Page 17 of Kingmakers, Year Four

I can’t believe she’s quoting the school motto at him.

I’m starting to think shewantsto get us kicked out.

Well, whatever happens, I have to stand by Sabrina like she stood by me.

“We’re extremely sorry,” I say to the Chancellor. “Bothof us. I can promise you, it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, that is a near-certainty,” the Chancellor says coolly.

Shit. That doesn’t sound good.

Sabrina bites the edge of her full lip, obviously hearing the same note of impending doom. Throwing all caution to the wind, she cries, “You would have done the same thing!”

The Chancellor slowly turns to face her, his expression both threatening and mildly surprised at the sheer audacity of this girl.

Sabrina persists, knowing that it’s all-or-nothing in this moment.

“You’d never let someone slander the Hugo name! We’re mafia—we follow no law but our own. All we have is our word and our honor.If we don’t defend it, if we don’t show it matters to us . . . then no one would trust us. No business could be done.”

Sabrina’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes as electric as storm clouds. She refuses to drop the Chancellor’s dark stare.

I keep my mouth shut, knowing better than to interrupt their battle of wills.

“Sabrina Gallo . . .” the Chancellor says softly. “Cousin to Leo Gallo and Miles Griffin.”

“That’s right,” Sabrina says, chin up-tilted.

“I’m beginning to regret extending admission to any of your family,” he says.

“This is not a school for the meek and submissive,” Sabrina says.

“No,” the Chancellor agrees. “But itisa school, and youwillfollow my rules while you are here. Or you will reap the consequences. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Sabrina says.

“Absolutely.” I nod.

“Good,” he says. And then, his black eyes fixing on me. “You can start with your uniform.”

“Sorry,” I say, face as scarlet as my hair. “I didn’t know we were supposed to wear it on the way over . . .”

Hugo ignores this.

“Get to your dorms,” he says. “And hope that we have no more occasion for conversation.”

He turns back to his papers, dismissing us.

Sabrina and I hurry out of his office, limp with relief.

As soon as the doors close behind us, I say, “Fucking hell, girl. I don’t know how you had the balls to talk to him like that. And I thought my dad was scary . . .”

A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth.

“There’s two kinds of men in the world,” she says. “The kind who want to hurt you . . . and the kind who want to be persuaded by you.”

I gaze at Sabrina with an entirely new level of admiration. This girl’s eighteen years old, and she can bend Luther Hugo around her finger . . .

“Teach me your ways,” I say, breathless and awed.

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