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The bald man spoke again.
I'd heard this same line at least six times this year. Maybe seven. I'd stopped counting.
My father's voice echoed in my skull, as clear as if he were standing in the room with me:
I'll end you with my own hands if you think I'll allow my son to fail. You better pass this semester. I won't have a failure for a son. You won't like what happens if you don't.
Same shit. Different day.
I stared at the message on my phone until my reflection blurred in the black screen, then shoved it into my pocket. No point staring. I got the message loud and clear when I was six.
"Very fatherly message I received this morning," I muttered. "Are we done? I'll do better."
The last thing I wanted was to sit here like some troubled child. Yeah, I skipped class. Yeah, I didn't care. High school algebra wasn't exactly my priority this year.
"I'm afraid not," Mr. Dudley said. "Your father and I have agreed you need a tutor. You start today. She's already waiting in the library."
"She?"
I scoffed. This had to be a joke.
A humiliation ritual.
"Yes. Her name is Daria Cole. She's a sophomore—"
"A sophomore?"
I laughed once, humorless. A sharp sound.
What the hell.
Now I was supposed to let a little girl teach me? Right.
"She's very smart," he insisted, clearly frustrated. "Number one in her grade. And she's tutored seniors before."
I didn't care. I hadn't asked for intervention from the principal, or my father, or anyone.
"Your father told me to let him know if you refuse..."
He said it like that meant something to me.
I leaned back and crossed my arms.
He thought I was scared of my father. I wasn't.
His threats were empty, not because he was weak, but because killing his own son over algebra would make him look weak. And he was many things, but weak wasn't one of them.
He was a Mafia King. A ruler.
A man made of blood and bone and ego.
But love? No. That wasn't him.
Loyalty, though... loyalty was his religion.
And me failing school would make him look like a fool.
I didn't know much about the business yet. He'd shielded me from most of it. But I knew this: once I turned eighteen, everything would change. Born in blood, made in blood. His words. Not mine.
Mr. Dudley watched me like he could read every thought.
"Are you listening, Nico?"
"Yeah."
"You don't look like it."
"Still am."
He sighed — the exhausted kind. He'd probably sighed like that since the day I enrolled.
"Miss Cole is very mature and very smart. You'll meet her in the library after last period. Table four."
"I'll do it," I said through gritted teeth, standing up. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Nico," he added as I reached the door, "try to be polite."
I looked over my shoulder.
"No promises."
I pulled my hood up before I even stepped out. This school was bullshit. I couldn't wait to leave.
By the time I reached the library, I already regretted agreeing to this.
Table four.
That's what he said.
And then, there she was.
Pink bow in her hair.
Pink dress. She looks like a walking cupcake.
Notes spread across the table like she was preparing for a lecture instead of trying to save a lost cause like me.
I almost turned around. I almost walked away.
She looked up. Smiled.
Too bright. Too soft. Too... damn much.
"You're Nico, right?"
Her voice was soft. Kind. Like she's never raised her voice in her life.
The first thing I noticed was her mouth.
Soft and glossy. I shouldn't have been looking there.
I sighed before answering.
"Unfortunately."
They finally met. Omg!