Mafia Alpha

Chapter One: The Night Bleeds Quietly

Noah's POV…

I walked slowly down the street, dragging my bag behind me like it weighed a hundred pounds. My shoulder hurt, my ribs throbbed, and my lip—well, that was bleeding. I tasted the metallic sting every time I breathed through my mouth. The sidewalk under my feet was cracked and uneven, but it wasn’t the worst part of my night.

That would be what happened just a few seconds before this moment.

My bag slipped off my shoulder and hit the pavement. I followed right after it, dropping to my knees, panting. My whole body ached, but that was becoming normal lately. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth and pulled it away to see blood.

Again.

I heard footsteps.

I didn’t need to look. I already knew who it was.

But I still glanced up.

Yep. Them.

Marcus and his little pack of followers. The same idiots who had been tormenting me since forever. Football team heroes, hallway kings, and certified nightmares.

Marcus stepped in front of me, towering over me like I was something he’d found stuck to his shoe.

“I told you,” he said, voice low, “stay away from her.”

Before I could answer, he grabbed the front of my hoodie and yanked me up until I was eye-level with his smug face.

“I don’t even like her,” I choked out. My throat was dry, my voice cracking. “I’ve got nothing to do with your girlfriend, man.”

His eyes narrowed. “Really?”

Another guy stepped forward, pulling out his phone. He tapped the screen and turned it toward me.

It was a video. A stupid, harmless hallway clip—me bumping into Cara, her laughing, me apologizing, both of us smiling for a split second. That was it. No flirting. No touching. Just a normal, human interaction.

But Cara’s smile had done the damage. That stupid freeze-frame made it look like we were close.

“She looks pretty cozy,” Marcus said. His smile faded.

“I didn’t—” I tried to explain, but I didn’t even get the words out before I doubled over in pain. His fist landed hard in my stomach.

I hit the ground, gasping, and barely had a second before another blow came, then another. A boot caught my ribs, and I rolled over with a groan.

They weren’t even saying anything anymore. Just beating the silence into me.

When they finally got bored, Marcus leaned down again, brushing my hair back like he was mocking me.

“You even look in her direction again,” he said coldly, “and I promise—next time, you’ll be dead.”

They walked off laughing, like it was just another fun Friday night.

I lay there for a while, arms and legs screaming in pain, but eventually, I pulled myself up. I picked up my bag even though it hurt like hell to move. The strap dug into my bruised shoulder, but I needed to keep moving. I didn’t want anyone else to see me like this.

But of course, they did.

People passed me on the street—some just glanced and looked away quickly, like they didn’t want to deal with whatever I was going through. One guy crossed to the other side of the road like I was dangerous. A woman with groceries looked at my face and frowned, like I’d done something wrong.

I didn’t even try to explain.

I just kept walking, the blood on my shirt starting to dry, my mind spinning with the same question that always came up after nights like this:

Why me?

What did I do to deserve this?

I made it to the apartment building and stood in front of it for a minute, staring up at the weak light in the hallway window. The building looked tired, just like me—paint peeling off the walls, rust on the railing, the front door sticking like it didn’t want to let anyone in.

From inside, I could already hear the music.

Crap.

That meant he was awake. And drunk.

I pushed the door open and stepped in, hoping maybe I could just sneak upstairs and get to my room. Maybe—just maybe—I could get through one night without another fight.

The place reeked of cheap beer and old takeout. The TV was on, volume too high, playing some action movie with gunshots and explosions every few seconds. My dad was slumped on the couch, one arm over his face, a half-empty bottle hanging from his other hand.

I took one quiet step toward the stairs.

Then another.

Almost there.

“Noah.”

Damn it.

I froze.

He didn’t even sit up—just lifted his head enough to squint at me.

“What time d’you think it is?” he slurred.

“I got caught up,” I muttered, still facing the stairs.

“Caught up,” he repeated with a laugh that wasn’t funny. “Caught up doing what? Sneaking around? Getting into trouble?”

I turned around slowly. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

He sat up straighter, face red, eyes bloodshot. “Don’t talk back to me.”

“I wasn’t—”

He was already on his feet. “You walk in here late, bloody face, torn shirt—and you want me to believe you weren’t doing anything?”

“I was just—” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard. “I got jumped, okay? Some guys at school—Marcus and his friends—”

“Why? What did you do to them?”

“Nothing!” I snapped. “That’s the point! I didn’t do anything!”

He came closer, his movements clumsy but fast. I backed up a step.

“You’re a burden,” he said, jabbing a finger at me. “You think I’m made of money? You think you can just sit in your room all day eating free food and wasting time on your stupid drawings?”

I clenched my fists.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I asked. My voice came out shaky, but loud. “I didn’t ask to be your son. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

His eyes flared.

Then his hand cracked across my face.

I stumbled, one foot catching the edge of the carpet, but I didn’t fall this time. I stood back up, blinking away the sting in my cheek.

“I regret having you,” he growled. “You’re a disgrace. An embarrassment. You’ll never be anything.”

I stared at him, my eyes burning.

“I regret having a father like you,” I said, my voice quiet but steady.

He stared at me like I’d slapped him.

Then I turned toward the stairs again. I didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not where he could see.

One step. Two.

Then something shattered against the back of my head.

Pain exploded behind my eyes, white-hot and instant. I didn’t even get a chance to turn around. I crumpled to the floor, my legs giving out from under me. Everything spun—walls, ceiling, floor, all blending together.

Then black.

Everything just went dark.