My calm, cool exterior is wilting, and I can feel beads of sweat at my hairline. “The only reason you’d be telling me this is if you have an alternative,” I say. “Have you been in communication with my brothers?”
Fukumoto’s eyes are nearly black; endlessly dark pools that drown a multitude of sins and secrets. There is a soft buzz from his laptop, after glancing at it, he rises to his feet. “The Dean is ready for us.”
We pass the blonde leaving the Dean’s office, her mouth is tight like she’s trying to hold back a torrent of screams or tears, and she hurries past me without looking up. The guy behind her looks at me though, like he wants to tear my spine out through my neck. Fuck this asshole and his posturing. I smile menacingly and lean in just slightly as he passes by.
“There we are, right on time!” Dean Christie says cheerfully, “Come right in, gentlemen.”
She’s lounging behind a desk so huge that it could swallow her and three more like her. Having been called into her office before, I know the two seats in front of the desk are uncomfortable enough that they could be classified as instruments of torture.
“Mr. Toscano, have a seat. Professor? I just picked up some excellent Scotch if you’d care for a drink. The chair next to the bar is quite comfortable,” she said sweetly.
Taking my seat as ordered, I try not to shift around as a spring digs into my left ass cheek.
“In the last two years, you’ve settled in well here at the Academy,” the Dean says, looking over something on her computer monitor. “Excellent scores, particularly in poisons and knife work. You’re good with other students, you take the lead naturally in group projects.”
They’re both looking at me, so I offer up a polite thank you.
“Here’s where I feel things have shifted,” she says, “while you’re certainly on track to graduate in the Assassins major, Professor Fukumoto and I feel that your talents would be better used in a different major.”
Frowning, I try to make sense of her words. “I have never heard of a student switching majors once you have assigned them, Dean Christie.”
“It is highly irregular,” she agrees, “but it has been done before when we find that a student begins to show an aptitude for something else. While we are never wrong in our initial placements, room must be made for change and growth.”
Professor Fukumoto hastily takes a drink to hide a slight smile when the Dean emphasizes ‘never.’
“After some consideration, we’ve decided to change your major to the Leaders program with a specialty minor,” she says, watching my surprise before I hastily school my expression.
“With all due respect Dean, Professor,” I nod politely to both while resentment starts churning my guts. It’s a familiar feeling, honed by years of being the fuck-up of the family, and then the invisible son. “My brother Giovanni is the Don of the Toscano Mafia, and my brother Dario is the Underboss. There’s no room in the organization for me with a Leaders degree.”
The two exchange another glance that makes me want to sweep everything off her desk and yell at them both to stop fucking with me.
However, I value my life and all my limbs intact, so I don’t.
“I know you have questions about this change,” the Dean says, “and I fear we can’t answer all of them at this juncture. But here’s the paperwork for the change in majors. Professor Fukumoto will continue on as your academic advisor. He’ll delve into your new major and specialty minor in more detail over the next few weeks. Now, I fear that’s all the time I have for now. You are excused, Mr. Toscano.”
Finding myself out in the hallway with an envelope of papers and a pat on the shoulder from Fukumoto, I try to understand what the fuck just happened.
Chapter Three
In which Tatiana discovers that there is no such thing as a warm welcome. At least not at the Ares Academy.
Tatiana…
Earlier…
“Tatiana Aslanova, a pleasure to meet you!”
Dean Christie was not at all who I would expect to be running a college for criminals and assassins. She was short, maybe 5”2 or 5”3, and dressed in a soft black suit that looked like it was chosen for comfort rather than high style.
The drive up to the gates of the Ares Academy is beautiful; the harsh, windswept landscape and sheer cliffs looming over the Atlantic. Kilronan Village is charming, with pretty, painted cottages and a bustling harbor. The Academy, however, rises over the flat lands surrounding it, casting a long shadow in the sunlight. Tall black iron fencing and stacked stone walls surround three-quarters of the estate, the fourth faces the towering cliffs the Aran Islands are famous for.
All the buildings are Gothic style, with steep slate roofs and ominous towers and spires. It looks like an extremely exclusive Ivy League college until I see the guards at the main building and security cameras in every tower facing outside the campus. Like… they’re bracing for a rampaging horde of Vikings, bellowing and swinging their axes as they descend upon the campus. It makes me remember what Ilia said, that in case of an attack, every crime family is obligated to protect the school.
Safe from the outside world, I think, but I’m not so sure about inside these walls.
“I wish I could photograph every inch of this and put it on my Dark Academia board on Pinterest,” I whisper to Lev as we’re escorted to the Dean’s office. The only reaction I get from him is a slight upward curve of one corner of his mouth.
“So, Miss Aslanova, while it is highly irregular to admit a new student when we’re already into the school year, special circumstances can, upon occasion, warrant a slight bending of the rules,” Dean Christie says, pushing her shoulder-length hair back. It’s brown and wavy, and I can see glimmering shots of silver through the brown.
Not surprising, I thought, running this college could turn your hair white overnight.
“I appreciate your willingness to accept my late admission,” I said, trying to sound responsible and calm and not like the weepy mess I am inside.
She eyes me for a moment, eyes narrowed and suddenly she doesn’t look like the “fun aunt” anymore. Her unblinking focus on me is more like a hawk searching for a tasty rodent in the underbrush. “I need to be very clear with you, Miss Aslanova. While I understand you have been through a traumatic experience, no allowances will be made for it. We expect you to work even harder than the other students to catch up. Your stay here is not guaranteed.”
“How long…” I sputter, “How long do I have to catch up?”
The Dean runs her fingernail along the shining surface of her desk. “I will meet with your department head and instructors in early January and we will evaluate your potential to continue here at the Academy.”
“That’s three months!” I protest, “Surely-”
“Here are your admission papers and major placement,” she interrupts. “You’ll have a chance to go over them after you’re escorted to your living quarters. You will need to say your goodbyes to Mr. Khorkina now and give him your phone. No outside means of communication are allowed here.”
Dean Christie stands and it’s clear our little conversation is over.
Lev gently takes me by the elbow and walks me out of her office and to the massive wood, iron, and glass doors in the entryway. There’s a bored-looking student there who rolls her eyes as she spots me. She has short dark hair and a gorgeous olive complexion.
“She looks fun,” he murmurs, trying to make me smile. He watches my pathetic attempt and squeezes my shoulders gently. “You can do this,” he said, looking me in the eye. “As the Sovietnik says, you have done hard things before. You must stay here, Tatiana, it is crucial.”