Chapter 3

The guard spoke, attempting to keep his eyes off my exposed chest. I acknowledged him with a swift nod as my Ferrari roared past the gate. I made my way to the second Gate and typed in the ridiculously long code father insists on having. He changes it every week. I presssed my photographic memory as the second gates swing open. I pull in to the front of our mansion, which has more security than the damn White House, and parked in front of the garage. I walk out, and throw my leather jacket over my shoulders. I make my way to the 15 feet double doors and swing both of them open roughly.

Like always the house was alive with movement and noise from the gang members that lived here. I walked in ignoring their stares.

“Horny motherfuckers” I thought to myself.

I made my way to the kitchen, my favorite place. I opened the fridge and grabbed a water bottle and apple from the counter. As I was about to take a bite from my apple, I paused mid bite feeling a presence to my right. I glanced over to the table where at least 20 men were staring at my breasts, mouth open. “If you want to keep your dicks attached to your body, I’d recommend turning the fuck around.” I hissed.

Their body’s immediately turned, and they sat with their heads down. I felt satisfaction run through my body. I loved the effect I had on people. I made my way to my fathers office, eating my apple on the way there. There are multiple wings within our mission, all obnoxiously large. Walking from the kitchen, which is in the east wing, to my father’s office in the west wing felt like a mile walk. As I finally made it to his office I barged in without knocking, causing his two double doors to explode open.

“I see you still haven’t learned how to knock?” My father says behind his desk, puffing on an expensive cigar in his equally expensive suit. I glance over to see my mother sitting on his desk, sitting back with her cheeks flushed. What the fuck did I walk into. “I see you haven't learnt privacy.” I eye them as I walk to the cabinet and take out a medical kit. “Allegra Skylar Grey. Please tell me you did not walk through the house wearing THAT!??” My mother screeched in anger.

I glanced down at my revealed chest. “oh this?” I laughed. “It’s better than bleeding out.” I say as I removed my jacket nodding to my arm. The blood has now soacked my white shirt I wrapped over it, and is now dripping onto my hardwood floor. My mother’s eyes widened. She should have been use to this lifestyle by now, and the dangers that come with it. She never agreed with the life that I have chosen, because I was, unlike other mafia heirs, given a choice.

I was trained pretty much since birth on self defense and other skills that would benefit me to take over one day. When I was 18, and my training finished they gave me the option to live a semi-normal life, or continue what my ancestors had started. I chose the latter. To me, it was a privilege and an honor to carry on the Grey name, as well as someday lead the mafia. My mother was born into a normal life. She was studying to be a neuroscientist, until she witnessed a murder, by none other than, my father. He kidnapped her, swore her into Omerta, and it’s been Stockholm syndrome ever since. But I do have to admit, I like the fact that they still act like newly weds after a few decades together. My mother bit her tongue, but concern flashed over her eyes as she looked at my wound. “Just a scratch.” I smiled at her as I took out all the necessary equipment to stitch myself up. I didn’t like others touching me.

I walked over to the couch, and flopped down. I grabbed a cloth and started to clean the wound. It burned, but I showed no emotion to show the discomfort. My father cleared his throat. “Allegra we’ve been meaning to talk to you.” He spoke. “I’m all ears.” I said looking down at my arm as I pressed the needle into the wound, creating the first stitch

“The yearly ball is coming up soon.”

“the fucking year ball” I mumbled to myself and rolled my eyes.