Brandon King didn’t believe in coincidences. Especially not when the delegation from the rival school walked into the academy escorted by private security—the kind only the mafia used.

And there she was. The daughter of the Italian don everyone pretended not to fear. Elegant. Calm. Dangerously confident. A mafia princess walking through enemy territory as if it belonged to her.

Brandon saw her before she saw him. But when their eyes finally met, he felt the hit— recognition, challenge… and a silent warning.

She sat with the Ravenshore team, ignoring every stare. Brandon couldn’t ignore her.

After the presentation, he found her alone in front of the champions’ mural, studying trophies as if she were evaluating the worth of his territory.

“They say your family runs Pagane,” Brandon said, leaning against the wall.

She raised a brow. “And they say the Kings run this place.”

“Do you believe that?” he asked.

She stepped closer, breaking the distance. “I don’t care who runs what,”* she murmured. * “Only who deserves my attention.”

Brandon held her gaze.

Rival school. Mafia bloodline. Trouble guaranteed.

And still, he was already gone.