Devious Vow: Chapter 4

Ten years ago:

“We think you’d be a great addition to The Order, Eloise.”

My cheeks flush hotly as Ansel’s dark blue eyes hold mine. The senior, who towers over me, grins a charming, dazzlingly white smile. Before I realize it, he’s reaching out and putting a hand on my arm.

I shiver when his strong fingers touch the bare skin above my elbow, just below the cuff of my short-sleeved shirt.

“I think you’d be a great addition, too.”

Christ, he’s handsome. As if I needed any confirmation of that opinion, the girls behind me giggle amongst themselves as I simmer under Ansel’s gaze.

“You’ll come to the informational meeting for prospective new members next week?”

“I—”

“She’ll be there,” Demi blurts from behind me.

Ansel’s eyes stay on mine another second. “Yes?” he nods.

“Yes,” I reply, nodding right along with him. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

He winks. “I’m glad to hear it. See you soon, Eloise.”

When he’s gone, I slowly turn, grinning from ear-to-ear as the other girls explode into fits of giggles.

“Oh my God, E,” Christina squeals. “He is so fucking hot.”

“And he so wants to bang you,” Demi snickers.

I blush deeply, rolling my eyes. “He just wants me in The Order. I mean, it’s initiation time, and he wants me on the list of prospectives….”

“He wants you on his dick,” Giorgiana cackles in her musical Italian-accented voice.

“Okay, arrêtez,” I mumble, still red-faced and grinning as the four of us start walking across the stunning Knightsblood campus, full of sprawling Georgian and Jacobethan-style towers and buildings, toward our dormitory.

To the casual observer, Knightsblood is just another old-school, old-money private college tucked away on the quaint, wealthy shores of southern Connecticut, just outside New York City. In the 1800s, when it was founded, the idea was to create a “truly English” university in America for the heirs of lords, dukes, and other royally-adjacent families who were coming here from England. Those lords and dukes wanted a school to match Harvard, Yale, and Princeton for prestige, but—as if that were even possible—to make it even snootier by only admitting those of aristocratic lineage.

It’s still the school motto: “To the blood of king and crown, cross and knighthood.”

Hence, Knightsblood.

But things have changed since then. The school is still outrageously selective. But these days it caters to the heirs of a different kind of monarchy.

For instance, there’s me, the second daughter of Andre LeBlanc, head of one of the more powerful mafia families in Paris. Giorgiana’s father is head of a huge Cosa Nostra family back in Sicily. And Demi and Christina, who are cousins, come to Knightsblood by way of the Romano family in Chicago.

Even Ansel, who we were just talking to, is from the Munich-based Albrecht family, one of the biggest crime syndicates in Germany and Austria. Mafia. Bratva. Yakuza. Cosa Nostra. Cartel. Almost every student here comes from money and power and has criminal connections.

The school is often referred to as the Harvard of the underworld. But the students here snickeringly refer to as “Mafia Hogwarts”, a reference that makes even more sense once you get into the four secret student societies.

There’s The Order, which Ansel was just talking to me about joining, and which he’s the head of. There’s also Para Bellum, The Ouroboros Society, and The Reckless. Each has its own traits, and tends to attract students of similar interests during pledge week, sort of like fraternities or sororities.

“Fuck, if you get in⁠—”

“Ansel literally just asked her personally to come to the meeting” Giorgiana drawls with a roll of her eyes. “She’s in. Sorry.”

Demi, my roommate, makes a face. “I know. Which means I’m going to get reassigned to some other loser like me who didn’t get into one of the clubs.”

Roommate pairings at Knightsblood are for your entire time here. But if you get tapped during your freshman year for one of the four ultra-selective clubs, you move out of the dorms and into one of the four mansions on campus that house those clubs once you become a sophomore.

“Oh, come on, Demi,” I grin. “You could still get into one of them. Or there’s always next year?”

She gives me a dubious look. Fair: the chances of getting picked your sophomore year for a club are slim.

“The Order membership, living in their mansion, and you get to screw Ansel Albrecht all day?” Christina sighs. “Life is so unfair.”

My face heats.

Since arriving here, these are the girls I’ve really connected with. And, as college freshmen do, we frequently gab about guys—conquests, boyfriends and flings from back home, any hookups at school since we arrived.

Christina and Demi have their fair share of wild stories. Giorgiana has double the two of them combined.

I have zero stories, wild or otherwise. And I can blame my older sister, Camille—who’s also here at Knightsblood—for that. After her wild antics in high school, dad clamped down hard on me.

No parties for me. No boyfriends. No flings or hookups.

Nada. Zilch. Rien.

Not that my friends know that. I’ve spun them a few lurid tales involving “Stephan”, my incredibly handsome, loving, sexually gifted, and obviously imaginary boyfriend from high school. I think they assume I’ve had a fling here and there since starting Knightsblood, but that I’m shy about sharing that type of stuff.

If only.

We round the corner of one of the walled rose gardens that dot the campus and almost plow right into a tall, gorgeous guy with dark hair, blue eyes, and tanned Italian skin.

“Hi, Dante,” Giorgiana purrs almost immediately, batting her eyes and sticking both her ass and her tits out of alignment as she cocks a hip.

“Giorgiana,” Dante growls, almost without looking at her, not slowing as he continues on toward one of the academic buildings.

“Masterfully played,” Christina giggles.

Giorgiana pouts and waves her off. “What? Can’t hurt to try.”

Dante Sartorre, a close associate of the Barone Mafia family, is head of The Ouroboros Society. Except he doesn’t seem to be looking for any one-on-one invitational conversations, unlike Ansel.

“Nah,” Demi shrugs. “I think he’s fucking Layla Black.”

Giorgiana frowns and shakes her head. “No, I think they’re just friends. Besides, Layla is totally screwing that sketchy townie guy Jason.”

“Eww, gross.” Christina makes a face. “Isn’t he a drug dealer?”

Demi shakes her head. “Someone should tell her brothers. Gabriel would totally kick that guy’s ass.”

Giorgiana snorts. “Yeah, and then her psycho adopted brother would stab him or, like, eat his heart or something.”

Layla’s two brothers, Gabriel and Alistair Black, are the heads of two other student clubs: Para Bellum and The Reckless, respectively. I don’t really know either of them, but Gabriel’s got a reputation as a hero type, and Alistair as a little unhinged.

“Anyway, I need to run to stats class,” Christina sighs. “Catch you bitches later.”

Giorgiana laughs and flips her off. “I have to run, too.”

“Same,” Demi sighs, giving me a glum look. “Ugh, please get Ansel to invite me to the meeting next week? I mean, he clearly wants you. So, like, blow him or something? For me?”

I roll my eyes, feeling my face heat as she giggles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The three of them head toward their classes. But I’ve got a free period, so I turn and make my way to the huge, almost Medieval looking library across campus.

It’s nice out, so I take the long way through some of the rose gardens. I’m near the stables when I pause, hearing the unmistakable sound of fighting.

Fists hitting flesh. Grunts. An occasional groan of pain. Then I hear cheering that really sounds more like jeering, followed by a final fist-on-flesh sound.

Six guys emerge from behind the stables. I quickly hide in the shadows as one of them turns and spits in the direction they just came from.

“That’s for my uncle, motherfucker,” the guy snarls. “Tell your father, if he goes after him again, I’ll cut off your fucking balls.”

The six of them walk away laughing and clapping each other on the back. And then, my curiosity gets the better of me.

Slowly, I make my way around the corner of the stables. I freeze, my hand flying to my mouth when I see the man half kneeling on the ground, his back to me, his clothes torn, and his dark blonde hair disheveled.

He gets to his feet, grunting and turning to spit blood into the dirt. And it’s then that I realize who he is, though we’ve never actually met.

“Are you okay?”

He doesn’t jump or whirl. Rather, he slowly turns to face me.

A shiver creeps up my spine.

There’s something almost insidiously beautiful about Alistair Black. The grim set of his chiseled jaw. The glinting malevolence in his sharp blue eyes. The air of power and dark energy that radiates from him, pulling me in like a moth to its fiery doom.

“I’m fine,” he grunts, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. He turns to spit blood again.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“I got into a fight.”

My eyes widen. “Like, a real fight?”

“No, a fake one,” he mutters sarcastically, turning away from me.

“You seriously fought one of those guys who just left?”

“I fought four of those guys,” Alistair growls, shoving his hair back from his face. “And I got my ass kicked.”

“You fought four guys?!”

He sighs, turning to let those piercing blue eyes lance into me again.

“It was just a fight, princess. It’s no big deal. I get into them sometimes.” He lifts a shoulder. “It’s kind of…what I do.”

I chew on my lip. “Why did you just call me princess?”

Alistair eyes me. “Because that’s what you are.” He says it almost with disdain, which pisses me off.

I scowl. “I’m not a princess.”

“I know who your father is, Eloise. You’re a princess. Are we done?”

He makes to leave again.

“Why the hell would you go around picking fights? Especially against four guys?”

Alistair groans and turns to face me head-on.

“I didn’t say I pick them,” he growls. “I said I get into them.”

“So, they have a way of finding you?”

His jaw clenches and his hand comes up, the back of it brushing a spot of blood from his nostrils.

“Is there a fucking point to this cross-examination?”

A smirk teases my lips. “You sound like a lawyer.”

“Thanks.”

“Is that what you want to be?”

He shrugs. “Probably. It’s what my father is.”

“Your adoptive father.”

Fuck. Why the hell did I say that? Probably because I’ve still got the conversation with my friends rattling around in my head, and I clearly remember Giorgiana referring to Alistair as the “psycho adopted brother.”

Thanks, Giorgiana.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“I’m sorry, I⁠—”

He storms toward me, erasing the space between us until he’s looming right over me, his broad shoulders blotting out the sun as his eyes cut into my very soul.

“A word of advice, princess?” he growls quietly.

I glare up at him. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Princess,” he sneers, jabbing his finger against my collarbone. I shiver, electric sparks teasing over my skin briefly before I shove the feeling down and glare at him even harder.

“Don’t fucking touch me, either,” I hiss.

“Or what.”

I swallow nervously, a heady mix of fear and something else swirling around me the longer he stands here invading my personal space.

I could back up, but I don’t.

I could run, but I won’t.

“Or I’ll get the rest of The Order to come teach you some manners.”

He starts to laugh, loudly.

“I know what this is,” he sneers. “You’re one of Ansel’s new fucktoys, and this is like some loyalty test he’s put you up to.”

I scowl. “Eww, what?”

Alistair leans even closer. “A fucktoy, princess. Ansel has a new crop of them every year. What’d he promise you? Piss me off, and you get to lick his balls or something?”

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”

He makes a face and waves his hand in front of his nose. “Ugh, could you back up? Your breath smells like Ansel’s cum.”

I stare at him in shock, my mouth open.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I snap. “I only came over to see if you were okay⁠—”

“Which we established I was five minutes ago, princess.”

“Stop calling me that!!”

“The sooner you walk the fuck away from me,” he grunts. “The faster that happens.”

“Ugh!” I blurt, turning on my heel and marching away from him. “Fuck you!” I yell over my shoulder, flipping him off for good measure.

“I’d say try not to choke on Ansel’s cock,” he calls back. “But from what I’ve heard of that douchebag, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Try not to get your ass kicked for being a shithead, shithead,” I toss back.

“Hey—princess?”

I stiffen, my teeth grinding hard as I turn to glare at him.

“What?!?!”

He turns to spit out more blood. “If you’ve got any brains under that crown, you’ll stay the fuck away from me.”

“Believe me, that will not be a problem.”