My Sister is a Brocon Supermodel

It was a foggy day in the city.

I left my house earlier than normal to go for a quick workout before my shift started. I was wearing some sweats and a muscle shirt. I held up the crystal watch Eve got me for my last birthday. It was adorned with an inscription reading "Adam Martin." Since my earbuds were malfunctioning, I decided to think and reminisce about the past six months since she had come back.

After talking with Carol, I decided that I'd work my way towards bringing Ford down. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to do this. I'm not a genius so I couldn't think of anything relatively feasible enough. I was just too much of a nobody. I considered using Eve's fame as a way to gather support but decided that it'd be best not to tell her about my plans. Knowing her, I was afraid she would tell me not to bother. So I racked my own stupid brain for ideas.

It didn't take long to come up with a half-brained idea. I remembered my old neighborhood and the power struggles between the groups in the underworld that I never really cared about back when I was still living there. And so I did what any normal person would do. Go to the mafia for help. It wasn't the greatest idea to snoop around in a shady neighborhood that was known to house several dangerous gangs. But I did it anyways.

I was asking around like a panhandler. This was a pretty dumb idea but it wasn't like I could ask anyone else. I was too impatient to run surveillance on possible locations and rushed things. Before I knew it, I was thrown into a local car garage that had over a dozen men pretending to work on open-hooded cars that had clearly broken down years ago. I went up to one of them and demanded to see their leader. It must've been the frenzied look in my eyes but the only answer I got was several gun barrels pointed at my face. Whoops.

But it seemed fortune was still with me. While they were preparing to rough me up a bit for "bothering them this early in the day don't you got shit to do kid?", a tall man walked in, a dark trenchcoat covering his massive frame. He was puffing on a long cigar. He even had that fedora hat that you'd always see in movies. I recognized him. How could I not? He was so big that he was easily memorable. This guy was one of my coworkers back when I worked in construction. Milkovich something. Remember how I said that the rules for being hired weren't that strict? Yeah, this guy was an ex-convict. Turns out he was the son of the largest mafia group in the city. All the other guys were looking at him with a mixture of pride and loyalty. He recognized me somehow as the little twerp who would break his ass over laying bricks and mixing cement every day for nearly three years. Don't ask me why the heir of a gang would be doing construction.

After telling his guys to stand down, he looked at me. "You're what, 18-19? Why are you so desperate to join the family? It can't be for money. If you needed it you would've joined long ago."

I told him my circumstances and he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. After some thinking, he decided to give me a chance. "But first," he said, "you need some sense knocked in you. We don't fuck with people who try to use us."

I was worried that he meant a beating but it turned out to just be actual lessons. I would've laughed if it wasn't for the fact that all the other people in the group, all looked like they ate children for breakfast. Even the instructor. He was a comically short, but extremely buff guy who had a macho-stache and a helmet with flame decals. Your average biker gang member. Except he was holding a wicked-looking Browning automatic instead of a metal bat.

The names of the classes almost made me feel like I was going to an academy for villains. Seriously, they were named things like "Intro to Racketeering" and "Intimidation Tactics 101." Along with the lessons, they made us get into mock fight tournaments every week. Classic survival of the fittest. Anything was allowed asides from sharp weapons and firearms. The favored weapon of choice was a slender metal pipe. All injuries were of course neglected and ignored. Though the opponent usually didn't go for the kill, it wasn't uncommon to see brains splattered out while the ring of spectators roared their approval. That really honed in that I was going to join a BAD organization. Like I'd be Mob A in Villain Group C if this was a movie.

During this time, I started working out again. Before, I never really had the time or the motivation to do it, but now I realized I had to in order to survive. I spent a bit of my savings to invest in a gym membership that I went to daily. I also built my stamina with long morning jogs. At the gym, I half-begged someone shadow boxing to train me and they reluctantly did. I knew how to streetfight but taking lessons from a legit fighter was way more efficient. So now every day looked something like this: Wake up, run, work, gym, mafia school, sleep. And it was working. I was somehow winning my fights and making my way through the other newbies.

While I was away taking lessons and working out, I gradually stopped signing up for the insane amount of shifts I had been taking. Of course Yvonne noticed and asked me what was going on. I just brushed her off saying I was now attending school. I forgot that she knew enough about my past to know that I didn't even have the credentials to attend college. After all, the ones nearby required high school diplomas which I didn't have.

It's not like I needed the money anyways. Now that Eve was working towards the fashion show, her paychecks were just getting bigger and bigger. Without a third-party greedily embezzling her funds, she could easily pay for the rent to my apartment in half a day's work. Speaking of Eve, she knew things were wrong but she never really had the time to mention it. She was getting closer to the other models, thanks to my prodding, and she was reluctantly going to other "girl's night outs."

Nothing really progressed with her friends. While Valentine wasn't as cold, she was still wary around me. Whenever they came over I just made small talk with the others and leave. My classes with the mafia began at night after all. They did ask where I was going at first, but after several nights of vague answers, they gave up trying to get anything else out of me.

And so half a year went by. During this time, Eve only grew more and more famous. She was now active on several different social media platforms and was even being invited by other platforms for guest features. She respectfully turned them all down, saying she was too busy focusing on the work for the upcoming show to attend these events. She also got quite a few suitors arriving now and then. I didn't know how they knew, but from time to time, people from actors to singers to sports players would show up at our door, usually surrounded by reporters holding some kind of bouquet or a gift. One man even showed up outside our home with a brand-new Lamborghini wrapped in a pink ribbon. Eve only opened the door to throw their gifts back in their faces and show them the middle finger.

Speaking of the show, it was scheduled for the first week of the next month. Eve told the organizers that she wanted a ticket for the front-row and handed it to me. About us... Well past the kiss, we never did anything related to that after. I just pretended it never happened and Eve was too busy to demand responsibility or whatever. I wasn't ready to take anything beyond that and needed a bit more time to better prepare myself. Just give me a little more time.

Anyways, so with these memories in my head, I was running down the concrete sidewalk. It was just beginning to be morning and it felt nice feeling the morning breeze brush up against my face while I ran. Asides from the occasional fellow jogger or biker, the streets were surprisingly empty. Considering how packed they usually were, it was a welcome surprise. I went on my normal route cutting through the streets until I got to my resting spot. It was about five kilometers from my starting point and was a small park nestled in between a bakery and a daycare.

I stretched by a rustic bench and looked at the various playground structures strewn about. They were all empty and had a fine dew collected on their surfaces. My mind wandered into the upcoming fight I would have to partake in. I stretched out my hands that were rather hardened and calloused from years of working. I certainly looked the part. I could see my reflection in the glass walls of the neighboring stores. I had grown out my hair into slightly longer curls. The "innocent" look had long disappeared into a hardened one that screamed "Bad boy." I started realizing that when parents began deliberately crossing the street with their children in order to avoid walking on the same side of the road as me.

After six months of trials within the mafia, I was in my "finals" period. I had already faced off against every other contestant and now had to fight an actual member of their group. This time, all bets were on and the restrictions on all weapons were lifted. I ran back home in record time and immediately left to go work at the restaurant. I still had a lingering sense of attachment to the place and I enjoyed the small chats I would have with Yvonne. However, she wasn't at the restaurant today.

I worked through the shift half-heartedly. I was too excited about the night's events. I practically sprinted out of the door once the day was over. I got to the little gym that the mafia was using as one of its bases. I nodded at the old man sitting on a foldable chair outside of the doors. At first glance, he seemed like a harmless old geezer, but he was actually one of the most experienced hitmen in the group. If you looked close enough, you could see the outline of several weapons under his coat. He nodded at me before turning back to the newspaper he was reading.

I stepped past him and entered a bright hardwood basketball court. The hoops had been retracted towards the wall and there was instead an open space. The bleachers were filled with various members of the mafia, the majority of them holding either a cigarette or a bottle of beer. I met up with some of the other guys who would be fighting. Over the time we spent together we had formed a flimsy camaraderie. It wasn't strong enough to be considered friends but we at least wouldn't actively antagonize each other.

My match was up first. I already knew my opponent. A Viking of a man. Easily over six foot six with bulging muscles. He had on a black tank top with a skull symbol that only served to accentuate his muscles even more. He carried a sharp, serrated knife that he was licking between his teeth. He grinned at me with his crooked and yellowed teeth. From the calls, apparently this guy's name was Viktor the Cruel. He flexed in front of the crowd and did some fancy spins with the knife in his hand. The guys were cheering.

I had my own weapon as well. I still had the first metal pipe I had received from the mafia. However, I had customized it a bit, getting it welded to have serrated edges. It was basically a small spear now.

A middle-aged guy who looked like he belonged behind an office desk motioned for silence. He said some things about fighting, preserving the tradition, blah blah. Then he announced the first fight which was between Viktor and I.

I waved at the crowd who only slightly cheered. Viktor's announcement got a lot more enthusiasm. I glanced over the group and saw quite a few bills being exchanged. I could only assume they were betting heavily against me. While I had toned up even more and filled into my frame even more than I already had, I was still no match for the mountain of a man before me.

I assured myself that this was certainly just a test. He wouldn't go that far against a newbie right? Surely the others would stop him from beating a potential member of their family too hard.

I got into a novice fighting stance and waited for him to attack first. That was a mistake on my part. He leapt towards me with surprising speed and held out his knife towards my throat. The fight had only just begun and he was already going for a kill? I could barely move out of the knife's trajectory and was instead met with a massive fist to the face.

I spat out and gasped from the sudden pain. My nose was already bleeding.

"YEAH MESS THAT MOTHERFUCKER UP" someone shouted.

You thought I passed out then and there then got the living shit beaten out of me?

Well, years on the street didn't make me tough for anything. I was only surprised by the feeling of someone actively trying to murder me in a fight. I had gotten into scuffles before but it had never escalated beyond moderate injuries. But was I going to just stand down and let him humiliate me in front of these guys I was for some stupid reason, trying to impress? Hell no!

I shook my head from the dizziness and picked up the pipe I dropped. I had almost lost consciousness from a single punch and was still feeling the effects so I sliced a part of my arm. The pain jolted me right awake. I then moved. I was also aiming for his vital points. If he was going to try to kill me, then I would too!

As we traded blows, we both started showing signs of injuries. After I jabbed him directly in the stomach he keeled over and threw up. He was fast, I had to give him that. His speed was certainly impressive for someone of his size. But he wasn't able to maintain it. I was used to feeling tired and just soldiered through. I knew my limits and this small tingling sense of fatigue was nothing. Eventually he started receiving more blows than giving. This time, I stabbed the sharp end of the pipe into his stomach. I felt the flesh squish under the pipe and blood began spurting out. I let go and the pipe was still lodged deep into him. He was breathing heavily now with sweat dripping down his battered face. The crowd was now silent. They had been watching the fight with excitement but now they were completely quiet.

I wasn't sure whether I should finish him off or not. The look he was giving me certainly said that this wouldn't be the last I'd see of him. I didn't like the idea of that. So I decided to prevent that from ever happening. I took the knife he had dropped and plunged it into the spine of his back. Surprisingly I felt nothing. This was my first time taking a life but the only thing that bothered me was the fact that I wasn't bothered by the act of killing. I ended up getting quite a bit of blood on my face.

You see, the mafia is a place where your life isn't always guaranteed. People died all the time. Most of the people sitting on the bleachers had seen at least one close friend die. But they still had their family ties and their brotherhood. Right? But that didn't explain why they were looking at me with such respect and even fear.

My sense of law-abiding and morals was never really there. Sure I knew what not to do and the things society called bad. But the reason I was obliged to follow them wasn't out of a sense of necessity or justice. It was more like a calculative move. If I did end up breaking the law how would Eve feel? I no longer thought that after I found out the real truth of Eve's exploitation from Carol. They were clearly breaking laws but nothing was happening to them! I guess I was a hypocrite. The only reason I wasn't committing crimes was for a selfish reason. But I suppose that's where my twisted justice began. I decided that if the law wouldn't do anything, I would. It wasn't out of a hero complex. More like petty vengeance.

Anyways. The guys in the crowd watched as the blood spurted from Viktor's wounds. After stabbing him, I made sure to finish the job and stabbed him a few more times for insurance. He was dead long before I let him drop to the floor. With a thud, he slammed facefirst onto the ground. Blood began pooling around him. I looked over at the announcer who began shouting in an awe-struck voice. "N-n-newcomer Adam Martin defeats his opponent Viktor the Cruel in his final match!"

The crowd erupted into cheers. Amidst the throng of roaring men, one person stood out. She watched on as the blood dripped from my hands onto the floor. She was the only one who wasn't cheering and she stood up, showing off a long tattoo running down her neck. She gave me a glance and walked out silently. Surprisingly, my former colleague Milkovich, followed her close behind.

I felt myself guided to another room while several people wearing masks rushed onto the floor with cleaning equipment and garbage bags. In the room, I was inducted as the 32,483rd member of the Mafia. I now had a barcode tattoo on my left bicep. They gave me instructions on where to go for my first meeting and I was sent out before the second match even begun.

I wandered around trying to find the streetsigns. This section of the city was perpetually in darkness. The streetlights had long been overdue and were fizzed out. I used the light from my phone to read the nearest sign and reoriented myself home. When I opened the door to my apartment, I saw Eve standing by the kitchentop with her arms crossed. Behind her, the four other models in her group were sitting. A key thing I had forgotten was to clean myself off. So the five of them could only watch in horror as I stepped in looking like an extra in a horror movie.

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A.N. Yeah so that's where things are going. Does it make sense that Adam doesn't give a shit about laws and killing? I'm hoping he comes across as idgaf about anyone that isn't my family. So poll results are in and it appears the majority of yall want the four girls in. I'm planning on introducing one, maximum two more female characters. Since it seems like y'all don't want one night stands or casual relationships, other females will just be filler or used as plot points.

I did get a review complaining about the formatting of the chapters and the accuracy of the setting. First off, I'll be crystal-clear and say this isn't America on this earth. Just consider it some parallel universe. Like they said, there are no orphanages since the 1800s. I just decided to have that instead of them getting neglected by a family member.

Anyways, another thing they said was that it was a rant with no paragraphs. That was helpful and so I'll change it by writing in paragraphs because it's easier for me anyways. I just wasn't sure whether the formatting would work or not. Apparently it doesn't.

Again this isn't anything too serious and I didn't expect so many people to be reading it.

I'll be working my way towards the romance after Adam gets set up with the mafia and finishes his first "job." I'm thinking smut incoming after the fashion show (within next three chapters).