The Mafia King’s Ruined Boy

POV: Alexander Marcus Hale’s nose broke before the bell finished ringing. I didn’t plan it. I just don’t hesitate. One second he was laughing with his friends, shoulder-checking me like I was hallway furniture. The next, my fist connected and something crunched. He made this shocked, wet sound, like he couldn’t believe pain applied to him too. Blood hit the tile. Everyone froze. I smiled. “Watch it,” he’d said. So I did. He swung back, wild and clumsy. Caught my cheek. Good. I like when they try. Makes it fair. We slammed into lockers, metal rattling loud enough to wake the dead. Someone screamed. Someone yelled my name like that was supposed to mean something. Marcus tried to grab my shirt. I ducked, drove my fist into his ribs. Felt the air leave him. He staggered but didn’t drop. I hit him again. And again. My knuckles split open. I barely felt it. He finally landed one clean punch to my jaw. My head snapped sideways. I tasted blood. I laughed. That’s usually when people panic. “You’re crazy,” he spat, stumbling back. “No,” I said, stepping forward. “You’re slow.” He lunged. I sidestepped and slammed him into the lockers hard enough to dent metal. The hallway exploded with noise—phones out, whispers spreading like wildfire. I could feel it building already. My name traveling ahead of me. Good. Security grabbed me from behind before I could finish it. Arms locked around my chest. Another hand wrenched my wrist back. Pain flared sharp and bright. I fought automatically, elbowing backward, twisting. “Alexander! Enough!” Enough? I wasn’t done. Marcus slid down the lockers, blood running from his nose onto his shirt. He looked stunned. Betrayed. Like the world had broken a rule. It hadn’t. They dragged me toward the office. My boots scraped against the tile, leaving faint red smears. Students parted like I carried a disease. Some looked impressed. Some looked scared. Most just wanted a better angle for their videos. I kept my head up. Let them watch. The vice principal met us halfway down the corridor, face tight and furious. “Again?” he demanded, like I personally offended him by being predictable. Marcus was hauled in the opposite direction, groaning dramatically. I rolled my eyes. “This was mutual,” I said flatly. “Your record says otherwise,” the vice principal snapped. Of course it did. They shoved me into the waiting chair outside his office. The door shut. Silence dropped heavy around me. My hands were shaking—not from fear. From leftover adrenaline. I pressed my palms against my knees until they steadied. I checked my reflection in the dark window across from me. Split lip. Swelling cheek. Blood on my knuckles. I looked like myself. The door opened after a few minutes that felt like an hour. Inside, the office smelled like paper and old coffee. The vice principal didn’t sit right away. He just stood there, staring at me like I was something he couldn’t scrub off his shoe. “What is wrong with you?” he asked. I shrugged. “He shoved me.” “That justifies breaking his nose?” “He shouldn’t have shoved me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was the one in pain. “You enjoy this.” I didn’t answer. Because yes. Not the violence itself. Not exactly. It’s the moment before it. The split second where everything sharpens. Where people realize they miscalculated. That moment belongs to me. “You’re suspended,” he said finally. “Effective immediately. We’ll be contacting your guardian.” “Okay.” He blinked. “That’s it?” “What else do you want?” Regret? He slid paperwork across the desk. His hand paused there for half a second longer than necessary. Something about his expression shifted—not softer, not angrier. Just… measuring. I noticed. He noticed me noticing. Then it was gone. “Sign.” I scribbled my name without reading it. Suspension wasn’t new. Threats of expulsion weren’t new. This was routine. But something felt slightly off. Not dramatic. Not dangerous. Just… off. He dismissed me with a sharp nod. I stepped back into the hallway. It was mostly empty now, classes resumed. The chaos had already settled into gossip. I walked toward the exit slowly, testing the air like an animal stepping into open space. No one stopped me. Outside, the sky hung low and gray. The parking lot buzzed with normal life. Parents arriving. Cars leaving. Nothing unusual. Nothing waiting. Still. I rubbed my jaw, wincing. The punch Marcus landed would bruise. I welcomed it. Bruises are proof of participation. I headed toward the gate. Halfway there, I felt it. Not eyes. Not danger. Just awareness. Like when a room goes quiet behind you and you don’t know why. I didn’t turn around. I hate giving people the satisfaction of thinking they matter. The feeling lingered anyway. By the time I reached the sidewalk, it faded. Probably nothing. Probably adrenaline crashing in my system. I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking. Suspension meant hours to kill. I liked that. Time without structure means opportunity. Means space. Means no teachers hovering, no bells dictating movement. I cut through side streets instead of heading straight home. Habit. Movement keeps the noise in my head manageable. I replayed the fight, adjusting angles in my mind. I should’ve stepped left instead of right before his second swing. Would’ve avoided the jaw hit. Next time. There’s always a next time. A black car idled at the corner ahead. I barely registered it. Cars idle all the time. Still. As I approached, the engine quieted. Not turned off. Just… softened. I kept walking. The windows were tinted dark enough to reflect the sky. I caught my own image as I passed—lean, bloodied, unbothered. The car didn’t move. I walked past it. Ten steps. Twenty. I didn’t look back. If someone wanted something, they could say it to my face. The sound of a door opening echoed faintly behind me. I stopped. Not because I was scared. Because I was curious. I turned slowly. The car door closed again. No one stood outside it. The engine purred once, low, then went silent. I stared at it for a second longer than necessary. Probably someone waiting. Probably nothing. I exhaled through my nose and kept walking. But the back of my neck prickled all the way home. And I didn’t know why.