THE EDUCATION

CHAPTER THREE: THE EDUCATION

Maya's first week working for the Ricci family was nothing like she'd expected. There were no cement shoes, no horse heads in beds, and definitely fewer guns than "The Godfather" had led her to believe. Instead, the Ricci operation ran with the precision of a Fortune 500 company if Fortune 500 companies occasionally received visits from nervous restaurant owners carrying envelopes of cash.

She'd been given an office adjacent to Luca's sleek, modern, with state of the art technology and a view that made her previous cubicle feel like a prison cell. Franco, the friendly-faced young man she'd met on her first day, turned out to be Luca and Sophia's cousin and her appointed guide to all things Ricci.

"The trick," Franco explained as he showed her around on her third day, "is to not ask too many questions about certain parts of the business." He grinned, dimples appearing on his cheeks. "Especially the basement level."

"What's in the basement?" Maya couldn't help asking.

Franco's smile turned mysterious. "Storage."

"Of what? Bodies?"

He laughed. "You watch too many movies, Maya. We're businesspeople, not animals."

Yet there were moments that reminded her exactly what kind of "business" she'd joined. Like when she'd walked into the conference room to find Luca and two hulking men speaking rapid Italian over a man tied to a chair. They'd paused, Luca had smiled politely, and Franco had quickly ushered her out with a cheerful, "Wrong meeting!"

Or when Sophia had casually mentioned that the last accountant had "decided to relocate permanently" after making a "calculation error."

Now, late on Friday afternoon, Maya sat surrounded by stacks of financial records, tracing money flows between shell companies linked to the Gambino family. Her eyes burned from staring at spreadsheets all day, but she couldn't deny the professional satisfaction of unraveling such a complex financial web. This was the kind of forensic accounting challenge she'd always craved—even if the purpose was morally questionable.

A knock at her door pulled her attention away from her computer. Luca stood in the doorway, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. Maya tried not to stare.

"It's nearly eight o'clock," he said, stepping into her office. "Do you make a habit of working late on Friday nights?"

Maya blinked, glancing at the time on her computer. She hadn't realized how late it had gotten. "I was just tracking these wire transfers through the Cayman accounts. They're using a double-layering system that's actually quite brilliant." She caught herself. "In a criminal way, of course."

Luca's mouth quirked in that half-smile that did unfair things to her pulse rate. "Of course." He moved closer, leaning over her shoulder to look at her screen. His cologne—something woodsy and expensive—filled her senses. "What have you found?"

Maya forced herself to focus on the numbers, not on how close he was standing. "They're moving money through a series of fitness centers. On paper, these gyms are wildly successful, with thousands of members paying premium rates. In reality—"

"They're mostly empty, with minimal staff and equipment," Luca finished. "A classic front."

"Exactly. But what's interesting is where the money goes next." She clicked through several screens. "It doesn't just sit in offshore accounts. It's being invested in legitimate businesses—specifically, in the tech sector." She pulled up a chart she'd created. "They've acquired minority stakes in at least a dozen startups in the last year alone."

Luca's expression sharpened. "They're diversifying."

"And laundering their money through legitimate investments." Maya nodded. "It's smart. Once the money comes out as tech profits, it's clean and nearly impossible to trace back to its source."

"This is excellent work," Luca said, straightening. "Better than I expected, even with your reputation."

Maya felt a ridiculous surge of pride at his approval before reminding herself that she was essentially helping one criminal organization gain an advantage over another. Not exactly resume-building material.

"I aim to exceed expectations," she said dryly. "Even when those expectations involve organized crime."

Instead of taking offense, Luca laughed. "You've been with us a week, and you haven't lost that sharp tongue. Impressive." He perched on the edge of her desk. "Most people are too intimidated to speak to me the way you do."

"Maybe that's your problem," Maya replied. "Too many yes-men, not enough honest feedback."

"Are you offering to be my personal truth-teller, Maya Russo?"

The way he said her name—with that slight Italian inflection—sent an unwelcome warmth through her. "I'm offering to do the job I was hired for. Speaking of which, I'm going to need access to your family's investment portfolio if I'm going to provide real value."

Luca studied her for a moment. "You're asking to see the entire financial structure of the Ricci organization. That's... sensitive information."

"I can't help you protect your interests if I don't know what they are," Maya pointed out. "Unless you don't actually trust me?"

"Trust is earned in this family." He stood, smoothing his already immaculate shirt. "But you've made a strong start. We'll discuss it further tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" Maya frowned. "I wasn't planning to work on Saturday."

"Not work. My mother's birthday celebration." At her blank look, he added, "Didn't Sophia tell you? Family gatherings are mandatory for key employees."

"I—no, she didn't mention it," Maya stammered.

"Black tie. I'll send a car for you at seven." His eyes swept over her in an assessing glance that felt almost physical. "Wear something appropriate. My mother is... traditional."

"I don't recall 'attend family parties' in my job description," Maya protested.

"It's covered under 'additional duties as required.'" Luca's tone made it clear this wasn't a request. "Consider it an opportunity to meet the rest of the family in a social setting. Much less intimidating than business hours."

With that, he left, leaving Maya with the distinct impression that she'd just received a royal command rather than a party invitation.

---

Saturday evening found Maya standing in front of her closet, having what could only be described as a fashion crisis. "Appropriate" for a mafia matriarch's birthday party could mean anything from conservative church attire to Hollywood glamour, and she didn't have the wardrobe for either extreme.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Franco: *Don't panic. Aunt Rosa likes classic elegance. Nothing too revealing or flashy.*

Before she could respond, her doorbell rang. Maya frowned—the car wasn't supposed to arrive for another hour. When she opened the door, she found a delivery person holding a large white box with a gold ribbon.

"Package for Maya Russo," he said, handing her the box and a small envelope before departing.

Inside the envelope was a note in elegant handwriting: *Something appropriate. - L*

With trepidation, Maya opened the box to find a dress that made her gasp—deep emerald green silk that shimmered in the light, with a classic silhouette that was elegant without being overtly sexy. Nestled beside it was a small jewelry box containing simple diamond drop earrings.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, torn between offense at the presumption and relief at having her wardrobe crisis solved. "Who does he think he is?"

But she knew exactly who he was—her boss, a man accustomed to solving problems with money and power, a man who was now determining what she would wear to meet his family.

The most infuriating part was that the dress was perfect. When she finally gave in and tried it on, it fit as though it had been made for her, skimming her curves without being too tight, the color making her olive skin glow and her dark eyes pop.

How Luca had known her size was a question she chose not to dwell on.

At precisely seven, her doorbell rang again. This time, it was one of Luca's security team, a mountain of a man who introduced himself simply as "Tony." He escorted her to the waiting Bentley with a respectful efficiency that suggested he'd done this many times before.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a magnificent brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. Unlike the sleek modernity of the Ricci offices, this building exuded old-world charm and tradition. Warm light spilled from the windows, and Maya could hear music and laughter from within.

Tony led her to the entrance, where Franco was waiting with a broad smile. "You made it! And you look stunning." He kissed her cheeks in the European style. "Luca sent the dress, didn't he? He has an eye for these things."

"Is there anything about me he doesn't know?" Maya asked, trying to keep the edge from her voice.

Franco laughed. "Privacy is a luxury in this family. Come, you must meet Aunt Rosa before she gets too deep into the wine. She's sweeter when she's sober."

He guided her through rooms filled with well-dressed people of all ages—children darting between adults' legs, elderly men playing cards in a corner, clusters of impeccably groomed women chatting over cocktails. It was less "criminal enterprise" and more "large Italian family gathering," which somehow made it more disorienting.

They found Rosa Ricci holding court in a formal dining room transformed into a scene from a Renaissance painting. Crystal chandeliers illuminated a table laden with food, wine flowing freely as a string quartet played softly in the background. Rosa herself was a striking woman in her seventies, silver hair styled elegantly, wearing a classic black dress adorned with a single strand of pearls.

"Ah! The new accountant!" Rosa exclaimed when Franco presented Maya. Her accent was thicker than her son's, her manner more effusive. "Let me look at you."

Rosa took Maya's face between her hands, examining her with unnerving intensity before breaking into a warm smile. "Beautiful! Smart eyes. Not intimidated easily, I think."

"A necessary quality when working with your son," Maya replied before she could stop herself.

Instead of taking offense, Rosa laughed delightedly. "She has spirit! I like her already." She patted Maya's cheek. "Eat! Drink! My grandson Franco will introduce you around."

As Rosa moved on to greet other guests, Franco leaned in to whisper, "You passed the first test. Not everyone does."

"What happens to those who fail?" Maya couldn't help asking.

"They don't get invited to the cannoli course," Franco answered with a wink, guiding her toward the bar.

Throughout the evening, Maya was introduced to what seemed like dozens of Ricci relatives—uncles, cousins, nephews, each greeting her with varying degrees of warmth and suspicion. She noted that some were clearly involved in the family "business," while others appeared to be legitimately employed as doctors, lawyers, and businesspeople.

What struck her most was how normal it all seemed. These weren't movie villains twirling their mustaches and plotting heinous crimes. They were a family celebrating a beloved matriarch's birthday, with all the genuine affection and petty dynamics that entailed.

She was at the bar, taking a much-needed break from socializing when a female voice spoke beside her.

"The dress suits you. Though I would have chosen blue."

Maya turned to find Sophia, looking elegant in a tailored black jumpsuit. "Your brother has interesting onboarding practices," she commented. "Is dressing new employees standard procedure?"

Sophia sipped her champagne. "Only the ones he finds intriguing." Her sharp eyes assessed Maya. "Which is concerning."

"I'm here to do a job," Maya said firmly. "That's all."

"For your sake, I hope so." Sophia's tone cooled. "My brother has worked hard to legitimize our family's interests. The last thing he needs is... distractions."

Before Maya could respond to the veiled warning, a hush fell over the room. Luca had arrived.

He moved through the crowd with effortless charisma, greeting relatives and accepting birthday wishes for his mother. Even here, among family, his authority was palpable—a natural leadership that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with respect.

When his eyes found Maya across the room, something shifted in his expression. He excused himself from his conversation and made his way to her.

"You came," he said, as though there had been any choice in the matter.

"Your invitation wasn't exactly optional," Maya replied.

"And the dress?"

Despite herself, Maya felt a blush rising. "It fits perfectly. Thank you, though it wasn't necessary."

"It was entirely necessary." His gaze traveled appreciatively over her. "Green is your color."

Sophia cleared her throat pointedly. "Mother is asking for you, Luca. Something about a toast."

"Of course." He offered his arm to Maya. "Join me?"

Maya hesitated, noting Sophia's thinly veiled disapproval. But refusing would cause a scene, so she placed her hand on Luca's arm, ignoring the firm muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his tuxedo.

As Luca led her toward the center of the room, Maya became acutely aware of the eyes following them, curious, speculative, and calculating. She was being assessed not as a professional employee but as something more personal to the family's heir apparent.

A handsome older man intercepted them, clapping Luca on the shoulder before giving Maya an appraising look. "And who is this vision, nephew? You've been holding out on the family."

"Uncle Gio, this is Maya Russo, our new financial analyst," Luca introduced, his tone neutral. "Maya, my uncle Giovanni, my mother's younger brother."

"Analyst? Is that what we're calling it now?" Giovanni's eyebrows waggled suggestively.

"That's exactly what we're calling it," Luca replied, a subtle edge entering his voice. "Maya is a highly respected professional who's helping us with our legitimate business interests."

Giovanni studied Maya with new interest. "So you're the one who uncovered the Richardson situation. Impressive work, especially for someone so..." His eyes lingered on her figure.

"For someone so educated in forensic accounting techniques?" Maya supplied sweetly. "Yes, my master's degree has proven quite useful."

Luca's mouth twitched with suppressed amusement as his uncle blinked in surprise.

"Smart and beautiful," Giovanni recovered smoothly. "A dangerous combination."

Before the conversation could continue, Rosa called for attention. As Luca was pulled away for the toast, Maya found herself approached by an elderly man who introduced himself as Antonio, Rosa's oldest brother.

"You are not Italian," he stated, more observation than accusation.

"Half," Maya replied. "My father's side. Though we weren't close to that part of the family."

Antonio nodded sagely. "Yet you understand our ways. I see it in how you carry yourself."

"I understand professional boundaries," Maya clarified. "And family loyalty. Those concepts aren't exclusive to Italian culture."

The old man chuckled. "Perhaps not. But tell me, what does your family think of your new position?"

Maya thought of her mother, a straight-laced elementary school principal who would have a coronary if she knew her daughter was working for the mob. "They don't know the details."

"Ah, we all have secrets from our mothers," Antonio said, patting her arm. "But remember, in this family, there are no secrets. Only truths not yet discussed at dinner."

As the night progressed, Maya found herself relaxing despite the surreal circumstances. The food was spectacular, the wine flowed freely, and the Riccis—for all their criminal connections—were surprisingly charming hosts.

It was after midnight when she stepped onto a balcony for fresh air, only to find Luca already there, gazing out at the Brooklyn skyline.

"Escaping?" he asked without turning.

"Just breathing," Maya replied, taking a spot beside him at the railing. "Your family is... intense."

"They like you," Luca said. "Even my mother, which is rare. She thinks most of my employees lack a backbone."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment."

"It is." He turned to face her, and in the moonlight, his features seemed softer somehow. Less the intimidating crime boss, more the man. "You handled yourself well tonight. Many in your position would have been overwhelmed."

"Many in my position would never have taken this job in the first place," Maya pointed out.

"Yet here you are." His eyes searched hers. "Having second thoughts?"

She should say yes. Any sane person would be reconsidering their life choices after being paraded before what was essentially mafia royalty. But instead, she found herself saying, "Not yet."

Luca stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. "What would it take, I wonder, to make you have those second thoughts?"

"Probably discovering bodies in the basement," Maya answered, aiming for levity but achieving something closer to breathlessness.

"No bodies," Luca promised, his voice dropping lower. "Just some creative accounting records and a wine cellar that would make sommeliers weep."

Maya laughed despite herself. "You're not what I expected, Luca Ricci."

"Neither are you, Maya Russo." His hand came up, fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The simple touch sent electricity down her spine. "Neither are you."

For one heart-stopping moment, Maya thought he might kiss her and worse, that she might let him. Then the balcony door opened, and Sophia appeared, her expression hardening when she saw them standing so close.

"The guests are leaving," she said pointedly. "Mother is asking for you to join the goodbyes, Luca."

"Of course." Luca stepped back, his professional mask slipping seamlessly back into place. "I'll have Tony drive you home, Maya. Thank you for coming tonight."

As he left with his sister, Maya remained on the balcony, taking deep breaths of the cool night air. What was she doing? Flirting with danger was one thing—flirting with a crime boss was quite another.

Yet, as Tony drove her home later, Maya couldn't shake the memory of Luca's fingers against her skin or the way his eyes had darkened when he looked at her on the moonlit balcony.

She was playing with fire. And for the first time in her cautious, rule-following life, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to stop the burn.