Christian glanced at his watch and sighed. Late. He hated being late and it didn’t happen often. The reason for the lateness was even more of an annoyance to him. Fighting with his father. It was becoming something of a frequent past-time. But he had no time to deal with it, and especially not today.

Felt like the last few years had been one long fight. His dad didn’t want him to go to college. He’d made that more than abundantly clear over the many times he’d yelled at Christian to get home when he had class, to put away his books when he was studying, or to stop wasting money on tuition. Every time he registered for a new semester, his father told him to drop out.

To anyone else, this whole situation might seem absurd. But for Christian and his circle, it was expected that children go into the family business. The family business had no need for a college degree. Once you entered the family business, you didn’t leave, so it’s not like a career change at mid-life was possible. College was for losers. That’s what everyone around him said.

It made sense in some ways. If Christian was going to be the mafia boss his father wanted him to be, then he should be spending these years learning from him and getting deeply integrated into the business. Putting it off for four years to pursue an education that would have little impact on his life would only set him back those four years. And a nice chunk of change along with it. Of course, his father wasn’t paying a penny of it. It’d come out of Christian’s trust fund, which was now severely depleted.

The best way to replenish it and to have a high stream of income would be to join in the family business. There was tons of money to be made. He’d live a fancy lifestyle, full of all the best things life had to offer. He’d have a life most people could only dream of—or kill over. And there was the problem. Christian didn’t want that kind of life.

He’d been raised, like all mafia children, to believe that killing was simply a part of life. You were careful, you didn’t get caught, you made it count. When you had to, you had to. Couldn’t let anyone get something over on you. They steal from you? You kill them. They kill one of yours? You kill at least one of theirs. They wrong you, offend you, threaten you in any way? You beat them until they want to die and then if they don’t stop, you kill them.

It was too much. Christian was never on board with it. Even as a child, he’d talk back to his father, telling him he was a brute and a murderer and what he did was wrong. But after enough smacks across the face, Christian learned to keep his thoughts to himself.

When he’d grown up and was nearly finished high school, he’d applied to schools in secret. But he hadn’t gone as far as getting a PO box or using someone else’s address. His father had seen the rejections and acceptances coming in the mail, and knew what he was up to. That’s when the yelling started. Christian didn’t tell anyone which school he’d selected. He didn’t tell anyone that he’d taken out a small loan to pay the application fees and to cover the initial expenses until he hit 18. At 18, he had access to his trust fund, and was able to pay off the loans and make his first full tuition payment.

At dinner one night, he’d simply announced that he would be attending college in the fall, and when his father objected and started yelling, he ignored it. When his mother pulled him aside and said college wasn’t a bad choice, but that he better make sure before he did something so drastic, he ignored that, too. She’d been slightly more supportive, but only because she knew this was what Christian really wanted. And she supported his father all the way when he was in ear shot, like a good wife was expected to in this family.

When it came to college, he was more than sure. He couldn’t remember when it’d started, but as long as he could recall, Christian had dreamed of having his own business. What the business would be had changed many times over the years. A sports memorabilia shop, a restaurant, a security business—he had plenty of experience in security. These days, he was focused mostly on real estate. He wanted a range of properties—some that could be rented—both residential and commercial—some that could be fixed up and sold, some that he might even build himself. The thought of creating his own buildings excited him most. But he also appreciated an old building that had been skillfully restored. The rentals and sales were mostly just for profit.

His college path was full of mostly business classes, but he’d added in some art and design classes as well to give him a well-round education in all areas of what he wanted to do. The best part about his plan was that he could do it from almost anywhere. If there was a housing marketing or businesses, it would work. He had enough in his trust fund to get started. It would be a big start-up cost, he knew this. That’s why he’d also systematically been taking money out of his trust fund to invest. That way, if his father really did what he promised he would and cut him off, Christian would still have the means he needed.

It had to work. He didn’t give himself the option of failing. Despite what his father said, despite what the others in the family said, he had a plan. He was going to follow it through and succeed, no matter what the cost.

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts, so focused on hurrying to get to class, that he hadn’t seen the other student in the hall until he’d smacked into her. He was still angry enough at his father to snap.

The crash made him even madder. He looked down at the girl shoving books into her bag. She muttered an apology, and instead of accepting it like he should have, he let his anger out.

“Yeah, I guess you are,” he said. “It’s pretty sorry when a person can’t even walk down a hall successfully.”

Then she’d looked up at him. Well, glared really. She was probably a freshman, he guessed, but she was beautiful. The shock of her looks kept his mouth shut for a moment.

She flung her bag over her shoulder and put her hands on her hips. “Excuse me? You bumped into me.”

Her response amused him. He’d expected her to grovel at his feet in apology. She looked the sweet and innocent type who would take responsibility for things that weren’t her fault. Things like some guy smacking into her in the hall. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to keep being rude to her. Maybe to see what she’d do.

He came back at her with, “No. I didn’t.” Even though it was probably his fault.

She looked at him for a moment. He tried to read her. She’d had art books in her bag. A sketch pad. She must be an art student. That intrigued him. She didn’t dress like the messy art kids he usually saw smudged with charcoal and dabbed with paint, not caring what they looked like, and making their clothing its own expression. She wore a simple white top and black pants. Her hair was long and dark, hanging straight. He would have guessed business student. Interesting.

“Whatever,” she huffed. “I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

She turned to walk from him. He should have let her go. He was late for class anyhow.

But he couldn’t just let her walk away like that. “I wouldn’t recommend that you chew gum and walk at the same time, either.”

She spun on her heel. He held back his smirk and raised one eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t recommend that you use your mouth at all. The world would be a better place if you zipped it and didn’t speak to anyone. Ever.”

She gave him the finger and turned away again. Now this was just getting fun.

“I bet you’d love to know all the amazing things my mouth can do,” he said.

She didn’t turn back around, to his disappointment. But the classroom door closest to them did open. A professor stepped out, looking unhappy.

“What is all this commotion out here?” he asked.

“Just trying to get to class without anyone getting in my way,” Christian said.

The girl shook her head and growled, then rounded the corner.

“Get to class or wherever it is you’re going and stop yelling in my hallway,” the professor said.

Christian nodded once and walked away.