8. Irina
8
IRINA
S unday night, I was driven back to my father’s place for a weekly check-in. I kept a blank face on the drive there, dreading every pending second of it. To avoid falling into a completely bitter mood, I tried to concentrate on thoughts of Professor Remi.
Revisiting his dark stare at the party filled me with intrigue, chasing away the annoyance about having to speak to my father. Thinking back to how hot and hard his body was so close to mine allowed me to imagine what it could be like if he touched me, preventing me from spiraling into the irritation of facing my father.
The man was an enigma, and I relished having something independent from the usual Mafia business bullshit to focus on. He could be my secret interest, the slight source of something good instead of all the sourness and badness of my life.
But all too soon, I was in his house, looking at his smug face and dealing with the tension of not giving him the answers he wanted to hear. I couldn’t give him any answers because there was nothing to report.
“You mean to tell me that you have nothing new? Nothing at all?” He held his hands up as though to say what the fuck? or mock me.
“Correct. I have nothing to report.” I added a shrug to further convince him.
“You don’t want to tell me about the increase of Ilyin men on campus?” He hardened his expression into a glare.
I shrugged again, this time, out of honest ignorance. “What’s there to say? Ilyin men have always been on campus.”
“What’s there to say?” he snarled. “That they are there!”
I blinked, trying to rein in the sarcasm I wanted to reply with. Since he implanted me as a student at the college, Ilyin men had been present. “They’ve always been there.”
“You don’t think you need to tell me that more are there?”
For fuck’s sake. “You’ve never asked me to count them.”
“Don’t get sassy with me, you little bitch.”
“I’m not.” Yet, I had to watch it. I was simply being honest. He could perceive this as he saw fit, though, and if he thought I was being snappy with him, he’d react by punishing Maxim to keep me in line. “I’ve never counted the Ilyin men. I didn’t know you would want a count. Yes, I’ve noticed a few more of them, but not so many that it would indicate anything significant.”
“What would you know about that? How the hell would you be able to determine what’s significant or not?” He laughed once, smirking. “You don’t know anything.”
While his criticism of me was just one more way he could be sexist and cruel, I had to bite my lip.
If you think I’m so stupid and na?ve, why ask me to be your damn spy?
“It has to be significant. If the Ilyins are trying to increase their numbers around or on campus, they are probably trying to take over the area. They must be thwarting my efforts to rule there.”
I didn’t reply, knowing that anything I could say would only make him madder. I didn’t follow the Ilyins. I was only ever asked who was doing what. It didn’t matter how many Ilyins were there. They were only there to buy or sell drugs and kind of look around, scoping out the scene.
“It’s bad enough that your guards had to tell me.” He narrowed his eyes and considered me like I was wasted space. “You should be upfront with me and tell me everything of interest.”
Until I was a mind reader, I wouldn’t be able to know what he wanted reported.
“What about the activity near the dean’s office?” he asked.
I shook my head, not even having to try to look clueless. I was clueless. “The dean’s office?”
“Yes. Keep up, you stupid bitch.” He smacked his fist on the armrest of his chair. “The dean’s office.”
“I have nothing to do with the dean. I never go there or have to visit those offices.”
“Well, you should.” He grimaced as if I were the worst disappointment he could ever face. “I’ve heard—from your guards—that the dean has ties with a couple of up-and-coming politicians who’ve been on my radar.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? That’s all you can think to say?” Shaking his head, he took a moment to collect himself. “If you can manage a simple task, you need to keep that in mind. Owen Nolan, the dean. I expect you to keep your eyes open around him.”
“I’ve never seen him.”
“So what? Snoop around his office and watch for anything you can learn about his connections with Marcus James and Eric Benson. Do I make myself clear?”
Great. Now I need to try to spy on a couple of politicians? And the dean? I nodded. “Yes.”
Even though I left shortly after his order, the gloom and funkiness that came from speaking with him followed me late into the night. I was on edge, annoyed, and feeling so stuck in my life that I gave up on reading or studying in my apartment and went to the library.
Whenever I came here, I tried to snag one of the “good” spots. Up on the second floor, near the corner. So many tall bookcases stood in here that it felt like an impenetrable maze. Unfortunately, those “good” tables were all in use, despite the late hour.
I was forced to sit at a more open table near the center. As soon as I shed my coat and got my books out, I found that I couldn’t concentrate here, either. The burn of someone’s attention on me bothered me. Someone was watching me.
One look around provided the source. Andre Ilyin, one of the familiar faces among my father’s rivals, stared at me from a table on the opposite side of the room. Without a book, notepad, tablet, or laptop on the table in front of him, he stood out. He looked out of place, a lone man dressed in all black, just staring at me.
Andre wasn’t merely looking. He was checking me out, smiling wickedly as though he could use X-ray vision and see what I wore beneath my sweater and jeans.
It didn’t make me feel good. Having his too-hungry gaze on me left me feeling soiled and damaged. Like he wasn’t only staring at me but touching me, and that wasn’t a caress I wanted to experience. Ever.
Sighing heavily, I tried to ignore him, not even glancing in his direction. It wouldn’t be the first time a Mafia man—even a rival—had given me once-overs like that. At parties, balls, and galas. At dinners and holiday events. I’d been around them before, and I’d learned to just accept that they would look all they wanted. Treating women respectfully wasn’t something that happened in this world. We were to be used and owned, nothing more.
Until I can leave. Until I can kill him and disappear…
The pep talk that I’d only need to put up with Mafia men until I ended my father’s life didn’t prompt me to feel much better, though.
What did was spotting Professor Remi in the corner.
He was there, reading or pretending to. And it was his stare on me that distracted me from the life that I didn’t want. Having his smoldering gaze on me lit me up. Letting him check me out gave me a sense of worth. It tricked me into assuming he would value me. He would want me—and it would just be me . Professor Remi was just a man, a hot one, one I shouldn’t want, but he was not affiliated with the Mafia, as far as I knew. If he was associated with any Family, the guards would report about it and tell my father.
I smiled, tracing the tip of my pen along my closed lips, reveling in how good it made me feel that a sexy man could see me as a woman, not as Igor’s daughter.
That good feeling stayed with me all night and into the morning. On the walk to his lecture in the morning, I breathed in deeply, letting my lungs fill with the crisp morning air.
I felt more alive. I was more excited for the day, not worrying about how slowly it would drag. The excitement and anticipation of being able to see Professor Remi—especially after witnessing his interest in me last night at the library—had that much of a difference on my mood.
Arriving early in the hopes of getting a good seat up in the front, I strode into the hall and sipped my coffee, an essential for every morning here. Taking a longer walk, since I had the time, I headed down the corridor that would bring me past his office. I had no reason to go there. I doubted I ever would. No professors saw me in their offices because I was—on paper—an excellent student who never needed tutoring or extra help. Even though I was at college as a role to fulfill for my father, I was a good student with little assistance to maintain good grades.
Still, I knew where Professor Remi’s office was. I neared it now, slowing down in case I could treat myself to an extra eyeful of him. When I reached his open door, though, the vision that greeted me wasn’t one I wanted to savor.
A tall redhead leaned in toward him, angling her head up and closing her eyes in preparation of bringing her face close to his. Just as I set my foot down in the hallway, the heel of my boot clicked loudly because I was so surprised.
Whoever this woman was, dressed in an office-chic pantsuit with the lowest cut possible, she had every intention of kissing the professor I couldn’t stop myself from desiring.
As she slanted toward him, likely trying to capitalize on the element of surprise, Professor Remi shifted his head a little to dodge her reaching him.
“Oh.” I let that interjection pop out of my mouth like I meant to say whoops . “My bad. I didn’t realize this was a private moment.”
The woman straightened before she could fall from Professor Remi’s evading her. As she faced me, with him holding her back at arm’s length, she shot me a beady glare that suggested she wished I’d drop dead or buzz off.
I’d interrupted their moment. She was pissed. But as my professor met my gaze, I couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or grateful. It wasn’t clear if he begrudged me for interrupting or if he was irked with this woman for making a move on him like that. He didn’t look happy, that was for sure. But was he bothered by me or her?
“Just passing by on my way to class,” I said, already moving my feet to walk away.
Once I did, I scolded myself for the flicker of jealousy that burned in me.
Jealous? What right did I have to be jealous?
Professor Remi was just my teacher.
A crush on my professor was quite possibly the stupidest thing I could fill my head with. It was such a silly concern, a non-issue in the big picture of what was happening in my life.
I don’t have time for this. He could kiss whoever he wanted, and any woman could try her best with him. It didn’t matter to me. It couldn’t matter to me.
Romance was dead to me. It had to be because I’d never have the freedom to actually decide something I wanted. I’d never have the right to act on something that interested me.
The intel of Professor Remi kissing some assistant in the building wouldn’t make Igor Petrov happy. And failing to appease my father with the information he did want wouldn’t help Maxim.
Still, as I entered the lecture room, I pushed the doors too hard. Anger simmered in my veins. My head wasn’t cleared of the annoyance and frustration. My heart raced, and no matter how many times I mentally scolded myself to snap out of this and forget about having a secret crush on my professor, I couldn’t force the strong feelings away.
Settling in for the lecture to start, I fought hard to find that stupid, trivial optimism I’d woken with.
But it was gone.