"What did you just say?" The girl extended her hands in front of her and effortlessly pushed the king away. Golden rings gleamed on her fingers. A hushed silence hung in the air, and a satisfied smile graced the brunette's face. She quickly assessed the situation, glancing at the surprised students and some angry girls brandishing posters that read "Love Marchelo."
"Quite the performance, but I don't think it's very clever on your part," Deymi glanced at her watch, her tone matter-of-fact. "Sorry, I have to run." She nodded to Grace and me before sidestepping Marcelo. But he blocked her path again.
"Where are you going? Scared, perhaps?" he taunted.
"Why should I tell you anything?" The girl emphasized the word "you."
"I'm the king of this school, and your attitude is genuinely irritating me. How dimwitted can you be not to understand that?" The mafia girl fell silent. It was an unexpected twist for all of us. Wasn't she about to retort with something cutting?
And then, the realization hit me. The mafia girl's hand slid into her back pocket, retrieving something slowly.
What's the matter? Can't speak? Lost your gift of speech? I command you to talk!" Vesper persisted. Suddenly, a toothy grin materialized on his face. "Are you in love? I mean, I always knew I was a god, but to make you fall for me so quickly, and even the daughter of the mafia." He forced a chuckle. "Would you like to join my fan club? I'd gladly welcome someone like you. You're quite attractive..."
"Che completo idiota," the mafia girl whispered quietly. It was in some language unfamiliar to us—likely Italian or Spanish.
"What-what?" the brunette tilted his head toward her. The girl swiftly attempted to retrieve something from her pocket, but a familiar voice resounded throughout the school.
"Deymiara Mort." At first, it was like the eerie creaking from a horror movie. The sound of footsteps and murmurs followed—many footsteps. It was as if hundreds were moving in perfect synchrony, all with a confident stride. Laughter, the sound of high heels, the scent of women's perfume, the taste of gum, and the clicking—it all heralded the arrival of the mafia girl. Silence fell. Finally, she managed to sidestep Marchelo and stood there, looking taken aback.
The cafeteria's entrance was graced by two boys. I recognized one of them—Daniel. This time, he was adorned in dark violet attire. Both boys donned formal suits.
"A few minutes have already passed," he cheerfully exclaimed, tapping his wristwatch. A buzz of excitement followed, questions like "Is that the Young Mafia?" and "Oh my God, they're here?!" filled the air. The second boy confidently made his way toward us. It seemed as though the mafia girl breathed a sigh of relief. She slowly pulled her hand out of her pocket and smiled.
"Tino?" Mort whispered joyfully. I glanced at the brunette who approached Deymi and, with a soothing gesture, stroked her back. His eyes were a deep gray, his hair black-brown. Four rings adorned one hand, while the other sported a sports watch and several silver-gold bracelets. His gaze gently studied the mafia girl, his demeanor full of tenderness and affection.
"Is everything alright?" His soft voice echoed across the cafeteria. She nodded. Stepping back from her, the young man scanned the students and the cafeteria itself.
"Hey there! How's it going, Miss Mort? Check out how cool we are strolling in," Daniel approached, waving his arms and twirling around his friends. "Ciao, Julian! What's up, AG-resor!"
"Welcome!" Mort whispered.
"Why did you guys come?" the mafia girl asked.
"Why are you acting so..." he started, but got interrupted.
"Tino thought you were dying," a guy dramatically placed his hand over his heart. "It hurts my heart just looking at him."
Tino shot Daniel a meaningful glance, and he fell silent.
"Hello, everyone!" the group dispersed, revealing Rebecca and another girl. They were like yin and yang. Spotting us, the blonde lit up. She quickened her pace and ended up... next to me? I froze. I caught a whiff of raspberries and... pastries? The girl cupped my face in her hands and began to inspect.
"Oh my dear God, you look really handsome. Your face, your style, they're changing. I'm proud of my model," Rebecca chirped. I felt my face flush crimson.
"Rebecca..." a frosty voice interjected, but it wasn't Deymi's. I glanced in the direction of the voice. A girl with a model-worthy, beautiful face, hair the color of dark chocolate, and unusual eyes that had shades of green, orange, brown, and gray. "You need to be more restrained."
"Is this the second Deymi?" I thought. Of course, I couldn't help but notice how the mafia girl's friends were looking at us, even Daniel. It was as if a dragon in a circus costume with a cigarette between its teeth had appeared before them, holding a magic wand.
"Oh, sorry," the blonde withdrew her hands and blushed. She rejoined her friends and engaged in conversation. "We're not staying long. You were gone for quite a while, so we decided to come in. But if it's an issue, it's Daniel's idea."
"Hey! Spoilsport!" the guy made a face. "I wanted to play one more song." He continued, singing, "Callin back to you-u."
"Cut it out!" the brunette pleaded. "Are we leaving or what?"
"Away from prying eyes," the brunette supported.
"Enough, Wiki. We didn't come here to steal and kill, did we?" His friends fell silent. "Although I wouldn't mind trying to rob this fridge of candy bars," he added in a hushed tone.
"Here, thief," Deymi chuckled and handed him a candy bar from her pocket. He gladly took it. "Hold on a minute." She walked over to us, handed her brother some keys to leave, but then a male hand appeared on her wrist.
"I never let you go!" Marchelo exclaimed. I noticed how Young Mafia simultaneously turned around, each with the same expression: coldness, madness, and arrogance. Their eyes turned frigid, even Mueller and Hefman transformed (although they were usually rays of sunshine). Now, they all looked like killers.
"What should I do to make you let go of me?" Submissiveness appeared on the brunette's face, soon replaced by a superior smile. "As you can see, I don't want to get my weapon, scare the whole school, and inflict pain on you. You're a precious little thing, and your daddy could easily pay us a handsome ransom."
"You won't dare!"
"Oh, I dare, and if you irritate me enough, the decision might change." I could see dissatisfaction briefly flicker across Deymi's smiling face. In my days of friendship with the Mortes, I understood that their stubbornness could be irksome.
"Deymi, stop playing with him," Daniel's voice resounded. The brunette's smile grew wider, and she easily withdrew her hand.
"Deymi?! Is that really a name? I can't believe it. Was your mother a Satanist? Then all of you should be in a psychiatric ward," Marchelo continued.
"Listen, dude, your name isn't..." Mueller grimaced, but it was too late.