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“I don’t have any cousins,” I scoff.
“Second cousin, then. Same fuckin’ difference,” the scruffy one says.
“You really don’t know who I am?” the big one says, dark eyes narrowed. “You don’t know the Lomachenkos?”
“You’re Odessa Mafia . . .” I say slowly.
I am, of course, aware that a chapter of the Ukrainian Mafia operates out of Brighton Beach in New York. I knew my father had dealings with them at times, but I didn’t know that we were blood-related—if this idiot’s even telling the truth.
“Estas Lomachenko,” he says, puffing up his chest. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised thatMarkodoesn’t want to remember what he did to my brother.”
I’ve never heard of Estas or his brother, but I don’t like what he’s insinuating. And I definitely don’t like the sneering way he says my father’s name. No fucking way would he have the balls to call my dad “Marko” to his face.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say coldly.
“He’s got a lot of nerve sending you here,” Estas sneers, his nose so close to mine that his spit hits my cheeks. He bumps me with his chest, pushing me backward. “Does he think the Rule of Recompense is gonna protect you? We can make your life a living hell without ever putting a finger on you . . .”
“Get the fuck out of my face,” I snarl back at him. “And don’t you say a word about my father or I’ll twist your head around like a fuckin’ dandelion!”
“I’ll say whatever I like about that lying, murderous piece of?—”
I haul off and punch Estas right in the nose, hard as I can.
I do it without thought or any kind of plan. I know we’re not supposed to fight at Kingmakers, but technically we’re notatKingmakers yet, and also, fuck this lying sack of shit trying to start something with me on the first day of school!
Disloyalty to family is the worst accusation you can make in the mafia world. This motherfucker’s gonna learn real quick the consequences of slandering my father.
His skinny friend tries to grab me and put me in a headlock, which turns into a tussle on the deck, me punching and kicking every piece of him I can reach, while the skinny guy hangs on like aspider monkey. Estas, snarling with blood all over his teeth, tries to jump on me too. To my surprise, the lovely Sabrina Gallo punches him in almost exactly the same place that I did, turning his bloody nose into a spurting fountain.
Caleb grabs her arms and hauls her back, shouting, “Dude! How amIthe responsible one here?”
The rest of the fight is swiftly broken up by several burly deckhands who rip Estas and me apart, tie our hands in front of us, and dump us down on opposite ends of the deck.
Unfortunately, Sabrina gets the same treatment, deposited right next to me with Estas’ blood still on her knuckles.
“NO FIGHTING!” the first mate howls at us, pointing his thick finger right in our faces. “You fucking sit there and don’t move an inch, any of you!”
Estas and his skinny friend glower at us from the stern, but under the first mate’s glare, they keep their mouths shut.
Caleb, at least, isn’t in trouble because he only tried to hold Sabrina back. He watches us from several feet away, frowning and worried, held back by the prowling first mate. Cara Wilk gives us a sympathetic shrug.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Sabrina guiltily.
“Ah, it’s fine,” she says. “He started it.”
“I don’t even know him!” I cry. “I don’t know what the fuck his problem is.”
“Hm,” Sabrina says noncommittally.
“What?” I demand, turning to face her.
“Nothing.” She shrugs.
“No, it’s not nothing,” I say. “Everybody’s looking at me weird. You know something about it—go on and spit it out.”
Sabrina cocks one soot-black eyebrow, looking at me with her cool gray eyes.
“You didn’t seem too open to constructive criticism from our friend Estas over there,” she says.
