SAVAGE RITES
I couldn’t go back to the room. I couldn’t sit in that cold, beautiful cage and stare at the dress I was supposed to wear to my execution.
When the SUV had dropped us off at the manor, Nico had disappeared into his study with Matteo to discuss “business” which I assumed meant ensuring my uncle stayed in police custody without bail.
I had used the opportunity to slip out the back terrace doors.
I walked aimlessly through the grounds. The Blackwood estate was massive, a sprawling landscape of manicured hedges, stone fountains, and ancient oak trees that looked like they were screaming in the wind.
The rain had stopped, but the air was heavy with mist. I hugged my arms around my chest, shivering in my thin turtleneck.
I found myself near a glass structure on the edge of the East Wing gardens.
The Conservatory.
It was a Victorian-style greenhouse, its iron skeleton rusted in an artistic way, the glass panes foggy with condensation. It glowed with a faint, warm light from within.
I didn’t mean to go inside. I just wanted to be near the warmth. But then I heard it.
Music.
A piano. It wasn’t a recording. It was live, raw, and incredibly complex. The notes cascaded over each other.
It sounded exactly like I felt.
I pushed the heavy door open and slipped inside.
The air was thick and humid, smelling of damp earth, orchids, and rain. The space was a jungle of exotic plants, ferns hanging from the ceiling, and statues of Greek gods hiding behind palm leaves.
In the center of the room, surrounded by a bed of white lilies, was a black grand piano.
And playing it was a boy.
He had hair the color of spun gold, messy and curling slightly at the nape of his neck. He wore a cable-knit sweater the color of oatmeal and dark jeans.
He was playing with his eyes closed, his body swaying slightly with the rhythm of the music.
He was beautiful. Not in the terrifying way Nico was, but in a way that reminded me of sunlight and summer days.
I stood by a large fern, afraid to breathe, afraid to break the spell.
But the heavy door clicked shut behind me.
The boy’s eyes snapped open. The music stopped abruptly with a jarring chord.
He turned on the bench. When he saw me, he didn’t scowl. He didn’t look annoyed.
He froze.
His eyes were a startling shade of hazel green and gold mixed together. They went wide, sweeping over my face, my damp hair, the redness around my eyes.
He stood up. He was tall, broad-shouldered but lean.
“I… I’m sorry,” I stammered, backing up. “I didn’t know anyone was in here. I’ll leave.”
“No!”
He said it too loud. He took a quick step forward, then stopped himself, holding up his hands as if to show he wasn’t a threat.
“No, please,” he said, his voice softer now. It was a warm, rich voice. “Don’t go. You didn’t interrupt anything important. I was just… venting.”
“You play beautifully,” I said. It was the truth.
“I play loudly,” he corrected with a self-deprecating smile that made him look boyish and charming. “It helps drown out the noise of this place.”
He walked around the piano, moving toward me slowly. He looked at me like I was a rare bird that had flown into the glass house, something precious and fragile.
“I haven’t seen you before,” he said. He stopped a respectful distance away. “And I would remember if I had.”
I felt a blush heat my cheeks. I wasn’t used to being looked at like this. Not with admiration. Usually, it was disdain or hunger.
“I’m Elena,” I said. “I’m new. And… sort of infamous as of this morning.”
“Infamous?” He tilted his head. “Ah. You’re the girl everyone is whispering about. The one involved with Professor Vance.”
I flinched and looked at the floor. “I guess you want me to leave, then.”
“Why would I want that?”
I looked up. He was stepping closer, his expression confused and incredibly kind.
“Because I’m a rat,” I said bitterly, repeating the word Bianca had used. “Because I betrayed my family.”
“I don’t believe everything I hear at Blackwood,” he said softly. “This place runs on lies, Elena. And looking at you right now… you don’t look like a villain. You look like someone who’s had a really, really bad day.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief.
“Here,” he said. “You’re crying.”
I touched my face. I hadn’t realized I was leaking tears again. I took the cloth. It smelled like cedar and vanilla.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“I’m Julian,” he said. He held out his hand.
“Julian Thorne.”
I hesitated. Thorne. The Senator’s son. His family wasn’t mafia, but they were political royalty. They were untouchable in a different way.
I shook his hand. His grip was firm but gentle. His skin was warm. He didn’t let go immediately. He held my hand for a second too long, his thumb brushing against my knuckles.
“It’s nice to meet you, Elena,” he said. The way he said my name sent a strange flutter through my chest. It wasn’t fear. It was… hope?
“You shouldn’t be seen with me,” I warned him, pulling my hand back. “The De Lucas… I’m staying with them. I’m their…”
“Guest?” Julian suggested, though his eyes darkened slightly at the mention of the name.
“Something like that.”
“I’m not afraid of Nico De Luca,” Julian said. He leaned back against the piano, crossing his arms. He looked relaxed, confident. “We grew up together. Our fathers play golf. Nico barks loud, but he knows better than to bite a Thorne.”
He smiled at me again, and it felt like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
“You look like you need a friend, Elena,” he said. “And I happen to be applying for the position.”
“A friend?” I let out a dry, shaky laugh. “I don’t think I’m allowed to have friends.”
“I’m very persistent,” Julian said. His hazel eyes locked onto mine, intense and sincere.
“And I think you’re going to need an ally tonight at the initiation. It can be… overwhelming.”
“You’re going?”
“Unfortunately. But it might be bearable if I knew I could save a dance for you.”
My heart did a traitorous flip. A dance. With him. Someone who didn’t want to hurt me.
“I don’t know if—”
“Well, well. Isn’t this a precious scene.”
The voice cut through the humid air like a serrated knife.
The glass door slammed open.
Bianca stood there. She was wearing a trench coat belted tightly at her waist, her dark hair slicked back from the rain. She looked beautiful.
She strode into the conservatory, her heels clicking sharply on the stone pavers. She looked at Julian, then at me, her lip curling in a sneer.
“Bianca,” Julian said. His voice lost all its warmth. It became polite, distant. “I didn’t know you were lurking in the bushes.”
“I’m not lurking, Julian. I’m fetching,” Bianca said. She stopped in front of me, invading my personal space. She reached out and snatched Julian’s handkerchief from my hand, tossing it onto the dirt floor.
“You’re contaminating him,” Bianca said to me. “Julian is a nice boy, Elena. He has a bright future in the Senate. He doesn’t need the stench of a traitor rubbing off on him.”
“We were just talking, B,” Julian said, stepping forward. He placed himself slightly between me and Bianca. A protective gesture. “Back off.”
Bianca laughed. She looked at Julian with pity.
“Oh, Julian,” she cooed. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and developed a Savior Complex in the last five minutes. Look at her. She’s damaged goods. Nico has already claimed her.”
“She’s a person, Bianca. Not a piece of property.”
“Is she?” Bianca tilted her head. She grabbed my wrist, her nails digging into my skin.
“Because I’m pretty sure she’s currently living in the Heirs’ penthouse, wearing clothes Nico bought her, doing exactly what she’s told.”
She yanked my arm, pulling me toward the door.
“Come on, Elena,” she hissed. “Playtime is over. You have three hours to get ready for the party, and Nico wants to inspect you before we leave.”
I stumbled, trying to keep my footing. I looked back at Julian.
He looked furious. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He took a step to follow us.
“Let her go, Bianca.”
“Or what?” Bianca challenged, pausing at the door. “You’ll write a strongly worded letter to your daddy? Stay out of this, Julian. This is family business. De Luca business.”
She dragged me out into the rain.
I twisted my head back one last time.
Julian was standing in the doorway of the glowing glass house. He wasn’t looking at Bianca. He was looking at me. His expression was pained, intense, and full of a promise I didn’t dare believe.
I see you, his eyes said. And I’m not giving up.
Bianca shoved me toward the main house.
“Stay away from him,” she warned, her voice low and dangerous. “Julian Thorne is the Golden Boy of Blackwood. If you drag him into your mess, Nico won’t just break you. He’ll bury you.”
She gripped my arm harder, marching me toward the penthouse where the devil was waiting.
But for the first time since I arrived at Blackwood, I didn’t feel completely alone.
The penthouse was no longer silent. It was a hive of activity.
Bianca shoved me through the double doors and into the hands of three women I had never seen before. They didn’t introduce themselves. They didn’t smile. They looked at me like I was a car that needed detailing.
“She’s wet,” one woman said, wrinkling her nose at my damp hair.
“We have two hours,” another said, checking a gold watch. “Strip.”
I didn’t argue. I had learned that fighting over small things only wasted energy I needed for the big things. I let them take the wet clothes. I let them wrap me in a robe. I let them sit me in a chair in front of a lighted mirror that was brighter than the sun.
For ninety minutes, I was a mannequin.
They pulled my hair. They painted my face. They sprayed mist that smelled like expensive flowers.
I stared at my reflection, but I didn’t recognize the girl looking back. Her skin was flawless porcelain. Her lips were a deep, blood-red stain. Her eyes were smoked out with charcoal and silver, making them look huge and haunted.
“The dress,” the lead stylist snapped.
She brought it out from a garment bag.
It was a deep, shimmering crimson, the color of fresh blood. It was strapless, with a corset bodice that looked painfully tight and a skirt that flared out in layers of silk chiffon. It had a slit that went all the way up to my hip.
It was a statement piece. It screamed, Look at me.
They put me in it. The corset was laced up the back. Pull. Cinch. Pull. It squeezed the air out of my lungs. I had to take shallow, tiny breaths.
“Shoes,” the woman said.
She pointed to a pair of black stilettos with red soles. Five inches.
I stepped into them. I was now six feet tall.
“Leave us.”
The voice came from the doorway.
The stylists didn’t hesitate. They packed their brushes, bowed their heads slightly, and vanished. The door clicked shut.
I was alone with Nico.
He was already dressed for the evening. He wore a tuxedo that was cut to perfection, emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. He didn’t look like a student. He looked like a king.
He walked into the room slowly, his hands in his pockets. He circled me, his eyes sweeping over every inch of the red dress, the makeup, the hair.
He stopped behind me. I could see us in the mirror. The monster and the doll.
“Red suits you,” he said quietly. “It’s the color of warning.”
“I can’t breathe,” I whispered. The corset was agonizing.
“You don’t need to breathe. You just need to exist.”
He stepped closer, closing the gap between us. He leaned in, inhaling the scent of my hair. Then, he stiffened.
His expression changed in the mirror. The cool indifference vanished, replaced by a flash of irritation.
“Cedar,” he noted. “And vanilla.”
My heart hammered against the boning of the corset. Julian’s handkerchief. I had held it. The scent had transferred to my skin.
Nico moved his hand to my neck. His fingers were cold.
“You smell like a Thorne,” he said. His voice was a low growl. “Did you enjoy your little chat with Julian?”
I swallowed hard. “We just met. In the conservatory.”
“Julian is a nice boy,” Nico said, the word ‘nice’ dripping with condescension. “He plays the piano. He volunteers at the shelter. He believes the world is a fair place.”
“He was kind to me,” I said. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
Nico laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. He moved his hand from my neck to my shoulder, gripping the bare skin.
“Kindness is a luxury, Elena. The Thornes can afford to be kind because the De Lucas do the dirty work that keeps their world safe.”
“He said he wasn’t afraid of you,” I said, trying to find some leverage. “He said his family is powerful.”
Nico’s eyes met mine in the glass. He smirked. It was the arrogant look of a man who knows secrets that could topple governments.
“Julian thinks power is laws and votes,” Nico said softly. “He thinks because his father is a Senator, they are untouchable.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear.
“But Senators have secrets, Elena. And we hold the keys to the closet. Senator Thorne passes the laws we tell him to pass. He eats at the restaurants we allow him to eat at.
The Thornes are powerful, yes. But they are pets. We are the owners.”
A chill went down my spine. Julian had seemed so confident. But Nico spoke with the weight of history.
“Stay away from him,” Nico commanded. “He is soft. If you stand too close to him, you will get him killed. And I would hate to ruin a perfectly good Senator over a scholarship student.”
He stepped back. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a long, thin velvet box.
“Turn around,” he said.
I turned slowly, the heels wobbling on the thick carpet.
He opened the box. Inside lay a diamond choker. It was exquisite and heavy, the stones glittering under the lights. But in the center, hanging like a teardrop, was a ruby the size of a quail’s egg.
“Beautiful,” I whispered, despite myself.
“It belonged to my grandmother,” Nico said. He lifted the necklace. “She wore it to signify that she was the Matriarch. That she was protected.”
He stepped in close. I had to tilt my head back.
“Tonight,” he said, fastening the clasp around my neck, “you wear it to signify that you are claimed.”
The cold metal settled against my throat. It felt heavy. It felt like a collar.
Nico adjusted the ruby so it sat perfectly in the hollow of my throat. His fingers lingered on my pulse, feeling the frantic beat.
“Tonight is a test, Elena,” he said. “The Initiation is where the hierarchy is established. Everyone will be watching you. They will want to see if you crack.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you embarrass me,” Nico said simply. His gray eyes hardened. “And if you embarrass me, I will take it out on your father. For every tear you shed in public, I will break one of his fingers.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
He offered me his arm.
“Now,” he said, his mask of indifference sliding back into place. “Smile. We have a party to crash.”
I looked at the mirror one last time. The girl in the red dress looked like a princess from a dark fairy tale. But the ruby around her throat looked like a wound.
I took Nico’s arm. The fabric of his tuxedo was smooth under my fingers.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No,” I said honestly.
“Good,” Nico replied, leading me toward the door. “Fear keeps you sharp.”
TBC
