CHAPTER: HEIRARCHY AND WARNINGS
1138 Words
The silence of the Moretti villa was a lie.
For seven days, Maya had lived in a gilded vacuum. With Alejandro in Milan and Julian vanished since that night in the kitchen, the house felt like a tomb waiting for a body. She’d spent her first week mapping the estate like a prisoner studying fence lines, memorizing the way the sun hit the lemon trees and the exact number of steps to the heavy, locked oak door at the end of the hall—Julian’s door. It remained a stubborn mystery, a reminder that she was an intruder in a world that didn't want her.
Janice, meanwhile, was floating. Her mother walked the halls in silk robes, her eyes bright with a frantic kind of peace that Maya didn't want to disturb. So, she kept her mouth shut. She didn't mention the blood in the sink or the roar of the Ducati at 3:00 AM. She just played the part of the grateful daughter.
But today, the "fairytale" got its first real test.
A sleek, obsidian-black Maybach pulled up to the gates of Oakwood Prep. Maya climbed out, her skin crawling under the silk blouse Janice had practically begged her to wear. This wasn't California; there were no beat-up vans here—only vintage Ferraris and blazers that cost more than her old life.
"Signorina, I will be here at three," the driver said, his voice a low, professional drone.
Maya nodded, clutching her bag as she stepped into the courtyard. She felt the eyes immediately—a collective assessment of her hair, her shoes, and the way she carried her head.
"You must be the new transfer. Maya, right?"
A girl stepped forward, flanked by two others who looked airbrushed into existence. The leader—a girl with hair like liquid gold and eyes as sharp as a scalpel—raked a gaze over Maya.
"I'm Sofia," a moused-haired girl whispered from behind the trio. "I’m supposed to show you—"
"I’ve got it, Sofia," the leader interrupted. She stepped into Maya’s space. "I’m Bianca. We were just wondering whose car that was. It’s a bit... much for a first day, don't you think?"
"It’s just a car," Maya said, her California cool acting as a shield.
"In Lake Como, nothing is just a car," Bianca countered. "So, who’s the father? Is he textile? Finance?"
"He’s dead," Maya said flatly.
The silence was satisfyingly awkward. "Oh," one shadow shifted. "And your mother? What’s her name? Surely we know her."
"Janice."
Bianca repeated the name like it was a bad scent. "I don’t recall a Janice on the guest list for the Opera gala. Is she... local?"
"She’s American," Maya replied, her jaw tightening.
"Ah," Bianca smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "So, a Maybach and an American mother no one has heard of. Tell me, is she the head housekeeper for one of the estates? Did the owners let you use the car for your big debut? It’s a nice perk for the help’s daughter."
"Is that the only way a girl like me gets into a place like this in your head?" Maya asked, her voice dangerously calm.
"I’m just trying to place you," Bianca shrugged. "So, where exactly are you staying? The tourist rentals in the village?"
"I live at the end of Via del Sogno," Maya said. "The white villa on the cliff."
The atmospheric pressure seemed to drop ten degrees. The "shadows" froze, their smug expressions shattering.
"Via del Sogno?" Bianca’s voice lost its purr. "There are only two houses on that road. The Count’s estate, and..."
"And the Moretti Fortress," the second girl whispered. "But the Count is Switzerland. Which means..."
The realization hit them, but it didn't make sense yet. Before Bianca could demand an answer, a violent crash echoed from the main hallway.
"Watch it, scholarship trash!"
The girls’ attention snapped toward the commotion. A massive jock had a scrawny boy pinned against the lockers. Books were scattered across the floor like wounded birds.
"Enzo is bored again," Bianca muttered, her interest in Maya sidelined. "Let's see if he breaks a bone this time."
The trio moved toward the crowd, laughing. Maya stood still, watching the boy on the floor. No one moved to help. Maya didn't think; she walked straight to the lockers. The jock gave the kid one last shove before swaggering away. Maya knelt, reaching for a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.
"You okay?" she asked, handing them to the boy.
He looked up, terrified. "You shouldn't be seen with me," he whispered. "Especially if the rumors are true."
"I don't care about rumors," Maya said, gathering his papers. "I'm—"
"Maya. Amaya Gerald. I know," the boy finished, his voice trembling as he shoved his glasses back onto his face.
Maya froze. "How do you know my last name?"
"The school forum," he whispered, glancing around nervously. "I'm Luca. The 'mystery girl' who moved into the Villa Moretti has been the only topic for seven days. But you aren't using his name. You aren't a Moretti."
"I'll never be a Moretti," she said firmly. She looked at the bruises forming on his arms. "Does that happen a lot here? The bullying?"
Luca let out a hollow laugh. "This is Oakwood, Maya. It’s not a school; it’s a hierarchy. If you aren't legacy, you're target practice. And Julian... he’s the one who set the rules. He’s the King of the Skeletons in this town. The fights, the underground races at the docks, the things the police are paid to ignore... he's at the center of all of it. He’s been gone for a week, probably doing—"
Luca’s words died in his throat. His face went gray, his eyes fixing on the space behind Maya's shoulder.
The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall swung open with a bang that sounded like a gunshot. The chatter died instantly.
Julian walked in.
He didn't wear the school blazer; his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his black leather jacket was slung over one shoulder. He looked exhausted—jaw covered in dark stubble, a fresh bruise shadowing his cheekbone. He looked like he’d crawled out of a gutter and into a throne room.
He didn't look at the girls who straightened their hair. He didn't look at his "friends."
His sea-green eyes cut through the crowd, ignoring everyone until they landed on the back of the hall. He locked onto Maya, standing next to the "scholarship kid" he had taught everyone to despise.
The corner of his mouth twitched in a dark, humorless smirk. He didn't say a word, but the message was clear: The week of peace is over.
Maya gripped her bag, her knuckles white. She didn't look away.
- Writer
