Noah Lee had faced many challenges in his seventeen years of life.
AP Calc? Survived.
Public speaking? Barely.
Dislocating his shoulder during junior varsity basketball? Painful, but recoverable.
But this? This was something different.
Standing outside the Costa Estate, dressed in his neatest button-up, a nervous bead of sweat sliding down his neck, he was preparing for war.
The Costa Brothers had summoned him.
All nine.
Rumors were already circulating around Roosevelt High: "The Costa brothers are calling a meeting," "It's a blood trial," "He might come back a different person… if he comes back at all."
He was about to knock—hand trembling slightly—when the front door swung open.
And there she was.
Eleni Isabella Costa.
Hair down. Wearing a fitted black top, silver hoops, and that fire-red lipstick that made his brain short-circuit.
"Hey," she whispered, like she wasn't the epicenter of this family-level earthquake.
And before he could even say "hi," she stepped forward—
and kissed him.
Not just anywhere. Not on the cheek, not even the lips.
She kissed his neck, slow and deliberate, leaving a perfect lipstick stain behind like a battle flag.
Then she took his hand and laced their fingers together.
"Come on," she said sweetly. "Let's go die together."