The mafia boss is my classmate

The mafia boss is my classmate. chapter 1 . The b****y Heir The air in the office was thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and cold steel. Allen's father—the current Boss of the Sterling family—leaned over the mahogany desk. He slid a folder toward his son. "Allen, here is your mission. Retrieve the jewels from this man. And please... no killing this time." Allen stood there, looking every bit the professional. He wore a sharp black suit, his tie loosened just enough to look dangerous rather than messy. His hair was styled perfectly, framing a gaze that was cold enough to freeze blood. He looked like a savage masterpiece. Picking up the folder, Allen spoke with a voice like sharpened glass. "Leave it to me, Boss. Don't worry." "I'm worried because I'm leaving it to you," his father sighed, rubbing his temples. "What was that, Boss?" His father ignored the remark and pointed at the photograph of a middle-aged man inside the folder. "This is the guy. I repeat: do not kill him." Allen's eyes flickered with a dark light. "I'll think about it." "What?!" his father barked. "You are still a teenager, yet you have already built a mountain of bodies as a professional! You need to show restraint." "Boss, it's in my blood. It came from you," Allen replied smoothly, a hint of a chilling smile touching his lips. "Soon enough, I'll be the second-greatest Mafia Boss this city has ever seen, right after you." "It's too early for that. Put those expectations down," his father grumbled. "You're only seventeen." Allen lifted an eyebrow, his aura shifting into something heavy and strong. "Ha. This again? Age doesn't matter. With my eyes closed, I can end a hundred lives with my g*n. I'm your son, aren't I, Dad?" His father looked at him, caught between pride and fear. "I trust your skill, Allen. It's your mercy I don't trust. I know exactly what you are capable of." "Then I'm just doing my job," Allen shrugged. The Boss's expression softened for a moment. "Have you had breakfast today?" Allen froze, looking annoyed. "No. Why are you even asking that while we're on the clock, Boss?" "Because I'm still a father," the man said warmly. "Even if I'm a Mafia Boss, I'm a dad first. " He reached out, intending to pat Allen's head in a rare moment of affection. Snap. Before his hand could even get close, Allen's hand shot up, catching his father's wrist in a grip of iron. "Not today, Dad," Allen said, his voice dropping the formality. "Bye." He turned and vanished through the heavy double doors. Left alone, the Boss clutched his chest, his eyes suddenly tearing up with dramatic emotion. "Ah! My son has grown into such an innocent, merciful boy! Truly, I am moved!" Meanwhile, out in the hallway, the "merciful" Allen let a dark, savage smirk crawl across his face. He checked the chamber of his pistol, the click echoing in the empty hall. "Now then," he whispered to himself. "Let's see who survives and who dies by my hand today. This is going to be fun." MY shot Allen swung his leg over the heavy bike, pulling his helmet on. He kicked the engine to life and tore off, riding like a seasoned pro, weaving through the streets at extreme speed. Up ahead, he spotted the target's car. A dark smirk spread across his face behind the visor. "Oh," he whispered. "Here's the chicken." The chase began. The man in the car quickly noticed the shadow following him. Panicked, he hit the gas, the engine roaring as he tried to lose the bike. Allen didn't even flinch. "Smart," Allen noted, his voice calm despite the wind rushing past. "But not as smart as me, old man." He twisted the throttle, the bike lunging forward, closing the gap in seconds. Realizing he couldn't outrun the bike, the man slammed on his brakes. He scrambled out of the car, clutching the bag of jewels to his chest, and began to run for his life. Allen had already predicted the move. He slowed the bike just enough to reach into his pocket. "Well," he muttered to himself, "I guess my hand just won't listen to orders today." He drew his g*n. Still moving on the bike, he took aim with terrifying precision. Bang. A single shot rang out. The man collapsed instantly, dead before he hit the pavement. Allen brought the bike to a screeching halt, the tires smoking against the asphalt. He stepped off and walked toward the lifeless body lying in the middle of the road. He stood over him for a moment, looking down with cold, bored eyes. "You were so weak," Allen said, his voice flat. "I didn't even know you deserved to die." He knelt, casually picking up the bag of jewels from beside the body. He sat there for a second, looking at the man one last time. "I'm taking this. Thanks. Bye." Without a hint of remorse, he hopped back on his bike and disappeared into the night starting a new life plan Allen arrived back at the office, the engine of his bike still ticking as it cooled. He grabbed the bag of jewels and walked toward the meeting room where his father was waiting. He kicked the door open without knocking, tossed the bag onto the heavy table with a thud, and slumped into a chair with a effortless grace. "I'm back," he said coldly. "Here's the stuff." His father looked up, checking his watch. "Hi... you're back early. " He reached for the bag and opened it, but as he looked inside, his face paled. He looked at Allen with wide, panicked eyes. "What did you do? Please... tell me you didn't break your promise." "I never made a promise," Allen replied, his voice flat. "I'm Allen. My job is to shoot." "Why did you do this?!" his father shouted, his temper finally boiling over. "I warned you! This is exactly why I'm worried—you're too young to be this heartless!" Allen stood up, shouting back. "What does age matter, Dad?! I told you, it doesn't mean anything to me!" "But it matters to me!" his father roared, slamming his hands on the desk. "You are my son! From now on, I'm not letting you do any more dangerous field work until you turn twenty." Allen froze, his eyes narrowing. "What?" "There is a high school," his father said, his tone turning firm and final. "From now on, you will go there. I will give you specific missions to handle there, and that's it. That is my final word." "No! What the hell?!" Allen snapped, his face twisted in disbelief. "A high school? That's not my style!" "Well, it's your life now," his father said, turning his back to end the conversation. "Starting tomorrow, you go there daily. I'll text you the address." Without waiting for another word, his father walked out of the room. Allen stood alone in the silence, his face red with anger. "He's too sensitive... " He growled, scratching his head in pure frustration as he looked around the empty room. "Where the hell am I stuck now?" The Uniform The morning sun was far too bright for Allen's liking. A notification chimed on his phone—a digital death warrant. It was the address of the high school, followed by a brief message from his father: "The package has arrived. Put it on." Allen stared at the garment hanging on the door. His eyes twitched. "What... is this?" he muttered, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "I'm supposed to wear this?" Reluctantly, he retreated into the changing room. The rustle of fabric sounded like a funeral march. A few minutes later, he stepped out and confronted his greatest enemy: the full- length mirror. Standing there wasn't the "Savage Masterpiece" of the Sterling family. It wasn't the cold- blooded heir who made underground bosses tremble. Instead, a boy in a bright, crisp blue blazer stared back at him. "No... no, no, no," Allen whispered, poking at the lapel as if it were toxic. "This blue... it's all wrong. This isn't Allen. This is a stranger. This is... a civilian." A muffled sound came from the doorway. Allen spun around to see his father standing there, a hand pressed firmly over his mouth. His father's shoulders were shaking violently, his face turning a light shade of red as he tried to swallow a burst of laughter. "Oh... mmmhhmm!" his father grunted through his fingers. Allen's face twisted into a scowl. He pointed a sharp, accusing finger at the man who had raised him. "Stop it! Stop teasing me!" Allen snapped, making a face as if he'd just swallowed a lemon. "I am never wearing this crap. I'm going on strike." His father finally managed to catch his breath, though a mischievous glint remained in his eyes. "Allen... you—pfft—you actually look quite good." Allen threw his hands up, his movements sharp and dramatic. "Good? Define 'good'!" He turned back to the mirror, despair washing over him. "Where is the cool Allen? The one people are actually afraid of? He's gone! Replaced by this... this schoolboy!" "Oh, come on," his father beamed, looking at him with mock pride. "You look so cute and handsome. Like a little prince." "What?! I am cool, not 'cute'!" Allen groaned, leaning his head against the cool glass of the mirror. "Please, someone just shoot me now. End the misery." His father patted his shoulder, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Alright, enough drama. You have a mission, and a bus to catch. Now, off you go. Bye-bye!" Defeated, Allen slung his bag over a single shoulder. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated sadness as he shuffled toward the door. "Bye," Allen muttered over his shoulder, his voice trailing off into a grumble. "I'm never forgiving you for this, Dad. Never." He stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps heavy. Behind him, the door clicked shut. There was a moment of silence, and then— "Hah! Hahaha! Hahahaha!" His father's laughter finally exploded, echoing through the house. "Finally! I can laugh! Oh, the look on his face was worth every penny of that tuition! chapter ended. to be continued..