Page 5 of Ruthless Mafia Heir

"I mean, she’s hot, sure, but is she worth all this effort?" he asks me, sounding incredulous.

"She is," I reply simply, as though it should have been obvious, lifting my coffee to my lips and blowing on the steamy black liquid. I shoot a look at her and find her staring at me. She snaps her gaze away from mine as soon as she notices me looking, and I grin to myself.

She might think it’s nothing more than a coincidence that I’m in here after what happened the other night. But little does she know that I’m just getting started.

And when I’m done with her, she will never dare forget who I am again.

Chapter Three—Sophia

My jaw drops when I log in to my academic portal. No, there’s no way. After everything else that has been going on, this, too?

Heart sinking, I scan the words in bold red at the top of the screen announcing that I’ve failed to turn in an essay for one of my courses this semester, and I’m officially on academic probation. But there’s no way that’s true. I put the essay into the box myself, stamped it with the date and time, and turned it in with hours to spare. I made sure of that. What the hell is this about...?

I run a hand through my hair and take a long sip from my water bottle, trying to calm myself down. I’m starting to feel as though it’s some kind of conspiracy against me, the way things have been going the last few weeks, but paranoia isn’t going to get me anywhere.

I fire off an email to the head of the history department to try and plead my case, though I’m sure they’re just going to let it head straight to junk mail. That’s where the other emails from students who couldn’t be bothered to turn in their work on time go. Tears sting my eyes as I slump back in my chair. This dorm room suddenly feels way too small, even for just me, the walls closing in around me and pinning me to my seat.

Three weeks. Three weeks of this shit, and I don’t know what I have to do to change it up. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Every physical essay I’ve turned in has been rejected. The last couple, I’ve had time to rush back to the department and hand it over to the TA directly so they have no reason to pretend like they didn’t see it. But this? This is too much. I’ve been so busy with work, picking up extra shifts at the coffee shop to cover for everyone who’s been out sick with the same mysterious illness, I haven’t had time to follow up on this. And now, it’s too late.

And if this academic probation goes any further, then I’m going to lose my scholarship. My first year at Gregora University and I might not even make it through the whole thing. God, am I that useless?

I drag myself to my feet and go to take a shower, hoping that by the time I return, they’ll have emailed me back to assure me there’s nothing for me to worry about and the essay is sitting right there on their desks as we speak. Too good to be true, really, with everything that’s been going on, but I feel like I deserve a break.

It’s not just my studies, but work, too. Not only has the Blackened Bean been hellish, with everyone calling out sick except me, but the bodega I work at nearby has just come under new ownership, and they’re expecting all of us to undergo training as soon as we’re able to. So that’s another weekend down the drain, if I want to keep my job there. And now, I’m going to have to work double hard at this course to make sure they don’t fail me.

When I get out of the shower, there’s no email waiting for me, but Rachel has fired me a text to ask if I want to meet for a study date at the library. I agree at once. Anything to get me out of this room, out of my head for a little while. Throwing on some clothes and wrapping a heavy scarf around my neck, I toss my books into my bag and head across the main quad to the library. It’s a huge building with a stone arch at the doorway leading into dozens of bookcases stacked with reading on every topic imaginable.

I make my way up to the second floor, where the desks line the large picture windows looking out to the quad beyond. Usually, it’s a cheerful part of campus, but with the gloomy weather outside right now, it’s anything but.

Rachel lifts a hand and grins at me, waving me over, and I make my way to join her.

Slumping into the seat beside her, I pull out my books and start laying them on the table. She frowns at me, clearly concerned.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly. I nod, then shake my head.

"I just got a message in my academic portal saying that I didn’t turn in my essay for my Women’s Ancient History class."

Her eyes widen.

"But you turned that one in, right?" she presses, leaning forward, clearly confused. "I mean, I was there when you dropped it off..."

"Well, that’s what I thought. Seems like they didn’t get it somehow."

"Why does this keep happening?" she exclaims, earning a few annoyed looks from senior students trying to work on their thesis projects.

"I have no idea..."

"You need to talk to someone about this," she urges me. "You can’t keep just letting this happen. Something is going on. Maybe it’s a problem with your department..."

"Have you been having those issues?" I ask her pointedly. She hesitates for a moment, then shakes her head.

"No, I haven’t."

"It’s probably because I’m on a scholarship," I remark, shoulders slumping down. "They don’t want us poor people around, clogging the place up, when they could be making more money off the rich kids."

"Hey, as the resident spokesperson for the rich kids, I need you to know we’re not all that bad," she protests, and I manage a chuckle.

"I know, I know. I just... I feel like someone has had it out for me these last few weeks."

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