Chapter 2 Depraved Secret

CHAPTER 2

The laws of states ruled the world. The laws of the mafias run the underworld.

Often, one was connected to the other. The mafia had its infiltrators in every government.

A criminal organization became influential through three pillars.

Discipline. Ruthless leaders. Lots of money.

But you couldn't achieve that with willpower alone. No. It was an act of birth.

The three biggest mafias on the planet were keeping unimaginable secrets. Information so dangerous that, if it were made public, it would shock the world and cause a collapse.

Some people had superhuman gifts. Talents that could not be explained. These people used their gifts for good or evil.

But above all, they built fortunes with them.

Since they couldn't use such talents in the real world, the gifted built their own underworlds to rule.

And so organized crime was born. The secret universe of mobsters.

To rule, a criminal family needed three pillars: wealth, strength and manipulation.

Three families monopolized power. Each of them boasted a gift.

The Mexican Maddero clan possessed the gift of strength. In a hand–to–hand fight, they would submit anyone. They were the most violent gangsters in South America.

From them, the Mexican cartels were born.

The Italian Coppolas had the gift of wealth. Everything they touched turned to gold.

From them, the famous Sicilian mafia was born. The family that ran practically all of Europe.

The Japanese Mikan, on the other hand, possessed the most dangerous of talents...

The gift of manipulation.

They could convince anyone to do anything. Even kill their own mother. Their suggestions entered the subconscious of their victims and became absolute truths.

Hence the yakuza mafia. A veritable empire in Asia, which no one had the courage to oppose.

For centuries, the three clans shared power and kept the balance.

That is...

Until Kaizen Petrov was born.

The year was 1900. On a winter's night in Russia, a woman gave birth to the most dangerous creature in the world.

A boy who possessed all three gifts: the ability to prosper, the ability to win any fight and the ability to manipulate anyone.

All at the same time.

Kaizen was the only person in the world to possess all three gifts. He was highly dangerous. Rich, strong and manipulative.

Between 1918 and 1928, the Russian commanded all the mafias in the world.

In 1920, Kaizen moved to the Czech Republic. There, he founded what would become the largest school for the children of mobsters in the world.

Skola Petrov.

Kaizen was murdered at the age of twenty–eight. His life was short but he left a profound impact on the underworld. He was never forgotten. To this day, every clan on the planet remembers his name.

The most dangerous and influential mobster in history.

***

The Bratva party was packed.

All students over the age of eighteen could attend.

It was the event of the year. Free booze, glowing lights adorning the trees, a packed dance floor and famous DJs.

A line–up to make any festival envious.

These DJs had no idea where they were. The Japanese "suggested" that they play their music and then forget that they had set foot in Skola.

And suggestions from the Mikan clan could not be ignored.

Because of our brilliant gifts, we had access to the cream of the crop. The most famous artists would come to our school, regale us with their talents and then forget about us.

It's as simple as that.

It's no coincidence that the Japanese mafia was so powerful. They possessed the gift of manipulation.

I put my arm around Brooklyn and we moved along the dance floor. We danced, laughed and drank drinks.

The waiters were Czechs from a nearby village. All the staff who worked for us didn't ask questions. They knew that foreign students were special people, that they paid well and didn't like curious people. They pretended not to notice our strangeness. Like our peculiar classes – target practice and guerrilla strategies – and clandestine fights.

In the center of the track, we saw the popular students. Mexicans, Italians and Japanese.

Around them orbited the emergents. Non–dominant but powerful mafias. The Colombians, the Iranians and the beautiful twins from Congo.

In the absence of the Holy Trinity of Italy, Mexico and Japan, the emerging countries dominated.

Brooklyn and I got used to being left out. Not as beautiful, not as rich, not as influential.

But that was fine with us. We had each other. We were happy in our own little world.

The crowd orbited the artifact in the center of the runway: a life–size statue of Kaizen Petrov, the Founder.

The statue stood atop a white marble pedestal. It was two meters high and depicted a young man in his twenties. He was wearing 1900s clothes, a hat and a cane.

The cane was his trademark. It was not an aid to movement, but a weapon. Inside the hollow wood, there was said to be a sharp blade. Kaizen used it to cut his enemies' throats.

The early twentieth century was a crazy time. Especially for the mafia.

Brooklyn and I went to the monument. She wanted to take a photo next to the statue and immortalize her cosplay.

– There he is! – Brooklyn climbed onto the pedestal of the statue. – My extremely hot marble twin!

Kaizen Petrov was not only a legendary criminal, but also a ridiculously handsome man.

Not many mobsters looked like that. Full, curly hair. Strong, square jaw. An athletic, muscular body.

Although there were no photos of him, reports said that he was tanned with piercing green eyes. Eyes that hypnotized his enemies.

Nobody knew if it was true. Everyone who knew him personally was already dead.

Brooklyn hugged the statue and posed for photos. They were hilarious. The tattooed madwoman and her evil marble twin.

We went back to the dance floor. Brooklyn was very busy during the night.

"I can't believe you're dressed as the Founder! That's crazy!"

"How creative! No one has done that before. I hope you win!"

We had a best costume contest. This year, Brooklyn was a strong contender.

The party was insane. We all drank and talked to strangers. We made friends in the bathroom and ended up lying on the grass. Too mad to go back to our rooms.

Brooklyn didn't win the prize for best costume. The Russians on the committee considered the cosplay to be blasphemous to the memory of the Founder, and vetoed its award.

Second place took the crown. A boy from Equatorial Guinea dressed as Barbie.

It was almost six in the morning. The school closed the party and forced us to go back to our rooms.

In my excitement, I mixed drinks. I threw up my guts in a garbage can.

Brooklyn was too drunk to help me. So I decided to leave her in our room and go to the infirmary on my own. I needed a glucose drip. I hoped there would be a nurse on duty.

I walked to the west building, where the infirmary was. I took off my heels, carried them in my hands and managed to get there by braiding my legs.

– Damn," I muttered to myself.

I never used to get drunk. This time, I went over the top. Even for me.

I arrived at the infirmary. It was in the administration building, far away from everything. It was an empty ward, especially as it was early on a Sunday morning.

I went in and didn't see anyone. Damn.

With no nurse on duty, I'd have to do the job myself...

It wouldn't be my first time breaking into the infirmary to cure someone of a drinking binge. Usually, Brooklyn.

I took the products. I went to the far bed, in the corner of the wall. I lay down on the bed and inserted the needle into the vein.

– Ouch.

It wasn't easy to do that drunk and alone.

Finally, I just closed my eyes and relaxed. I took the IV for about forty minutes.

When I started to doze off, something happened.

I heard whispers and footsteps. Someone had entered the infirmary.

I had turned off the light to go to sleep and closed the bed curtains. So no one saw me there.

I started to sit down to leave, when...

"There's no one here, is there?" someone said.

I stopped, recognizing the voice.

"Relax, beautiful," replied a male voice with a heavy accent. "Nobody comes here. This is our secret."

"What if someone finds out?"

"No one would be stupid enough to finger us. Everyone knows we can destroy them."

"Are they all asleep?"

"Of course. We won't get another chance like this. Now, enough talk. We only have a short time."

"I swear, if you tell your friends anything..."

"I'm not going to say anything. I'm not an idiot. Now kiss me."

The conversation ended. I heard kissing noises, rustling of clothes, and...

I froze.

I knew those voices!

They belonged to Pietra and Filipo Coppola, the sons of Italian mafia bosses. The bosses of Sicily.

The Coppolas were one of the three families that ruled Skola. Armed with the gift of strength.

Moving very, very slowly, I opened a gap in the curtain and could see them.

Pietra and Filipo took off their clothes. They lay down on one of the beds and fucked madly. They took advantage of the fact that the students were asleep and the staff were off duty.

They didn't want to be seen. They had no idea I was there, in the bed next to them.

They couldn't be caught because what they were doing was too obscene. Even for people like us. An unforgivable crime for the mafia.

If they were discovered, they would be destroyed.

After all, they were both adopted brothers.