be crowned prom queen, but maybe that was dumb. After all, at St. Teresa’s, your father’s last name was the best indicator of popularity. Like Antonio De Sanctis would care that his daughter had been crowned prom queen. That wouldn’t buy anyone any favors, but then, most kids expected their parents to love them in some capacity. It was an expectation I’d given up long ago.

Antonio had nearly refused to let me attend. In the end, I’d begged to go. Thanks to my idiot cousin, the last traditional experience of high school had nearly been taken away from me. Last week, Silvio had been taken to the hospital when he’d gotten involved in some De Sanctis family business and lost a hand in the process. I’d believed the official line that it had happened thanks to a violent altercation with a rival family in Philadelphia until a few days ago. A special delivery box had appeared inside my locker at school. A small, shiny, gift-wrapped box.

I’d opened it, stupidly eager to get a surprise present, until the paper peeled back.

Silvio’s severed hand had been laid neatly on tissue paper.

Once I recovered from the shock, I’d chucked the box in the trash on a random street corner. If I’d told my father, he would respond to the perceived threat by keeping me locked inside Casa Nera forever, and I didn’t want that to happen so close to prom and graduation. It was crazy to keep it a secret, but I couldn’t seem to confess to anyone. I knew exactly who was psycho enough to arrange the hand on pink tissue so prettily. The truth was, in the darkest and most twisted part of me, I enjoyed being the center of someone’s attention for once in my life.

Chiara pressed a drink into my hand, a sickly-sweet fruit punch provided by the hotel.

I smoothed my dress, making sure that Chiara’s drunken exuberance hadn’t caused any unsightly bulges. Usually, I wouldn’t care, but tonight, I had something special on under my dress. I was all too aware of my garter and the blade pressed against my inner thigh. Yeah,it was crazy to bring a knife to prom, but then it was crazy to attend prom in the first place when there was a verified psychopath hunting you, a butcher who was capable of severing someone’s hand.

Maybe Niko wasn’t the only crazy one.

Our escorts were kids of other De Sanctis made men. My escort was Luca, an old acquaintance but not someone I knew particularly well. He was the right age and terrified enough of his father to behave, so he met Antonio’s requirements.

“Hey, the guys want to go to the after-party, are you in?” Luca appeared beside me, throwing a sloppy arm over my shoulders. I staggered under his weight.

“What about the dance?” I asked dutifully.

I glanced at Angelo, who was standing against a wall covered in twinkle lights, looking like the world’s most unimpressed pillar. The only sign he gave of being awake was the odd blink of his eyes.

“Fuck the dance. I heard the real party is upstairs.” Luca leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Room six-six-six.”

Sure, the dance was dull, but it was a prom. Smoke machine and a cheesy DJ, sweet punch and paper decorations. It was what prom was in the movies, and I didn’t have much normalcy in my life. It looked like I was the only one who felt that way.

Chiara bounced with excitement. “I’m in! Let’s go.”

“What about Angelo?” I wondered as my shadow caught up with us halfway down the shiny, marble hall.

Chiara’s date, Matteo, peeled himself off the wall and joined us, though Chiara didn’t give him a second glance. Her attention was on Angelo.

She turned, walking backward to take in the towering hunk of muscle and stoicism.“He can come with. Maybe a drink or two at the after-party will loosen him up a bit?”

Angelo’s eyes flickered to Chiara’s and away. I swear his neck turned a little red at her outrageous flirting.

“Come on, Sofia, what’s the worst that could happen?” Luca prodded me with an elbow before laying his arm over my shoulders.

Considering he had barely said two words to me all evening, it was a surprise. His breath smelled like vodka, and he was slurring slightly as he leaned on me. We got into the elevator, and Chiara pressed the button for level six before stepping closer to Matteo. He responded by tugging her against his chest and wrapping wandering hands around her middle. Chiara stared at Angelo, a smile playing on her lips.

I concentrated on subtly shifting Luca’s heavy arm from my shoulders without him noticing.

The elevator pinged, and we got out on the sixth floor. A beat of bass vibrated the floor as we walked toward the room at the very end.

“You know, I’ve heard of rooms in this hotel that are reserved for parties, rock stars rent them and shit. They are full of furniture you can break and extra soundproofed,” Luca said as we approached the door.

“Really? Which rock stars?” Chiara asked as she tried the door.

It opened under her knock after a moment, and the music hit up full blast.

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