Page 8 of Prince of Malice

“Sorry I’m late. Slept in,” he calls out to Professor Bressler in an overly casual tone.

“Just take a seat, Mr. Morganelli, and don’t interrupt us any further,” he responds with a sigh.

I look over and see the man who makes me only the second-worst student in the room: Angelo Morganelli. He shuffles down the row of seats beside me, getting in the way of every person until he finally plants himself beside me.

“What did I miss?” he asks, as if I’d know.

“A lot, but even though I’m sitting here, I think we know just as much.”

He chuckles loudly, earning another scowl from the professor.

“You doing okay, man? You look all weird.” He eyes me up and down, and I didn’t realize I was making it so obvious.

“Yeah, I’m all good. Don’t worry. Just had the wedding yesterday, and it went about as well as I’d expected.” I just want to be able to stop thinking about it, but everything—and now everyone—seems to be reminding me.

“That bad, huh? What actually happened?” He kicks back in his seat, not even pretending to be paying attention like I am.

“Got in a fight with my new stepbrother.” My teeth grit all on their own. Just the thought of him makes my entire body tighten. “I don’t want to get into all of it again, though.”

“Alright, well, what if I told you that the Alpha Sigs are throwing a party tonight?”

“Those assholes?” I groan, the Alpha Sigs have a reputation of being way too over the top. Their ranks are made exclusively of rich legacy admissions who are too embarrassed by their cushy upbringing to show their privilege and instead decide to project masculinity and aggression to make them looktough. “They always start fights. I don’t think I can put up with that tonight.”

“Come on! The first party of sophomore year—you just know it’ll be crazy. Plus, if someone does start a fight with you, maybe it’ll be a good outlet for all that aggression.”

While his poking me in the ribs is a bit too far, he’s making some good points. I had been hoping for a party soon, and maybe Angelo’s right. I can let loose with the Alpha Sigs, no holds barred.

My dick certainly needs some action.

“Fine,” I whisper to him, his involuntary gasp in response garnering more unwanted attention. “But if things get out of hand, I’m leaving.”

“I look forward to it.” He smirks, leaving me even more cautious of the night ahead.

Maybe tonight will go the way I had wanted the reception to. I can drink, get off with some guy or girl—or hell maybe even both—and hopefully, I can put all of this wedding and Luca drama behind me. Then again, there I go thinking about him.

Even just walking through the gates and heading up the driveway, I can hear the thumping bass escaping the frat house walls. The flashing lights gleam through the windows, and the cheers and yells of the partygoers call out to me like a lighthouse guiding a ship to port. This is going to be fun.

Getting inside the house, I am quickly enveloped by the hot air and high energy, all of it washing over me in one go and embracing me, and I can feel the tension leave my body already.

Soon enough, I spot my first pit stop of the night: the liquor table, a poorly constructed fold-out bench with every bottle of cheap and expensive alcohol that was either purchased or lifted under the oblivious nose of every liquor store owner in a five-mile radius. Quickly throwing together my drink of choice with whatever’s got the highest alcohol percentage, I relax my body, lean back against the wall, and start scouting for someone interesting to talk to.

Soon enough, I spot someone. I think he’s in my class, but I can’t quite place his name. Either way this goes, I have little to lose. I take a strong swig of my drink, feelingthe warmth of the alcohol run through my body, loosening up my muscles.

Striding toward him, he takes notice of my approach as I get close and resets his posture. Luca did something similar at the wedding.

“Fuck,” I growl to myself.

“Sorry?” “That drink was a lot stronger than I thought.” I try to laugh it off. “You’re in my class, right? Financial management with Bressler?”

“That’s right.” He leans toward me. “That drink must be strong since we’ve talked before, you know.”

“Oh right. So strong that I can’t actually remember your name at the moment.” I take another sip and overdo a wince.

He chuckles. “You’re being serious, aren’t you? It’s Darius.”

“I knew it started with a D,” I lie. “I’m Dominic, just in case you also forgot.”

“Don’t worry. I know who you are, Dominic Rossi,” He pronounces every syllable of my name in a way that sings to my ear. “Now tell me, why such a pour? Bad day?”

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