Yet another story started by a random thought...

Anyway, here's the longer summary:

Max: Friend, Daughter, Mafia Leader. Yes. Mafia. Really a branch. An arm. A dismembered one. This part of the Mafia is... different. With honor, and just intents. Performing anonymous deeds. Carefully planned attacks. Ridding the city of threats, keeping them safe. System balanced delicately, intricately. But built upon secret heaped on secret. What happens when careful prying shows that all Max has believed about the former leaders was wrong? Will everything come tumbling down, or will it stay strong?

Fang: Friend, Son, Assassin. Yeah. Assassin. Trained from a young age, along with his two brothers. Though the youngest of the three, he excels, causing jealousy from the eldest brother. He's swift, silent, deadly. But will he follow through with this dastardly plan set before him, especially as he finds out more and more about the target and their life?

And I would like to thank MusicAnonymous, a fellow writer and cohort of this lovely story.

I know what you're asking. What the mess does cohort even mean? It means... It means... I don't know what it means, or at least how to explain it..

Disclaimer: If I owned Maximum Ride, you think I'd be on fanfiction? Yeah. Thought so.

Enjoy!

Max Point of View

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

My hand shoots out of the tangle of blankets heaped on my and slams into the alarm clock.

Sadly, though, it chooses to infuriate me more by falling off of the bedside table. And to continue it's shrieking.

"Ti odio." I mutter in Italian, dragging myself out of the covers. "Stupid little... waking me up..." I grumble, hand reaching blindly.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

"Okay, okay, I get it, I get it! I'm up! Gosh. Pesky little bugger." I yell at the alarm clock. What? You don't yell at inanimate objects too? Oh, well. Guess it's just a me thing.

Who is me, I bet you're asking. You aren't? Well, I sure feel loved. But I'll tell you anyway! My name is Maximu-

Yeah. You're right. Going right out and stating who I am is too cheesy. The only thing I like cheesy is pizza... Okay. In my defense, that sounded a lot better in my head.

My hand finds something oddly resembling a cord and I tug on it, effectively ripping it out of the wall thus shutting my alarm clock off. Ah. Sweet silence. How I love you. From there, I roll out of bed, sighing. Time to start another day. I quickly get into the swing of things, my morning routine moving along swimmingly.

But I have a question. Why swimmingly? Why would they make that a word? I tried using it, and, as you saw above, it just doesn't work. Unless you want to make someone laugh. But that's Iggy's job. Not mine.

Who's Iggy, you ask? I'll tell you later.

Anyway, let's redo that sentence. I quickly get into the swing of things, my morning routine moving along... nicely? No. Can't say that, considering I add, "argue with sister" on my morning schedule. Swiftly? Again, my sister gets in the way of that one. Smoothly? Yeah, that works. Okay, my morning routine went by smoothly. I was sure to avoid the kitchen, knowing that I wasn't allowed in there. Something about the incident of my burning cereal. Don't ask. You really don't want to know.

But, after getting ready(Such as getting dressed and throwing my hair up) I walk into the dining room, grabbing a plate set out for me and piling a random collection of breakfast like foods on it. Ella, my previously mentioned sister, scrunches her nose up upon seeing me stuff food into my mouth, practically inhaling it.

"Something tells me that's unhealthy." She says, delicately balancing some eggs on her fork and bringing it slowly to her mouth.

"High metabolism helps." I answer through the food currently stuffed in my mouth. Ella shudders.

"Would it kill you to swallow before speaking?" She asks.

"Yes." Is my answer as I rise from the table, chugging my glass of milk and picking up my now empty plate to take the dishes to the sink.

"Are you seriously wearing that to school?" Ella asks me incredulously, gesturing to my clothing.

I look down at my dark skinny jeans and loose, off-the-shoulder tan top with a pair of red converse on them over a fitted, long sleeved black shirt. "I think it looks fine."

Ella sighs, exasperated. "Can't I at least do something with that tangle you claim is hair?"

"Hey, I brushed it!" I defend.

"Last week?"

Sometimes when I hear her sarcastic responses, I'm proud considering she learned them from me. Other times, though, I want to rip her head off. I.e. when the sarcasm is directed at me. Like now.

"NO." I was about to tell her that I brushed my hair not ten minutes ago when my youngest sister comes down the stairs.

"Max?" Angel asks sweetly.

"Yes, Ange?" I soften my voice, turning to the thirteen year old.

"Just let Ella fix your hair."

I sigh. Is it really that bad?

In the end, it only took fifteen minutes, which I was relieved about. As Ella turns me around in the chair to face the mirror, a hopeful look crosses her face. I stare at myself in the mirror, at half of my brunette hair down and straitened, ends brushing the bottom of my ribcage. My eyes trail up my hair and to the top of my head, where a black, baggy beanie adorns my head. On the other side of my straitened hair is a long braid tumbling from under the hair. My short bangs sweep to the side, peeking from under the hat as well, covering most of my forehead. I have to admit, it looks pretty good. Not that I'll tell Ella that. Don't want her to think that this will be a daily thing.

"Eh, it's okay." I shrug.

Ella sighs in relief. "I thought you were going to demand me to take it down. I mean, I just thought that this style would go with your clothes, since you refuse to change and all. And I want you to look good because we were out for spring break and... yeah..."

She sure can be a chatterbox sometimes. But you get used to it. After all, I have lived with her for fifteen years. Even though I can't remember it, I miss those two years when I was an only child sometimes.

Anyway, off to school we go. I can now technically drive, but Ella says I'm a terrible driver and opts to take the bus. Something about 'wanting to, you know, live."

So, after that comment, she scurries off to the bus, shouting a quick, goodbye over her shoulder.

"Bye, Ells!" I yell after her.

"I was talking to Mom and Angel!" She shouts back.

"Well, I feel loved." I mutter, turning around to go back inside. Upon walking in the door, I see Angel holding out my hoodie.

"I figured you'd want this now that Ella's gone." She explains slyly.

I smile brightly. "Oh, yeah. Sure, she'll yell at me when we're at school, but I don't want to be forced into something even more girly then have to change at school."

"Like usual."

"You'd think she would catch on by now." I chuckle, walking up the stairs on the way to my room. As I do so, I pull my black and red hoodie over my head. If my hair is messed up, who cares?

Well, Ella might, but I certainly don't.

Once in my room, I jam my feet into my high tops and grab my messenger bag. Okay, now we're off to school. After making sure Angel is buckled, I slide behind the wheel. Okay, I lied. We aren't on our way to school... yet. Sadly. I mean... *cough* what? We're actually on our way to pick up my friends Iggy and Gazzy. Boy, are they a handful. They're the same age as me, twins, and major pyros. They would be driving themselves to school, well, Gazzy would, but Gazzy's car suffered terrible injuries in the last bomb show, so it's reduced to bits of twisted metal and rubber. Not exactly drivable.

I know what your asking; why doesn't Iggy have a car? Simple, he can't drive. Why can't he drive? Would you want a blind guy driving? Even if he can cook, make bombs, and never miss a high five(I still find that creepy...) you kind of need to, oh, I don't know, see in order to drive.

If you haven't gleaned from all of that that Iggy's blind, I seriously fear for the future of the human race. Sure, I already do, but, whatever.

Soon enough, I find myself honking the horn rather loudly outside of the Pyro Twin's house. Right after I get done honking to the Jeporady theme song, the door to the house slams open and out walks Iggy, looking rather agitated as he finds his way easily to the car and open the door.

"Are you trying to make my ears bleed?" He asks.

I smile with fake innocence, even though I know he can't see it. 1. it helps me get into character. 2. He claims he can sense it. Creepy, right? "Oh, I just thought it'd help you find the car better."

"Shut up."

Iggy, obviously, is not a morning person. Gazzy, on the other hand...

"Hey, Max! How are you this fine morning?" He asks lightly.

"Shut up and get in the car!" Iggy exclaims.

"Somebody's in a bad mood." Gazzy answers in a sing-song voice, moving my bag, which I had thrown haphazardly into the back, and sitting down beside Angel.

I know that it's Iggy and Gazzy who are related, but Gazzy and Angel look so much alike, it's almost creepy. Sure, Iggy and Gazzy look alike. They both have light hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and are tall, but, then again, Iggy's hair is strawberry blonde, whereas Gazzy's is a honey blonde. Angel has really light blonde hair, but when Gazzy was her age, his hair was the same color. That was three years ago. Iggy has pale ice blue eyes, Gazzy has electric blue eyes. Guess which shade Angel's are. If you guessed electric blue, you are correct. And sure, Gazzy's pale, but he still has a slight tan. Iggy, on the other hand, is pretty much white.

Oh, wow. When did I start comparing Iggy and Gazzy and Angel? Eh, whatever.

"The Mafia's having a meeting tonight, right?" Iggy asks.

"Let's see... yes, it is Tuesday, and yes, it is an odd week of the month. So, yes, we will be meeting tonight at seven. I suppose you'll want me to pick you guys up, right?" I inquire.

"Yup." Gazzy answers from behind me.

No, the Mafia is not some lame club, it really is a Mafia. You know, that gang-like thing mostly in Italy? Yeah. So, a few generations ago, a branch of the Mafia broke away, but never dropped the name. Originally, the branch was a special case one. So, we just... continued being there for all those special things- people, missions, capabilities. We watch over the city, keep gangs and crime out of it. And, ever since I was born, they had pegged me for the next leader. From the time I was five, that's what I was trained for- leading. The last Mafia Leader retired when I was fourteen. I've been leader ever since. Two years, that is. And, not to brag or anything, I've done pretty good.

I'm pulled from my thoughts as I park my car. Since the Middle School is right beside the High School, Angel, the twins, and I part ways.

Time to face the school day.

I looked up what cohort means.

Noun

An ancient Roman military unit, comprising six centuries, equal to one tenth of a legion.A group of people banded together or treated as a group.

So... Now you know.

I hope you guys liked it!

May you keep a strong heart and a steady mind,

-KaiAmazonKnightley