Twenty years old, 6 feet 3,built like a thug, silver hair, grey eyes which seared your soul. But he felt like a little boy being told off. When Don Varela spoke every one bowed and listened.

" We might be the kings of the under world sonny boy, but I will not have any one mistake my son for an ordinary uncouth thug. What makes us different is the suits we wear and the cunning we have from being educated. No son of Varela will be a drop out. I have built an empire, spent my whole life converting our family's black money into a white collared business. In today's world my son business men is the new name for the mafia. So you go and finish what you started. Go be a businessman. " Varello twirled his cigar and looked at his son, a younger version of himself and smiled. A smile that like his son's could still melt any woman's heart.

So that is how Castello Varela aka Cash found himself with a backpack on his shoulders, a growl on his face, surrounded by students running from one place to another.