Vendetta (Blood for Blood #1)(17)

Millie whistled to herself. “Hello, blue eyes.”

Alex prodded her in the shoulder. “Are you done? We’re trying to talk tactics.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, shaking him off. “I’m in the middle of something.” She narrowed her eyes, honing in. “OK, who’s on the far right? The one with the slicked-back hair? And is that a scar?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should call him Hair Gel.”

The closer they got, the more obvious it became that they were capturing the attention of every girl in the vicinity, and they looked like they knew it, too. I wondered where the fifth brother was — the bright-eyed boy from the window who’d raised his hand without a smile — but the thought vanished when Nic’s eyes found mine and I nearly exploded with butterflies.

“Hi,” he mouthed.

I smiled back, resisting the urge to clutch my stupid, backflipping stomach.

“Holy crap, that was seductive.” Millie was hopping from foot to foot. “They’re coming over. Be cool.”

Like helpless magnets, we drifted toward the brothers, leaving Alex and his sidekicks to talk boring strategy behind us, determined, like every boy at the basketball courts, to ignore the new arrivals. My uncle’s warning, which had seemed so urgent and important at the time, flittered away on the wind. If these boys were really bad news, as Jack seemed to think, then suddenly I was happy to be Icarus, ready to get all melty from flying too close to the suns.

“Hey,” I called out. “I didn’t know you’d be playing today.”

Nic stopped a couple of feet away and the rest of his brothers closed in around us. “It was a last-minute decision. Now I’m glad we made it.”

Millie pinched me. It was her silent version of an excited squeal.

“Nice vest, Sophie,” said Luca, straight off the bat. “I can barely see you.”

“Luca.” I tore my attention away from Nic for the amount of time needed to throw his brother a contemptuous glare. “A pleasure, as always.”

The brother beside him laughed. He had the stupidest hairstyle: The top section of his hair was scraped into a short black ponytail, while the sides of his head were shaved, revealing a small golden hoop in his left ear. Despite the ridiculous plant hairstyle, he was attractive, but when he laughed, his eyes widened unnaturally and his opened mouth revealed two chipped front teeth that made him seem slightly maniacal. He reminded me of that one crazy hyena in The Lion King.

“Ignore Luca. That’s just his bad attempt at trash-talking you,” Nic cut in, sending his brother a glare on my behalf.

“And my way of pointing out that she’s small,” Luca added.

“Thanks, Sherlock. I know I’m small.”

“Just making sure.”

“Do you even have a brain-to-mouth filter?” I asked.

“I try not to overuse it,” he returned blithely.

“Clearly.”

“Don’t cry about it, Day-Glo.”

“Shut up, Luca.” Nic threw his red vest over his head and pulled it down. “I think you make it look good, Sophie.”

“Cazzo, here we go again,” muttered Luca. He rolled his eyes and then leaned into Ponytail, adding in a calculated whisper, “This is what he was like at the diner. It was so annoying.”

“You know, Luca, you’re really good at strategically muttering things just loud enough to be offensive.”

“Thank you, Sophie.” His tone lifted, rendering his false sincerity almost believable. “I appreciate that.”

“I should get you a medal.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, a lazy smirk forming. “After today, I’ll have a trophy.”

I curled my lip. “I know what you can do with that trophy …”

Millie’s laugh drowned out the rest of my reply. She hugged her arm around my side, pinching me through the vest. Squeal, squeal, squeal.

“So what’s your team’s name?” Nic cut in, strategically guiding the conversation out of the gutter.

I puffed up my chest and brushed the stray strands of now-white hair away from my face. “The Human Highlighters.”

Luca snorted.

“What’s yours?” asked Millie, but she wasn’t directing her question at Nic; she was looking at Hair Gel, her teeth gently pulling at her bottom lip.

I zeroed in on his face — Millie was right, there was a scar. It was obviously an old injury, slicing through his left eyebrow and glowing silvery against his tanned skin. On instinct, I glanced at Nic’s bruised hand, and felt an uneasiness bubbling in my stomach. I pushed it away.

“The Crimson Falcons,” Hair Gel replied to Millie, falling right into her trap and watching her lips hungrily.

“Intense,” said Millie, her expression entirely coquettish.

“It was either that or the Angel-makers,” Luca added. His humor was so deadpan, sometimes I didn’t know if he was funny or just insane.

“Stop it.” Nic punched Luca in the arm with an audible thump, but his brother didn’t flinch. If I had received that hit I would have been on the ground screaming for my mother.

“Calmati! I think I’d better defuse this,” Hair Gel cut in, moving easily from one language to the next, just like Nic and Luca did. It was hard to tell which was their real accent — American or Italian. Hair Gel leaned over to shake our hands, holding Millie’s a little longer than mine and, I noticed, stroking his thumb over hers. Maybe Millie had finally met her flirting match. “I’m Dominico. You can call me Dom, though.”