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I am not sure meet is the term I would use, considering most of our interactions so far have involved him coming after me and my acceptance that I cannot run from him. He has connections that runs deep and can always get to me whatever I do.

“Hi,” I try to say but it comes out as a pathetic whisper.

Davide gets behind the wheel and pulls away from the curb. I am trapped beside Antonio with nowhere else to direct my attention except on him. I try to be discreet about it, limiting myself to what I think is a quick glance from the corner of my eye. Now that there’s no mask hiding his face, he’s even more handsome up close than he appears in photographs.

His face is well structured with high cheekbones, a straight nose that bends slightly along the bridge, and a strong jaw shadowed faintly with dark stubble. There is a small scar beneath his right ear and another at the corner of his mouth, making him look deliciously rugged.

His skin is pale olive, and his eyes are greener than they appear in pictures. His black hair is thick and slightly longer on top, with a few strands falling forward near one temple.

I already know he’s tall, but I’ve never had an opportunity to properly compare out heights because the first we were both upright, I was too busy running away from him to conduct measurements. From what I can tell now, he has at least five inches on me, making hin at least six-three inches.

Antonio Scalera is exactly my type.

But I should not be attracted to him. I can’t. And now that I know he’s the masked man from Saturday, I am even more confused as to why he took me to his house. All the stories I’ve heard about him makes him sound like some variation of a monster and that is an excellent reason to keep my distance.

“So what parts of statistics do you need help with?” I ask, turning to face him fully.

He is watching me like he did last weekend.

And damn, I’m hit with his unfair hotness all over again. Antonio Scalera is not just good-looking. He is offensively beautiful, and being in the same space as him is going to be difficult.

His mouth curves into a smirk. “I don’t need any help.”

Did I hear that right?

Antonio offers no explanation as the drive continues. I pull out my new phone from my pocket which reminds me I should probably thank him at some point, but my mouth is currently not working. Keeping the screen angled toward myself, I type Antonio Scalera Columbia University into the search bar as discreetly as I can manage and open the first result.

The article is from a few months ago and about his return to Columbia after a two-year break, which he spent in Italy with his mother during her sickness and before she died. I continue reading until I reach a section discussing his academic record and discover that despite the interruption to his studies, his grades remain excellent and is on track to graduate this year.

He’s right. He doesn’t need my help.

Why the fuck did he hire me then?

Chapter

Eight

ANTONIO

It took me only a few hours to learn everything worth knowing about Alexander Murphy.

He is a first-year master’s student in Economics, although every academic record Davide managed to pull suggests the same thing: Alexander is exceptionally intelligent. He has been studying on scholarships since high school, accumulating awards, recommendations, and academic distinctions.

He is an only child, and most of the money he earns disappears as quickly as he gets it because he is also the sole financial support for his mother, who’s been sick for years. His father is not in the picture after abandoning them shortly after her diagnosis.

Alexander lives in a shabby apartment in Brooklyn with one woman and two other men. One of them is the same man whose hand he was holding before the hunt began, although after looking into him, I discovered there is nothing between them beyond friendship. And the only property in his name is an old Volvo.

Everything else I learn about Alexander makes it easy to identify what he wants.

Money.

With the amount of debt he’s in, it made sense he would think becoming a stripper will help him offset some of them.

But not on my watch.

I have no intention of allowing him to get back on that stage and display himself while a room full of hungry men stare at his body and think they have the permission to get their hands on him.

Davide parks in the underground parking garage beneath my building, then gets out and comes around to open my door. I step out and adjust my cuff while Alexander climbs out behind me, clutching the strap of his backpack against his chest.