Chapter 4 They want my blood

CHAPTER 4

I went back to my room. I blacked out.

I woke up to a bell ringing.

– What the hell? – I sat up, scratching my eyes. The clock struck four in the afternoon.

Brooklyn was already showered and in uniform.

– Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. There's something going on in the courtyard. All the students have been summoned.

I became tense. That signal wasn't ringing for nothing. It couldn't be a good thing.

I put on my uniform. A black and red checkered skirt, thin socks and a blazer with the school slogan. Then we went down to the second floor.

We followed the stream of confused students.

"What's going on?" they whispered.

"I don't know. Why would they summon us on a Sunday?"

"It must be serious."

We arrived at the courtyard late. The act was already underway.

Pietra and Filipo Coppola were in the center of a circle formed by all the students. Pietra was lying on the floor and Filipo was trying to lift her up. Both were smeared with flour and rotten eggs.

It was a public humiliation.

Japanese Akira Mikan led the attack. Naomi prostrated herself a few steps behind. Vengeful look, hands in pockets.

Akira proclaimed.

"(...) and for dishonoring the family, you are expelled from Skola."

Pietra stood up, crying.

– It won't stay that way! Our family will come after you for revenge!

That's when Naomi stepped forward.

– Really?" he smiles vindictively. – I called your parents myself, Coppolas, and they were the ones who gave the expulsion order.

Pietra gasped.

– They wouldn't do that.

– Oh, they would. You've tarnished the sacred name of your clan, and your parents won't forgive you. They don't want any more contact. You are all alone. Pick up your rags and get out of Skola.

Humiliated, Filipo put his arm around his sister.

– Let's get out of here. This is no longer our home.

They left the courtyard to a shower of boos.

"Freaks!"

"Shame on the family!"

They got into a car outside the school and drove off. They didn't even take their belongings.

Better that way. This place knew how to be violent with enemies.

Naomi's cousin, Akira Mikan, took the floor. He turned to everyone:

"The Coppolas committed a disgusting crime against the family's honor and they paid the price. It was we, the Mikan, who discovered and denounced them. So, as of today, the yakuza mafia claims official command of this place!"

Everyone looked at each other in amazement. It was a stroke of power.

Someone came out of the crowd.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Mikan."

The interlocutor was Esteban Maddero. The Mexican boy who ran South America's criminal faction.

Esteban and his sister, Alma, made up the third entity of the Holy Trinity.

Akira grunted.

– Do you have anything to say, Maddero? Our coup was legitimate. Even you have to admit it.

– I don't agree. You have received inside information. This public humiliation is dishonorable and cannot be seen as a clean victory. The Maddero will not accept submitting to you.

– Clean victory? – Akira laughed. – Come on, please. Are we at Skola or a Catholic institution? Nobody cares about justice.

The Mexican arched an eyebrow.

– But they will care. This dispute isn't over yet. Mexico will fight back.

Maddero crossed the courtyard and began to walk away.

Everyone watched him in silence. It was a direct threat.

In order to enter the building, Esteban ended up passing by me. He bumped into me with his shoulder and gave me a venomous look.

"Get out of the way, Hawk. What's yours is safe."

I froze.

Why did he say what he said? And how did he know my name?

We've never talked in our lives...

Akira shouted:

"The show's over! Go back to your rooms!"

We obeyed.

As we climbed the stairs back to the dorms, Brooklyn touched my shoulder.

– Hey, are you all right? What did Esteban mean?

– I don't know. – I lied. – I think he was just taking his anger out on the first person he saw.

We got to the bedroom. I made sure to lock the door.

When Brooklyn went into the bathroom, I took the opportunity. I took out my cell phone and made a secret call to Brazil.

My father answered.

"Daughter? Why are you calling me?"

I swallowed.

– Dad, come and get me. I think I've fucked up.

Esteban Maddero knew that I had sold the information – and I didn't sell it to him.

I don't know how he got hold of my name, but he did. And such betrayal made me a direct enemy of the most lethal criminals in South America.

The Maddero were unforgiving and would come after my head.

***

First, my father scolded me.

"You should have told me first! And not tried to do business for yourself! Stupid children!"

Damn. In my eagerness to prove myself, I ended up screwing everything up.

"Sorry, Dad."

He told me to be quiet.

"Naomi would never tell us her identity. It would be a breach of contract, and the yakuza never break their word."

But I was paranoid.

"Are you sure?"

"It's all in your head. Naomi didn't say anything. If the threat comes, it will go straight to the head of the clan. That's protocol."

Of course. He was the boss.

"If we haven't received anything yet, haven't the Madderos come forward?"

"Exactly. Stay calm and go on naturally. Act as if you have nothing to hide."

My father knew more about strategy than I did. I thought I'd listen to him.

On Monday, I attended classes.

I couldn't concentrate. I had a bad feeling. I spent the whole day looking around, looking for enemies. I was already getting paranoid.

Night fell. Brooklyn and I went to the cafeteria for dinner. We sat opposite each other and ate in silence.

Suddenly, she snorted.

– That's enough! – He put down the cutlery.

I stood up.

– What's the problem?

– You're the problem. You've been acting strange all day. Tell me what's going on.

I stirred my plate without eating.

– It's nothing.

– Oh, please. You don't talk, you don't eat and you daydream in class. You're not like that. What's going on, really?

I wanted to tell her. But if Brooklyn knew what I saw, it would become her burden too.

I remembered my father's advice. Act naturally.

– I'm just having a bad day.

She reached across the table and took my hand.

– Whatever it is, you can tell me. Did something happen at the party? I won't judge you.

I closed my eyes, mentally repeating.

Nothing's going to happen, nothing's going to happen, it's not...

Someone interrupted my thoughts.

There was a hiss near us. I opened my eyes and looked away. I saw a boy standing next to our table. Alexander Maddero, one of the Mexican cousins. Esteban's right–hand man.

He took an envelope out of his jacket pocket.

– This is for you. – Dark tone. – My cousin sent it to you. He said you'd know why. – He placed the item on my desk. – This is a message from our family to yours. This is how the Maddero treat traitors.

Trembling, I opened the envelope. I pulled out a black card with an "x" in the middle.

And that's it.

Brooklyn gasped.

– Oh, my God! – and stood up suddenly.

His chair fell backwards and made a noise. Everyone at the surrounding tables looked in our direction.

I held the card, livid.

– It can't be.

Alexander said:

– You have half an hour to hide. That's the rule of the game. If you survive the hunt, the Maddero will pardon you. If not, consider yourself punished.

And he left.

All around us, the students were whispering in amazement.

"It's not possible! Did she really get it?"

"Man, this is a death sentence."

"It's been eight years since anyone got a black card. What has she done for the Maddero?"

"It doesn't matter. The hunt will begin."

The black card was an unofficial school custom. It was created by rebellious students and followed to the letter by the clans. The teachers didn't dare interfere.

Mafia kids' business. They have their own rules. If we interfere, we'll be charged.

Anyone who received a black card was marked as enemy number one of the Trinity.

Skola's gates were locked. For twenty–four hours, the victim would be stalked, and all the students could do whatever they wanted to her. A free pass of rules. A stalking to generate psychological terror.

Everything was allowed. Literally everything.

The last student to receive it didn't make it out alive to tell of the experience.

So that was the Madderos' punishment for me. A black envelope.

They didn't want to kill me – they wanted the other students to persecute, humiliate and torture me first. Very mafia–style psychological terror.

In the end, the Maddero would probably kill me as an act of benevolence.

I stared at the envelope on the table. Shocked, paralyzed, with my heart in my mouth.

That didn't happen to me. It's not possible.

All around me, the students began to stand up. Eager as hunters looking for prey.

Whispers spread.

"Call everyone. Tell them we have a new victim."

"Let's get her."

Others laughed, cruelly.

"Get your games ready. After eight years, it's happening again."

I looked at Brooklyn.

– What... What do I do now? – I whispered.

She cried in horror.

– Run!

I obeyed.

I ran out of the cafeteria. My lungs were burning, my breath panting. Hurry, hurry, hurry!

I came across several students in the corridors. They were holding their cell phones, reading some newly arrived message.

Oh, no.

If all the cell phones were beeping at the same time, someone must have told the chat groups about the card.

As I walked past, some people approached me. Cruel smiles.

"Twenty–five minutes, Falcon. Tic, tac."

"It's better to hide well."

I pushed them.

"Get out of my way!", and ran more.

I got to my room. I was crying compulsively, but I couldn't stop running. Time was working against me.

I filled a backpack with supplies. Jacket, flashlight, cell phone, water and whatever else I could find. It would be a tough 24 hours.

The first step was to get out of the building. If they didn't find me, they couldn't hurt me.

I sent a message to my father. I typed hurriedly, making mistakes.

"Black card. I'm in trouble. Send someone to pick me up, or they'll kill me."

My father would understand. He also studied at Skola.

Although my family lived in Brazil, we had contacts all over the world. Even in the Czech Republic. Some of my business partners would rescue me.

I turned off the device. I didn't want to be tracked.

The last boy to receive a black card ended up dead. They threw him into the pit in the east wing with snakes inside. They left him there until morning. Although the snakes weren't poisonous, the boy panicked. He had been bitten as a child and carried a serious trauma.

Knowing this, his enemies invented the "joke."

The Slovenian couldn't bear the trauma. He died of a heart attack. His body was only recovered the following morning.

After that, the black cards became much more serious. Almost a decade has passed since they were last issued.

In other words, the Mexicans were very angry with me. That was an extreme resource.

A few students would feel sorry. Most would not.

Sons of mobsters wanted to see chaos.

My fate was uncertain. The Slovenian decided to stay at school, face the card, and ended up dead. I didn't want to pay to see. I had to hide somewhere safe until my ride arrived. If I stayed in my room, I'd be easy prey.

I tied sheets together. I tied one end to the foot of my bed, and threw the other end out of the window.

It was evening. There was no one in the courtyard. No one would catch me.

It would be a three–story climb. It looked easy in the movies, but in practice it was quite different. It required strength, muscles and dexterity.

Fortunately, I was an athlete. The Mexicans hadn't counted on that.

I climbed down the sheet. I made it to the courtyard. I ran across it and went to the athletics area. I entered the shooting gallery. It was dark and empty.

I found the janitors' room and locked myself in.

I looked at my wristwatch. My deadline had passed. The Hunt has begun.

From what I knew from the stories, people would split up into groups and start searching the school for me.

Theoretically, they just wanted to "play." But the practice was different.

Everyone knew the stories...

Students who had their skin forcibly tattooed without anesthesia... Students who have been thrown naked into a crowded courtyard... Others who have had their hair cut, their pets killed and their rooms trashed... Others have been forced to climb ridiculous heights without equipment, risking their lives... And others, pushed out of third floor windows, breaking several bones...

In other words, getting hurt would be a profit. Many didn't even make it out alive.

I heard footsteps approaching. A group entered the shed calling my name.

"Hawk? Come out and play!"

"Does she think she's smarter than us?"

"A sheet on the window and a janitor's booth?" they laughed cruelly. "Amateur..."

The door to the room swung open.

Shit, I've been discovered. Someone must have seen me going into the shed.

They forced the handle and kicked in the door.

"Argh, it's locked from the inside."

"I'll sort it out," said one girl. "Breaking and entering is my family's specialty. I'll stay here and guard the door. The rest of you go to the workshop. Bring me a good tool."

"Right," said a male voice. "Don't let her get away, Roza. Whoever delivers her into Esteban's hands first will win a favor. We can't miss this chance."

"I got it."

I heard footsteps moving away.

Then the girl guarding the door crouched down and spoke through the keyhole.

– Hey, Brazilian? I know you're there. I saw you when you entered the shed. I just wanted to get rid of those two idiots before I talked to you.

I was hopeful. Maybe she wanted to help. Generally, mafia girls weren't as violent as men.

Generally.

– I'm here. – I confessed.

– My name is Roza Gonzalez, and your father screwed up my family's arms shipment last year. I called my father and he gave me carte blanche to get back at you.

Oh my God!

The Gonzalezes were old enemies of my family. We fought over the monopoly of drug trafficking in South America.

– Roza, this isn't our problem. Let our parents sort it out.

She laughed.

– Do you think I'm stupid, Hawk? When would I get another chance like this? My colleagues just want to play, but not me. I want to really hurt you. It's time you Brazilians learned what happens when you mess with the Colombian mafia.

I was livid. Although we were old rivals, Skola was supposed to be neutral territory.

But not tonight.

The boys came back.

"We found this in the garage! Does it fit?"

"Yes," the Colombian seemed to pick up the tool. "Let me work and get out of the way."

I heard iron clicks.

Although terrified, I swallowed my tears. It's not time to mourn, Lavinia. It's time to survive.

I took off my jacket. I tied it below my eyes like a mask. I took some pepper spray from my backpack, then put it back on my back.

Minutes later, the door was broken down.

As soon as my tormentors entered, they were startled. I was on my feet and ready to fight. I aimed the pepper spray directly at their faces and attacked them.

They retreated and coughed, falling backwards.

"What the hell...?"

"That son of a bitch!"

Trying not to breathe, I walked past them. I think I stepped on someone, because I heard screams of pain.

I didn't care and kept running. I crossed the shed. I reached the north lawn, where everyone used to play soccer. It was dark and empty.

I crouched down on the grass. I rummaged through my backpack, coughing madly. I found a bottle of water, took off my jacket and splashed water on my face. I wiped my eyes and mouth, trying to breathe.

Even with the protection of the fabric, the spray got into my throat. It was little, but enough to leave me breathless.

It was a very strong spray. I used it for personal safety.

It would take time for the group of Colombians to recover. Despite this, others were already on my trail.

I heard screams in the distance.

"This way!"

"Let's split up! Whoever gets her first can play more."

"I want to be the first... I don't want a used rag doll..." they laughed.

My God. Many families here had feuds with the Brazilians. We were an influential mafia in South America, and all the neighboring countries seemed thirsty. They wanted to punish my father through me.

I found the men's changing rooms. I went into one of the cubicles and locked myself in. I left the lights off so as not to generate any traces.

I knew it wasn't a good hiding place and that they would soon find me. It was only a matter of time.

I didn't survive an hour – let alone twenty–four!

– Shit, shit, shit... – I wiped away the tears.

I took my cell phone out of my bag and turned it on. I needed to know if my father had received the message.

As soon as I turned on the device, several messages popped up on the screen. They were unknown numbers.

"If I leave Skola, it will be worse."

"We know where your family lives."

They sent my home address in São Paulo.

"Withdrawals are punishable by mob law."

They sent me a photo from my younger sister's social networks, aged twelve.

"If you don't pay, she will."

– Oh my God! – I cried again. I couldn't leave, and I couldn't stay. – What do I do now?

I needed a miracle! I needed...

Something clicked in my head. That was it. A miracle.

Instead of calling my father, I called someone else. Someone who could confront the Mexicans' anger on equal terms.

Naomi Mikan.

She gave me her number during our secret meeting.

After a few rings, Naomi answered, irritated.

"Who is it? I'm in the middle of a hunt. Call back later."

– Wait a minute! It's me, Lavinia!

She was astonished.

"Oh, you. I'm hunting you. Bad time to call."

– It doesn't matter. We need to talk.

"I can't talk to the target during the 24–hour hunting period. It will be considered treason. I'm a student too."

– You owe me, Mikan. You know that favor? I'm collecting it now.

"You're spending a yakuza favor on this? Can't you handle 24 hours of gaming?"

– They don't want to play with me, girl. I have real enemies who intend to kill me. The business of South America is not for children. I need this favor now.

She sighed.

"Even I'm not that strong. You're persona non grata to all the families together. Tonight, you're going to get hurt. Just accept it."

– Acceptance is not my talent.

"Don't waste a yakuza's favor on a school prank. Hold out tonight and save your trump card. There are many advantages to being one of our favorites."

Wait... Favorite?

I blinked, getting the idea.

Naomi herself inspired me without realizing it.

"Favorites" were untouchable. That's what we called the wives of mafia bosses. The ones who couldn't be hurt. It wasn't necessarily a romantic term. They could also be Favoritas who were the bosses' goddaughters, nieces or daughters.

The idea clicked in my brain.

How could I get rid of that punishment and at the same time become an asset to my family?

Being a Favorite! The protégé of someone stronger than all my enemies!

I didn't know who this person was. But it didn't matter. There was no time to find out.

– I already know what to ask for.

"Lavinia..."

– No. It's decided. – I made my request before she hung up: – I want to be the Favorite of the strongest mobster on the planet, and I want that to become true now. This is the fee for my favor. Pay me.

Naomi swallowed.

"I don't know which living mobster is the most powerful in the world. Power is distributed equally among the families. The outcome is uncertain. Are you sure you want to risk it?"

I heard noises. A group was approaching the changing room. I trembled with fear.

– Yes! Make the suggestion and do it now. – More noises. – I don't have time! Hurry up!

On the other side, Naomi's voice became strange. She seemed to go into a trance.

"I order Lavinia Falcao to become the Favorite of the most powerful mobster on the planet. This is my absolute decree. It is done."

Then Naomi gasped heavily, as if she were fainting.

And no one else answered.

Normal. Using such strong power drained all your strength.

I disconnected the call. I typed a message.

"Meet me in the main courtyard. I'll be waiting for my protector. Signed: the Favorite."

I sent it to all the contacts at school. Including teachers.

Everyone who was anyone in the mafia was either inside these walls or had relatives here. My message would get through. Whoever he was.

I left the cubicle.

Although I was shaking, I lifted my chin and started walking. I had to trust in Naomi's power.

Someone was going to come and save me. I just didn't know who yet.