Page 1 of Prized Possession

“Your father will see you now,” says the busty blonde secretary who looks to be even younger than me.

As I stand and walk toward my father’s office, she throws a flirty wink my way, making sure to push her cleavage up. I shudder as I wonder if she does that to my father too.

He has a bad habit of fucking his staff, and she looks to be around the right age for him, though he seems serious about his current girlfriend, much to my disgust.

“Thanks,” I mutter, keeping my gaze fixed on the door rather than at her.

Before I can let myself into the office, she calls out to me. “If I can be of any assistance to you, Mr Morelli, please don’t hesitate to ask. It’s my job to make sure you’re well looked after.” Her voice sounds far too fake, and it takes all my effort not to roll my eyes at her.

It’s technically her job to answer the fucking phone and manage my father’s schedule, not fuck his son, but I decide it’s better not to point that little tidbitout.

“Thanks,” I say again, turning away dismissively. I catch the shocked look that spreads across her face, like she’s never been turned down before.

With my hand on the shiny doorknob, I take a deep breath as I clear my mind, pulling on the mask I wear in front of my father. As soon as I’m in control of my emotions, I turn the handle and open the door.

I quickly close it behind me before walking towards the desk in the middle of the room. My father is sitting behind the large mahogany desk, looking like a king ruling over his kingdom—which, I guess, in a way, he is.

As I lower myself into one of the two chairs on the opposite side of his desk, I take another moment to compose myself before we dive into the meeting.

My father is all business, dressed in his pressed black trousers and crisp white shirt. His dark hair has started to turn a little grey around the edges, but other than a few wrinkles across his brow and around his eyes, you wouldn’t be able to tell his age.

At fifty-three, my father looks good for his age. He keeps in shape, using our home gym every day, though not as regularly as me. He was only twenty-five when he had me, and despite being thoroughly embedded in a world of danger and crime, he’s aged well.

So much so that I’m regularly irritated when people comment on how much we look alike. Though it’s true I inherited my father’s strong jawline and jet black hair, my bright blue eyes very much come from my mother.

Even though she died when I was four, and I don’t remember her, not only have I seen the resemblance in photographs, everyone who ever knew her makes a point of telling me.

You look just like your father, but you have your mother’s eyes.Those words echo around my brain as I think of all the times I’ve heard that statement. The biggest problem, for most people, is that my personality seems to be a mixture of both my parents.

I have my father’s ruthless, stubborn streak, along with the dangerous edge he’s been teaching me since he told me I was destined to take over as the ruler of the Morelli crime family one day.

My mother had a wicked sense of humour, and a kindness that made her so well liked. I showed signs of inheriting those traits early on, and despite the training my father forced on me, he wasn’t able to eradicate that side of me completely. Though it is only reserved for people I believe truly deserve it.

My best friend, Jacob, says that when I decide to really care about someone—to love them—I’d do anything for them, and it’s true. I’m fiercely protective of the people I care about… It’s just that I can count those people on one hand.

I’ve never been in love, so that cuts most women out of the mix. I have Jacob, who I’ve known my whole life, and my Head of Security and childhoodfriend, Miles, and I’d take a bullet for both. But other than my father, and a couple of members of his staff that helped raise me, I don’t have many important people in my life.

In the world I’m part of, it’s a weakness to have people who you care about, as they can be used against you. The last thing I want is for a girl to get killed because I let people think I was interested in more than just getting my dick wet, which is why I don’t date.

I fuck women, when I’m in the mood, but they always know it’s a one-time thing, and we go in with zero expectations, so nobody walks away heartbroken.

I know I sound like an arsehole, and I’m okay with that. Girls are a headache I just can’t afford. Not when I’m trying to cement my new role as leader of the Morelli family.

Father clears his throat, grabbing my attention. He glares at me as he runs his gaze over my appearance. While he favours wearing smart trousers and a shirt, arguing that his appearance sets the tone for how he wants others to view him, I take a much more relaxed approach.

My dark wash jeans have rips across one of the knees, and the black biker boots I wear with them are more about comfort than image. Though the tight black T-shirt I wear that clings to my muscles in just the right way, and the leather jacket I always wear overtop, gives the air of danger that I’m going for.

While people look at my father and see a high-powered businessman, with me they see a dangerous bad boy, which is the image I prefer, though I wear a suit when my father forces me. Usually, during Council meetings and interacting with other important families.

“You’re late,” my father snaps, tutting at me when I roll my eyes at him.

I look at my watch and see that it’s four minutes past nine, and if he hadn’t kept me waiting out there, while his secretary perved on me, I would’ve been on time.

“Hardly. I was in your waiting room,” I respond, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, as that only winds him up more.

“I hope you’re more punctual to official meetings,” he drawls, before adding, “And more appropriately dressed.”

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at him again, and instead I grip the arms on the chair tightly, reminding myself to control my breathing.

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