The old stone cathedral walls drink in the candlelight, casting flickering shadows across the vaulted ceiling.
I move soundlessly through the labyrinthine halls, my footsteps swallowed by the hush of the underground. At this point, the mask I’m currently wearing feels like a second skin. It should, given that I’ve worn it for almost a decade now.
Here—in Court—this is who I am.
The Hound, one of the five Shadow Kings, sitting as judge, jury, and if necessary, executioner of the accused.
In here, I’m not Carmine Barone. Not the mafia prince who’s about to marry a woman who makes his veins burn every time she opens her mouth.
It’s only in the last few years that we’ve become bolder and more active in our Black Court operations, but this all started ten years ago.
At Knightsblood University.
Back then, the five of us were simply various mafia heirs attending the prestigious, shadowy Ivy League college built for the sons and daughters of the underworld. We came from different families and different empires, but the five us all found ourselves as members of Para Bellum, one of the four elite clubs that have almost as long a history as Knightsblood itself.
There’s the Ouroboros Society, for the information brokers. The Order, which seeks out the spies and assassins. The Reckless, calling to—well, that’s fairly self-descriptive. They’re the warriors.
And then there’s Para Bellum: the strategists. The generals. The leaders.
That’s where the Black Court was born: on a dark night seeped in mayhem and vengeance. That was the first time we wore our masks. And after that first baptism in blood, we all knew this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing.
It’s not that any of us thought our fathers or our families or our institutions were weak. But the system itself was becoming complacent. Rot was creeping in around the edges.
And if there’s one thing I’ve always known on a visceral level, it’s that power without control is worthless.
So we built The Black Court: a system that would keep the chaos in check. Because criminals without a code of conduct are just animals.
And animals cannot rule.
In here, we aren’t who we are out there, bound by mafia politics, or opportunity, or family. In here, it’s all about choices. The choice to be right or to be wrong.
Innocent or guilty.
Fight or flight.
I pause by the carved, heavy wooden door to the inner sanctum. Then I roll my neck, take a breath and step inside. The chamber is steeped in shadows and flickering torchlight that casts jagged silhouettes against the stone walls.
Conversation pauses as I enter. The four other Shadow Kings—The Wolf, The Bull, The Raven and The Stag—are already seated around the ancient stone table, its surface carved with the same intricate runes that are on the walls of this underground cathedral.
Their black masks, each molded into the beast it represents, glint in the dim light.
I’m a little late, and it’s clear they’ve already been talking about this evening’s subject at hand. The Raven glances at me, dipping his head. I clap a hand on The Bull’s firm, muscled shoulder before I take my seat at the table next to him.
The Wolf glances at me, then clears his throat and leans back in his chair.
“So glad you could fit us in, Hound.”
I roll my eyes under my mask.
“I had something to deal with.”
“We all have shit to deal with,” The Wolf mutters. “But when we agree to—”
“Enough.”
The Stag lifts his mask just enough to be able to slip a cigarette between his lips. The Zippo flickers and catches, then he leans in and lights the tip.
“Mind if I fucking continue?” The Wolf mutters with barely concealed annoyance, which is pretty much his default setting regarding the rest of the world.
“By all means,” The Stag growls quietly.
Beside me, The Bull chuckles to himself, shaking his head.
“As I was saying,” The Wolf grunts. “This isn’t about paranoia, it’s about being thorough and making sure there are no loose ends.”
The Raven exhales slowly, his fingers tapping the table with slow, deliberate movements.
“That depends,” he murmurs, “on what she knows. Or, worse, what he told her, if anything.”
The crackling of the fire is the only sound in the cavernous space.
I keep my expression blank behind the mask, my voice a controlled growl.
“I told you before,” I say. “There’s no evidence she knows anything. If she did, I’d know by now.”
The Bull shifts slightly, his mask turning toward me. “She showed up at one of our sessions, Hound. That alone is…suspicious.”
I exhale slowly, my fingers tapping the ancient carvings in the table’s surface.
I know what they’re dancing around.
Arkadi.
His secrets.
Concerning us.
I roll my shoulders, settling deeper into my chair. “We know Arkadi was dangerous. We know he was greedy. But what we’ve never learned is what he actually had on us.”
The Wolf watches me carefully. “Yeah, which is exactly the fucking problem.” He sighs, rapping the table with his knuckles, like he just needs some way to get rid of the energy that hums through him.
“You met with him,” he says. “Before it all fell apart.”
I nod. “I did.”
The room is silent. They already know the story.
Arkadi Ostrov had a recording, he claimed, that he could use to blackmail The Black Court and all of us.
He didn’t say what he had, where he kept it, or how much he knew. Just that he wanted a fuckton of money for it.
I met with him, gauged the threat, and we agreed to talk again.
But that never happened because two days later, his fourteen-year-old daughter ran from their house, screaming to the neighbors there were girls locked in the basement.
The FBI descended, Arkadi was arrested, and we never found the recording.
I exhale, dragging a hand over the back of my neck.
“If he had something, the Feds didn’t find it,” I say.
The Raven’s mask glints in the firelight as he tips his head. “Not that we know of.”
There’s a stretch of silence. Then, The Stag speaks again. “And now, his daughter is back in our world.”
I feel something hot suddenly coil inside me. “She’s not involved with this,” I say sharply.
The Wolf’s gaze flicks to me. “She’s about to marry you. That makes her involved.”
I press my hands against the stone table, exhaling slowly. I don’t like where this is going. And I don’t like the way they’re talking about her. Like she’s just another loose end to tie up.
The Raven leans forward slightly. “No one’s trying to piss you off, Hound. We’re just—”
“Succeeding,” I snarl.
The Raven is silent for a moment before he replies.
“You really believe she doesn’t know anything?”
“Yes,” I say flatly.
“But you can’t prove it,” The Wolf grunts.
My head snaps in his direction. “Exactly how would you like me to prove a negative, motherfucker.”
I can feel his eyes narrowing behind his mask.
“Watch your fucking tone,” he grunts back.
“Why don’t we take it down a notch,” The Raven says, his voice rising along with his hands. “Everybody just take a step back.”
The Bull exhales noisily behind his mask. “Look, we trust you, Hound. We just don’t trust her.”
Possessiveness flares inside me—hot, unexpected.
I should stamp it down and bury it deep, but I don’t.
Instead, I whirl on him. And before any of them can react, I’ve stood abruptly and grabbed The Bull by the collar, yanking him into me, looming over him.
“You’re talking about the woman who is going to be my wife,” I snarl viciously.
For a moment, no one speaks.
Then I feel a hand on my shoulder. I glance back, seeing The Raven standing and slowly shaking his head, telling me wordlessly to calm the fuck down.
The Stag exhales smoke through his nose, shifting slightly in his chair.
“No one needs to prove a negative. We just need to know for certain if she knows anything, or if she knows what her father had on this Court.”
“And again,” I mutter, letting go of The Bull’s collar. “I’m on top of it.”
“I suppose that means you’re going through with the wedding?” The Bull grunts sarcastically.
I don’t answer.
“Well,” The Wolf shrugs, leaning back in his chair, “let’s hope you don’t regret it.”
I push back from the table quietly.
“I think we’re all quite aware that I’m not overly burdened with the concept,” I murmur. I button my jacket before I let my eyes drag over the rest of the group. “I’ll handle it. Like we always handle it.”
I push open the doors and step into the darkness, then let them close behind me with a resounding thud.
