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I frown. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, reaching up to rub his neck. “She was secretive. Not… outwardly. She was good at hiding it. But I could tell. Sometimes she’d hide her phone, or I’d walk into her room and she’d get this look on her face. Pale, and kind of like I’d caught her doing something.”

Mind whirring, I perch on the edge of the bed. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t think it was anything bad,” he rushes to add. “She’d never betray you. Or me. Or the Dukes, or… honestly, even the Princes.” A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “She has a really pure heart. You’ve seen that, right?”

My chest clenches. “I have.”

“But there was something in her life she didn’t want us to know,” he goes on. “I never pushed. I mean… fuck, there’s plenty of things about my life in West End I kept from her.” He meets my gaze head-on, even though the curve of his brow is reluctant. “But a couple nights before she went missing…”

My heart jackhammers in my chest, sensing there’s a clue. “What?”

His shoulders sink. “You were locked in the dungeon, and she was a mess, Ver. She was trying to get a message to…” Suddenly, Ballsack glances up into the corner of the room, looking away just as quickly.The Monarchs,I realize. “Well, she wanted to organize some kind of rescue mission. We both did. But we also knew it was futile,” he insists, seeing the fear in my expression, “and that it’d only make things worse for you.”

“I made that decision to go in there.”

“I know, and it’s not my job to interfere with Royal business. Sy would agree. What happens between a Royal female and their men, is between them, but, when she came to my room that night, I figured she wanted to talk about that: getting you out.”

Confused, I wonder, “But she didn’t?”

He shakes his head. “She was really quiet.Weirdlyquiet. And serious. The kind of serious that can make a guy nervous, you know?” He links and unlinks his fingers, drawing my gaze to the motion. The word ‘WEST’ is tattooed across the knuckles of one hand. It’s his newest ink. “She said we couldn’t see each other anymore. That things were getting too complicated—East, West, South, North. She said…” His words bite off and he looks up, shrugging. “Well, it doesn’t matter. She dumped me.”

“Oh, Ballsy...” I’m not sure how to respond to that. To any of it. “Did she say why?”

He leans back in the chair, shrugging. “No. I guess she just wasn’t into me enough to risk upsetting the Lords. I mean, I waswilling to make it work. Lavinia and her Dukes did. You and the Princes are.”

Reluctantly, I muse, “It’s not exactly the same. Lavinia was being sold around the different territories. Nick saved her from that. And me… well, nothing about my situation is normal. I had no idea I was Ashby’s daughter when I agreed to the Masquerade. But Stella was just a sweet South Side girl sent to keep an eye on me.” I give him a sympathetic glance. “Kind of like you.”

He groans. “I already feel like a pussy for getting kicked to the curb, Ver, thanks for making it worse by implying I’m sweet.” He balls his fist. “I’m officially DKS now, you know. I’ve had blood on my hands.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” The last thing I meant to do was hurt his pride even further. For one thing, bruised egos make men in this town react badly.

He shakes his head. “Look, I wanted you to know—just so you don’t think I’m hiding anything from you. But otherwise, I’d rather not have the world know I got dumped, because it doesn’t actually matter.” Lifting his chin, his words are quiet but hair-raising. “I’m going to find out what happened to her and who’s responsible, and then I’m going to make them regret it.”

I see it then, maybe for the first time.

The DKS.

My blood runs cold at the casual malignance in his gray eyes, and it doesn’t matter that I know him in my heart as the sweet, scrawny West End pledge who first stumbled into the gym. Right now, I believe he’s capable of the threat.

Slowly, I nod. “Good.”

The moment we walk in,the gym falls into a sudden, uncomfortable hush. I’ve seen a lot of Family Dinners over the years, so naturally, I figured that first night with Lavinia Lucia as Duchess was as weird and tense as one could possibly get.

Boy, was I wrong.

At the head of the table where Sy Perilini—the King of the Dukes—is sitting, Remy is bent over, pointing to something on a sheet of paper. Beside him, Nick Bruin is in an intense staredown with another DKS, their elbows both planted on the table as they engage in an arm wrestling match.

All of them pause at the sound of the doors slamming behind us, every gaze in the gym lurching to us.

Beside me, Pace is as stiff as a board. “No one said the whole frat would be here,” he says through clenched teeth. “That wasn’t the agreement.”

“It’sfamilydinner,” I point out, squeezing his hand. “Of course they’re here.”

But Pace just scowls, a baffled crease appearing between his eyebrows. “DKS isn’t family.”

I frown, glancing at his stony expression. For my Princes, family doesn’t mean DNA. It means secrets, isolation, and suspicion. It’s a club so exclusive that it only includes the three ofthem. The Princes have never seen their PNZ brothers as anything other than mildly inconvenient subordinates. Struggling to find the words, I explain, “Family means something different in West End. The Dukes have always been close with the frat. They work together, live together, and fight together. They’d die for each other.”