KILL FOR HER |18+

Daria Cole never expected her quiet high-school tutor partner to return as the new Mafia King of New York.

Nico Costa.

Bigger. Colder. Tattooed.

And looking at her like she's the only softness he'll ever touch.

She thinks they're just friends.

He knows better.

"Say the word," he murmured against my neck,

"and I'll ruin any man who thinks he can touch what's mine."

A soft, innocent girl.

A very dangerous man.

Five years of tension ready to explode.

"You're one dark motherfucker, Nico.!"

Massimo spat the words at my feet. He was lucky he didn't touch me.

Or maybe that made him unlucky.

He was tied to a chair, wrists bleeding against the rope, face so swollen he was barely recognizable anymore. Angelo had made sure of that. The man

couldn't even open one eye.

He was lucky I was giving hima chance to speak.

This piece of shit tried to get the whole family killed.

"Massimo," I said calmly, turning the gun in my hand, "you should've remembered who you were dealing with before leaking information to the Russians."

He winced, and I tilted my head.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Crossing La Famiglia for a couple thousand dollars?" l asked. "Did you forget who you belong to??"

"It wasn't my fault," he stammered. "He said- he promised- he wouldn't"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

Ireloaded the gun slowly, letting the click echo off the concrete walls.

Enzo stepped inside, shaking his head.

"You're a bitch, Massimo."

My little brother was nineteen. Pretty face, sharper mind. I knew he'd be king someday if he wanted it. But not yet. I never let him pull the trigger. Killing changes you. Too early, and you never come back from it. I would know.

"Please," Massimo sobbed. "'ll do anything. Just let me live. I won't leak anything again. They manipulated me, Nico-I swear-"

"Lies," I said. "All you've done tonight is fucking lie. And I'm losing patience."

He lifted his chin in a last attempt at pride, a pathetic one. Coward.

"Fuck you. You think you're untouchable because you're the mafia king now?

The Russians will end you-"

I didn't let him finish.

One shot.

Straight through the skull.

Massimo slumped forward, dead before he hit the floor.

"You don't cross a mafia family and live" I said quietly.

Islid the gun into my waistband and exhaled once, slow and steady, the only kind of peace l ever got.

"Clean this shit up," I told Enzo and Angelo before walking out of the room.

Blood didn't bother me. Death didn't bother me.

But remembering her always did.

Remembering how it all started five years ago.

FIVE YEARS AGO!

"Shit."

I cursed under my breath. I was officially the clumsiest person alive.

I stared down at the beautiful mess on the floor, frosting, crumbs, and sadness. My biology teacher had given me that cupcake for doing well on my test, and now it looked like roadkill.

I sighed, crouched down, and tried to clean it up as best I could. Thank God the hallway was empty. Being allowed to leave class early had its perks.

My chest ached a little. I didn't even get to taste it. Figures.

The warning bell rang, echoing down the corridor. I clutched my books to my chest and straightened up. One more bell, and I could finally go home. Today was the day we got our midterm grades back, and I couldn't wait to show my parents.

l'd worked hard this semester. The late nights, study sessions, tutoring extra hours for credit. Social life? Nonexistent. Ever since my only friend, Vera Martinez, moved away, high school had felt like a one-person survival game.

I wasn't unpopular. Just...invisible. Too nerdy to be interesting, too polished to be pitied.

Some girls could walk in a room and have everyone's attention without trying. I never figured out how to do that. I just made sure my hair was neat and my grades were better.

"Miss Cole."

Mr. Dudley's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

A few students turned to look maybe curious, nosy, the way high school kids always were.

One of the popular girls, Jessica Fisher, rolled her eyes. Long brown hair, grey eyes, easily likeable.

lignored it. I was used to it.

Honestly, most of the teachers liked me, and that seemed to be a problem for a lot of people. Not that anyone ever said anything to my face, but high school didn't need words to make you feel small. A single look usually did the trick.

"Can I see you in my office?"

"of course," I said, smiling politely as I weaved through the crowd.

Mr. Dudley was our principal-bald head, gray suits, and a serious face that only softened when he saw me. He always said I reminded him of his

daughter.

Her photo sat on his desk beside his wife and their fluffy white poodle. They looked like one of those perfect families in greeting-card commercials.

Sometimes I wondered if mine looked that way from the outside, too. I had great parents, a nice house, everything I was supposed to be grateful for. So why did it sometimes feel like thev loyed the idea of me more than me?

My parents were kind. Generous. The kind of people everyone liked.

still, sometimes I caught myself wondering if we'd be this quiet at dinner if I looked a little more like them. Especially when my beautiful sister looked exactly like them.

I always managed to keep my grades up,just so they'd keep being proud.

"You'll keep this up, right?"

"of course,"I'd said, even though my hands were shaking from the caffeine l'd chugged pulling an all-nighter.

I don't think they noticed the little things about me. I tried not to look out of place, even though I already did.

Mr. Dudley's family was nothing like that. His eyes actually gleamed every time he mentioned his wife and daughter.

His daughter had long black hair, just like mine. Except hers was always down, flowing and soft. Mine was always straightened and pulled up. I didn't like when it got curly: I felt even more out of place then.

Every time I stepped out of the shower, my sister would grin up at me with her bright green eyes and say, "I love your curly hair, Daria."

She meant it, too. She always did.

Five years apart, and somehow we still felt like the same soul split in two. I think that's why I'm always trying to be perfect...for her. So she can keep being proud of me. Even though, she was either way.

I sat in the same old chair that probably a hundred nervous students had sat in before.

The room smelled like old leather and coffee, his coffee.. always in the same mug. He'd told me once his wife brewed it every morning before work.

Sweet, right?

Sometimes I wondered if l'd ever be someone's wife.

Then I'd roll my eyes because, seriously, I didn't even have friends.

Baby steps, Daria.

Still, I pictured it anyway. Smiling in some cozy kitchen, baking cookies,

taking my imaginary husband's jacket when he got home. We'd have a cat maybe dog. And peace. My parents hated dogs, but I didn't.

"I found it. Sorry to keep you waiting."

I snapped back to the present as Mr. Dudley shuffled some papers.

"So," he said, "you're not tutoring anyone this semester, correct?"

"Correct."

"Excellent." His smile deepened, and I already sensed he was about to talk me into something.

Oh goodness.

"There's a student I'd like you to take on... possibly for the whole year. Two credits instead of one.!"

My resolve wavered instantly. Two credits? Tempting.

He watched me with that overly hopeful look that made me bite back a laugh. "This one will be a little challenging, but you're the best we've got,

Daria."

He slid a paper across the desk.

Nico Costa - Senior.

I scanned his grades. Rough shape. All subjects.

A senior. Great. I'm only a sophomore. I'd tutored seniors before, but always girls. Never guys. Guys, especially older ones, rarely took me seriously. Most thought I was too soft, too pink, too something.

"Nico Costa" I repeated under my breath. "Senior?"

Mr. Dudley cleared his throat. "Yes. He's... bright. Capable. Just needs focus."

"of course," I said anyway, smiling even though my stomach twisted a little.

"Let's just say" he said, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "if anyone can handle him, it's you."

Well, that didn't exactly make me feel better. I already got nervous ordering food. How will l handle a whole senior boy?

Well, that didn't exactly make me feel better. I already got nervous ordering food. How wil I handle a whole senior boy?

Mr. Dudley told me if I had any concerns, I should come to him right away.

He'd never said that before.

That woried me.

When I left the office, the hallway was full again-people at their lockers, couples holding hands, laughing like high school wasn't a fulltime job.

Sometimes I wondered what that felt like, to have someone waiting for you after class. To be somebody's person.

Must be nice.

I'd never even hugged a boy before. Not counting cousins. Books and movies had taught me everything I knew about love. I wanted it one day, a sweet gentle man who'd love me fiercely, the kind who'd take me horseback riding or hold my hand in a crowd just because.

I sighed as the final bell rang.

Time for class. Daydreams could wait.