Dirty Look: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dark Desires)

by Jane Henry

  I leave her apartment with reluctance, but I take a moment to make sure her door’s back in place before I go. Something feels off, and my conscience pricks me. Even though I’m right next door, watching everything she does, she isn’t safe here. I shake my head, leave the building, and go back to mine.

  I watch her on the feed. After a time, she walks through her apartment, and shuts and locks the sliding glass door.

  Good girl.

  I’m lying in bed in boxers, my suit hanging up in the closet for the next day above glossy black shoes and my briefcase. Tonight, I’m Enzo Caprio, soldier for the family. Tomorrow, Professor Caprio.

  I slide my phone off the bedside table, and click the footage of Mia. She’s changed into a tiny tank top and boxers. I swallow hard. No bra, her breasts swing free, and the tiny pair of boxers barely covers the swell of her ass, still striped red from the lashes of my belt.

  Christ.

  I punch my pillow and go to put my phone down, when I see her reach for her schedule on top of her books. She stares at it, biting her lip.

  Her shoulders pull back when she draws in a breath, then slides her paper back on the stack and heads to bed. I click on the second camera feed that leads to her bedroom, telling myself this isn’t creepy at all. It’s my job.

  She shuts off her light and climbs into bed, but I can still see her by the light of the moon, her perfect features lit up with the gentle white light. She’s got so many pillows on the bed she has to toss half a dozen to the foot before she can rest comfortably. She’s swallowed up by the cavernous bed, easily ten times her size. She looks like a little girl playing house.

  I’d help her fill that bed.

  Christ, maybe I should bang the chick next door, scourge my mind from the filth that riddles it. And just as I go to put the phone down again, I watch as she slides her hand beneath the covers. She barely lets them cover her, so I can see the top of her hand right above the little shorts she wears.

  God. No. I should shut this off. I should turn away. I’m already lusting after this woman so badly my balls ache, but if I don’t stop myself—

  Her head’s thrown back on the pillow and even though I don’t have the sound on, I can imagine the prettiest, softest moans filling the room. Her eyes flutter closed as she fingers herself, and I’m so fucking hard it’s painful.

  What does she think about when she touches herself? When she’s writhing in climax and blood rushes through her body? What does she fantasize about?

  I can’t watch her come. I’ll never get the image out of my mind. I’ll never be able to control myself.

  I slide my phone onto the bedside table with herculean effort, punch the pillow again, and shut off the light.

  I wake the next day with a raging hard-on that even a shower and banging one off doesn’t help.

  School. Classes. Teaching. I shake my head. It’s got to be what gets me through.

  I can fucking do this.

  The phone rings, as if the devil himself’s keeping tabs on me. Piero.

  “Morning, Professor Caprio,” he says with a chuckle. Oh, he thinks he’s clever.

  “Morning, boss.” I stifle a sigh.

  “How’s that daughter of mine doing?”

  “She’s good. All set to start class today.”

  “Very good. Thank you, Enzo. I owe you a debt of gratitude. I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing my daughter was that far away from my protection.”

  He trusts me way fucking more than he should.

  “Understood, sir. I’m keeping very close tabs on her.”

  “Does she know who you are yet?”

  I swallow. “She might have a vague idea.”

  He chuckles. He never hid his need to protect her. “Sweet little bella. She’ll make her mama and me proud.”

  “Yes, boss.” I roll my eyes. I don’t want to listen to him go on about her perfections again. I’m damn well aware of the fact that he adores her. “Time for me to go to class.”

  “Best of luck, son. I trust you. Thank you. And listen, Enzo.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Take good care of her this semester, and I might be convinced to bring you home early.”

  God, yes. I can do this. I will do this.

  “Yes, sir. You have my word, sir.”

  We disconnect the call. I pinch the bridge of my nose and curse under my breath. Thank Christ my own apartment’s private. If Piero had any idea…

  My buzzer rings, and I slam the button to listen in. “Yes?”

  “Let’s go, douchebag. Came to walk you to class, professor.” Emilio.

  I grab a travel cup of espresso, my briefcase, and meet Emilio on the front step.

  “You look like shit,” he says affectionately, handing me a white paper bag.

  “Thanks. What’s that?”

  “Finest pastry in the North End to start your day off.”

  “I’m good, thanks. I don’t eat breakfast.”

  “That’s right, you chew coffee beans and bullets with your protein drink,” he mutters with a shrug. “Eh, more for me.” He grabs a cinnamon twisty thing drenched in thick white icing from the bag and takes a huge bite, crumbs spraying everywhere. He groans.

  “Christ, man, this is fucking heaven,” he says around a mouthful. “You sure?”

  I smack him upside the head. “Didn’t your mama teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

  He just takes another greedy bite and chuckles, then waves goodbye as I head to my first class. Criminology 101. I enter the room, brightly lit and squeaky clean, and for the first time, I look forward to it. I know the criminal justice system as well as any of the other teachers here, though my knowledge came from first-hand experience, not books. Hell, maybe that gives me an advantage.

  Students start to trickle in. Unlike Mia, they look like children to me. One girls with glasses and freckles, her hair still tied in braids. She gives me a sheepish smile, blushes furiously, and takes a seat in the very back. A guy comes in wearing shorts and a faded tee, a baseball cap shading his eyes. He jerks his chin at me in greeting.

  “Morning, professor.”

  “And you are…?”

  “Jay Clance.”

  “Morning, Mr. Clance. Hat off inside the building, please.” I’m determined to maintain my cover as a stern, law-abiding citizen.

  He takes his hat off and slinks to a seat. One by one, they enter the room. I’ve got eighteen students in the first class, and so far seventeen have entered the room.

  I glance at the clock. Two minutes. I take my syllabi out and tap them on the desk. Silence in the room while we wait for the last student to come in. I won’t tolerate tardiness.

  As the clock strikes eight, a blonde runs in the room, her hair trailing behind her, and slides into a front-row seat. I push myself off the desk and go to shut the door, but I hear a set of clickety-clack heels running down the hall. I stick my head outside and look.

  No fucking way. She isn’t coming into my classroom. I know her schedule and mine, and she isn’t on this roster. Did she change classes? But no, when Mia sees me standing outside the door to the classroom, she looks as startled as I am.

  I shut the door behind me, and block her from entering.

  “Where the hell are you going?” I hiss.

  Her eyes flash at me a split second before she swallows hard and squares her shoulders. She waves her schedule at me. “Criminology 101,” she says. “Tell me the teacher isn’t you.”

  Mia

  Holy fucking shit. It’s him. Belt guy.

  I thought I might be able to go one day without seeing him again. This takes the humiliation I experienced yesterday to a whole new level.

  I guess I should have expected this. This is the kind of shit my father loves to pull. He’s an expert at embedding his people in vanilla jobs and positions of authority. I suspected he had people at the college. I didn’t think he’d have one as my lecturer.

  I feel my ass heat up all over again. It feel
s like it is throbbing. God. This might be the most humiliating thing that has ever happened. The college is noisy, but I can’t hear anything. Blood is rushing in my ears and I’m seriously thinking about turning and just walking away. Fuck it. I’ll drop the class. But what if I do that and this guy tells my father and then I get my ass yanked out of college completely? There are conditions on my being here, and dropping classes on day one definitely breaches them.

  I’m not giving in. I’m going into that class. I’m going to take my seat, no matter how hard taking that seat is going to be. I’ve already experimented with sitting today and found it uncomfortable. I brought a pillow with me. It’s just a thin piece of foam, but it makes all the difference between being able to physically tolerate having my ass contact a seat, and having to, well, physically stand.

  His eyes drop to it, and a smirk passes over his handsome face.

  “You came prepared.”

  “I should report you,” I hiss.

  “For what?”

  “Beating your students.”

  “I don’t think either of us would want to bring that to the administration. It’s the sort of thing that could get us both recalled.”

  Chapter 4

  Enzo

  Christ, why does she have to look as if she just stepped off a runway? She’s wearing a blush-colored sundress with thin lace straps that barely covers her breasts.

  She tosses her hair, and it glides over her bare shoulders, the light floral fragrance of her shampoo wafting through the air. I could drown in that scent and die a happy man.

  “Professor?”

  Christ, I’m slipping. The Dean of Criminology stands to my right, a tiny wisp of an old man with white hair and round spectacles perched on his nose, smiling at me. I never even heard him coming.

  “Good morning and welcome!” he says. “I’m so sorry for the confusion, but we’ll have your updated class rosters in your email this evening. The first few days of class we always have to rearrange things. Here’s your schedule for today.”

  I take the paper from his hand and thank him. “Welcome!” he says cheerfully, whistling as he walks down the hall, so wholesome it makes my teeth hurt.

  I glance at the list, then back to her.

  Student number nineteen.

  Mia Russo.

  One of my men arranged this, I know it. I growl at the paper. “Get in the damn class.”

  She leans in, her eyes alight with fury. “Remember, professor,” she says. “Who you are. Wouldn’t want to give anything away now, would you?”

  This girl will land belly-down over my knees before the sun sets tonight if she’s not careful. I lean in and whisper in her ear, “You’re the one who ought to remember who I am, young lady.”

  She blushes suitably. Good. She must remember the sting of my belt on her ass.

  I yank open the door to the classroom and gesture for her to go in. “After you.”

  She walks in with her head held high, pulls a chair out in the very front row, places a cushion on it and sits, never taking her eyes off me.

  I didn’t become head soldier to the family by quaking in the face of something fucking hard to do. So, I have to teach class with the most gorgeous, willful, forbidden woman sitting right under me for a full semester. If I do it right, it’s the last semester I have to do this.

  “Good morning,” I begin, ignoring the perfection sitting in front of me and addressing everyone else. “I’m Professor Caprio, and we’ll begin the study of Criminology.” I launch off into some dumbass speech about the importance of studies and education, blah blah blah, but lay out my expectations. No tardiness. Work handed in promptly and neatly, no excuses. Missing two classes without a doctor’s note results in class failure.

  “Now,” I say. “Who can tell me the classic definition of criminology? If you’d done the required reading, the answer should be clear.”

  Mia raises her hand. Goddammit, when she does, her dress stretches across her chest. I stare at her eyes not her tits, and jerk my chin at her. “Miss Russo.”

  She answers in a clear, steady voice. “Criminology is the study of crime and its counterparts, the nuances imbued in both the abolishment of crime and efforts to prevent it. Many argue that the study of criminology is the study of humanity and its very essence.”

  I swallow hard. She was stunning before. Hearing her speak with such intelligence and grace is a fucking turn-on. Great.

  “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 5

  Mia

  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, bu
t 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.

  Stopping right before I'd have to actually walk past his desk and let him get behind me, I take another swallow of my water and wait for him to leave. He doesn't. The silence stretches out and starts to become awkward.

  “I have another class now,” he says. “If you want your spanking, you’ll have to come to my office during tutoring hours.”

  Oh fuck this guy.

  I take another step toward him, smiling coolly. I know how to play the role of ice princess. I know how to make a man crawl. No woman in my family gets to be eighteen years of age without knowing how to bust some balls.

  “You should speak to me with respect," I tell him as I approach him. “One phone call to my father, and you’re a dead man.”

  “One phone call to your father, and you're back in Italy before you can say buongiorno,” he smirks right back at me. “Run along, little girl. And be sure to do your homework.”