"What do you mean, you can't do this?”
“I mean this," he says, gesturing around at me, the food, the apartment. “I cannot do this. If your father found out…”
“So we're both doing things we're not supposed to. So what?" I shrug. He looks so worried. There’s lines on his face that aren’t from age, but from worrying. I’ve seen the same lines on my father's face. They get carved in deeper than wrinkles, the price men in the family pay. Never ever being able to relax. Never being able to enjoy something simple, like a good meal, or a good fuck — not that I know what that is.
“Emilio's not stupid, and he’s fiercely loyal. If he reports back to your father, I’ll have a bullet in my gut before the end of business today, and you’ll be unprotected.”
“I’m not actually in danger. If I was, there’s no way I would have been allowed to come here," I say. "So don't worry about that. As for Emilio, take care of him.”
He gives me a look like I just said something fucked up.
“I’m not saying whack the guy,” I exclaim. “But, you know, take care of him.”
“You don't know what you’re saying, Mia,” Enzo growls. “And I know you’ve heard your father speak that way over the years, but there’s consequences to taking care of people, the way you mean, so stop playing mob boss.”
Now I’m insulted. This man actually thinks I’m a silly little girl playing games. Suddenly, all of this seems like mockery.
“So that’s it? One moment you’re hot for me, the next, we're stopping because of my father? I’m getting cock blocked by my own dad?”
“Don’t speak like that, Mia. It's beneath you,” Enzo says.
He can’t help but be patronizing. It's built into his DNA. I've known men like him all my life. They stake their loyalty to the concept of family and they’ll die for it. If my father told him to cut his hand off, he would. I guess there's some nobility to that, but frankly, I’m tired of men who make themselves my father's lackey, especially when they try to drag me back into the fifteenth century with them. Everything was hot and sexy and yummy as hell before that Emilio guy walked in. Now it's like Enzo never found me attractive at all. The mood has been more than killed, it's been whacked, cut up into little pieces, and dumped in the harbor.
I'm pissed.
"So this was never about me, was it? What am I? Just some trophy fuck? You toy with me until you get scared of my father and then it's just we can't do this?" I’m trying not to sound pissed, but I’m pissed. I’ve already made a lot of concessions for Enzo. I let him seduce me into spanking me. I fucking called him sir when he told me to. And for what? So I can be put on hold like a two-dollar hooker?
I’m angry. I'm humiliated. But Enzo doesn’t see or care about that. He’s too busy worrying about my father.
“I tell you what,” I say, my voice rising in pitch. “You don't want me? Fine. Why don’t you get on a plane and suck my father's dick instead. He’s the one you give a fuck about.”
“Enough, Mia.”
Enzo says those two words with a soft intensity which makes me pause — for all of a second.
“You need to relax," I tell him. “I’ll get Davo to bring…”
“You will not!” He emphasizes the word with his clenched fist slamming against the table, making the cutlery dance. “Mia, no matter what does, or does not happen between us, I forbid you from having any contact with that junkie.”
“He's not a junkie. Junkies use drugs, not sell them. And by the way, Enzo," I say, using his name like a slur. “You don’t own me. And you don't get to tell me how to live my life. If you want to be my father's lap dog, that's your call. But I’m going to be free.”
I grab my bag and I leave, slamming the door behind me on the way. It makes the most satisfying sound as the walls resonate.
There are tears in my eyes all the way home. I'd never let him see them, but I’m hurt. I was going to give him my virginity. And then what would have happened the second one of my father’s other lackeys got suspicious? He would have dumped me.
I half expect Enzo to follow me. I want him to show me he cares, that he'll put me first, but I get to my apartment and I'm still alone. And I go to bed, crying myself to sleep, completely alone. I pull the covers up over my head, knowing he's probably watching, but doing nothing, because when it really gets down to it, none of this has ever been about me. I’m a trophy. I’m a toy. I’m something to be proud of and to be possessed, but nobody actually gives a fuck if I am happy or not.
I thought, for a minute, Enzo might be different. I thought he wanted to take care of the smaller me inside me, the parts I never get to show anyone. But he saw them, and he rejected me anyway. I’m fucking crushed.
I wake up a new woman. I remind myself that I’ve been in love — no, lust with my professor for like, one day. The campus is full of super hot guys, and there's no reason to limit myself to a man who already has a love in his life: my father.
I get up. I wash my face, and I put my makeup on like war paint. Usually I try to go light during the day, but today I need to hide behind something, and it may as well be a fierce contour and sick brows.
I have criminology today. I don't know if I’m going to go. Skipping the class is easier than sitting there being tortured for an hour.
I check my phone before I leave the apartment. Enzo hasn't tried to make contact with me. I guess he doesn't need to. He can just sit back like the creeper he is and watch everything unfold.
I decide to go to class after all. He's not going to chase me away from my classes. It's hard, walking into the room with him standing there, seeing the admiring expressions on the faces of the other girls. They remind me of that bitch I met last night. The one who wanted him for herself. There’s no shortage of women who want Enzo. He’ll have replaced me by the end of the day, I'm sure.
When I get to class, Enzo barely acknowledges my presence. Point for me, for actually staying. He acts as though everything is normal, greeting the class, going about teaching his lesson on the foundations of the criminal justice system. I've already read the chapter. A lot of these freshman classes seem to be covered if you just read the course book. I'm thinking I'm going to be skipping a lot in the future. Maybe I'll take up day drinking like some of the other freshmen.
“Any questions?”
I wasn't paying attention to anything he was talking about, but I put my hand up. He ignores me at first, picks someone else to call on, but eventually he can’t keep obviously ignoring me. It's starting to draw attention from the rest of the class, and that will not do.
He nods at me, and I strike.
“Professor, what's the legal consequence for impersonation? Like, if someone was impersonating, I don’t know, a competent professor?”
He gives me a harsh glare. “That’s not relevant to our current learning objectives, Miss Russo. If you'd like to stay after class, you can ask me any questions you might have then.”
Ha. After class, where he can seduce me and punish me for my sauce? I don’t think so.