“Is that all you got, Nixon? Losing your touch?”
Oh, hell no. I lunged for him. Just as he moved out of the way, I caught his foot. He tripped, slamming his body against the floor. I dragged him by his heel to the closest window I could find and opened it.
We were on the second floor. The fall probably would do a lot of damage; maybe if he landed on his feet we’d be lucky and he’d break both legs on his own. Either way, I just hoped nobody was on this side of campus. I figured most people would already be in their next classes.
With a grunt I lifted him onto the windowsill and grabbed the front of his shirt. “Here’s how this is gonna work.” I smirked. “You either tell me who sent you, or we participate in a physics lesson. How fast would you fall from twenty feet, you think? And how many bones would you break, if you survived the fall and all that.”
“You wouldn’t kill me.”
“I would.” I blinked. “In fact, the idea gets more and more enticing the longer I look at your shit-eating face.”
Faust’s nostrils flared. Impatient, I punched him in the nose and grabbed his shirt again before he fell. “Think, Faust.”
“Nicolosi,” he spat. “The Nicolosi family is investigating. They arrived two days ago.”
Stunned, I could only hold him in place. Forget killing him; I wanted to jump out the window myself.
Any family but the Nicolosis. I’d thought they’d send one of the original Sicilian families, but not the original family.
Not the family that Trace’s grandfather had singlehandedly forced out of America—when they had enough money and power to have a say. What was worse—our family had helped them do it. Granted that was all before the Romeo and Juliet drama had exploded onto the scene with all of our parents, but still.
Son of a bitch.
“I can tell by your horrified expression you were hoping for someone else,” Faust grunted.
I pulled him back into the classroom and punched him so hard in the jaw that he fell into a cold heap on the floor. I wiped my bloody hands on my jeans and walked out of the room.
Mr. Ryan was waiting in the hall. “Do I even want to know?”
“Nah…” I shook my head and offered him a smile. “That may just get you killed.”
“Is there a body in my classroom?” His tone was calm, as if he were asking if I wanted a drink of water or a can of soda.
“I couldn’t say.” I shrugged. “But maybe cancel the rest of your afternoon classes.”
Mr. Ryan nodded and pulled out his phone. “Sending the e-mail now. I’ll put a note on the door, too.”
“Thanks.” I’d made it halfway down the hall when Mr. Ryan’s voice rang out.
“You, uh, have a knife sticking out of your leg.”
Shit. I looked down. So that was why Faust was smiling. Didn’t feel it. I was so used to getting the crap beat out of me that I rarely reacted when attacked. When you react out of pain or fear, you pause, giving your enemy time to kill you. “So I do, Mr. Ryan. Have a good day.”
I reached down and pulled the small knife from my thigh and wiped the blood on my jeans. I needed to change before Trace saw me. She would flip.
Chapter Three
Chase
I seriously needed to stop pissing Nixon off, but it had been a knee-jerk reaction, kissing Trace on the hand. If he didn’t want me playing friendly with his girlfriend, he shouldn’t have ordered me to be her personal bodyguard every freaking day of the school week.
I was in a living hell and nobody knew it but me.
“Can we skip?” Trace asked as we walked to her third class of the day. It was a KI class, one I knew she hated because it was all about self-defense. To be honest, she needed that and more, so I put my foot down even though her gorgeous smile was killing me inside.
“Nope.” I put my arm around her. “Just imagine Phoenix’s face when you’re punching Spike.”
Trace shuddered beneath my arm. “Yeah, when I imagine Phoenix I have a knife to his balls. Pretty sure that would either scar Spike for life or get me kicked out of Elite.”
“Fair enough.” I pulled her closer. “He’s taken care of, Trace. Nobody’s seen him in two weeks. He’s either in hiding or across the Atlantic. He’s not stupid enough to attack you again. Let Nixon do his job. We may not be able to kill him for what he did to you—but we sure as hell can make his life a bitch.”
Trace nodded, but didn’t say anything. I knew she was still traumatized over the whole ordeal. Shit, I was still traumatized and I’d done my fair share of dirty work in the name of the Abandonato family. Finding her on the floor with her clothes bloody and ripped from her body was one of the most horrifying experiences of my life.
I still wanted to kill Phoenix.
But Nixon wouldn’t let me.
It had to do with some sort of code about killing off direct descendants of mafia bosses and them being next in line. Considering Phoenix’s dad got a bullet to his head a few weeks ago by Trace’s grandfather, our hands were literally tied.
Didn’t mean I couldn’t dream about his death every freaking day. It seemed unfair that the bastard could breathe the same air as Trace, let alone walk around as if he hadn’t tried to kill her.
“You’re late,” Trace’s professor announced when we walked in.
“My fault,” I lied. “My shoe was untied, I fell, pulled Trace down with me, got her shirt all—muddy, and she had to go change.”