Page 84 of Kingmakers, Year Two

“Why do I get the feeling there’s trouble involved,” my mother says.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you never do anything the easy way, Miles. You never want the simple thing. You love the challenge.”

I can hear my mother’s exasperation mixed with something else. Something like understanding. And maybe even pride.

“Yeah? Where do you think I get that from?”

“You’d do better to take after your father instead of me.”

“That isn’t true, Mom,” I say quietly. “I admire you. You know that, don’t you? No one has a fire like you. No one loves harder. No one will go further to get what they want.”

She swallows, her throat making a clicking sound.

“Thank you, baby,” she says. “That means a lot to me. You’re my firstborn, and I’m so fucking proud of you. I sometimes worried that you wouldn’t ever experience what your father and I have. Not everyone does. Not everyone wants to.”

“Where’s the ‘but?’ ” I say.

“No ‘but.’ Just be careful, baby. You’re coming into the real world now. Real stakes. Real consequences. Love makes you desperate. It makes you risk . . . everything.”

“It’s worth it, though. You can’t tell me it isn’t.”

“It’s worth any price. But it’s not always you that pays the price, Miles. Remember that. Remember what happened to your Grandpa Enzo.”

I know the story as well as the people present at that fateful wedding. Leo’s father Sebastian married Yelena Yenina, daughter of a Bratva boss, despite the fact that their families were mortal enemies, engaged in a bloody battle over territory.

As soon as the vows were said, Alexei Yenin tried to slaughter my family. He shot Uncle Nero and Uncle Dante. And he gunned down my grandfather, riddling him with so many bullets that he had to be identified by his watch.

I should have been at that wedding myself, a baby in my mother’s arms. She and my father were only excluded because the Bratva feared retribution from the Irish mafia. I could have been a casualty of someone else’s love.

I hear my mother, and I understand her.

But nothing can stray me from my course.

I won’t give up Zoe.

I can’t.

I want her, or nothing at all.

15

CAT

The second challenge in theQuartum Bellumwill be much more pleasant than the first, because I get to be a spectator instead of a participant.

It’s the perfect event to watch: an MMA tournament, with three champions chosen from the Sophomores and Seniors, and only two from the Juniors as punishment for finishing third in the obstacle course. The spectators get to sit on outdoor bleachers erected around a large canvas-floored ring.

I watch Leo agonize over which three fighters to put forward for the Sophomores. The obvious choice is Dean Yenin. To Leo’s credit, he admits that at once, making the request of Dean during lunch hour in the dining hall.

Leo intercepts Dean as he carries his tray to his usual table stuffed with Bratva and Dutch Penose. I’m sitting close enoughto hear them talk, and close enough to see how Dean bristles up the moment Leo approaches, expecting conflict instead of conversation.

“I’m picking the fighters for theQuartum Bellum,” Leo says without preamble. “I thought you should represent us.”

Dean narrows his eyes at Leo, looking more offended than flattered. “Obviously,” he says.

I’ve never heard Dean speak before. I’m surprised how low his voice is, since his face is almost pretty. That’s a strange thing to say about someone who looks mean enough to drop-kick a puppy, but it’s true—Dean Yenin may have bruised, bloody knuckles and a perpetual scowl, but those features are paired with long lashes, violet-colored eyes, and full lips.

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