my mafia professor

Her first class was Criminology 101-a requirement she almost skipped. The classroom was dim, cold, and strangely silent when she walked in. No soft buzz of conversation. Only the sound of her boots on the stone floor as twenty other students glanced up at her like she was late to her own execution.

And at the front-he stood.

Professor Dorian Vale.

Sharp suit. Harsher stare. A voice made of ice and smoke. He didn't look like a man who belonged in a classroom. He looked like he had killed people with his hands. And maybe he had.

Alina's breath caught as his eyes-cold steel gray-locked onto hers.

"Miss Voss," he said flatly. "Since you're new, I'll say this only once: My class is not a playground. You show up on time, you speak only when asked, and you do not, under any circumstances, mistake my patience for kindness."