Mason Alekseevich

— What have you done again? Why am I being called to school? — I asked my son. Vitalik, 11A. A grown man, but he acts like a child. I took a sip of whiskey and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. The last time I was called to school was when he was eight. Since then — silence. They were afraid. After all, not every student is the son of a mafia boss.

• Yes, we have a cool new one! Insolent! I just got into a fight, and she immediately snitched on you, - he complained.

I chuckled. Some woman scolding my son? Funny.

• Okay, I'll figure it out. And you go. I have negotiations soon.

I stood up and ruffled my son's curly hair, just like mine. “You’ll come back, right?” he asked quietly.

He knew that my job was not easy. Even though he was a hooligan, he was worried.

• I'll be back, son. I promise. Then I'll stop by school.

---

I knocked on the door of the Russian language classroom. Silence. I entered myself. A young woman was at the desk, checking notebooks. She saw me and in her gaze… contempt? Interesting. Usually women look differently.

"Didn't they teach you to knock? This is a school, not a public thoroughfare," she said sternly.

My gaze slid over her plump lips. I wonder what they taste like?

“Do you know who I am?” he came closer, looking down.

"Carter Mason Alexeevich. So what?" she said calmly, without even flinching. What a character...

• True. And I didn't like the way you spoke to my son.

• I don't like the way he beats the younger ones. I scolded him, and instead of gratitude you're interrogating him. Teach your son, and don't flaunt your family name.

She really said that? To me? For the first time in my life, I was put in my place. And without fear.

"And now I ask you to leave. The conversation is over," she added with a cold smile and pointed to the door.

And I looked at her hand... and thought how it would look on my body. Damn, I think I'm in love. This woman will be mine. It's just a matter of time. I always get my way.*