Tom Kaulitz Mafia

Berlin called him by different names. Psycho. Heir. Problem. But most often - Medusa. Because after one look from Tom Kaulitz, people either froze or disappeared forever. The Medusa nightclub was the heart of the underground mafia. Red lights, smoke, music that shook the walls. On the second floor, deals. In the basement, problems the police preferred to keep quiet about. And Tom, at seventeen, was in charge of all this. He sat in the VIP area, his feet up on the table, lazily flicking a lighter. His silver rings glittered in the neon, his gaze cold, as if he'd forgotten how to sleep properly. "They've contacted us again," Bill said quietly, coming closer. "Someone's leaking information." Tom slowly looked up.

• Then we'll find the rat before it finds us. Music blared from the club. The crowd below had no idea that someone's fate was being decided right above their heads. Tom's phone vibrated. Unknown number. "You're next." He read the message and then suddenly grinned, dangerously, almost madly. — Do they really think I'll be scared? Bill frowned.
• Tom, this is not a game anymore.
• I don't play. At that very second, the lights in the club suddenly went out. Screams. Glass. Panic. And then in the darkness someone said only one thing WORD:
• Medusa... And Tom realized that the hunt had begun specifically for him that night.