Page 1 of Vicious Games

Prologue

Luciano

“Suspension? Again?” My mother echoes Sister Margaretta’s warning, her voice taut with frustration. “That would be their second this school year—and it’s only October!”

“What can we say? The twins have been quite busy, Mrs. Romano,” Sister Agnes explains with a coy smile, standing behind the no-nonsense Mother Superior and our school’s headmistress, Sister Margaretta. “It seems they wanted to start their senior year off with a bang.”

“I’m starting to see that,” Mom mutters, leveling a disapproving glare at Enzo and me.

Shit.

I hate it when she looks at us like that.

Compared to the nuns, Mom usually has the patience of a saint, but that displeased frown ingrained on her face says that she’s become fed up with our shenanigans. She looks drained from having to make yet another trip to Sacred Heart, where she knows she’ll be forced to sit through Sister Margaretta’s lectures and witness the nun eager to dole out her punishment for our so-called disobedience.

“Come now, Sister Margaretta,” Mom sighs, attempting to defend us. “Whatever Luciano and Enzo did, it couldn’t be bad enough to warrant another suspension. Usually, their pranks are harmless fun.”

Sister Margaretta leans forward on her desk, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Mrs. Romano, take a good look at Sister Agnes. Do you notice anything… different?”

Mom’s forehead creases as she studies the nun. Sister Agnes’s habit is visibly smaller—shrunken down several sizes, hugging her form in a completely inappropriate way for a nun. A stark contrast to the loose, baggy habits they all wear.

“My apologies, Mother Superior, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be noticing,” Mom says with a pleasant smile, feigning ignorance.

“Sister,” the headmistress grits out. “Please show Mrs. Romano the rest.”

Sister Agnes’s cheeks pink with embarrassment as she follows Sister Margaretta’s order and turns around.

Printed across her backside, in bold, unmistakable sparkly letters, are the words ‘JESUS WEPT.’

“Oh, dear God.” Mom inhales sharply, bowing her head and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“It’s not just Sister Agnes,” Sister Margaretta continues with a deep-rooted scowl. “Every nun at Sacred Heart has had their habit… customized. I have no idea how your boys managed to sneak into the convent next door, but this will be the last time they ever pull a stunt like this. Is that understood?” She stares at both Enzo and me with a smiting glower.

A moment of silence lingers before our dad, Gio, finally speaks for the first time since the start of this whole godforsaken meeting.

“Pardon me, Mother Superior, but I have a question I’d like to pose.”

Sister Margaretta’s less-than-patient gaze snaps at him. “What is it, Mr. DeLuca?”

“How do you know it was Luciano and Enzo that did this?” His voice is calm, but his expression is stone-faced and all business.

“Are you suggesting another student would dare do this? Dare make a mockery of something as sacred as a nun’s habit?” Her eyes widen slightly.

“I’m asking what proof you have that it was them.”

A deep flush creeps up Sister Margaretta’s face at the insinuation that we could be blameless in all of this.

“I might not have concrete proof, but their history speaks for itself,” she says, straightening her spine as if preparing to present her case by running down the long list of offenses that Enzo and I have committed. “Let me remind you of the twins’ wrongdoings just this year alone. In the first week of school, they thought it would be amusing to replace the holy water with baby oil. As if that weren’t enough, they strolled through the hallways with fake blood smeared on their palms and foreheads, pretending to experience the stigmata. Then, there was Communion Day, when they swapped Father McDonagh’s wine with vodka and cranberry juice. And let’s not forget when they were suspended just two weeks ago for somehow making the Virgin Mary fountain statue at the school’s entrance cry tears of blood.”

“I still say it was a miracle,” Enzo snickers beside me, his voice barely above a whisper.

I bite the inside of my cheek, struggling to keep my laughter in check while Sister Margaretta persists in listing all our recent pranks.

“I could go on,” Sister Margaretta continues, “but I don’t think I need to. Given their past extracurricular activities, do you honestly believe the twins didn’t do this?”

Dad leans back in his chair, a slow, amused grin stretching onto his face.

“They may very well have done all of that and more, but you still haven’t answered my question. If you intend to suspend the boys, you need proof. Without it, you can’t punish them. It’s as simple as that. And if you had such proof, you would have opened with that.”

---