Page 14 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)

BEFORE

The wooden bench outside the headmaster’s office at Collegio San Bernardo was hard and unpleasant, making Nero’s backside numb. He bounced a restless knee, staring at the floor.

“Stop it,” Sandro muttered, and slapped Nero’s leg. “You’re shaking the whole damn bench.”

Nero stilled, but couldn’t keep from fidgeting with his uniform tie. The stink of smoke still clung to both their clothes. “You were really looking forward to the weekend,” he said quietly. “Doctor Agony will never let you go now.”

Sandro, on learning Dottore Agostino Rinaldi’s full name and title, had immediately bestowed the English nickname “Doctor Agony” on the old man, and it had spread throughout the school. Sandro had earned a reputation for being cool . He was very popular at San Bernardo.

Nero was not.

Too strange. Too awkward in his manners. Despite all those tutors and all the etiquette lessons that La Contessa had forced him through, Nero struggled to fit in among the wealthy and cultured.

“It was an accident,” Sandro said, staring straight ahead. “I’ll take my punishment. But I’m sorry I got you in trouble, too. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Nero glanced at his friend’s profile. He’d been looking forward to a weekend in Rome with a private tour of the National Museum, staying at Sandro’s mother’s townhouse—an outing that Sandro had talked about for months. Getting away from this prison for a whole weekend!

And Nero was supposed to go with him.

But that would all be forfeit now because of Sandro’s unsanctioned chemistry experiment in the common room. The resulting blaze had rapidly gotten out of control and the common room had only been saved by the quick thinking of one of the older boys, who sprinted for the fire extinguisher in the hallway.

“Let me take the blame,” Nero said.

Sandro turned to him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“I’ll say it was me. They already think I’m trouble.” Nero had, in the first few months of his time at San Bernardo, found it difficult adjusting to the strict rules and timetable of the boarding school. Even six months in, he found himself acting out in small ways. Smuggling food into his room. Stealing extra pens from the supply closet. Smoking in the dormitories.

“I won’t let you take responsibility for my actions. That would be cowardly,” Sandro said, straightening his shoulders. “My mother raised me to face consequences.”

Nero smothered a disbelieving snort. But one way or another, had to find a way to persuade Sandro, because he feared what La Contessa would do to him if her son endured punishment. “Look, everyone here thinks I’m just your sidekick. I need a reputation of my own.”

“No one thinks that,” Sandro protested, but without conviction.

“They do, and we both know it.” Nero turned to him, suddenly intense. “You’ve been looking forward to that trip for ages. I don’t give a fuck if I miss it. Who cares about some dusty old museum?”

It wasn’t the museum that they’d been excited about, not at all. But Sandro was tempted, studying his friend’s face. He shook his head. “Doctor Agony won’t believe you. And he already called my mother, anyway.”

“He’ll believe me.” A bitter smile touched Nero’s lips. “Your mother certainly will. And I want all these assholes in our class to know better than to fuck with me. You’d be doing me a favor, Sandro. Really.”

“I don’t know...”

“It’s decided,” Nero murmured, standing as the headmaster’s secretary opened the door to wave them in. “Just don’t contradict me.”

“If you’re sure,” Sandro said, standing as well. He hesitated, then whispered quickly, “I won’t forget this, Nero.”

Nero gave his friend a careless grin over his shoulder as he sauntered into the office. “Oh, I know you won’t.”