Mafia Alpha

Chapter 1

Noah

I walked slowly down the dark road. My legs felt like lead, heavy with an exhaustion that went deeper than just a long day. Every step was a struggle.

My school bag, stuffed with heavy books I barely had the energy to read, slipped from my shoulder. It hit the ground with a dull thud that seemed to echo in the quiet street. I tried to reach for it, but my body finally gave up.

My knees buckled, and I fell hard onto the rough pavement.

The impact sent a jolt of pain through my body. I felt a sharp sting on my lip and, when I licked it, I tasted the metallic tang of blood. I stayed there for a moment, my forehead resting against the cold ground, just trying to catch my breath.

The world felt too big and I felt too small.

Then, I heard it. Footsteps. They weren't the hurried steps of someone heading home to dinner. They were slow, deliberate, and heavy.

I lifted my head and squinted against the dim streetlights. Three figures stood right in front of me. They looked like giants from my position on the ground. My heart sank into my stomach.

I knew those shoes. I knew that posture.

It was Max and his crew. They were the same bullies from school who made it their mission to ensure I never had a moment of peace.

Max, the leader, stepped closer. Without a word, he reached down and grabbed me by the neck of my shirt. He yanked me up with such force that my feet barely touched the ground. I could see the pores on his face and the mean glint in his eyes.

His breath smelled of stale cigarettes, making me want to gag.

"I warned you, Noah," he growled. His fingers tightened around my collar, cutting off my air. "I told you to stay away from my girl, didn't I?"

I struggled to get the words out, my voice coming out in a thin, desperate gasp. "I have nothing to do with your girlfriend," I managed to say. "I don't even like her. You’ve got it all wrong, Max."

Max didn't move. He stared at me for a long second, his face unreadable. Then, a cold, jagged laugh broke from his throat.

One of his friends, a tall boy who always stayed in the back, stepped forward and handed Max a phone. Max turned the screen toward my face.

The video was blurry, but I could clearly see myself. I was standing in the school hallway, smiling politely while talking to a girl. It was a completely innocent moment. She had asked me about the math homework, and I had answered.

That was it.

But in Max's mind, it was a betrayal. His face twisted with a sudden, sharp rage.

"You think I'm stupid?" he snarled.

I opened my mouth to explain, to tell him that we were just talking about equations, but he didn't want to hear it.

He drove his fist into my stomach.

The air left my lungs in a silent scream. Pain exploded through my middle like a physical weight. Max let go of my shirt, and I crashed to the ground again, doubling over. I tried to scramble away, my hands scraping against the gravel as I crawled toward the darker shadows of a nearby building.

I just wanted to hide. But they were much faster than me.

Kicks and punches started to rain down. It wasn't like the movies; there was no rhythm to it, just the constant, dull thumping of leather hitting my ribs and shoulders. My ribs felt like they were being crushed. My head spun as a sneaker clipped the side of my face.

I curled into a tight ball, tucking my chin into my chest and using my arms to protect my head as best I could. I stayed silent, knowing that crying out would only make them enjoy it more.

Finally, the hitting stopped. The silence that followed was louder than the blows. Max leaned over me, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

"Next time, you won't be so lucky," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Next time, it'll be death."

He spat on the ground near my head. Then, the three of them walked away. I could hear them laughing, their voices getting smaller and smaller until the night was quiet again.

I lay there for what felt like hours. Every breath I took hurt, a sharp reminder of where Max’s boots had landed. Eventually, the cold of the pavement seeped into my skin, forcing me to move. I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, shaking uncontrollably. I found my bag nearby and gripped the strap.

My hands wouldn't stop trembling as I slung it over my shoulder.

I started the long walk home. A few people passed me on the street. I saw a woman in a long coat and an older man carrying a briefcase. They looked at me, and for a second, I saw it in their eyes—pity.

They saw my torn shirt and the blood on my face. Their eyes were full of sorrow, but they didn't stop. They just looked away and kept walking, heading toward their own warm lives.

I kept my head down, staring at my own scuffed shoes. The same question burned in my mind, over and over: Why me? Why does everything bad always happen to me? I wasn't a bad person. I didn't cause trouble. Yet, it felt like the world was constantly trying to break me.

I finally reached my apartment building. I stood in front of the heavy door for a moment, looking up at the familiar cracked walls and the flickering light in the hallway. From inside, I could already hear it—loud music.

It was my father's favorite old songs, the kind he only played when he had been drinking for hours. My stomach twisted into a painful knot.

The beating from Max was over, but another night of hell was just beginning.

I turned the handle and stepped inside. The smell of cheap alcohol hit me immediately, thick and suffocating. The living room was a mess of empty cans and discarded mail.

My father sat on the couch, slumped over. His eyes were half-closed, and a bottle dangled dangerously from his fingers.

I tried to be a ghost. I kept my footsteps light, trying to slip past the couch and head up the stairs to the safety of my room. I almost made it to the first step.

"Noah. Get back here."

His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the blaring music like a sharp knife. I froze, my foot hovering over the wooden step. My heart started to pound against my bruised ribs. Slowly, I turned around and walked back into the living room.

My father stood up. He swayed a little, his hand gripping the back of the couch for balance. His eyes narrowed, focusing on me with a look of pure disgust.

"Why are you home so late?" he demanded.

I opened my mouth to answer. I wanted to tell him I had been jumped, that I was hurt and needed help. But he didn't wait for me to speak. He stepped forward and shoved me hard.

Because I was already weak, I stumbled back and fell to the floor. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through my body.

"You think you can just walk in whenever you want?" he yelled, his voice rising above the music. "Useless boy! Do you expect to stay in your room eating free food forever? I work hard for everything in this house! I pay for the roof over your head!"

Anger suddenly rose in my chest, hot and sharp, cutting through my fear. I pushed myself up on one elbow, looking him in the eye.

"Why?" I asked. My voice cracked, but I didn't care. "Why do you have to treat me like I'm some kind of sin? What did I ever do to you?"

My father's face turned a deep, angry red. The veins in his neck stood out. He stepped toward me and slapped me hard across the face. The sting of his palm mixed with the pain from the earlier beating, making my vision blur.

It was too much.

"You're a disgrace," he spat, leaning over me. "I regret the day you were born. I regret having you as my son."

Tears burned in my eyes, but they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of pure, unfiltered hurt. I stood up, my whole body trembling. I didn't care about the consequences anymore.

"I regret having a father like you too!" I yelled back. My voice broke on the last word, echoing in the small room.

For a second, the room went completely silent, except for the scratching sound of the old record playing in the background. My father's eyes widened. The fury in them was unlike anything I had ever seen.

He looked at me not as a son, but as an enemy.

Before I could move or say another word, his hand shot out. He grabbed an empty glass bottle from the coffee table. He didn't hesitate. He swung it with all his strength in a wide arc.

The glass shattered against the side of my head.

The sound was the loudest thing I had ever heard. Pain burst through my skull like fire, white and blinding. The world began to spin out of control. My legs gave out instantly, and I felt myself falling toward the floor.

Everything went dark.