Oops! Bullied the Girl with 108 Mafia Boss Fathers

I was exactly five days old when my biological mother abandoned me.

I have no idea what was going through her head, but she dumped me straight on the doorstep of the city's most notorious crime syndicate.

Just to survive, while a circle of hardened, tattooed outlaws stared daggers down at my swaddle, I instinctively babbled my very first word. Dada.

The rugged men furrowed their brows. "Maybe… we just keep her?" Just like that, I ended up with a hundred and eight dads.

The problem was, my home was essentially a breeding ground for federal warrants. So, to keep the heat off my dads, I spent the next decade and a half blending into the wallpaper.

Totally invisible. Totally average. Until high school. Until the bullying. Sloane and her minions cornered me in the girls' restroom. Freezing water shocked my scalp.

Fabric ripped as they pinned me against the cold tiles. Sloane shoved her phone lens a jagged inch from my eye. She tapped my wet cheek. "What the hell are you glaring at?

You're just a charity case playing pretend. You really think trash like you is going to college?" The blows kept coming. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

Something snapped. I locked my fingers into Sloane's designer uniform. I dragged her screaming toward the ledge. We went straight out the thirdfloor window.

I woke up staring at the sterile ceiling of the nurse's clinic. Ms.

Prudence jabbed a finger inches from my nose. "She hits you, so you try to murder her?!" Spit flew onto my cheek. "If people pick on you, maybe look at your own flaws instead of plotting premeditated revenge!" She slammed her hand against the metal desk. "Call your parents!

Right now! Let's see who shows up. If they don't get here today, you are finished!" Cold sweat pricked the back of my neck. I swallowed hard. "Ms.

Prudence." My voice came out as a raspy whisper. "Are you absolutely sure you want me to call my parents?" Chapter 1 The words barely left my mouth before a sharp smack cracked through the air. "Sure?

I'll give you sure, you little rat!" Malcolm, Sloane's father, stepped straight into my space.

His heavy hand lashed out, a blur of motion before the brutal impact connected with my jaw. The force threw me to the linoleum floor.

The left side of my face throbbed, radiating immediate, blinding heat. Ms. Prudence didn't even blink at the assault.

Instead, her posture caved into a submissive hunch as she turned to Malcolm. "Mr. Malcolm, please rest assured. The school will handle this with the utmost severity.

Zero tolerance!" She whipped her head back around, pointing a stiff finger at my nose. "Piper! Look at what you did to Sloane!

Get on the phone and call your parents to cover her medical bills!" I kept my head down. My fingernails dug so hard into my palms they threatened to break skin.

A heavy metallic tang pooled under my tongue. "It wasn't me. It was Sloane." "She cornered me in the bathroom with her friends.

They dumped ice water on me, ripped my uniform… I just—" I didn't get to finish. From the clinic bed, Sloane let out a fragile, trembling sob. "Dad! She's lying!

I was just walking by, and Piper completely lost her mind." "She shoved me out the window…" Sloane hiccuped, clutching her thin hospital blanket. "She's just a scholarship kid.

She hates us because we have money. She's had it out for me since day one!" "You literally—" I started.

Prudence cut me off, her voice slicing through the room. "Shut your mouth, Piper! The facts are crystal clear.

This was a premeditated assault!" She grabbed my arm, her acrylic nails digging painfully into my bicep, and hauled me out into the hallway.

Yanking my phone from my blazer pocket, she shoved it hard against my chest. "I am done listening to your excuses. Right now. Call your parents.

Tell them to drag themselves over here and pay up!" The hallway was packed.

Dozens of eyes from passing students and teachers snapped toward me, a toxic mix of morbid curiosity and outright schadenfreude. I stood there, gripping the cold metal of my phone.

My thumb hovered over the crowded contacts list. A cold jolt shot down my spine. I couldn't make the call. Yes, I had a hundred and eight dads.

But Dad Number One ran the city's largest organized crime syndicate. Dad Three smuggled heavy artillery.

Dad Fifteen was a loan shark who broke kneecaps for a living, and Dad SeventyEight ran half the underground casinos on the East Coast.

Sure, they loved to slip me unlimited black AmEx cards, ruffle my hair, and drop casual threats. "Piper, kiddo, don't go looking for trouble.

But if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you call me," Dad One would say, deadpan. "I'll make their entire bloodline vanish." "Damn straight," Dad Three would chime in. "Anyone makes you cry, I'm taking a machete to their throat." But they were literally the FBI's most wanted men.

A shiver ripped down my spine. I flashed back to them coming home at ungodly hours, smelling of copper and cheap cigars, casually complaining about dodging the feds.

I thought about the 24/7 news tickers blaring about the state's massive new crackdown on organized crime. I couldn't do it. I couldn't drag them into the light.

I looked up, swallowing the dry lump in my throat, trying one last, desperate angle. "Ms. Prudence, my dads… they work out of state. Manual labor.

They're too far away, they can't just leave work." My voice shook, but I forced the words out. "Can I… I'll write an apology letter. Suspend me." "Put it on my permanent record.

Just please don't make me call them." Prudence let out a harsh, nasal scoff. "Manual labor?

No wonder they raised such a shameless little delinquent." "Too busy to show up?" She crossed her arms, her face twisting with disgust. "Not an option." She looked me up and down like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe. "Sloane's medical scans, the emotional distress compensation—do you have any idea how much that costs?" "You think a charity case like you can cover that?

Make the call. Stop stalling." Chapter 2 "How much? I can…" I was about to say I could pay for it myself.

I had a stack of untouched black AmEx cards from my dads sitting in my dorm. But Malcolm stepped out of the room, flicking a platinum credit card straight at Ms.

Prudence's chest. "Ms. Prudence. There is a hundred grand on that card. Consider it an endowment." Malcolm adjusted his heavy gold cuffs. "My terms are simple.

Drag her parents here to grovel and pay up." He locked his cold eyes on me. "Or I call the precinct right now. Aggravated assault.

Once that felony hits her permanent record, she can kiss college goodbye." Prudence’s eyes locked onto the plastic.

Her posture snapped straight, and she rounded on me with renewed viciousness. "Piper, are you listening?

This is your absolute last chance!" She shoved her face toward mine. "Call your bluecollar parents right now! Or do you want a felony destroying your life?" Felony.

The word drove into my skull like an ice pick. I couldn't have a record. I needed a degree. I needed to make legitimate money so my dads could finally retire from the streets.

The harsh fluorescent lights glinted off the platinum card in Prudence's grip. My vision blurred. A hot, stinging sensation flooded my eyes.

My hands shook so hard I could barely tap the black screen of my phone. "Don't…" My voice cracked. "Don't call the cops.

I'll… I'll call." My trembling thumb hit the very first contact on my favorites list. Dad One.

Yes, he was the head of a massive organized crime syndicate, but relatively speaking, he was the most normal dad I had.

I prayed to whatever was listening that he could just put on a buttondown shirt, act like an average guy, and get us through this.

The line barely rang once before it clicked open. "Piper, kiddo?" Dad One's voice was warm, rumbling with a heavy laugh. "Dad," I started, biting my split lip. "My teacher wants you to come to the school.

I—" "The school?" The excitement in his voice spiked. "Well, look at that!

My girl won another academic award, didn't she?" "This is the first time you've actually let your old man come to an assembly! Hold tight, sweetie.

I'm leaving right now." "No—" A massive lump wedged in my throat. I opened my mouth to tell him the truth. Then, a sharp, deafening crack echoed through the speaker. A gunshot.

A man shrieked in raw agony. Then came a rapid succession of wet, muffled thuds. I stopped breathing. A faint, chilling voice murmured in the background. Bleach the floor.

Bag him up. My breath caught in my throat.

Memories from childhood crashed over me—Dad One walking into the kitchen at 3 AM, his shirt soaked in crimson, swearing it was just ketchup from a latenight diner run.

His breathing over the line sounded heavy, a little ragged. But when he spoke to me, his tone didn't drop a single degree of warmth. "No what, kiddo?" My chest went tight.

He was in the middle of a hit. What if he was bleeding out right now? I swallowed the truth like broken glass. "Nothing… it's nothing. I can just pick up the certificate myself.

You're busy. I've gotta go." "Hey! You haven't even—why are you hanging up?!" Prudence lunged at me, her clawlike hands swiping for my phone. Instinct took over.

I twisted my shoulder, dodging her grip, and slammed my thumb onto the red End Call button. Smack! Her palm connected hard with my already bruised cheek.

The impact rattled my teeth.

Prudence's face contorted into an ugly, furious mask. "You cause a disaster of this magnitude, and you try to hide it from your parents?!" Malcolm slammed his fist into the drywall.

He jabbed his finger an inch from my eye. "Don't think playing dumb is going to save you! Let me make something crystal clear." "I own this damn city.

I have the entire police precinct in my back pocket. You touch my daughter?

I will make you and your entire pathetic, manuallabor family disappear in a heartbeat!" Chapter 3 Sloane limped out of the clinic room.

She sneered, crossing her arms over her torn blazer. "Too pathetic to even call them?

What, are your parents too broke to afford a phone plan?" "Where does a charity case like you get the nerve to touch me? It's a joke." I stared at the scuffed linoleum.

My throat seized. "My dad really can't come… I'm sorry, Sloane. I was wrong." "I shouldn't have pushed you.

I'll apologize in front of the whole school," I choked out, the words tasting like copper. "I'll do your homework, carry your bags for the rest of the year." "You can hit me back.

Just please, don't call the police. I can't get expelled…" Sloane let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

Malcolm lunged forward, his thick fingers swiping at my hands. "You think you're in a position to negotiate? Give me the damn phone!

I'll call them myself!" Prudence stepped in, cornering me against the filing cabinet. "Piper, give Mr. Malcolm the phone right now! Stop being stubborn.

You need to show some accountability!" Malcolm grabbed my shoulder. I yanked back, clutching the phone against my ribs. My heel caught on the tile. I went down hard.

Both knees slammed into the floor. A sharp crack echoed in the cramped hallway. Searing pain shot up my legs, blurring my vision. I didn't get up.

I stayed on my knees and pressed my forehead against the freezing tile. "…Please. Don't call them. Sloane, please.

I'll do whatever you want." "Just keep my parents out of this." Thud. I drove my forehead into the floor. Thud. Warm liquid trickled down my brow, stinging my left eye.

Only then did the sadistic tightness in Sloane's face melt into absolute, euphoric triumph.

She put a manicured hand on her father's arm. "Fine," she announced, making sure the gathering crowd heard every word. "A public apology isn't enough." "Tomorrow, you're going to kneel and beg for forgiveness in front of everyone.

A hundred times. Until I am completely satisfied. Then I won't call the cops." "Okay." My fingernails dug halfmoons into my palms. My jaw locked.

The humiliation burned like battery acid in my chest, but it didn't matter. As long as my dads stayed off the federal radar, it was a price I would gladly pay.

That night, I pulled my baseball cap low over my bruised forehead and dragged myself back to the offcampus apartment Dad Two rented for me.

The second I unlocked the door, the rich, buttery smell of roasted garlic and searing meat hit me.

Three massive men were crammed into the tiny kitchenette: Dad SixtySix, Dad SeventyNine, and Dad NinetyThree.

The moment the deadbolt clicked, they dropped their spatulas and swarmed me. "Piper's home!" At the dinner table, Dad SixtySix reached over and gently pinched my unbruised cheek. "Piper, heard you got some fancy award at school today.

Why didn't you let me go pick it up?

It's gotta be my turn on the rotation by now." Dad SeventyNine stood behind my chair, his massive hands expertly kneading the rigid knots out of my shoulders. "Bullshit.

It's my turn." Dad NinetyThree slid a steaming bowl of chicken stew across the wood. "Drink up, kiddo. Brain food.

You're going to a toptier college." The back of my throat burned. My eyes stung with sudden, prickling heat.

I forced the corners of my mouth up. "It was just a minor certificate." "Not worth the gas money. I'll call you guys for the big ones." "Fine, fine, we won't fight.

Eat up, sweetie." They piled my plate high with ribs and greens. Halfway through dinner, Dad SixtySix's burner phone vibrated aggressively on the table.

His relaxed posture vanished.

He stepped onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut, but a few heavy, clipped words bled through the glass. "The shipment… feds on our tail… jumped in the river… damn it, making a living is getting too hard…" My stomach plummeted.

The stew suddenly tasted like ash. The image of SWAT teams kicking down doors and flashing sirens bathed my mind in red and blue.

I took a slow, jagged breath and set my spoon down. "Guys…" I looked at the three of them. "Can you… stop taking those kinds of jobs?

I'm grown now." "I'm going to get into a good university.

I'll take care of you." I gripped the edge of the table until my knuckles went white. "Can you just find something safe?" The three hardened, heavily scarred men froze.

A beat of absolute silence passed. Then, simultaneously, their eyes welled up. They pulled each other into a massive, tearful bear hug, nodding fiercely. "We promise, kiddo.

We promise." Chapter 4 Two hours later, after a few more heavy warnings, they left three black AmEx cards on the counter and hurried out.

I stood by the door, watching their broad backs disappear down the hall.

My throat tightened. "Remember to change jobs!" "We know!" But the second the door clicked shut, I heard Dad SixtySix mutter to the others in the hallway. "That's weird.

Does the kid not like my nuclear submarine R&D project…?" The others just grunted in confusion.

I locked the deadbolt and pulled out my phone. [ The notification bubble on the Loving Family (108) group chat was already pinned at 999+. ] The messages kept rolling in. [ Is my girl tired from studying today? ] [ Do you have enough cash?

Don't skimp! We've got plenty of money! ] The heat behind my eyes returned. I sniffled, tapped the text box, and typed: [ I'm doing great. Don't worry about me.

You guys are busy with work, but please stay safe. ] [ Send. ] Watching the cascade of heart emojis and concerned replies flood the screen, my jaw locked.

I could not cause them any more trouble. Piper, you have to endure this. Just hold on until graduation. Then everything would be fine. Monday morning assembly.

A sea of a thousand students packed the auditorium. I knelt on the hardwood stage.

The mic picked up my hollow, mechanical voice. "I pushed Sloane out the window out of spite… I was jealous of her.

I am trash…" The massive speakers blasted my words across the bleachers. Every syllable tasted like razor blades. Sloane sat front and center in a wheelchair.

Her cronies flanked her. Her eyes were blown wide, practically vibrating with a euphoric high as she watched me kneel and beg.

The whispers from the crowd merged into a suffocating, buzzing static. "I heard she's totally broke. A charity case." "She's so psycho.

Just jealous of Sloane's trust fund." "Look at her. Pathetic. She deserves it." "Trash raised by trash." The venomous words pierced my skin.

But the numbness was already taking over. I finished the script. I leaned forward. Thud. My forehead struck the hardwood stage. Fifty times. A hundred times.

I drove my head into the floor. The initial numbness shattered into blinding, whitehot agony. Then, a thick, warm stickiness. Crimson heat slid down my brow bone.

It glued my left eye shut. My vision tunneled into darkness. A pool of red stained the stage. The assembly ended. I stumbled off the stage, half my face masked in blood.

The crowd split like I had the plague. Sloane rolled past me, surrounded by her entourage. She didn't bother lowering her voice. "Wow.

Some people are just born garbage." "You think a little apology fixes this? Next time you see me, you bow. Got it?" My fingers curled inward. Nails broke skin. I didn't say a word.

I dragged myself back to homeroom. I took a wet wipe and scrubbed at the red spray paint plastered across my desk. But the paint had already seeped deep into the wood grain.

The harder I scrubbed, the more it smeared, looking like ugly, infected scars. I drowned in the suffocating hostility for the rest of the day.

The second the final bell shrieked, I grabbed my bag and bolted. I didn't dare use the main entrance. I took the long way around to the blind alley behind the cafeteria.

I took five steps into the shadows. Sloane and her three minions blocked the exit. Chapter 5 Sloane stood up from the wheelchair.

She rolled her shoulders, the supposed limp completely gone, and closed the distance between us. "Didn't you say you were going to be my shadow?" She tilted her head. "I didn't dismiss you yet.

You ran off pretty fast. Are you playing me, Piper?" "Sorry. You didn't tell me to—" "I shouldn't have to tell you. You heel when I say heel." Sloane pulled out her phone.

The camera lens hovered inches from my bruised face. "Let's try that apology again.

Say, 'I, Piper, am absolute trash, and I shouldn't have forgotten to act like Sloane's dog.'" I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled. I didn't move.

That only flipped a switch in Sloane. Icecold water crashed over my scalp. Hands grabbed my damp uniform, ripping the seams.

The waxy tip of a lipstick tube dragged violently across my cheeks and forehead. Sloane shoved the camera back into my face. "Smile for the camera.

Say, 'Thank you, Sloane, for putting me in my place.'" "Or maybe I should just call the cops right now.

Let your sketchy, manuallabor dads have a nice little chat at the precinct?" A highpitched ringing pierced my ears. My eyes blew wide. Did she know about them? I couldn't risk it.

A tremor took over my limbs. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. "Thank you… Sloane… for putting me in my place." I repeated it. Over and over. Ten times. Twenty.

Finally, the sadistic tightness in Sloane's face loosened. She delivered a sharp kick to my shin and stepped back. "See?

Was that so hard?" "From now on, you wait for me right here after the final bell.

You do exactly what I tell you." "Okay." She flipped her hair and walked out of the alley with her crew. The alley fell dead silent. I stood there, shivering in the soaked uniform.

Slowly, I dropped to my knees. A soaked math test lay plastered to the muddy asphalt. The bright red '100' bled into the grime. My vision blurred.

I dug my nails into my palms and reached into the puddle to scrape up my ruined books. I looked up. Five massive silhouettes blocked the entrance of the alley.

Dad One stood dead center. Four other dads flanked him. Their faces were carved from stone. Not a single muscle twitched. They just stared at me.

The air in the alley instantly dropped ten degrees. A suffocating minute passed. Dad One walked forward. He knelt in the mud.

His heavy, calloused thumb brushed against the lipstick and dried blood on my cheek. "Who did this?" I turned my head away.

I couldn't look at the lethal stillness in his eyes. "Nobody," I whispered. "I fell." "Fell?" Dad Five snatched the ruined math book from the puddle.

He shoved the muddy boot print on the cover into my line of sight. "You fell? Someone stomped on this until the spine broke!" Dad Three adjusted his wirerimmed glasses.

The glare off the lenses hid his eyes. "Piper. Give me a name." "Just say the word, and I will level this entire city.

I will bury them." I bit down on my lip until I tasted fresh copper. I couldn't tell them. Malcolm owned the police force. Sloane said it herself.

My dads were already dodging federal warrants. If they went after a billionaire, they would get locked away forever. I shook my head.

The burning sensation behind my eyes spilled over, hot tears cutting tracks through the grime on my face. The suffocating silence stretched. Finally, Dad One exhaled a heavy breath.

He wrapped his massive, scarred hand around my freezing fingers. The grip was gentle, but the raw power beneath it left no room for argument.

Chapter 6 "Piper, do you remember when you were five?

That fat kid from the next block over stole your candy, and you cried for a whole night." Dad One’s voice was low, vibrating with a lethal sort of calm. "The next morning, that kid's entire family moved out of the city.

They didn't have a choice." He leaned in, his shadow swallowing me. "We aren't 'good men,' kiddo.

But in this family, there is one rule: anyone who touches you dies." The wind in the alley seemed to die.

I looked at the circle of my dads—men who usually joked and bickered over dinner—now standing like silent, vengeful gods.

Their eyes were dark, the suffocating tension heavier than any shouted threat. The suffocating weight I had been carrying all week finally breached the dam.

I broke. "Dad—" I threw myself into Dad One’s chest.

My lungs hitched, and the words poured out of me in a jagged, sobbing mess. "It’s Sloane… her father is Malcolm, the mining tycoon.

She told me the whole city belongs to them." "She’s been… she’s been tormenting me every day. She filmed me… she made me—" Crack. The sound of shattering glass and plastic echoed.

Dad Five had crushed his flagship smartphone in one hand, the screen exploding into a spiderweb of shards. "A mining tycoon?

The balls on this guy." "Goddammit, Malcolm?!" Dad Three’s voice was like a razor. "That cockroach was licking the mud off my boots for a promotion ten years ago!" "He’s dead," Dad Seven spat. "He touched our Piper.

He’s already dead." I stared at them, stunned by the names and the history pouring out of their mouths. But Dad One didn't give me time to process.

He pulled out a clean burner phone and punched in a single code. His voice was absolute ice. "Listen up. Tell every brother to drop whatever they’re doing.

Right now." He adjusted his grip on my shoulder, his knuckles white. "One hour. Everyone converges on the city.

Someone touched our girl." The next morning, Dad One told me to go to school just like any other day. I nodded. I walked through the gates alone.

Sloane was exactly where I expected her to be, leaning against her flashy, oversized SUV. When she saw me, her face twisted into that familiar, sadistic smirk.

She raised her voice so everyone in the courtyard could hear. "Oh, look! If it isn't the little bitch who spent yesterday morning on her knees—" I didn't stop.

I walked right past her, my eyes fixed on the horizon, treating her like a smudge of dirt on the sidewalk. Sloane froze.

The silence that followed was deafening. "Piper!" she shrieked, her face flushing a deep, ugly red.

She lunged forward, grabbing the strap of my backpack and jerking me backward. "Did I say you could move?

Did you already forget your lesson, you piece of trash?" She wound up, her palm flat and ready to deliver a stinging slap. "I gave you a chance—" I thought of Dad One.

I thought of the hundred and eight men who had my back. For the first time in years, the weight in my chest wasn't fear. It was power. My hand shot out. I caught her wrist midair.

I squeezed until I felt her bone creak. I stared into her blownout, terrified pupils and spoke every word like a death sentence. "I said. Let. Go." "You little rat!

How dare you!" Malcolm roared as he stepped out of the SUV. He didn't hesitate. He lunged forward and shoved me with all his weight.

I stumbled back, my spine slamming hard against the brick perimeter wall.

The impact knocked the wind out of me. "You brokeass charity case!" Malcolm grabbed me by the collar, his spit hitting my face. "You think you can play tough?

I’m going to end you today." "By the time I’m done, you and your pathetic family will be erased from the map—" He never finished the threat.

Whirrwhirrwhirr— A low, rhythmic thrumming started in the distance. Within seconds, it became a deafening roar that shook the very ground beneath our feet.

One, two… ten… dozens of blackedout helicopters crested the treeline, swarming over the school like a cloud of locusts. Then came the heavy, metallic grind of treads on asphalt.

One, two, three olivedrab tanks rounded the corner, their massive muzzles swiveling with predatory precision until they were locked onto the school gates.

In their wake, a fleet of black sedans screeched to a halt.

Hundreds of reporters and camera crews poured out, their flashes creating a blinding, flickering strobe light that turned the morning into a chaotic fever dream