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The most widely circulated story about Antonio himself involves a student who allegedly made a rude comment about his mother during Antonio’s first year at Columbia and left the party later that night with a fractured jaw.

The Scalera family denied Antonio had even been there, and while twenty witnesses initially remembered seeing him, every single one of them changed their statements.

“This will be good for your … situation.” Professor Campbell says.

“How much?” I ask.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Two thousand dollars per session.”

I swallow. I don’t even make half of that from all the four students I currently tutor combined. It is enough money for me to stop choosing between heating and food during the final week of every month. Enough to get the medications mom needs. And it could give me enough room to breathe without every financial decision turning into triage.

The possibilities lights something hopeful inside me, but I also have to consider the reality. Whoever is offering that much of money must be a pain in the ass.

“What happens if I refuse?”

Professor’s Campbell’s expression is neutral as he says, “Nothing formal will happen.”

Formal. I don’t like that word. I look down at my hands for a moment, weighing that against two thousand dollars and discovering that poverty has a very persuasive voice.

“I’ll meet him for the first session,” I say finally, “but I want written agreement stating that I can terminate the arrangements at any time without any consequences if I feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” he says. “I assigned the undergraduate workshop to Boyd, so you’re free to leave now.”

“Isn’t that a little presumptuous?”

I suppose it is easy to assume that a broke student will accept two thousand dollars per session without requiring much persuasion, but I would still like the dignity of pretending this decision involved a meaningful amount of free will.

Professor Campbell waves that away and starts typing something into his phone. “There’s someone waiting downstairs to drive you to Antonio’s house.”

I blink. “Why can’t he come to the tutoring centre?”

“He’s more comfortable at home.,” Professor Campbell replies. “I imagine he doesn’t want other students knowing he has a tutor.”

I think about it for a moment, considering the possibility that I could stand up, walk out of this office, and refuse the money. The uneasiness in my stomach is already telling me this is a terrible idea, and normally I would trust that instinct.

Then I remember my growing bills and conclude that as long as I get to keep my life, I’ll do anything for two thousand dollars even if it involves teaching the devil’s son.

“Thank you, Professor,” I say as I get to my feet.

Then I leave his office and head downstairs to meet whoever is waiting to take me to Antonio Scalera. Before I leave the building, I quickly check that my location is stilling shared with Stacy, Logan and Dylan, then send them a voice note explaining who I’m supposed to meet. I step outside, still wondering how I’m supposed to identify the person sent to collect me, but i’m barely down the steps when I notice a familiar black SUV with Davide standing beside it.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“He wants to see you.”

I roll my eyes. “What if I don’t want to see him?” I say, even though that is an obvious lie considering I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about him since Saturday. “I have to meet with a student anyway, so I can’t go with you now.”

Davide’s expression does not change, but instead of arguing with me, he opens the back door. There is someone already sitting inside and for a long moment, I only stare.

Antonio Scalera looks back at me from the dark interior of the SUV, and my brain stops functioning. I wonder if I should be concerned about permanent damage.

I swallowed hard.

My brain immediately connects the dots and my head swims. The masked man who chased me through the woods and took me to his house is the same man as the mafia heir offering me a ridiculous amount of money to tutor him?

He gestures toward the empty seat beside him, and my body moves on auto pilot, climbing into the car and folding my hands together in my laps.

“We meet again,” he says and I can hear a trace of laughter in his voice.