Page 11 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
Stretched out on the divan at such a late hour, it was easy to fall asleep to Damian’s voice. My eyes drifted shut. When I opened them again, he was carrying me down the hallway, his movements quiet and effortless.
I let out a yawn, my vision blurred from sleep. The darkness didn’t help. When I shifted, Damian tightened his hold on me. So, I closed my eyes again and rested my head on his chest. He was supposed to hate me. I didn’t trust him. I’d stolen his phone from him. I was a Vitali, and he was a De Luca.
But this didn’t feel like hate.
The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.
Ernest Hemingway
Most schools have a mean girl. Devils Ridge High has three. Laura Willis. Maria Delgado. Adalasia Ricci. I’d clocked them the second I stepped into the hallway, my new schedule crumbled into a ball in my fist, already memorized.
They strut down the hall like a scene out of Mean Girls. Step. Hip sway. Step. Hair
flip. Step. Wink. Step. Lucky for me, they gave me nothing more than narrowed eyes and thinly veiled jealousy. I encroached in their territory, still managing to draw attention despite the mess of clothes I wore.
My name protected me from bullying, and perhaps that drew the most resentment. Here I was, a privileged Vitali, the mafia princess they wanted to be. It was as glamorous as the title suggested, and yes, I had money, education, and status.
If that was your thing, I could understand the animosity. But my thing was wholesome families with parents who cared less about territorial disputes and more about the report cards I brought home each quarter.
This made me aloof. The I-don’t-care expression made me easier to hate. The prestigious last name tacked onto my first? The nail on the green-faced coffin.
“Eyes up front, Miss Willis.” The white-haired Mrs. Bruno flashed a warning look at Laura. Italian last name. All-knowing stare. Mafia-affiliated, I’d guess. Meaning, she knew the war going against me could start.
Laura swiveled in her seat, her eyes finally shifting away from me. I relaxed a little against the cheap plastic backrest and toned out of the AP Calculus BC lecture. I took it freshman year, and using derivates in growth and decay models didn’t challenge me.
Instead, I cataloged the students in the classroom. Most took the phone ban seriously. Nearly everyone in this classroom sported pagers attached to their clothes. Laura, on the other hand, texted beneath the table each time Mrs. Bruno looked away. I added her to my mental list of potential candidates to steal a phone from. After all, I still needed to check my email to see if Maman had responded.
Damian came into the classroom ten minutes before class ended. No one said a word. Miss Willis greeted him with a smile and continued her lecture. He took a seat in the chair diagonally beside mine but didn’t take out paper and a pen.
His body reeked of alcohol, and for all I knew, he’d been holed up in the local strip club or a brewery. We spent every night in the library together, yes, but we never talked about things that went on outside that room. I knew his dad beat him. He knew I needed company to chase away the loneliness. Beyond that knowledge, we kept things strictly book-related.
Except last night. I didn’t know what last night was. Him covering his ass by making sure no one found me asleep in the library? But he could have just woke me up and let me walk myself back to my room. I was at a loss.
Damian turned his face to me and caught me staring. Sleep rimmed his eyes, and he mouthed, “Caught you,” before he leaned his head on his desk and closed his eyes.
The bell rung, people filtered out of the classroom, but no one woke him up. I took my time gathering my things. Laura’s frown stayed on her face as she strode out of the room, unhappy about my proximity with the school’s ‘It Boy’ but unable to do anything.
Mrs. Bruno hesitated, looked between me and Damian, and left when she caught the unimpressed stare I gave the poor woman. In my defense, I needed privacy, it was rare to catch Damian at home, and our library was a sanctuary I didn’t want to tarnish with anything but books.
“I know you’re staring at me.” His voice surprised me, but I tamped my reaction. I’d thought he’d fallen asleep.
I leaned against the desk and crossed my arms. “Is our time in the library wearing you out?”
“You don’t wear me out, Princess.”
“Knight,” I corrected. Ugh, I hated being reminded that I was a mafia princess. “But you’re worn out. Your shoulders are tense, and you can’t shake the sleep from your eyes. We’re in public.” Fatigue was weakness, and weakness was not for public consumption.
“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I’m alert, Princess. Agata wore a black cap. Backwards. Chuck Taylors. Isabella. White sundress. Flip flops. Braided hair. Brando. Black skinny jeans. White tee. Leather jacket. Gold chain. Pippa—”
“Okay, I get it. You’re Shawn Spencer.”
“And you’re still here. Did you need something?”
It was like, as soon as we left the safe space of the library, civility fled. We stayed away from each other in public, but I couldn’t help the concern, which crept into my body. I opened my mouth, a little fronted by the hostility.
Well, you stole his phone, Renata. What did you expect? For him to forget about it just because you spent some time in a library reading together?
An amused smile lined Damian’s lips, and he stared at me like no one else before him. “I know you’re concerned.”
