Then why does a sliver of hope blossom in my chest?
“Oh. Okay,” I respond, channeling my frustration into my tone. “Because I was wondering too, what the prison terms are like for organized crime. You know, I heard those organized criminals like to infiltrate legitimate operations and…"
“Yeah!” A guy in back pipes up. “Like, some people say half of Boston is run by the mafia.”
“Right,” I agree. “I heard that too. I heard that mafia are everywhere. Like, I don't know. Rats.”
“As I’ve said, that’s not on topic," Enzo says, trying to keep his expression composed. I know I've pissed him off. There’s a muscle in his jaw that usually only tics when Davo is around. Calling him out on being a mafia plant in front of the whole class apparently really pisses him off.
Good.
“I think the guy who sells pizza outside campus is mafia,” someone else says. "The pizza is terrible, but he drives a BMW M5.”
“Let’s get back on track,” Enzo says, giving me a glare that I’m sure is meant to school me, when all it really does is make my thighs clench together, Goddammit. "The foundations of justice are based on the notion that…"
I tune out again, smirking to myself. I can't make him want me, but I can make him regret toying with me. And maybe I can make him take me seriously. What stings most about last night was that he made it clear he thinks I'm just playing at being part of the family. He thinks he's the big man because he’s in some kind of debt to my father. I was born mafia. It runs in my veins. Just because I don't want anything to do with it, doesn't mean I want to be treated like a silly girl.
When class is over, I leave with the main herd. He’s tied up with half a dozen adoring coeds who will all pretend not to understand basic sentences just to be able to speak to him. They're so pathetic.
I was pathetic too, yesterday. A lot can change in a day.
“Mia!”
I look over my shoulder to see him walking down the hall toward me. He must have blown off half the class to come after me this quickly. I must have really pissed him off.
I walk quicker. He gets nothing from me. He deserves nothing from me. I get all the way out of the building and around a quiet corner before he catches up with me.
“Mia!” He grabs me by my arm and spins me around. "We need to talk."
I look at him, noticing those same stress lines from last night. Do the other girls see that, when they look at him? Or is it just the hunky silver fox they see? None of the pain. All of the hotness. I know who he is, and he’s known me since I was a child. The other girls know nothing.
“Get your hands off me, professor.”
“Mia…"
“I’m sorry, I don't have time to talk right now. Maybe you can go fuck yourself.”
His jaw tightens again. I’m sure if we were properly alone, he’d be whipping me until I couldn’t sit. But he’s not going to touch me ever again. He lost his chance.
“This isn't the time for games, Mia…”
“I’m not playing, professor. You think I came to Boston to find a teacher to fuck? No. I’m going to school to make a life for myself, because the last thing I intend to be is a mafia princess my whole life. Everything you value, I reject.”
“Well, princess," he growls. “I don't care what your values are. You’re coming with me. Now."
“I’m really not.” I pull my arm out of his hand.
“Mia… please. Come talk to me.” His tone changes. He sounds almost sorry, and like he's actually asking me, rather than barging in and just telling me what to do. Have I broken him that easily? I doubt it.
“Are you going to spank me if I do?” I fight the reaction of blushing when I ask that question, and fail.
“Not unless you ask me to.”
There’s a snowball’s chance in hell of me asking him to spank me, so I guess I’m safe. I let him lead me to his office. I guess there’s still some hopeful part of me that has the idea this can be made right, but I’m still mad as hell, and I don't see how he can make up for this in a million years.
He sits on the corner of his desk, one leg extended up along the top of it in a position which opens his crotch. I try to keep my eyes on his face, and not the taut fabric tent which hides the hardness I felt pressed against me last night.
“Yesterday evening did not go well,” he says in the understatement of the year.
“Yeah, no fucking kidding.”
“Stop cursing, Mia... you sound like…”
“You?” I finish his sentence. “I sound like you. You swear all the time. But it’s one rule for you and one for me, isn't it. You’re a hypocrite, and a bootlicker. And…”
“Mia,” he growls. “If anyone else spoke to me the way you are right now, I’d flay them alive. You know that, don't you?”
“Do I know you're violent? Sure. I know that. Do you expect me to be impressed? Scared? What? I've been around violent men my whole life, and contrary to your ideas about me, Enzo, I do know what this world is like. I don't want to be a part of it anymore.”
He shakes his head. "It's not that easy, Mia. You can't just go to college, hook up with a drug dealer and be free. You have Russo blood. That comes with responsibilities."
“My father already gave me the speech you're giving me," I tell him. "What do you want from me, Enzo?”
I know in my gut that this isn’t fair. This man in front of me holds all the cards. He's twice my age. He knows what being in love is like. He knows what making love is like. I don’t know either of those things, but I know I was on the precipice of both before he shoved me back out of the way.
I want to be taken seriously. I want to be a woman of the world. I want to be desired, pursued, respected. But Enzo makes me feel like the baby I am. I hate that. I hate that right now, my lower lip is starting to quiver, and my eyes are filling with those horrible tears that come from the fact he hurt my feelings. He made me all vulnerable, and he left me to go to sleep all alone, and now I don't know if I’ll ever be able to trust him again. We can’t do this. That’s what he said. He took everything away from me in four words.
“Mia…"
I pull away from him when he reaches for me. His embrace would have meant something yesterday, but not now. I am my father’s daughter, and once you fail me, I don't fucking forget it.
Chapter 10
Enzo
She’s hurt.
I should be determined to keep her safe no matter what, and if that means she gets hurt in the process, it’s an unfortunate but unavoidable consequence.
But she trusted me. She let her guard down and trusted me, and I fucked that up.
“Come here,” I say gently. I hurt her. I fucked this up. It’s on me to make it better. I want to hold her, tell her I’m sorry, bring her back to my apartment and cook her dinner and make slow, sweet love to her until the sun rises.
But what I want, and what has to happen, are two very different things.
“Actually, no,” she says, her eyes cold and hard. But I’ve seen those eyes grow soft. I’ve seen the way she bites her lip shyly, and fiddles with her hair, how her voice softens when she’s excited and how eager she is for someone to take care of her, to listen to her, to take her seriously.