Savage Rites – Episode 29&30

The black Aston Martin was parked in the park when I walked out of the Arts building. The rain had stopped.

I slid into the passenger seat. The heat was blasting, a welcome change from the damp chill of the evening.

Nico looked over at me. His knuckles were slightly red, as if he had punched a wall or a person recently. He didn’t say hello. He leaned across the console and inhaled near my neck.

“You smell like smoke,” he said.

“Sloane gave me a cigarette,” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “I thought it would be rude to refuse a family ally.”

Nico sat back, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Sloane is a bad influence. But she’s a better influence than your previous company.”

He put the car in gear. We didn’t head toward the penthouse. We headed toward the edge of town, where the upscale restaurants clustered near the river.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Dinner,” Nico said. “The Heirs are meeting. And since you are no longer a liability, you are attending.”

“Am I a guest?” I asked. “Or the entertainment?”

“You are the partner,” Nico said, glancing at me. “Tonight is about optics. The school knows you are mine. Now, the Family needs to see it. We are meeting with the junior heads of the other territories. Sloane will be there. Matteo and Dante, obviously.”

He reached over and took my hand, his thumb rubbing the back of my knuckles.

“Tonight, you don’t speak unless spoken to. You listen. You watch. And you drink whatever I put in front of you.”

“Understood.”

We pulled up to Luciano’s, a restaurant that had no sign, just a heavy oak door and a valet who looked like he was carrying a concealed weapon.

The valet opened my door. “Buonasera, Mr. De Luca. Miss.”

We walked inside. The restaurant was dark, lit only by candles and the glow of the wine cellar. The smell of oil and steak was heavy in the air. Conversations hushed as Nico walked in. It was the same reaction he got on campus, but here, the fear was more respectful. These people knew exactly who his father was.

The maitre d’ didn’t ask for a name. He bowed his head and led us through the main dining room to a private alcove in the back, separated by velvet ropes.

The table was already full.

Matteo was there, looking dangerous, a glass of bourbon in his hand. Dante sat next to him, cleaning his fingernails with a small knife, looking bored. And Sloane was there, looking every inch the Mafia Princess, holding court with a martini.

When we approached, the energy shifted. They all looked at Nico, then at me.

“Look who it is,” Matteo grinned. ” The King and his… convert.”

Nico pulled out a chair for me. I sat. He pushed it in, his body pressing against my back for a second longer than necessary. He took the seat at the head of the table, placing me at his right hand.

“Matteo,” Nico nodded. “Dante. Sloane.”

“Nico,” Sloane tipped her glass. She looked at me and winked. “I see you survived the afternoon without me.”

“Barely,” I said dryly.

Matteo laughed. “She speaks! I thought the trip to New York might have scared the voice out of her.”

“New York was educational,” Nico said, signaling the waiter. “Elena learned a lot about supply and demand.”

Dante stopped cleaning his nails. He looked at me with his dark and terrifying eyes.

“Is it true?” Dante asked quietly. “You gave him up?”

I felt Nico’s gaze on me. This was another test.

“He gave me up first,” I said, my voice steady. “I just returned the favor.”

Dante stared at me for a second, then nodded slowly. It was a sign of respect.

“Cold,” Dante murmured. “I like it.”

“She’s a natural,” Sloane added, sipping her drink. “I told you. Baby cobra.”

The waiter arrived with a bottle of wine that probably cost more than my father’s life insurance policy. He poured.

“To the Alliance,” Nico said, raising his glass.
“To the Alliance,” the others echoed.

I raised my glass. I drank. It was a deep, rich red that tasted of iron.

The dinner conversation wasn’t about grades or parties. It was about territory.

Matteo talked about a shipment coming into the docks that the Riccis were mishandling.

Sloane talked about her father’s troubles with the unions in Chicago. Nico listened, gave orders, and mediated.

I watched him. He wasn’t just a bully here. He was a leader. He was calm, strategic, and ruthless. It was terrifyingly attractive.

“So,” Matteo said, turning his shark-like grin on me as the steaks were cleared away. “Now that the boring stuff is done… what’s the plan for the weekend? The Spring Gala is coming up.”

“Elena is going with me,” Nico said instantly.

“Obviously,” Matteo rolled his eyes. “But are we expecting trouble? Thorne has been looking awfully heroic lately.”

Nico’s hand tightened on the stem of his wine glass.

“Thorne is handled,” Nico said. “I ran into him today.”

“Did you kill him?” Dante asked hopefully.
“No. Too much heat,” Nico said. “But he knows where the line is. If he crosses it…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

“He won’t cross it,” I said.

Everyone looked at me.

“Oh?” Nico turned to me, his eyes icy. “And why are you so sure?”

“Because I told him to stay away,” I said. “I told him I chose you.”

The table went silent.

Nico stared at me. He was searching for a lie. He was searching for the hesitation I had shown in the library.

“You told him that?” Nico asked softly.
“Yes.”

“And did he believe you?”

“I don’t care if he believed me,” I said, taking a sip of wine. “I said what needed to be said.”
Nico smiled. It was a slow, dark smile that made my toes curl in my boots.

He reached under the table. His hand found my thigh. He squeezed, high up, claiming me in front of his inner circle without them seeing a thing.

“That’s my girl,” Nico whispered.

“So,” Sloane interrupted. “Gala. Saturday. Elena, you need a dress. And not something Nico picked out. He has the taste of a vampire.”

“My taste is impeccable,” Nico argued, his hand moving higher on my leg.

“Your taste is monochrome,” Sloane countered. “She needs something… gold.
Something that says ‘I won the war.'”

“I haven’t won the war,” I said quietly.

“No,” Nico agreed, his thumb rubbing circles against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

“But you survived the first battle. And in our world… that’s worth celebrating.”

He leaned close to me, his lips brushing my ear.

“Eat dessert,” he commanded softly. “Then we go home. I want to see if you still taste like smoke.”

I shivered.

I looked around the table at the heirs of crime.
I picked up my spoon.

I was one of them now. And God help me, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

***

The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt longer than the drive from the restaurant.

Nico didn’t speak. He stood behind me, his chest pressed against my back, his hands resting on the brass railing on either side of me, caging me in. I could feel the heat radiating off him.

He lowered his head, his nose brushing the hair away from my neck. He inhaled deeply, seeking the scent he had mentioned earlier.

“Smoke,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration against my spine. “And wine. And fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” I whispered, staring at our reflection in the polished brass doors.

“Liar,” Nico said. He bit the sensitive cord of my neck, sharp enough to sting. “You’re terrified. You realized tonight that there is no going back. You realized you liked the taste of the power.”

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

We stepped into the penthouse. The lights were dimmed, the city skyline glowing violet and gold through the massive windows.

Nico didn’t waste time. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the sprawling leather sofa in the center of the room. He sat down and pulled me roughly between his legs, forcing me to stand while he looked up at me.

“Take it off,” he commanded.

He gestured to the black wool dress.

I didn’t hesitate. I reached for the zipper at the back. The fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me in the black lace lingerie he had stocked in my drawer.

Nico’s eyes darkened. He reached out and ran his hands up my bare legs, his palms rough and calloused. He gripped my hips, his thumbs digging into the flesh.

“You sat at that table tonight,” Nico said, looking up at me with a fierce intensity. “You drank with killers. You lied to a good man to protect a monster. And you didn’t flinch.”

He pulled me closer, burying his face in my stomach, inhaling the scent of my skin.
“You are becoming exactly what I designed,” he muttered.

He kissed my skin through the lace, hot and wet. My knees went weak, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. The intellectual part of my brain, the part that wanted a law degree and a quiet life was screaming. But the rest of me was silent, listening only to the roar of his blood and mine.

He moved his hands around to cup me, his thumbs rubbing circles that made my breath hitch.

“Do you want me?” he asked, looking up. His gray eyes were blown wide, demanding total honesty.

“Yes,” I gasped.

“Tell me why.”

“Because you make the noise stop,” I confessed. “Because when you touch me, I don’t have to think about what I did.”

Nico smirked. “Then let me silence you.”
He pulled me down onto his lap.

We lay on the leather sofa, the city lights casting long shadows across our skin. Nico’s arm was draped over me, his fingers idly tracing the line of my spine.

It was the most peaceful I had felt in weeks.

“The Gala,” Nico said, breaking the silence. His voice was relaxed. “Saturday night. It’s a masquerade.”

“Fitting,” I murmured, resting my head on his chest. “Everyone at this school wears a mask anyway.”

“True. But this time, we get to wear literal ones. I’m thinking gold for you. To match the necklace.”

He touched the ruby at my throat, which I hadn’t taken off.

“Sloane said gold means I won the war.”
“Sloane talks a lot,” Nico said. “But she has good instincts. Gold is power. And after tonight, everyone needs to know you hold it.”

He sat up, shifting me so I was resting against the cushions. He stood and walked toward the kitchen island to pour water.

Nico poured a glass of water. He turned to bring it to me.

Then, he froze.
The glass shattered on the floor.

I sat up instantly, clutching a throw blanket to my chest. “Nico? What is it?”

Nico didn’t answer. He was staring at the kitchen island. Specifically, at a spot near the fruit bowl.

I stood up and walked over, ignoring the glass shards on the floor.

Sitting on the marble counter was a box.
It was small, wrapped in white velvet. A gift box.

“Did you order something?” I whispered.
“No,” Nico said. His voice was ice. He reached under the counter and pulled out a gun I hadn’t known was taped there.

He moved toward the box, checking the room, checking the shadows.

“Dante swept the room before we arrived,” Nico said tightly. “This wasn’t here.”

“Someone was here,” I realized, the blood draining from my face. “While we were at dinner.”

Nico used the barrel of the gun to flip the lid of the box open.

I leaned forward to look.

Inside, nestled in white satin, was a single, dead rose. Its petals were black and shriveled.
And next to it was a chess piece.

A white pawn.

But the pawn had been modified. Someone had taken a knife and carved a crude, jagged smile into the head of the piece. And they had dipped the bottom in red paint. Or blood.

There was a card.

Nico picked it up with two fingers, his face a mask of fury.

He read it, then handed it to me.

The handwriting was elegant, cursive, and feminine.

*Checkmate in three moves.

See you at the Gala.

V.*

“V?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Who is V?”

Nico stared at the pawn. His jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would crack.

“Valenti?” I suggested. “Sloane?”

“No,” Nico said. “Sloane is an ally. This… this is a ghost.”

He grabbed the pawn and crushed it in his fist.

“Who, Nico?”

He looked at me.

“The Volkovs,” Nico spat. “The Russian syndicate. They were supposed to be out of the city. My father drove them out five years ago.”

“Why are they sending us a pawn?”

“Because,” Nico said, looking at the dead rose. “They know the De Luca weakness. They know we protect our own.”

He walked over to the security panel on the wall and punched in a code. The steel shutters on the windows began to slam down, locking us in.

“They breached the penthouse,” Nico said, his voice rising. “They got past Dante. They got past the biometric locks.”

He turned to me, his eyes wild.
“We aren’t safe here.”

“What do we do?”

Nico grabbed my arm.

“We go to war,” he said. “Get dressed. The Gala just turned into a battlefield.”

I looked at the card on the counter.
Checkmate in three moves.

I wasn’t just a player in Nico’s game anymore.

I was a piece on a much larger board. And the other side had just made their opening move.

TBC