Her Mafian Professor

Chapter 3~The Deal

Tiffany’s POV

I sat through the rest of Tarzo’s class, barely hearing a word. Every minute felt like an eternity as I tried to act normal, even though his eyes lingered on me far too often for comfort. When the lecture finally ended, I bolted for the door, tugging Laurel along with me.

“Slow down!” Laurel protested, laughing. “What’s the rush?" He’s just a professor, not a god.”

"You have no idea," I thought grimly. But I forced a smile. “I just… forgot I had something to do.” I stuttered and then facepalmed myself internally.

Laurel gave me a suspicious look but shrugged. “Okay, okay. I’ll catch you later, then. Got a client to frizz up,”

Once I was sure she was gone, I slipped into a secluded corner of the campus and pulled out my phone. My fingers trembled as I dialed my uncle’s number.

“What is it now?” His voice was sharp, impatient.

“You didn’t tell me who I was stealing from,” I hissed. “Why didn’t you warn me that he’s a professor at my school?”

There was a pause. Then, my uncle chuckled, a low, condescending sound that made my blood boil. “Does it matter? "You got the job done, didn’t you?”

“It matters if he recognizes me,” I snapped. “He’s not an i***t, Uncle." He knows I took the document. What if he connects the dots?”

“You’re overreacting,” he said dismissively. Stick to your classes, keep your head down, and he won’t suspect a thing. You’re just another student to him now.”

“But…”

“Enough, Tiffany.” His tone turned cold. “You don’t question. Handle it, or I’ll handle you.”

The line went dead. I stared at my phone, my chest heaving with anger and frustration. F*ck you, uncle, f*ck you!

That evening, I tried to distract myself by focusing on my schoolwork, but my mind kept circling back to Tarzo. His sharp gaze, his knowing expression, was too much.

I was about to bury myself in a textbook when my phone buzzed. It was Ivano.

“Please, Tif. Just let me explain.”

I didn’t even hesitate before hitting “block.” Whatever he had to say didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let him crawl back into my life after what he’d done.

Just as I set my phone down, there was a knock at my door, and I opened it. Laurel stood there, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Night class,” she said, holding up a notebook. “Let’s go together.”

I hesitated. My nerves were still on edge, and the thought of running into Tarzo again made my stomach churn. But Laurel's excitement was contagious, and I didn’t want to let my paranoia control me.

“Fine,” I said, grabbing my bag. “But no funny business, okay?”

Laurel winked. “No promises.”

The class was uneventful, and I started to relax. Maybe my uncle was right. Maybe Tarzo wouldn’t connect me to the theft. Maybe I could go back to pretending none of it ever happened.

After class, Laurel and I parted ways. She had another “client” to meet, as she called it, and I headed back to my apartment. But as I walked through the quiet campus, my phone buzzed with an unknown number.

“Hello?” I answered cautiously.

“Tiffany?” The voice was low, urgent.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“It’s about your best friend. Laurel. You need to come to 17th Avenue, warehouse 4. Now.”

Panic shot through me. “What? Who are you? What happened?”

“Just get here,” the voice said before the line went dead.

I froze for a moment, my thoughts racing. Something about this felt off, but I couldn’t take the chance. If Laurel was in trouble, I had to act.

The warehouse was dark and eerily quiet when I arrived. My senses were on high alert as I stepped inside, my hand instinctively brushing against the hidden blade in my jacket.

“Laurel?” I called out, my voice echoing in the space.

“Over here,” a familiar voice said.

I turned, relief flooding through me as I spotted Laurel sitting on a crate. But the relief was short-lived.

Standing just a few feet away from her was Tarzo De Salvatore.

My heart stopped. He was leaning casually against a pillar, his arms crossed and a faint smirk on his lips.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.

He didn’t answer right away, his dark eyes studying me like a puzzle he was trying to solve. Finally, he straightened and took a step toward me.

“Funny,” he said, his tone cool. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

I clenched my fists, my mind scrambling for an explanation. But before I could say anything, Laurel stood and walked over to me, completely unfazed.

“It’s fine, Tif,” she said. “He’s not the bad guy here.”

“What?” I stared at her, then back at Tarzo. “What’s going on?”

Tarzo took another step closer, his gaze piercing. “Let’s cut to the chase, Miss Tiffany. I know you stole from me.”

My stomach dropped.

“You’re mistaken,” I said quickly, forcing a calm I didn’t feel.

His smirk widened, and he pulled something from his pocket—a small, familiar trinket. My bracelet. The one I’d mistakenly forgotten at his penthouse because of our hot s*x that night.

“Am I?” he said, holding it up.

I swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at me to run. But there was nowhere to go.

“You can’t prove anything,” I said, my voice steadier now.

“Maybe not,” he admitted, slipping the bracelet back into his pocket. “But I don’t need proof, I just need you to listen to what I have to say.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding. “And if I don’t?” I asked, ignoring as his intense stare did things to my body.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then you won’t like the alternative.”

Tarzo gestured for me to sit, his calm demeanor more unsettling than anger. “We’re going to make a deal, Tiffany. And trust me, you don’t want to refuse.”

Shit s**t.