Saints of the Syndicate by Natalie Nicole
Chapter 1
Sinclair
End of September-Senior year
Fucking hell. How much longer is he going to keep talking?
Jesus Christ.
Sitting here at the deliberation table with Declan on my right and Giovanni on my left, listening to our bastard fathers ramble on to some of The Trident's recruits before their official initiation ceremony. He’s going on and on about "the importance of our secrecy", "how lucky they were to be selected as a member of our prestigious organization" and our absolute favorite one "how enriched and powerful their lives would become with us as their family". It took everything out of me to not start laughing my ass off.
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
Sure, I guess you could say our lives were above par compared to most.
Our threefamilies ran the school we were currently attending. Fuck, my last name is the name of our school.
Blackwell University, established in 1862, when our great-whatever-grandfathers had made it rich off the California gold rush. They were some tough old bastards that decided the west needed a school for the wealthy to go to, and to help pull other loaded fuckers like themselves out west.
But they were also suspicious as fuck and created The Trident Syndicate, otherwise known as the super-secret society of Blackwell University.
We are the wealthiest of society. A male-only organization where your membership is usually passed down from father to son, blood oath kill to blood oath kill.
You keep your social status by being a ruthless bastard. Most of us have killed at least once, if not multiple times. We hold the power of a mafia or cartel family, but with the shadows as our protectors. They only wish they could accomplish half the shit we have while never entering the spotlight, unlike them.
As I sit here listening to our father’s drone on and on, I really wish they'd just shut the fuck up and fuck off back to their tower in the city, aka their offices, and get off our campus already.
I spin the Trident ring on my left middle finger. Some call it a nervous tick. I call it keeping my big mouth shut so I don't end up dead at my father’s hand for "embarrassing" him in front of the fresh meat.
"Anything to add to the discussion, Mr. Blackwell?" my father asks me, pulling me out of my fucking boredom trance.
"Yeah. Do what the fuck we tell you to do, don't fuck up my drink request, and don't fucking piss me off," I reply to my fathers’ idiotic question directed to the newbies while pissing good old Arthur off simultaneously.
Win. Fucking. Win.
With a short death glare towards me before resuming his stoic bullshit face of authority along with Declan and Giovanni's fathers, they finally end the meeting with some other nonsense that we three are surely not listening to at all.
"Mr. Blackwell, Mr. Carter, and Mr. Martinelli, you 3 stay behind for a few," Robert Carter, Declan’s father, says to us with a look that would scare most, but not us.
We were raised on those vicious glares, among other various punishments. If they think we are going to cower, they're wrong.
As I turn to Deck first, then Gio, my eyebrow quirked as if to ask, 'Any idea what this is about?'.I get slight responses in return saying 'no clue', but to not alert the bastards we are communicating.
Once everyone else is gone, we all turn our chairs to face our sperm donors, square our shoulders, keep our faces neutral, and prepare for whatever these psychos have ready to throw our way.
Simply sitting in his chair of royalty, acting like a king, my father glances at us, then glances at Robert Carter and Lorenzo Martinelli, Giovanni’s father, before delivering the biggest ‘we fucking hate you three’ news of our lives.
"Unless you boys find suitable options that we approve of by the time you graduate, which we doubt will happen, we have found you each a suitable woman to marry next fall. You can then start producing the next generation of men for our society."
Silence.
We are all just staring blank-faced at our fathers as they smugly stare back at us like they just made a few more billion to wipe their asses with.
Declan breaks the silence first, standing up so fucking quick his chair smashes into the stone floor.
"Hold the fuck up?! Are you grimy bastards saying if we don't bend to your dumb fucking rules, you’re setting us up with arranged marriages?"
"Declan…Watch. Your. Tongue." Robert says through gritted teeth.
"Oh go snort some more coke off another stripper’s ass. You can go fuck them while you’re at it if you think I'm agreeing to that horse shit."
Yup. Deck's beyond pissed, but he is the mouthpiece of the 3 of us. So Robert's power-play towards him is about as useful as a gun without the firing pin. His words aren't even registering in Deck's head currently.
Robert stands, clearly not enjoying his son calling him out on the shit he's seen him do, all while his wife and Declan's mom, Cindy, is sitting at home battling cancer. Worthless fool.
"Declan Ryan Carter! Sit the fuck down! You will agree to this along with Giovanni and Sinclair. Do you want to take over our positions in the company once you graduate? Well, this is how you do it. None of you move into the company unless you're married."
And there goes my stoic resolve. I snicker, finally drawing their eyes my way.
"And what's so funny Sinclair?" Lorenzo asks with a flat tone.
"That you think we are that fucking stupid."
"Excuse me?"
"Hmm...Didn't realize you were all going deaf already. Guess I'll say it again. It's funny you think we are all that fucking stupid."
Silence from them, but I see the tells that say each of their tempers are flaring. So I continue, standing alongside Declan.
"Do you think we’re so unbelievably stupid that we will agree to marry these 'daddy dearest' princesses, take your positions in the company - which are our god damn birthrights - and you all get to ‘retire’? Bullshit. We all already know none of you have zero motivation to leave your spots at the top of each company or here at the Syndicate. You just want us to marry whoever the fuck you choose because they’re nothing more than business deals to make you more money, and not to mention our lives even more of a living hell. Am I wrong?"
More silence from our fathers. Yeah, that's what we thought. They’re greedy pricks that would rather die than lose their standings either here or at the companies.
"Well...Since you aren't going to reply because we are correct, you can take your offer and shove it up your deranged ass, Arthur."
And on that note, I turn around and walk towards the door knowing Gio and Deck are right behind me.
Fuck this.
Fuck them.
I need a fucking drink ASAP.
As I storm out of the cathedral room where our assemblies are held and into the catacombs under the university towards the lounge area, I hear Declan grunt next to me.
“Grabbing our phones from the lockers, pour me one also.”
I step into the lounge area and pour a couple of shots of vodka for the both of us, wondering where the fuck Giovanni is. “G come out yet?” I ask as Deck comes up to the bar.
He slides my phone over and tosses back his shot. “Not yet. Knowing him he is trying to save our asses with his superstar IQ or some Houdini shit like that. I sure as fuck wasn’t about to stick around to find out. I’d have probably reached over and slit one of our father’s throats if I did.”
“Fuck it. Send him a text and tell him to meet us at the club. I can’t stand being here for another moment.”
I toss back my shot, loosen my tie, and head towards the private parking area where all members of the Syndicate park when we are summoned for council. I hop into my SUV as Declan gets into his, and we both head towards Club Luxe. Once we arrive, we flash our custom-fitted organization rings at the security guard to open the iron gates and then speed towards the alcohol, terrible decisions, and willing pussy.