Arine's jaw dropped. "No, you're not. Don't fucking lie." He let out a laugh. "You're on your twenties! How the hell can you be a trauma surgeon?"
"I'm 35, Arine." Mike replied with a straight face.
"No. No, no." Arine pointed at him, waving his finger. "You look like a someone in his twenties. You act like one. You even talk like one. But you're a boomer?"
"I'm not a boomer. I just look young. Good genetics, I guess. But yeah, I'm 35."
"Oh my God." Arine groaned, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. "I'm a fucking loser…"
Mike raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Hector's got a diploma. You're a damn doctor. Dani has a master's degree. James was in college before he dropped out. And me?" He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "I didn't even finish high school. What kind of mafia family is this? Everyone's overqualified!"
Mike scratched his chin, thinking seriously for a second. Then gave the most fitting answer he could come up with.
