“Excellent,” I say, turning away from her. “Why might one argue that criminology is at the very heart of the study of humanity?”
The class continues in a lively discussion. Mia participates with the best of them, every response articulate and thoughtful. I’m impressed. The bell rings, and students gather their materials as I give tonight’s assignment.
“I expect chapters one through three of your text read by tomorrow, and a one-page summary of the history of criminology on my desk before tomorrow’s bell.” Students file out of the classroom, but Mia doesn’t move. I pretend she isn’t there as I gather my materials and prepare for my next class.
“Well done, professor,” she says with icy approval.
I give her a sharp look. “What do you mean, Miss Russo?”
She lowers her voice and speaks in a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, you know,” she says. “No one would ever know why you’re so learned in the study of criminology.”
“Enough, Mia,” I warn. “You know why I’m here. I know why you’re here. If you fuck it up, you’ll answer to both me and your father.”
She leans forward, places her hands on the desk, and stares me down.
“Is that right?” she whispers. “You like that, don’t you? Sir.”
“Don’t tempt me, woman.”
Too late. Too fucking late, my mind has already gone there, my body only one step behind, the word sir dripping off her tongue, latent with meaning.
She gets to her feet. “Or what?”
But hell no, I won’t let her taunt me.
“You remember my warning last night.”
She tips her head to the side. “I can’t recall,” she says. “Why don’t you remind me?”
I have to get the upper hand. I have to keep this girl in line.
“Is that what you want, Mia? A reminder? You want to be sprawled over my lap? To be taught a lesson over my knee?” I take a step toward her. I need to intimidate her, to push her away. I need her to fear me. “You want a stern reminder to behave? You wouldn’t be smiling then, little girl.”
She stares me down, all teasing gone. “Yes,” she whispers. “That is exactly what I want.”
I’ve faced grown men in battle, criminals of the underworld, powerful, deadly, and fearless. I’ve taken on ruthless leaders and cutthroat enemies. I’ve faced certain death and brutal, vicious violence, and always survived.
But it’s this little scrap of a thing with golden hair and radiant eyes will be the one that kills me.Chapter 5Mia
I’m not going to back down from him. Not even if my heart is thundering in my chest, not even if I feel like I’m going to faint. Standing in front of me is the living embodiment of everything I thought I was escaping by coming to Boston for college.
I’m furious that my father couldn’t let me have a normal life. Of course he had to send one of his henchmen after me. Am I ever going to be free? Am I ever going to be anything other than a little mafia princess? Looking into my professor’s eyes, I feel the world I was born into closing around me again. There’s no escape. Not for any of us. But that doesn't mean I’m not going to fight him. He’s not going to take a damn thing from me, not even a blush without a struggle.
“You don't know what you’re asking for, little girl,” he growls, still smiling because to him, I am nothing more than a sassy little girl. “You’d never been spanked until last night.”
I don’t like the way he's talking to me. I don't like the way he's making me feel small, which is to say, I love it, but I can’t let him have this much power. I don’t know what I'd do if he took me over his thighs. Faint, probably.
I need to break the spell. My mouth is dry. I reach for my water bottle, hating the way my fingers fumble with the cap.
"You're a spoiled little princess," he says, his voice throaty, taunting me. He’s old enough to actually be my father. This is wrong in every way. A man twice my age, sitting behind a professor’s desk, pretending to be nothing more than the stuff of college girl crushes. But I know what he really is. I know what those big, rough hands have done. I know why there's calluses along the insides of his fingers. I know that a handgun would slip against them just right.
I have to get a grip on myself. The worst thing I can do right now is let him see that I'm intimidated. I need to get out of here, and decide what I'm going to do. Drop this class, probably.
I come down the aisle between the chairs. His desk is between me and the door. I don't want to walk past him. I don't want to be in arm’s length of him. He's dangerous in so many ways. I glance at the books on his desk to avoid looking at him directly. Criminal justice. What a fucking joke. Both of us are so far outside the law we wouldn’t know it if we fell over it.