I sigh heavily. “Not really. I’m just pissed about Natalya.”
He raises a brow. “Not this again. I thought you were over your vendetta to make her life hell.”
I chuckle. “No, I’m just beginning. I’ve got dirt on her family that could destroy them, and yet she fucking ignores my text?” I shake my head. “I need to teach her a good fucking lesson.”
“Shit, so my assumption that you’d dropped your little feud was wrong?”
I nod, wondering why he’s so bothered about it.
“Great, I owe Aleks a hundred bucks.”
I glare at him. “Are you saying you bet on whether I was going to stop tormenting Natalya Gurin?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I thought you’d got over it. Aleks reckoned you were biding your time.” His brow furrows. “What exactly did she do to make you hate her so much, anyway?”
What did Natalya Gurin do to make me hate her?
I don’t think she even knows the answer to that question, but I do. Her family is the reason that the Estrada Cartel got a foothold in North America, handing all the power over to my uncle. I despise her and her family because they’re the reason they moved me from my home country and tore away the only person I ever loved. A country I belonged to, forced to live in a place where I didn’t have a full grasp on the language and thrown into a fucking academy for mafia heirs. The Gurin Bratva ruined my life, and she is a part of it, which makes her guilty by association.
Even though the Gurin Bratva is in Boston, they opened the door to the Estrada Cartel by pledging to buy our drugs only, allowing the family to move to Chicago. It led to the worst night of my life. The night we left Mexico. I shake my head, trying to push away the painful memories.
Ever since I learned a Gurin attended this academy, I vowed I’d make her life hell from day one, and that’s exactly what I did. That hatred has morphed and changed over the years, getting more twisted and darker the older I got.
“It’s a long story,” I say.
He nods, as Damien always knows when to push or not. “Fair enough. We don’t want to be late on our first day with Nitkin.” He gives me a pointed look. “The guy still scares the shit out of me, even now I’m a senior. Don’t tell Aleks or Nik, though.”
I clap him on the back, laughing. “I think he scares most of the students here, including Aleks.”
We walk into the classroom, where most of the students have already taken their seats a few minutes before the start of class. Damien and I always sit at the back, but we both notice the new kid sitting in my seat, of all places. I glance at Damien and give him the nod, which tells him to have my back.
I march up to the desk and everyone turns quiet, watching us. “You’re sitting in my seat,” I say, cracking my knuckles.
The kid gives me a cocky glance and then returns his attention to his cellphone. “I don’t see names on the seats.”
I clench my jaw and grab the lapel of his shirt, pulling him half-way out of his seat. “Listen to me, you piece of shit. This is my seat. Get the fuck out of it before I chuck you out.”
He smirks, blue eyes sparking with danger. “I’d like to see you try.” He grabs my wrist and frees himself, adjusting his shirt and sitting back down with his arms crossed over his chest. “Find another seat.”
I don’t know who the fuck this kid thinks he is, as I walk to his side and yank him right out of it.
He glares into my eyes, daring me to make a move.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, newbie?” I growl.
He shrugs. “Rizzo Bianchi,” he replies, looking unfazed by my actions. “Now let go of me, before I make you.”
Anger coils through me at this guy’s fucking audacity, but I get the sense he can handle himself. Instead of finding out, I let go of his collar and shove him aside. “You find another seat,” I say.
Before I can register, he grabs my shoulder and pulls me around, landing a hard punch to the jaw. “Motherfucker,” I growl, launching at him and tackling him to the ground. My fists pummel his face, but he just smirks with each hit, laughing.
Everyone gasps, and I know it’s not because of the fight. A heavy crack sounds, which signals Nitkin just entered the fucking room and has a hold of his whip. My spine stiffens as I stand straight, realizing I look like the instigator since I was the one on top of Rizzo and punching the shit out of him.
“Back away from him, Morales,” Nitkin says.
I swallow hard and follow his orders, as even I’m not insane enough to stand up to that sadist.
“Get up, Mr. Bianchi,” he orders.