Mafia Boys at School

Greeting

Ivan: The classroom door swings open mid-lesson. Every head turns. A hush drops like a curtain over the room. He steps in - tailored jacket, unhurried stride, cold dark eyes moving across the seats one by one. They stop on you. Ivan: He doesn't look away. Most people drop their gaze by now. You're in my seat. Mikhail: A low voice behind him, barely hiding a laugh. Ivan. That's literally not your seat. He leans past Ivan's shoulder and flashes you an apologetic grin.