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“The water around Dvorca is rough as hell,” a boy with close-cropped dark hair answers me. “If you tried to sail over in some fishing boat you’d get tossed around like corn in a popper. Some parts of the year you can’t come and go from the island at all.”
“How do you know?” another kid demands.
“I’ve had five siblings go through Kingmakers,” the boy replies, shrugging. “I’ve got a pretty good idea how it all works.”
“Where’re you from?” I ask him.
“Palermo,” he says. “I’m Matteo Ragusa.”
“Catholic?” I ask.
“You know it.” He grins.
“I’m half-Italian too.” I put out a hand to shake. “Leo Gallo.”
“Chicago, right?” he says.
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Two of my brothers live in New York. There’s plenty of Italians at Kingmakers. More Russians, though.”
“I’m also half-Russian,” I tell him.
He laughs. “I won’t hold it against you. Can’t say the same for the rest of them.” He jerks his head toward our fellow students.
“What’s wrong with Russians?” Anna demands.
“Everything,” Matteo says, laughing. “They’re blunt and rude. Mean as hell, though not as mean as the Albanians. Then you’ve got the Italians, you know we’re all hot-headed and a little bit lazy, then you’ve got the Irish?—”
He breaks off, seeing Anna raise one darkly-penciled eyebrow.
“Just kidding around…” He raises his hands in defense. “You’ve got twenty different kinds of mafia families, with a hundred kinds of prejudices and grudges. And yet somehow we’re all supposed to get along for four years. Until we go out in the real world and get to battling again.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, mostly to annoy Anna. “I get along with everybody.”
Anna snorts, tossing her head.
People who don’t know me very well are always impressed by me. Anna knows me best of anyone, and she’s never impressed. I’ve done the craziest things to try to force her to admit that I’m funny, or skilled, or a fucking badass. But she’ll never admit it.
I don’t know what kind of guy would turn her head. While I’ve gone through a dozen girlfriends, she never seems to fall for anybody.
A whistle blows and one of the deckhands motions for the students to start boarding.
“Here we go,” Matteo says nervously.
I spot Ares joining the queue, carrying one small and battered backpack in place of a suitcase.
“Morning,” I say, looking him over for signs of a hangover.
Like Anna, Ares looks a hell of a lot better rested than me.Fuck, am I the only lightweight?
He grins at me. “You made it.”
“Just barely.”
“Come on,” he says. “We better get on board if we want a good spot up at the bow.”
Anna and I join Ares in the line, and we all scale the gangplank up onto the ship.
