Academic Boundaries

The next morning, Vittoria sat at her writing desk with her laptop open, the video call with Dr. Aris already connected. The professor, a middle-aged woman with sharp blue eyes and a crown of silver hair, was looking at her through the screen with a mixture of curiosity and academic sternness.

"Your analysis of the guild structures is significantly improved, Vittoria," Dr. Aris said, adjusting her glasses. "But I noticed your geographic coordinates for the old Florentine warehouses seem slightly off. Did you consult the map archives at the municipal library?"

"I actually managed to examine a private collection over the weekend, Doctor," Vittoria explained, referencing the notes she had taken at Julian's shop. "The original seventeenth-century logs indicate that the eastern canal line was redirected after the plague of sixteen-thirty. The modern library maps don't reflect that shift."

"Fascinating," Dr. Aris murmured, leaning closer to her camera. "A private collection, you say? I didn't think anyone in the city held the unredacted Florentine folios. May I ask who the collector is? The department would love to request access."

Vittoria swallowed hard, her fingers tightening under the desk. She couldn't exactly tell her professor that the books belonged to an antiquarian who cleared his shop on the orders of a mafia lord. "It is a private family estate, Doctor. The owner prefers to remain completely anonymous. I was only granted access under a strict confidentiality agreement."

"A shame," Dr. Aris sighed. "But excellent work securing the data nonetheless. Now, about your registration for next term. The university administration noted that your emergency contact details were updated to a new address in the cliffside district. Is everything alright at home?"

"Everything is perfectly fine," Vittoria said quickly, forcing a polite smile. "My mother and I relocated recently. It is closer to my research materials."

"Good to hear. Keep up this pace, and we will have your proposal approved by the board before the spring break."

The call ended, and Vittoria let out a long, shaky breath, closing the laptop screen. The separation between her academic world and the reality of the Marchetti estate felt like a thin sheet of glass that could shatter at any moment.

The door to the master suite opened, and Cassian walked in, carrying a small leather folder. He had changed into a dark navy suit, his tie perfectly straight, looking every bit the ruthless businessman who controlled the ports. He looked down at her laptop, then at the scattered papers on the desk.

"Is the meeting finished?" Cassian asked, walking over to press a brief, possessive kiss against her temple.

"It is," Vittoria said, turning in her chair to face him. "My advisor asked about the books. She wanted to know who owns the collection so the university can buy them."

"Tell her the owner died fifty years ago and the collection was burned," Cassian said flatly, tossing the leather folder onto the bed. "It is easier than explaining why my men would have to clear her research team for weapons before letting them near the shelves."

Vittoria rolled her eyes, rising from the chair and walking over to the bed. "You have an answer for everything, don't you? What is in the folder?"

"The updated security protocols for your mother's safehouse," Cassian said, his dark eyes following her movements. "I had Enzo transfer her to a new facility near the western valley. The old location was too close to the transit lines used by the Moretti remnants."

Vittoria’s heart skipped a beat, her green eyes flashing with a sudden panic. "Is she safe, Cassian? Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened," Cassian reassured her, his hands coming up to grip her upper arms, pulling her gently against his chest. "I am moving the pieces before they can make a move, Vittoria. That is how we stay alive. Your mother is fine. She spent the morning complaining to the guards that the television reception in the valley is terrible."

Vittoria let out a small, breathless laugh, her forehead dropping against his lapel. "That sounds exactly like her. She hates being cut off from her soap operas."

"See? No need to panic," Cassian murmured, his fingers sliding into her hair, tilting her face up so he could look into her eyes. The coldness in his expression melted away, replaced by that intense, burning hunger that always made her knees weak. "Now, tell me how much you missed me while you were talking to your professor."

"I didn't think about you once," she whispered, her lips teasing his as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Another lie," Cassian growled softly, his mouth coming down to claim hers with a slow, agonizing passion that drove every thought of university, maps, and mafia wars straight out of her mind.