Author's Note: Hello and welcome to an old idea that I never really got to writing down. I tend to write about the realistics but I wanted to go outside of my usual circle and go for something a bit more action-y and maybe even suspenseful. Believe it or not, I've actually planned out the plot of the story and I am personally proud of my motivation with this project. So, without further ado, a give you a little Mafia!AU.

A young man strolled around the corner of a block, making his way onto another street. Like dozens of people around him, he was dressed for the weather. The boy wore a thick, bubbly red coat and a black scarf wrapped around his neck. Gloved hands were shoved into the warm pockets of his jacket. It was nearing the end of autumn and the winter winds were beginning to pick up speed. With a shiver, the boy dug his chin further into the fleeting warmth of his scarf and walked down the street until he reached a coffee shop- Starbucks.

He entered the building, releasing a sigh of content as the heat of a thermostat warmed his toes. He stepped in a short line, ordering a cup of coffee before hearing his name.

"Matthias!"

He turned his head and laid eyes on his childhood friend, Berwald Oxenstirena. A broad smile lifted his face as he made his way to the small rounded table where Berwald sat with his own beverage.

"Ber! Glad to see you're early!" Matthias beamed, resting a brotherly arm on his friend's shoulder.

"Late as usual," Berwald scoffed, pushing up his glasses and taking a sip of coffee.

Matthias snickered, "Ever expected me to change?" Moments later, he heard his order being called out. "One sec," he grinned as he quickly grabbed his hot cup of coffee. When Mathias returned, he took the seat across from the Swede. There was a moment of silence.

"So," Matthias cleared his throat, "what have you been up to?"

Berwald shrugged, "Nothing much but savin' yer ass all weekend,"

Matthias groaned, "Oh, shut up. You know why I can't let my old man find out I've been taking some of his jobs!"

"And when he finds out, I'm denying everything,"

"As the next head of this organization, I think I should be able to do whatever the hell I want. Just because hasn't given me an official job yet doesn't mean that I'm not ready for whatever he throws at me," Matthias protested, angrily drinking his drink- resulting in a burnt tongue. Genius.

Berwald's light blue eyes gave his Danish friend a hard glare. "Your arrogance is the reason he turns you down, Matthias,"

The boy sat utterly dumbfounded for a moment. Matthias's much darker blue eyes gave the expression of a raging hurricane. His window to snarl a retort slammed shut as his message notification went off. Rolling his eyes, Matthias reached down into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Flashing on the screen was a text under the name RATCHET GAMLE MAND. He still chuckled out of that name. The Dane had learned the word ratchet from the son of an American colleague and he found it rather entertaining. Matthias opened the message and read: We need to talk. Swing by the base and come by my office. I'm waiting, don't test my patience.

Matthias sighed and threw his phone back into his pocket. "Speak of the devil. Pops wants to see me right now," He stood up with his coffee in hand, "Walk with me?"

Berwald took a sip of his drink, "Got nothing better to do," The Swede rose out of his seat, "Låt oss gå,"

The companions walked out of Starbucks and walked towards their destination. Matthias looked up at the sky spotted with skyscrapers and blinking antennae. The nearest of those scaling buildings was no more than five blocks away. At the top of the building, a bold title read Urd-Rikke Inc. - a Køhler family business.

"What do you think he wants?" Matthias asked, taking a sip of his coffee as they waited for the streetlight to change.

"I'm not a psychic."

Matthias rolled his eyes, "Oh, haha. Very funny,"

"I know."

A couple of minutes later, the boys arrived at the company building. They entered through rotating doors and were welcomed by the employees behind the front desk. Mathias and Berwald walked into the lobby. The flooring was a beautifully patterned mosaic complimented by soft colours, brilliant architecture, and fancy furnishings equip with a live band playing in the center of the main floor.

"I don't think I can come in with ya," Berwald muttered when they stepped into the elevator.

Mathias punched in a set of numbers to the pin code pad and pressed the topmost floor. "What? Why?"

"I wouldn't exactly be your wing man if you've been caught,"

The Dane looked personally offended, "You weren't joking?"

Berwald cocked his head to the side, "I tell jokes?"

"No, you play mind games,"

The elevator came to a stop on the highest floor and its doors slid open, leading into a spacious office with a plethora of decorations. Matthias stepped out onto the floor and knocked on a wooden bookshelf nearby. "Dad, I'm here," He walked further into the office and investigated the area to find that his father was nowhere in sight. The Dane clucked his tongue, "He tells me not to be late and the one time I'm here, he's not,"

Berwald threw his empty cup of coffee in the trash bin. "Just think of all the times you've been late to clear your conscience,"

Matthias scowled, taking his father's leather seat behind his mahogany desk. He sorted through the organized piles of paper that filled the cleared spaces on the desk surface. He noted files of important clients, contracts that needed to be carried out, lists of individuals indebted to the company's affairs, and associate information.

"Shouldn't be lookin' through those," Berwald muttered, sitting in a chair in front of Matthias.

He ignored his friend and proceeded to scan through the files. His searching came to an abrupt stop when the soft ding of the elevator door opening made Matthias scramble to his feet. A smirk grew on Berwald's face. The Dane mouthed, "Knep dig selv."

When his father stepped out, he held his cellphone up to his ear, wrapping up a conversation in German. "Yes, yes. I'll see that it's taken care of immediately. Danke," He hung up and looked up at his son and Berwald who congregated around his desk. No doubt his son was snooping around yet again. "You're actually on time for once. Proud of you, son," he teased, making a language transition to Danish.

"And the one time I am, I have to wait on you," Matthias gave his father a hug. "Hvordan går det går, gamle mand?"

"Business as usual," he turned his attention to the Swede who had already nodded his acknowledgements. "Oh come now, Ber. I've known you since you were a little newborn with a little tuft of hair on your head. Give me a hug, son!"

Mathias smirked and pulled Berwald into a group hug. "Welcome to the family, bror,"

They broke apart and Matthias's father wasted no time getting down to business. "Now, Matthias- and you too Berwald, will be twenty-six as of June. One year closer to becoming wiser in the eyes of society. But, in this business, you aren't seen as an official member until you've received your first job," He took his place behind the desk before continuing. "As the heir to this company and legacy of the mafia, you won't be getting any simple contracting job, no. I'm bringing you along to a pickup," He pulled up a map on his desktop screen and gestured for the boys to take a look. Matthias and Berwald moved behind the desk and looked at a red mark that a warehouse just outside of Velten*. "We pick up the drugs and get out with the least amount of trouble. I doubt anyone will try and steal our shipment, but there is always a possibility,"

"A shipment? How many men are we bringing?"

"A little over a dozen- I'll have my men and three in a separate division,"

"Three?" Berwald raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, three- Matthias, yourself, and Lukas. He's one of our transfer members,"

Matthias stood back and pondered. Who was Lukas? He'd heard of the mafia getting a new family into the group but he never got the chance to meet any of them. Once again the elevator doors slid open and a boy around their age stepped out. He was about two inches shorter than Matthias and like most he was blonde and had deep navy blue eyes and a clip in the shape of a cross held his hair back. He walked up to the desk, removing his coat, "You wanted to see me, Mr. Køhler?"

Norwegian, Matthias thought, looking at the boy that was but a yard or two away from him.

"Ah, Lukas! Glad to see you could make it. I was just explaining to these two what you will be doing tonight,"

"Tonight?" Matthias roared, slamming his hands on the desk. "You never said anything about this being today, father!"

His dad raised his shoulders, "Twelve kilograms of cocaine doesn't have a precise delivery date," He took a sip of his coffee, "Sorry to burst your bubble, princess,"

"The least you could have told me was that you were expected a shipment! Instead you take me by surprise!"

"That's the point, Matthias," his father gently set his coffee mug on its place mat. "If I had informed any of you, then your first job wouldn't be as exciting now would it?"

Matthias ran a hand through his hair out of frustration, "What is this? Some kind of test?"

"Precisely," he smiled,

"Don't give me that bullshit!"

"Technically, this whole situation is a test for your abilities as head of the mafia, Matthias." His father simply rose out of his chair and moved about his office. "I have a strong feeling that you three will work together as a close knit group in the future."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I have no doubt that Berwald will keep your ego in check, but Lukas can keep my conscience clear of the fight you two break out into every chance you get,"

Matthias looked at the Norwegian and sighed heavily, "Fine. Fine, whatever you want, Pops. What time are we heading out?"

"In three hours. That should be enough time for you to get well acquainted with Lukas. Now," he called for the elevator and stepped aside for the boys to go in, "see you in a bit,

The ride down was awkward- the only sound was the uncomfortable elevator music. Berwald and Matthias leaned against one wall while Lukas did the other, looking down with his arms folded across his chest.

"So," Matthias cleared his throat, "Lukas, right? Norwegian?"

Lukas nodded, keeping his eyesight focused downward.

"Okay... Cool. Where did you transfer from?"

"Finland,"

The corner's of Matthias's lips twitched. "Cool, cool. That's pretty cool," He turned over to Berwald and muttered in Swedish, "He's not very outspoken, is he?"

Berwald shrugged, "Never really talked to him much. He talks when he wants to, I guess?"

"An introvert?"

"You think everyone is an introvert,"

The two had completely forgotten of the Norwegian's existence until they heard a dry cough from the other end of the elevator. "You know I can understand every word you're saying right?" he announced in flawless Swedish.

Both Matthias and Berwald looked like deer caught in headlights. He knows Swedish?! Mathias laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck, "R-really?"

"Really,"

Berwald cleared his throat, "Er... so want to get a snack with us before we-"

"Goddammit!" Mathias shouted, frantically mashing down the top floor button as the elevator doors slid open to the lobby.

Lukas raised an eyebrow, "Are you okay?"

"I left my coffee in that old man's office!"

The boys sat inside of a pastry shop, munching on a box of sweets they bought to eat together. Matthias shoved another doughnut hole in his mouth, "Wait wait.. How many languages do you know?"

Lukas groaned, "I just told you!"

"Well I wasn't paying attention,"

"You n'ver pay attention," Berwald jutted.

Rolling his eyes, Lukas counted them off, "Norwegian, Icelandic, Swedish, Danish, Finnish, German, English, and a bit of Russian. I haven't touched up on it in a while,"

Matthias held up nine fingers, "That's nine languages!"

"I thought everyone knew at least five. Or maybe that's just my family..."

"We only know four!"

"Close, but that's your loss," Lukas popped a chocolate doughnut hole onto his tongue.

The Dane gawked until Berwald put his hand under Mathias's jaw and closed it shut. "A bug's gonna fly in yer mouth one day,"

"Okay, mother," Matthias rolled his eyes.

Berwald looked down at his watch. " 's six forty-seven. C'mon, let's go ahead and get back to the base,"

They quickly scared down the remained doughnuts and made their way out of the shop.

"Twelve kilograms..." Matthias muttered, "That's a lot of coke. Wonder how that got smuggled,"

"D'finitely not up someone's ass," Berwald zipped up his coat as a cold winter breeze brushed away some warmth.

"Doesn't matter. We pay up and we get our drugs. Simple as that," Lukas said, crossing the street when the sign gave the go-ahead. When the three reached the skyscraper, Matthias's father was already loading into a sleek, black Hummer- the signature cruising vehicle of the Urd-Rikke business. The boys crossed the street one final time and Matthias knocked on the dark tinted window on the second car of three.

"Dad, open up," The glass rolled down, revealing his father fashioning a pair of shades, "What car are we in?"

"This one," the backseat door opened, welcoming its three guests to have a seat. Matthias's father crossed his legs as the boys piled inside in the order of Berwald, Lukas and lastly Matthias. He felt slightly uncomfortable. Not only was he not beside Berwald but he was also sitting next to a kid the both of them just met a couple of hours ago.

I feel like this was premeditated. And as if the Swede was telepathic, he looked at the Dane and flashed a teasing smirk seemingly telling him to deal with it. "To Velten right?" Matihias asked, resting his elbow on the plastic part of the car door.

His father nodded, "What we want is just outside of the town. We get what we need and head out,"

"What's the game plan?" Lukas asked. "Positions? Instructions?"

With a flick of the wrist, Matthias's father motioned for the driver to begin their hour's journey to Velten. He reached for a can of Coca-Cola in the cup holder, opening it with its renowned hiss. "You three will be handed a handgun. I trust you can handle a pistol," he teased taking a sip of his soda. "Now, your job is simple: patrol the area. The cocaine is basically ours but we've to pay our dues to the dealer. It's won't take long, only but a couple of minutes and then the drugs are loaded into the cars and lastly drop them off at our own warehouses for safe-keeping,"

"Then what?"

"Why you get your own jobs of course! They'll start out small but as you gain experience, things will liven up,"

Matthias turned to gaze out the window and he watched the walkers go by as the vehicle accelerated. It would be about an hour until they arrived to their destination. He thought it best to remain sharp but the soft hum of the engine helped him doze off. Minutes before the arrival, Matthias was nudged in his rib cage. His eyes opened and groggily looked over at the Norwegian beside him

"Get up. We'll be at the warehouse soon,"

The Dane nodded only to rest his head on the window and close his eyes once more. "Five more minutes,"

"You've already had three 'five minutes',"Berwald reached over Lukas and repeatedly flicked Matthias's cheek. "Wake up,"

He slapped away the Swede's hand and yawned. "Alright, alright, fine. Could've woken me up when we got there..."

"Serious situations don't mix well with post-nap grog, Matthias,"

"Aw, shaddap," he groaned, scratching his head. "The caffeine wore off and I'm still recovering from the crash,"

"Then you'd best get yourself together, kid," his father started, "Five more kilometers to go,"

When the trio of black Hummers pulled up to a maintenance storehouse, the men wasted no time hopping out of the cars and getting straight to business. The driver's popped the trunks and the men retrieved n automatic rifle from black bags. "Now remember," Matthias's father stepped out of the car, lighting himself a smoke, "patrol and stay out of trouble. Understand?" Matthias and Berwald figured that he was talking to them in particular; nonetheless, the three gave a curt Yes, sir and grabbed their own weapons.

Matthias watched as his father gave orders, holding a cigarette in between is fingers and hand casually shoved in his pocket. Without a doubt his dad looked classy and intimidating in his get up: suit, shades, cigarette and all. The facade he'd created was amazing- one moment he was a quirky father the next he was the head of the Danish mafia. He felt an elbow dig into his side and he looked up at Berwald who gestured for the Dane to get to work. Bringing himself out of his thoughts, Matthias nodded, removed the safety of his pistol and took the left side of the warehouse.

What a bland job, Matthias complained, readjusting his scarf as the wind picked up speed. He glanced down at his attire and sucked his teeth. All the other men were dressed in warm formal-wear and looked far more professional than Berwald, Lukas, and himself. Why hadn't they been given uniforms for the occasion? The Dane huffed and turned his attentions to the open, dry and empty land surrounding the warehouse. There's no one to be seen for miles. Why would the old man need to assign a patrolling unit?

Inside the building was a whole other world of business. Mathias's father puffed on his cigarette as he leaned over a table, discussing matters with the dealer. His men went through the checklist as they inspected the neat stack of cocaine cradled in plastic peanuts inside boxes that read FRAGILE. The Dane was handed a briefcase a moment later and he placed it on the metal table, popping the latches and opening the lid to unveil a supplement of euros.

"There it is," he said, tapping off the ash at the end of his cigarette, "approximately a quarter of a million in American currency,"

The dealer's eyes grew large as he gawked down at the hundreds upon hundreds of bills crammed into one space. With a grin on his face, the man closed the briefcase and held out his hand, "Always a pleasure working with you, Nathan,"

"The pleasure is mine as long as you stay loyal, my friend," he smiled, accepting the other's handshake. The two conversed a while more before the business partner's parted ways. The Dane began reciting orders his men had heard time and time again- "get these babies loaded!", "no slacking, pick up the pace!", "it's freezing out here, hurry up,". They had it all memorized as a script in a play until an unfamiliar bang was added to the soundtrack.

Nathan turned on his heel with a raised eyebrow. He reached into his suit and pulled out a revolver. "Who shot that?" he questioned with a deathly serious tone. The collective silence between his colleagues was enough of an answer to clear his conscience. "Get the drugs out of a line of fire,"

With quiet nods, the men moved the cocaine out of harm's way and immediately took cover behind the stacks of boxes. All other than Nathan. He stood in the open, leaning on his left leg. The Dane took a drag off of his shrinking cigarette and sighed, letting the smoke escape from his nostrils. "None of my men are injured," he said loudly, "It'd be foolish to think that a hostile marksman took out a good associate of mine now wouldn't I?"

There was a moment of unbearable silence until a small chuckle rose out into the still air of the warehouse. A man emerged from behind a wall with a firearm in hand and a bloody briefcase in the other. "No, I don't think that'd be foolish in the slightest," teased a voice heavily accented with Russian.

Nathan's eyes narrowed, "Winter- finally come out from retirement have you?"

The Russian smiled cynically. "I let you grow only so I could destroy the power you have, Nathan. I couldn't let you keep your glory for too long else you'd get too cocky and disregard needed positions... Things like watch duty,"

A wave of fear rushed up Nathan's spine as he near lost his suave composure, "What have you done to my son, Winter?"

The Dane's rival maintained the same mask he displayed and laughed manically, "I wouldn't dare lay a finger on your boy's head, nor any of his friends. Though, I wouldn't be worrying about them in your current situation," He glanced over his shoulder and found his men held at gunpoint and as he turned around to face the Russian, he was greeted with a gun barrel. "It's been a pleasure refueling the rivalry between us, dear Nathan Køhler,"

Matthias awoke to a horrible ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes, his vision was blurred and his mind spun as he tried to work his way through a state of confusion. He looked around dizzily and found his friends lying on the cold ground near him.

"Berwald," he coughed, "Lukas," Matthias struggled to push himself up as a surge of fiery pain forced him back down. He grunted, cringing, and rolling on his side as a peak of his pain subdued. Once again, Mathias made an attempt to rise off the ground but was held back by a foot that thrust the Dane's face back into the dirt.

"Ah, ah, ah! Where do you think you're going?" called a terrifyingly playful voice.

Matthias gazed up at a figure silhouetted by a bright LED light above. The sky had grown dark for daylight savings and the chill of winter was all the more unwelcoming. "Wh... who are...?"

"I am Ivan Braginski," he answered- by the sound of his voice, he was smiling. "And you're Matthias Køhler," Before the Dane could respond, Ivan continued to name the others, "The one with the glasses is Berwald Oxenstirena and the other is Lukas Bondveik," He moved over to the motionless Norwegian and twirled a single lock of hair around his index finger. "дядя Зимняя, Uncle Winter says that I can take one of you home to play with for a while. I want to take all of you but he will only like me take one,"

Matthias was beyond confusion. What was this guy talking about? His name was obviously Russian yet it was so familiar... Why couldn't he figure out why the name Braginski name rang so many bells? The Dane rolled onto his stomach and proceeded to crawl over to his Swedish friend whose glasses were cracked horribly in the middle of one lens. "Ber," he whispered, giving him a shove on the shoulder. Berwald didn't budge. Matthias tried again, raising his voice and still he got nothing in response. "Dammit, Berwald, wake up!" he raised his arm to slap the Swede square across the face but Ivan grabbed his wrist and took a seat on the Dane's back, crushing him under his weight. Mathias cried out, his mouth being covered by the Russian's hand.

"I thought I told you not to move," he growled.

"Got to hell," Mathias bit down on Ivan's ring finger.

A small amount of blood blossomed out of the bite mark. Ivan smiled, licking it off as he grabbed a fistful of Matthias's blonde hair. "You don't listen to simple instructions do you? I see you must not have any manners either. I guess you'll be the one I take; I'll be sure to teach you proper etiquette and you'll be like my little pet for the day. How does that sound?"

The Dane shouted, squirmed and put up quite the fight as Ivan dragged in a position of manipulation. Ivan took Matthias into the warehouse by his hair and he rambled on and on about all of the "games" they would play together, and the more he talked, the more the Dane realized that Ivan was around his age if not younger. When they entered the building it smelled of gunpowder and blood. The scent was so overwhelming that Matthias found the strength to push away from Ivan and throw up in a cover. Ivan let him do so but as soon as he finished, he took him by the hair again and set him down by some boxes when they rounded a corner.

"Uncle!" Ivan called, "I brought my pet!"

Matthias overlooked many unfamiliar faces and, apparently, this Winter was one of them. The towering Russian walked over to the Dane and lifted his chin up by the barrel of his gun, inspecting his nephew's trophy. "Choosing the next in command to the mafia? Good choice,"

He giggled, taking the Dane's hands behind his back, and putting a zip-tie around Matthias's wrists. He pulled the end through, making sure that it was as tight as possible and smiled down at his hostage, "Just in case you think you can run away,"

Matthias did his best to focus on the current situation, but everything was moving at a fast pace and it was proving difficult for him to keep up. His vision was still going in and out of crystal and blurred but as he sat upright against the stacks of boxes he was set near, the Dane began to get a better look of his surroundings. What he saw was enough to make him regurgitate once again. Matthias had discovered the source of the putrid smell in the air: A couple of meters away was a small heap of bodies that belonged to his father's colleagues. Near the pile lay his father on his side, his back was facing Mathias and a pool of blood encircled his body, soaking his once perfect suit.

"Dad..." he croaked.

No answer.

"Dad...!" he repeated, his voice cracking.

Not even the slightest movement. Panic welled up inside him, tightening his chest and shortening his breath.

Winter looked down at the helpless Dane and showcased a sinister expression. "Oh, right, about your father: I'm afraid he's-" The man broke out into a ghastly fit of laughter as he kicked the limp body over on its side. The once glorious figure of Matthias's father was desecrated by a single bullet. The poor old man's eyes were wide open, his blue irises forever capturing his final thoughts and expressions.

"A quick death, but I honestly should have told him that you were being tortured. That would have been a much more entertaining face to see!" Winter snickered. "Now that would have been a memory I would truly cherish,"

Matthias felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks, stinging the apparent cuts he had on his face. "You monster. You murderer!"

Ivan dug his heel into the Dane's thigh. "Calling someone a monster isn't nice, you know. Insulting my family was a terribly mistake on your part," There must have been a bullet shell in Matthias's thigh because the searing pain he felt was far too much for a bruise. The Russian pushed down hard, lodging the projectile deeper into the Dane's tissues, producing further cries and tears from Matthias.

"Now, now, Ivan," Winter waved for him to move his foot, "teach the boy his lesson later." He pointed to the bags of drugs that were now in Russian possession as they were carried away. "Our message has been sent and received. Пойдем. Let's go,"

Pouting, Ivan took hold of Matthias's bonds and yanked him off to a posse of the Russian mafia's cars. He was thrown in the trunk and when the door closed, he was encased in a pocket of darkness. The air was stuffy and the scent was stifling. He didn't have the energy to kick and scream or fight. All he could do was close his eyes and wait.

Engines started and cars began to drive. Matthias counted them as they drove off in different intervals. One... Two... Three... Four... Five... And finally the sixth began to roll off on its departing route. However, Mathias heard gunshots and surprised Russian voices. The Dane was jerked backwards as the driver slammed on the brakes.

What's going on? he thought, feeling a bit frantic. More shouts and the firing of arms spouted until it suddenly came to an eerie end. Matthias waited an agonizing several moments, anticipating either his rescue or pending torture. The trunk flew open, letting the blinding LED lights flood in.

"Matthias!" panted the exhausted voice of Lukas. "Berwald, thank God, he's in here!"

*Velten is a small town about 40 minutes from Berlin

Russian translations in the story.

Translations:

gamle mand = old man

Låt oss gå = Let's go

Knep dig selv = Fuck you

Hvordan går det går, gamle mand? = How's it going, old man?

bror = brother

Any other translations were addressed directly after it being said.

...

Much thanks and love to my editor xxGeoAngelxx

See you next time...!