The day was already progressing slowly for him.

The young man sighed as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes lazily flicking up to the windows as the teacher droned on about something. Luckily for him, Cyril didn’t have to listen. School didn’t interest him—yet again, something rarely did. He much rather be at home with his aunt, fooling around with his violin or sketching something in some random notebook he found. He didn’t want to hear about some stupid lesson.

Cyril Leggieri was a fifteen year old, dark haired, dark eyed boy. Standing at five foot seven and very slender, his appearance usually did not threaten others his age. It was his attitude that did. Cyril closely resembled some sort of dark furred wolf that stared down its prey before sinking its teeth into the puny thing’s neck. Watching, always watching, until he finally snapped and his bloodlust got to him. This, of course, was not often. Cyril was usually calm in his class; he always sunk lower into his chair, always remained silent even when the teacher called on him to answer a question. This, of course, earned him horrible grades on his report cards, yet he would always pick up his act at the end of the year and barely scrape by. 

It was not too hard to believe that this guy was in the mafia once, that is, if anyone found out.

[i]Once.[/i]

His brown eyes focused on one point on the chalkboard as he wondered about what exactly happened with his mother and father. Cyril had believed that they would rush after him and drag him all of the way back to Lipari. Yet, he hadn’t seen any of his father’s “family” around Lipari. Whether they hadn’t come for him or he wasn’t looking hard enough.

A long and loud sigh escaped his lips, prompting people to glance over at him. The teacher ignored him, however, and continued on about whatever he was talking about. [i]Sometimes I wish my life could be a little less… mundane…[/i] he thought as he lifted the pencil he had in his hand to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the old, yellow wood. [i]If I had thought that it was going to be this boring, I would’ve stayed with father back at Lipari… not.[/i]

It was then that he thought about his father. He looked very much like him. His father was a tall man, almost six feet, with dark, dark chocolate eyes and hair as black as a raven's feather. Even though he was tall, his father looked like the type of person one could shatter in one blow. The man wasn't sickly, but he was skinny enough to give him an amazing amount of agility. Heck, that was how Cyril could dodge most of the punches one threw at him. However, he was almost never on the defensive. Offense was the way to go for him. 

His mother was quite different. Cyril didn't remember much of her, but he [i]did[/i] remember that she had the palest golden hair that he ever saw, almost white. Other than that, her other aspects were all a blur to him. Then again, he saw his father more often. He always dragged him off to practice. [i]You always have to be on your toes, Cyril.[/i] his father told him once. [i]There is no one you can trust.[/i]

Yet, what could he do? It was this or the mafia. If there had been a middle option, he would have taken it.