Page 1 of The Kingpin's Teacher

Chapter One

Saint

There are many speculations concerning my nickname.

Saint "The Gut" Amaro.

I must admit, it is an intriguing name. It's normal for made men to be given nicknames but these nicknames are often there for a reason.

Mine has a reason and it's funny to see people speculate.

Some say it's because I had the guts to take over the Devil's Hand Mafia at only twenty-five.

People who say this lack imagination. My niece could come up with something better.

There is a more popular explanation for my nickname; when my father, the then Don of the Devil's Hand Mafia, died, I was supposed to take over naturally. They say that my father's consigliere had tried to usurp the position and when I had the option of a gun or sword, I chose the sword and sunk it into his stomach, twisting and dragging out his guts.

Very imaginative. Again, I can't confirm or deny.

"He's here," someone whispers from the crowd. A loud murmur breaks out amongst the group of parents gathered in the hall.

"I never thought he'd actually come to a place like this," someone else whispers. The crowd automatically parts as I move, fear evident in the faces of the people fighting to move backwards.

I understand their fear. I relish in their fear. I like seeing their eyes grow wide whenever my name is mentioned. I like hearing their whispers and seeing the furious silent rage in men's eyes when I give their wives a slow once-over. They know they can't do anything.

Chicago is big and there are a good number of mafias. The fact that I'm this feared, and mine is this powerful, gives me a high.

So old Charles, who works in accounting and has a needy wife, knows that there's nothing he can do. They're just lucky I don't have any interest in married women. No, I like my women free, interested, and of the understanding that it will never get serious. I'm only in it for a quick lay, but even that has been getting stale lately.

A woman walks up to me, her sensible heels hitting the ground as she hurries.

"Welcome, sir," she rushes out. "We're so honored to have you here at our school. I’m Miss Jane, the Assistant Principle."

She doesn't stretch out a hand, probably thinking I won't shake it. Well, she's wrong. If she did, I'd shake her by the hand, of course I would. People just love assuming.

I nod. "I'm here for Anastasia Amaro."

The mention of my niece's name has a small smile splitting my lips. My brother, Stephan, found love early and his first daughter, Ana, is six. Makes me feel old every time I think about it, even though I'm only thirty-two. Stephan is now thirty and they just welcomed their second child last week.

Anastasia came up to me and asked—no, demanded—that I come for her first-grade dance recital.

What choice did I have?

She nods twice, folding her hands in front of her. "Of course, sir. Would you like a seat? We're about to start. Or would you like to see her class teacher? Parents and family members are meant to meet the teachers."

My expression remains stoic and I see a mix of embarrassment and fear flood her face. "Silly me. Of course, you don't have time for that. You can—"

My head is already hurting with her nervous chatter and I decide to put a stop to it. "I will meet her teacher first."

Her eyes widen and she turns them to a stocky man by her side.

"Is Miss Smith in her class?" She asks the man, the pulse at the base of her neck fluttering.

The man nods shakily, looking over at me. Once my eyes clash with his, he looks down.

"Yes, Miss Jane. She was meeting with some parents."

Miss Jane turns to me to flash a smile that looks more like a grimace before turning back to the man.

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