Page 2 of The Dominator

He shrugged like it was no biggie, but was looking at me studiously. I could see it was a big deal.

I shook my head, exasperated. This was Pop’s way. He was telling me this Tia could be mine to do with what I wanted, dropping his suggestion of “marry her, maybe” was his way of suggesting it without outright demanding it. If I didn’t, he’d be disappointed. People know better than to disappoint my father. I also know bonuses aren’t in his vocabulary, so he isn’t giving her to me as a bonus. He’s got plans. But, my father knows better than to tell me what to do outright. When he really wants me to do something, he does it like this.

“Married, Pop? Who says I’m ready to get married?”

“Tommy, my boy, you’re almost thirty. By your age I had a couple kids and was on my second wife. You don’t truly become a man until you start a family of your own. A family man needs to take over the company. You decide who you marry, of course, and this girl, she’s part Irish, half Italian. She’s beautiful and she’s young. She can be molded into what you need her to be. Taking a wife don’t mean you can’t still have your fun, my boy.”

“I’ll think it over.”

This was the best way to handle my father. He’d nudged about me getting married, but never this bluntly. I’d been prepped and primed to take over this company ever since I could remember. He’d drilled a lot into my head over the years and I’d jumped through hoops to prove I was worthy. Not just to him, also to myself.

I figured I’d already proven I was a man many times to my father with tests I’d passed, decisions I’d made, problems I’d taken care of, opportunities and profit I’d brought the business. He knew I had what it took. But, my pop was a demanding prick and I’d paid the hefty price of being his son many, many times. In his mind, I should show everyone: his associates, his enemies…that I’m a family man, ready to take the helm. An old-school way of thinking but that was how it was with Pop.

Putting me and my brother at the bottom of the ladder like any other soldier that worked for him ensured we’d earn respect. Evidently, he’d decided I needed to take one more step on this journey before he’d be willing to hand over the keys to the kingdom.

But married? He’d talked about me being married in a “someday when you’re married” or “someday when you’re a father”, “someday when you run this business”, way for years but I’d never given getting married much thought. Pop certainly enjoyed being married, he got married often, though despite his love for walking down the aisle, he wasn’t a man who believed in any sort of marriage sanctity.

Me? Women were a means to an end for me. I had a healthy sexual appetite with as much action as I wanted. I didn’t do relationships. Didn’t want to; never needed to. I never had the desire to get serious or be monogamous. I knew women liked the way I look and of course loved the money, the power. I hadn’t met anyone I cared enough about to take things to any level beyond physical. I hadn’t ruled it out; I just hadn’t had the urge. I was Thomas Ferrano Jr., a force to be reckoned with in and out of the boardroom, the boxing ring, the bedroom, and more, and I’d been busy my whole life, proving myself, focused on the business.

I liked control in and out of the bedroom and was partial to rough play. Very partial. I had my pick of playthings to suit whatever my fancy was on any given day. Blonde, brunette, redhead, Black, Asian. Pop threw in the bit about this Tia being half Italian as if it was a factor. I didn’t give a shit about that. Regardless, I’d certainly never met someone I’d wanted to marry or even date seriously. Dating someone and getting serious? That’d feel too much like giving up control to me. Not interested.

Rarely was I interested in even having the same woman twice. Who needed a woman nagging me, thinking she could tell me what she didn’t want me doing, asking me inane questions that I couldn’t be bothered to answer? I had no biological clock niggling at me yet for kids, either. I had nieces and nephews through my two sisters and the kids were great, but they weren’t my problem on a daily basis. Being Uncle Tommy was just fine by me.

Married? Sheesh. I knew how Pop’s brain worked and to him it was a necessity. I’d need to do it to get what I wanted. Full control. I wanted control in all areas of my life and since Pop was slipping just left of his prime, it was time. Pop was missing the boat on opportunities that could make us a lot of money and get us out of the small-time game in a few areas. I could take the company to greater heights with more profit and lower risk. If I had to get married to get him to give me the keys to the kingdom and for me to not have to run business decisions by him, maybe that’s what I’d have to do.

He and I butted heads a lot. I guess what everyone says is true; we’re a lot alike. As head of the business, I’d want to think about an heir to take over for me some day, rather than promoting one of my nephews.

My buddy and business associate, John, was married with kids. He and I got hammered the other night at the sex club we both belong to and a conversation came up about my lack of desire to hook up with one girl night after night. He’d talked about how amazing it was to have a submissive wife who would do anything he wanted. Because she ached to please him. I argued there was no shortage of women in the club who’d pant in heat when I approached them. Johnny said I didn’t get it, didn’t understand what I was missing, how amazing it was to have her complete trust and commitment.

Johnny played at the club and his wife was cool with it. His wife liked threesomes, even. And she didn’t tell him what to do. She yielded to him. He told me there were relationship parameters and he knew what her limits were and said he had loads of room to play.

I’d laughed, slapped him on the shoulder, and said, “See Johnny, that’s where you and I differ. The only way in the world that’d go down for me is if there were no limits, no safe words.”

Control. Full control. I looked at the photo in front of me again and the way she looked… I thought about control. I thought about controlling the business, being in full control of my own destiny, and I couldn’t help but think about controlling her.

Pop was watching me mull things over. Fuck.

I looked at him, conceding. “I’ll meet her. We’ll see.”

My father got that look on his face that he gets when everything is falling into place. That look was one of the very few things that could chill me to the bone.

I’m young but I’ve been called an old soul more than once. As my high school graduation and nineteenth birthday loomed, all I’d been thinking about is the fact I was officially grown up. Ready to strike out on my own. Sort of. It was time to transition out of foster care into my first apartment.

My foster parents have been wonderful to me for the past five and a half years and they’d gone above and beyond, arranging for me to rent the apartment above the garage at my foster mom’s parents’ home. My own space, but still close to people who are like family, the only family I’ve had for years.

Because I’ve been a ward of the court for the past few years and I’ll continue my education, I’ll have an income supplement through college while my tuition is paid for.

Nona and Nono Caruso have been like I’d expect real grandparents would be to me and the half a dozen girls that live with Rose and Cal Crenshaw at the moment. I’ll be the fifth girl to move into the garage apartment. The family has been fostering for years and they have helped countless teen girls have a home and a stable family for at least a little while.

While I could’ve opted to move out and finish my victory lap of high school from my own place on my eighteenth birthday, the Crenshaws invited me to stay. Being an only child who embraced this busy, hectic, and crazy house full of laughter and love, I was happy to stay the extra year.

I’ve been in foster care since I was nine and was moved around a lot before finding home here. My mother committed suicide when I was small, and that led to my already troubled father falling completely off the rails.

His partying and gambling intensified after her death. That, coupled with his inability to hold down a job was amplified without my mom around. Dad tried to move me in with his sister, my Aunt Carol, one night after being beaten up pretty badly (in front of me) by loan sharks, but she’d said, “Not a chance.”

She actually said that right in front of me. Shame on her. And shame on Dad for asking her in front of me, knowing it was unlikely she’d agree. Not only did she refuse, she also reported him to Social Services for neglect.

They took temporary custody of me so he could get his life together, but he never managed to do that long enough to get me back.

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