Mafia Royals
By Rachel Van Dyken
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A mafia romance about best friends turned enemies by Rachel Van Dyken, the number one New York Times bestselling author of the Eagle Elite series.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend…
I never thought my father would ask this of me, to become the second generation at Eagle Elite University, to rule with an iron fist, and to take care of anyone who gets in our way.
But ever since the incident.
Ever since Him.
There’s been a war in our little clique.
After all, a house divided cannot stand.
He’s the problem, not me.
He used to kiss me like I was his oxygen.
Now he looks at me like I’m his poison.
But we both drank it, again and again, never believing there would be a day when our love would start a war.
And our friendship would shatter into a million pieces.
Then again, the worst thing you could do in the mafia is hang on to hope that your life will be normal.
The second worse thing?
Fall in love with your best friend.
Enemy.
And heir to the Nicolasi throne.
* * * *
“Welcome to day one!” Professor Dickface’s eyes roamed around the room, purposefully scanning over us even though I had a middle finger raised in greeting right along with Serena, well at least we could agree on something, pissing off the professors enough to scare them shitless. “If you’ll all log onto your blackboard app, we can go over this year’s syllabus.”
“Overjoyed,” I said under my breath.
“Do you mind?” Serena hissed. “I’m learning here.”
She literally had Snapchat open.
“Uh-huh.” I elbowed her side only to feel the steel of a knife against my dick.
I kept my smirk in and lost when we both locked eyes.
Shit, I knew that look.
And I knew what typically followed.
The best sex of my life.
“No,” I whispered hoarsely even though I let my eyes freely roam over her tight leather skirt down to gorgeous legs that I wanted to lick my way up. “Hell, no.”
I jerked in my seat and nearly impaled myself on her knife when her hand slid across the front of my jeans.
I gritted my teeth to keep from reacting, braced my hands on the table in front of me and shook my head slowly as she kept touching, and I kept just reacting because it was Serena, and eons ago before she fucking broke my heart—she was mine.
“Choose me,” I’d said in my head. “Choose me in front of them all!”
She didn’t.
She never would.
Our love was impossible.
And I knew more than her—how easy love could start a war.
She still wasn’t pulling her hand away, so I took matters into my own hands, and literally scooted my chair back, then slid my fingers up her thigh, digging into her skin the entire way up until I felt the string of her thong.
With a jerk, I tugged it until it broke, bunched her underwear in my hands, and then very somberly shoved them into my pocket all without looking away from my handy app.
“Give those back,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Better not draw attention to us,” I said in a bored tone. “Wouldn’t want you to get detention on the first day—again.”
“That was voluntary, and you know it!” She hissed.
I chuckled under my breath. “Whatever you say.”
“Junior, I mean it! I can’t walk around like this!”
“You can.” I shrugged. “You will.”
“Junior—“
“—Just admit defeat, you tried to win, and instead you just lost—embarrassingly. It’s going to take more than your hand to get me off, or did you forget?” Then I did turn toward her. “I’d rather drink poison than have you touch me ever again.”
Something sharp jabbed into my thigh. I winced and squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them and looked down.
And there was her knife, stuck in my thigh at least a half-inch past my jeans.
Perfect.
I nodded slowly. “Is that the Abandonato crest?”
“Beautiful, right?” She beamed then flipped her dyed golden hair in the air giving me a whiff of her cherry shampoo.
I jerked out the knife and handed it back to her. “Don’t be creepy and lick the blood off—that’s weird, even for you.”
She just rolled her eyes. “More like using it in a spell to make your favorite appendage fall off.”
“Your favorite appendage,” I grumbled. “Remember? Oh God Junior, right there, so good, it’s so—”
She clapped a hand over my mouth while a few students in front of us chuckled. “I get it, just. Stop. Talking.”
I licked her hand and grinned.
She smiled and looked away, down at her phone. “It shouldn’t be like this.”
“I’ll hate you for as long as we both shall live,” I uttered the mantra we’d been repeating to each other for the last four years.
“Hate you,” she repeated in a soft voice. “For as long as we both shall live.”
And so the hurt continued.