The words catch me off guard. Peter is always the follower, the man you look up to and strive to become when you first start. Fuck, even I, at one point, wished I could be like him. It took mea while to start disliking him. Not because he was like us, but because he was different. Or maybe it’s me. I’m the one who’s different. The outlier that refuses to fall in line.
“You want to do what?”
“Your support.”
I click my tongue and shake my head. My support. “For?”
He ignores my question and simply states, “Every empire must fall for a new one to rebuild.”
There was no need to ask him what he meant by that, of course. The reason could only be one thing, and that’spower. The everlasting curse bestowed upon humankind. So much destruction in order to satiate the greed of those who already hold the upper hand. His words should bring me joy. After all, I want nothing to do with the rot that a place like this brings. And yet, I hesitate, even though I’m sure that my support isn’t a choice and my hands will be even dirtier. Imagine that it’s not like I already don’t struggle with sleep, due to things I’ve been forced to do in the name of legacy.
Family.
If you could even call it that, even that is just a transaction. A lifelong contract. I’ve grown accustomed to the demons that don’t let me rest, okay with the idea that one day I’ll be forced to marry and have some kids while continuing to live a double life. But that’s the life I was born into. My future—it didn’t have to behis, yet I’m fucking selfish. Making deals with my father in order to ensure that I'm the one who gets to touch him. It only took one time to witness it, before I practically sold my soul to the devil, and now, here I am. Following like a dog… Still struggling to fall in line. My head tilts, and my lips stretch into a grin as I look at Peter, who’s calm and collected. A small chuckle bubbles from my chest.
He’s nuts. Has to be.
What he’s proposing is actual insanity, and with that, I let out a laugh. Not a quiet or polite one, but one that has my brown waves falling over my face and doubling over, making tears prick at the corner of my eyes.
“You know, we do a lot of drugs in this place,” I manage to spit out, before straightening myself and containing the laughter that’s threatening to continue. “But this is absurd.”
Peter's jaw ticks, and he raises a brow to ask, “What is?” in the most nonchalant tone.
“Breaking this empire.” I stop, motioning between us. “You and I.”
Peter doesn’t look bothered at all by my reaction; it’s more like how a parent would look at a pestilent child. He pretends to brush away lint from his clothes, already grown uninterested in my words. “All you need to say is that you’re in. Everything else isn’t your concern besides what I need from you.” He pauses before adding, “And when I need you.”
The amusement drains from my face, understanding his words for what they are— a silent threat. A show of power… A coup. One I will be forced to join.
“You shouldn’t litter,” I mutter, since it’s the only thing I can think of after watching him throw his cigar to the ground. It’s not logical by any means, just something to break the tension and change the subject.
He casts a glance over his shoulder, and with a shrug, he heads towards the door, but not before turning around with one final step. His hand wraps around the golden door handle.
“You don’t have forever, and neither do the boys you intend to protect. I might not be on campus, but I know everything. You’re either with me or against me.” His tone isn't flat this time; there’s a weight to it. Another threat, nonetheless. “Merry Christmas, Safra.”
I should keep my mouth shut. I know the price of making a deal, especially in a place like this. But sometimes, to win, you have to make willing sacrifices. And this, right here, is only to make sure I’m on the winning side. You see, this wasn’t any ordinary deal… This is a trade-off. One I can’t say no to. Peter didn’t tell me this just because. He’s more calculated than that. A weight presses deep into my chest, knowing there’s nothing else to say but, “I’m in.”
He nods, offering a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes before stepping inside and leaving me in the cold, wondering what the fuck I just signed up for. But before I can fester inside my mind, the vibration of my phone has me pulling it out and looking down at the screen.
Anonymous:
Let’s play a game: London Bridge is falling. Careful, Safra, make the wrong move, and it all comes tumbling down.
Chapter Two
Zayden
No shit…
Shiloh is getting married, and not to Nico, but the man who owns us. Peter Morelli, Villalargo's favorite psychopath. My phone vibrates inside my pocket, but I don’t bother to pull it out. With the look on my best friend's face, I’m sure it’s morebullshit. And, as always, I’m simply not in the mood for any of it. I want no fucking part of it—just like this event. Nothing screams collared pet more than being forced to attend a glamorous party to stroke the egos of all the rich assholes who own us. With a scowl on my face, I watch as he places the phone back in his pants, the color from Nico’s face completely gone. His hands form into fists at his sides. Nico’s reaction only confirms that I was right. Indeed, more bullshit. So, I stand beside him in silence, unsure of what to tell him. I’m a man of few words and an even smaller understanding of love. But I understand my best friend. And yet, for the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to say to my friend.
Fuck, I’m not even sure what to tell myself.
I'm left utterly speechless from the announcement and the kiss that keeps replaying in my head.Fucking Safra… always digging into my skin, like a damn blood thirsty tick. My scowl deepens at the thought of those hazel eyes, only for the sound in the room to drag me back to reality. Loud and thundering claps erupt from the guests, which, mingled with the sound of glasses clinking and cheers, have my nerves on edge. Nico shifts beside me, his shoulder resting on the white column while he downs the amber drink in his hand in one go. His eyes are laser-focused on the stage, his jaw set tight. He’s pissed, or rather, heartbroken. Trying his hardest to contain the rage that simmers within him, which is quickly reaching its boiling point by the way his grip tightens around the glass. He’s failing. The emotions roll off of him in waves, and I feel them all. Each one slamming into me like tides that refuse to recede. Finally, I find the words for the only solution to this problem. Running…
“You want to get out of here?”
He shakes his head. “No.”