Sᴇᴘᴛᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 17. 2024.
While the last classes of the day ensues, Petro turns up at the school in a Cadillac Escalade Limousine owned by his company. No one really knows of his appearance except for the few class skippers skittering on the compound and kids looking out the windows of their classes. He enters the building and heads straight to the Administration Office, greeting the lady at the front desk charmingly. He's up in age, but he's still a handsome man and she blushes, giving him the go ahead to see the principal after making sure there's a clear schedule.
The conversation between the two gents is pleasant and an understanding is there.
"She threatened the whole student body to my face then tells me it's a warning!" Mr. Welsh laughs heavily, glad that the situation hadn't turned for the worst, and Petro is still amused, hearing about what happened for the third time.
"To say the least," he begins in his thick Russian accent, "we aren't ordinary people, so you should believe her. However, she seems to be going through some stress lately and with what happened, she was probably overwhelmed and snapped, if you know what I mean." The man nods profusely, knowing the feeling. "I've never seen her like that before, so it's foreign to me. I hope she can still go to your school without trouble."
"Yes," Mr. Welsh continues to nod, "I'll see how I can help her."
"And your daughter?"
The man appreciated the thoughtful question. "She's well."
"Good..."
The bell rings and Petro takes that as his cue to leave. He gives the principal a brief nod and exits the offices, standing-by on lookout for Alessia. He watches immature, spoiled kids after immature, spoiled kids file into the hall, bringing noise with them. He recognizes most of them as the children of wealthy co-workers, smiling slightly when they wave at him, but his smile brightens when he spots Vincent Guiseppe waltzing and bobbing his head to whatever the fuck he's listening to with his headphones on.
He taps him on the shoulder when he's close enough and the startled boy beams, "Mr. Moskal!" They hug from the side for just a second. "Long time no see."
"Hello, how are you doing? Why haven't I seen your face since last year?" Petro questions him fondly, "How is Alessandro? Anymore troubles?"
Vincent is confused by his tongues, frowning a bit, but some parts he catch on to and says, "Yes, all is well. I've gotten busier with senior year and stuff."
"Right, right..." He nods, then asks again with a twitch of an eyebrow, "how is Alessia holding up in school? Do you know?"
Impulsively, the boy rolls his eyes, stating that she's boring.
"Excuse me?"
His eyes widen and a million emotions and a billion thoughts bloom at once in his empty barrel of a brain when he realizes what he just did. "I–I mean—"
"Petro," the girl breaks away from the crowd at the sight of her employer, "what are you doing here?"
"My sweet little menace," his eyes gleam with positivity again, bouncing back from Vincent's lame comment, "I had a talk with your principal and was hoping you could drop me off at the quarters."
"Sure." She tells him nimbly, ushering him towards the exit and the short, white man adjusts the stiff collar of his shirt and straightens his blazer, shooting one last look at Vincent before following her.
His eyes trail the man as he struts proudly behind Alessia through the opened doors and he releases a breath. He had stopped breathing the minute he made the mistake of calling Petro's prized assassin boring. He's going to head home and think about how precious his life is to him.