Page 11 of Wicked Prince

This place is a hoot. It's so conservative in some ways, even if half the student body is destined for a life of organized crime. And the other half is destined to serve in the prestigious institutions that supposedly make and enforce the laws.

But if one thing has become clear to me, it's that the lines between the underworld and the civilized one are really more of a gradient.

I chose to wear black tights beneath my skirt since it's chilly, and I'm relieved to find I'm not the only one. My black leather ankle boots are low-heeled, but they are brand new, so I know breaking them in as I trek across campus is going to be great fun.

No one really gives me a second glance on my way to class, which is another relief. Even once I make it into the more crowded classroom building, the one with the towering twin spires I saw from the road, I'm able to get from point A to point B unnoticed.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Sure, Kayleigh probably exerts some influence as the heiress to the Carrillo family fortune, but the school is full of rich kids whose parents are politicians, mob bosses, celebrities, and so on. She's just one of them.

My first class is Logistics, so that's one mystery I'm going to be able to get out of the way. I take a seat near the back and fish around in my messenger bag for the textbook I only took out of the cellophane this morning. I'm not used to buying books new, but just like the lady at the desk in the dorms promised, my card worked well enough at the bookstore.

I haven't tried it at the cafeteria yet, though. Last night, I was too nervous to eat, and this morning, I just grabbed a granola bar and some fruit off the buffet in the dorm lobby.

It really is like a hotel in more ways than one. There's even a laundry service, and this morning, there was an empty mesh bag on the outside of my door with a label that instructed me to leave it filled with whatever I want to have washed.

It's going to be hard to adjust to this new lifestyle for however long it takes to escape, but there aresomeperks.

The classroom fills up and there's a guy in a light tan suit who doesn't look much older than the students, but he goes to the teacher's desk and starts unpacking his briefcase, so he has to be a professor. He has light blond hair that looks golden in the overhead light, thick wire-rimmed glasses that suit his handsome features, and his checkered button-down shirt definitely gives him that hot nerdy professor vibe.

Looks like the students aren't the only ones in this place who look like they stepped out of a TV show.

"All right, everyone settle in," the professor says in a low, husky voice that hits my ears like a song. He scrawls his name on the top of the blank chalkboard slate. "My name is Mr. Hennessey. I'll be your instructor for this class for the next three semesters, so I suggest you learn to spell it right."

There’s only the slightest hint of dryness in his voice to indicate he's joking. The other students laugh, though, and I can hear a couple of the girls whispering about how hot he is.

They're not wrong. Whatever Logistics is, I think it just became my favorite subject.

"So," he says, rubbing his hands together. "Is there anyone here who actually knows what this class is about?"

Half a dozen hands fly up.

"And sit this one out if you have older siblings who had me in the past, because that's cheating," he adds.

All the hands go down.

Mr. Hennessey chuckles. "That's what I thought." He leans back against his desk, looking hopelessly cool with his rumpled clothes and his tousled golden hair. He scans the room, and for a split second, his eyes meet mine. Even from a distance, I can tell they're ice blue. There's something warm in them, though. Or maybe I'm just imagining it.

"Logistics," he continues, "is one of those words we use as a euphemism for various things, depending on the context. Inourworld, it mostly boils down to persuasion. Cutting through red tape. Negotiating between parties with different interests. Manipulation. Of all the soft sciences you'll learn over the next four years as we cram as much knowledge into your little technology-addled brains as possible, this is probably the only one you'll find yourself using on a regular basis."

"Isn't that just psychology?" a guy in the front row asks. He's one of the jocks I saw playing soccer on the lawn.

"That's part of it," Mr. Hennessey says, smirking down at the student. "One might consider itappliedpsychology. But the point isn't to make a troubled mind well. The point is to use psychology—and every other aspect of human behavior—to your advantage. Even if the costs end up being detrimental to some."

The door opens and in walks the shirtless guy I found myself gawking at last night. He exerts a similar effect today, even if he's fully clothed. He's wearing the same uniform as all the other guys, but damn, it looks good on him.

"Rossi," the professor says in a dry tone, turning to face the latecomer. "How nice of you to join us. I hope the early morning class isn't interrupting your beauty rest?"

Rossi?

Holy shit. That would make him Lorenzo. The family has three sons, as far as I know, but Lorenzo is the oldest and heir apparent, so his name is known as far and wide as his father's. Even I've heard whispers about him, but they never mentioned the guy was drop-dead gorgeous. Not that mob types really focus on that kind of thing.

"Nah, Prof. You're good," Lorenzo shoots back, walking toward the cluster of empty seats in the front of the classroom. He pauses to fist-bump the jock in the front row and looks like he's about to take the seat next to him when he looks up and his eyes happen to meet mine.

I freeze instinctively, feeling like a deer in headlights.

Two dark, piercing headlights that shine with a black light that seems capable of penetrating my soul.

I've never understood what people meant by love at first sight, but lust is another matter. And not the kind I felt in passing when I saw him on the lawn. This is something else entirely. Something raw and primal and dirty and utterly forbidden, not just because of whoheis, but because I'm no one.

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