Mafia School

I

There was a very old legend in the Czech Republic. It said that many centuries ago, a desperate father abandoned three children in the forest. With no money to support them, he left them to their fate.

The forest spirits felt compassion for the three children. So, as compensation, they gave them gifts.

The first child received the Gift of Gold. Everything she touched became wealth. Thus, she would never experience hunger again.

The second child received the Gift of Strength. She would win any fight. Thus, she would never again have to fear the enemies who attacked her village.

The third child received the Gift of Manipulation. She could convince anyone to do anything. That way, she would never again be at the mercy of evil adults.

The three brothers returned to the village of their birth. That same night, their father's body was found floating in the river. Dead. Rumor had it that he had received an order from his third son: go into the water and don't come out until your lungs burn and your heart stops. That will be your punishment for abandoning us.

And so the son with the Gift of Manipulation took revenge on his father.

Legends said that the descendants of these three children inherited unimaginable gifts – and that they still walked the world in secret.

But, well, they were just old stories. No one ever knew the truth.

PROLOGUE

There was a secret boarding school. Strategically inaccessible. Invisible to prying eyes. Far from the capital.

It was hidden in the most inhospitable forest in the Czech Republic.

Skola Petrov was an elite institute. It educated from elementary school to university level.

There was no way to apply for a job. There were no student grants, and no one knew how to apply. You didn't offer to join that exclusive boarding school – you were invited.

There was only one way to enter Skola: by birthright. You had to have a certain specific blood to be accepted. And once you were in...

Well, it was hard to leave.

The students were sent there for their own safety. Life outside was too dangerous. And their parents knew it.

That was a school created for the children of the world's biggest mobsters. Generational offspring of the sects that ruled the globe. Children, grandchildren and great–grandchildren of organized crime bosses, born everywhere on the planet.

Skola was a neutral zone. The result of an old agreement between international mobsters.

Business is business, families aside. Children are untouchable. Respect my blood and I'll respect yours.

So parents locked their children up in this powerful boarding school, where no evil could threaten them.

At least, not from the outside.

Inside the walls, it was a different story...

CHAPTER 1

– Turn, turn! – Brooklyn encouraged.

I obeyed. I poured the whole shot of vodka.

Argh. Bitter.

Brooklyn clapped her hands and laughed.

– Damn, girl. You really are wild.

I wiped the corners of my mouth.

– Want to bet who faints first?

– I'll pass. I'd rather not end tonight in an alcoholic coma, thanks.

I clucked my tongue.

– You can never keep up with me...

– It's obvious. You're an anomaly.

I laughed.

– I have to agree.

I never got drunk. An impressively useless gift.

It was ten o'clock at night. Brooklyn and I were getting ready for the party. We were roommates at Skola.

She looked at her wristwatch.

– It's feta time. Shall we go downstairs?

The party was to take place in the central courtyard.

– Give me twenty minutes.

– All right. I'll put on my costume. – She went into the bathroom of our room.

I poured myself another shot of vodka, excited.

On this night, Skola's biggest event of the year would take place: the Bratva Festival. A mobster's version of Halloween.

At the Bratva, all the students gathered to honor the memory of the Founder. The greatest mafioso in history and also the creator of Skola.

Your name?

Kaizen Petrov. Died in 1928 in Russia. First member of this Institute.

Every year, we celebrated Bratva Day in his memory, replicating the tradition he established when he was alive. A party with lots of music, plenty to drink and prizes for the best costumes.

In other words, the most anticipated night of the year.

While Brooklyn tidied up in the bathroom, I finalized my look.

I sat in front of the mirror and touched up my makeup. I had chosen the Corpse Bride costume for today. A tattered white dress, skull make–up and a dramatic veil.

I looked in the mirror and let out a little smile.

– Not bad for a social failure.

On ordinary days, I was invisible at Skola. But not today.

Behind the heavy make–up, the mirror showed my reflection. A pretty girl, twenty–three years old. Brown skin, curly hair and honey–colored eyes.

I wasn't very vain. I was more the athletic type, with a natural beauty. A "Brazilian look", they said.

I came from the Falcão family, the most influential criminal cartel in São Paulo. Before I was born, I was sworn to death by rivals from the criminal clan in Rio de Janeiro.

So my parents sent me here. The refuge for the children of mobsters.

In Skola, people like me could grow up safely. Learn, prosper and make alliances.

Our friendships were strategic. After all, we were sleeping side by side with the sons of the world's biggest mobsters, and in the future these networks would be welcome.

Most of us inherited our parents' businesses. Mafias were family business.

I wasn't very influential in Skola. The Brazilian mafia didn't carry much weight on this side of Europe.

My roommate didn't stand out either.

Brooklyn was born into an American clan. An heiress to illegal immigration bosses at the borders. I didn't know much about it, and I didn't ask either.

Around here, nobody asked many questions.

Brooklyn was incredible. Blue hair shaved on the sides, androgynous style and lots of tattoos.

In other words, too cool to be my friend.

While I had the muscles, Brooklyn had the style. We were quite a duo.

I looked at the clock on the wall.

"Brooklyn!" I shouted. "It's almost time! Finish up soon, we're going down!"

She came out of the bathroom with a dramatic pause.

– You called me, mademoiselle?

I looked back. When I saw her, my jaw dropped.

– It's not possible! – I laughed. – You didn't do this!

– I did it! – she turned around. – Did you like it?

Brooklyn wore an old suit and a hat. A cane, a pocket watch and a fake moustache. Finally, a tie embroidered with the initials K.P. The trademark of the icon of this place.

I cried with laughter.

– Did you dress up as the Founder?

– Himself! Wasn't that a fantastic idea?

– Great!

– Either I'll be arrested, or I'll win the best costume award. Either of which would make the evening epic.

I rolled my eyes.

– Relax, no one will arrest you. The Russian clan will be too drunk to notice the blasphemy.

– Is that so? Those Petrov people take their ancestors very seriously.

– Relax, it's Bratva night. Nobody cares. And there are no rules against cosplaying celebrities.

Even mafia celebrities.

– If you say. One last shot before we leave?

– Of course. – I pour our drinks. I raised my glass. – In honor of Kaizen Petrov and his first party in the twenty–first century!

Brooklyn raised his glass.

– May he be a big drunk, just like me!

We laughed and turned the drinks over. Then we left the room and went down to the patio. Dressed up, happy and slightly drunk.