The Dominator : a dark mafia romance

Chapter 1

“Her name is Athena. They call her Tia. She’s yours if you want her.”

“Mine?”

“Yeah, yours.” Pop waved his hand dismissively. “For whatever.”

I was sitting in my father’s office absorbing this news, news that this Athena was coming to me as a gift from my father, that he’s taking her as payment for unpaid debts.

Pop said he was about to have the news of the payment arrangement conveyed to her father and then I could do what I wanted with her.

“For whatever” meant I could put her on the streets under one of the pimps on our downline. I could also opt to send her overseas and pocket the profits.

We had connections in a variety of industries, including those of the seedy underworld. We had fingers in less-than-wholesome pies. Looking at her photo I knew she’d fetch more on the black market than the debt her daddy owed. Way more.

We receive commissions based on a variety of pursuits. Some call us mafia. I don’t like that word. You might say I say tomato, you say tom-atto and while it’s all the same fruit, of course, there are many varieties of tomatoes. We’re businessmen. We have businesses we fully own and those we own a stake in.

Not all of what we do is legal, but it’s not all shady business deals and gambling debts, either. The way it’s set up creates multiple layers and plenty of income streams. Money flows to the family coffers from a variety of areas like security, construction, retail and wholesale businesses. There are gray areas, too, like security, protection, and of course loansharking, prostitution, and drugs. We mostly deal in organics rather than chemicals, and it’s only a small part of our business.

Yes, organized crime exists in the 21st century. No, it’s not always as glamorous as it’s portrayed on screens but it’s not always as seedy, either. It’s a living. Some days are fairly ordinary. Some days are a rush. Some days we have to make tough decisions. I’d had to make many difficult decisions so far and I was sure there would be many more ahead of me, especially given that I’d soon be sitting at the helm of the family empire.

My father had humble beginnings as a working guy who was respected and connected around town. He and his best friend, a guy also connected – even more connected that Pop – started a construction company. It did well; they were smart and resourceful. Over time, they saw the need for a number of other services and had the capital to begin expansions so they could better provide for their family without paying half their earnings in taxes. The company has grown by leaps and bounds in the past thirty years.

After the construction company got off the ground, he opened a coffee shop. He now has six of those coffee shops and it’s moving to a franchising model in the next five to seven months. He’s a partner in some restaurants, some hotels, plus a few nightclubs. Some of those clubs have backroom card games; some that deal in big money.

Drugs and druggies, alcohol and alcoholics, hookers, nymphos, bookies, gamblers, loan sharks… they’ll always be out there. Why shouldn’t we profit from it? We have the brains and the brawn and the green. And because of that we’ve got the cars, the houses, the fat bank accounts, and the high tax brackets so we look above-board to the tax man and have the fat rainy day funds in our mattresses, attics, basements, whatever. We do regular shit. We also do bad shit.

Why bust our chops for a bit better than minimum wage and work like a dog until we’re ready to drop to put a meager amount of money into a retirement plan we may never get to spend? Successful men get between what men want and the source.

That’s what we do. You want to bet on the races? We can help. You want to get your rocks off, find someone to cater to your fetishes? We’ll hook you up. You need money to pay off your gambling debts or start up a new venture? Guess, what? We can help there, too.

It all fits together nicely, like a puzzle. People need protection. People need money. People need help from builders to build those businesses they want us investing in, so we do the investing and we do the building. And people need vices so at the end of a hard day they’ve had a little fun.

And because men can have too much of a good thing and get caught up in the sins of the flesh and the thrill of the bet it can get dirty. Some don’t pay their debts. Some need to be dealt with. Sometimes people get greedy and try to take from us. We have to make tough decisions. People come to play; they must be prepared to pay. We show our enemies and those who want our profits that we aren’t to be trifled with.

I’m twenty-nine, Pop’s namesake, and I’m inches away from taking over the family business. This is how we feed and protect ourselves and the ones who count on us. We take that seriously. If people borrow money, they have to pay their debts. We prefer cash as our currency of choice, of course, but sometimes creative financing comes into play when someone can’t pay.

My family may be wealthy, but I’ve earned my stripes, too. Pop didn’t believe in sticking a silver spoon in my mouth when he had to claw his way up. He made sure I had to do the same. He calls it character-building. My brother and I both call him a hard ass.

I started at the bottom at fourteen and worked my way up, buying my own condo with cash I earned by the time I was nineteen. I’ve done hard work. Dirty work. No one can say that I don’t legit deserve to sit in my father’s chair when that day comes.

Sitting in my father’s office and getting told he was handing over a flesh payment on a debt to me was intriguing, to say the least. I’d never seen him take this kind of payment before.

Telling me I could do “whatever” was a game. My father wanted me to keep her for myself. My cock twitched looking at her photo. Long, silky-looking chestnut brown hair, big jade green eyes, beautiful skin, full lips, fit yet curvy. Soft-looking.

“Why are you letting the guy pay like this? This isn’t our style. There’s more to it. Spill.”

Pop shrugged. “This was my choice, not his. Too many questions, Tommy. Just think of it as a gift. A bonus for all your hard work. Look at her.”

He pushed the picture closer. My Pop didn’t like questions, that was for damn sure. I guess I inherited that quality from him. But, I needed to know the details, particularly because he was probably only a few key decisions away from retiring. He didn’t look ready to retire; he’s only in his mid-fifties and looks like he’s forty. But Pop worked hard to build his empire and says he wants to reap the fruits of that labor before he’s too old to fully enjoy it.

“What kind of guy gives his daughter up for debts? The debt is measly,” I said.

He looked reflective and a long moment passed.

“Pop?”

“I bought his debt. There’s history. Long family history. This guy! He…” He waved his hand. “He was like one of those, what do you call… fan girls. He tried to crawl up all our asses and worm his way into the business. He was always a liability, so he didn’t get the time of day. He disrespected me many years ago. He took something from me. He paid a price. But I don’t know that his price was enough.” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “And some nights I still lay awake thinking about what he took from me. This daughter, she’s all he’s got of any value. And look at her. I’m thinking she’s young, she’s beautiful, you could make her yours. Marry her, maybe. Your call, I know, but that’s what I think. It’d be a shame to put her to work or sell her off. I saw opportunity. I acted. Two birds, one stone. Pay this guy back by taking his last thing of value. Take her to pay his paltry debt and help our family move forward.”

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.

Dad seemed like he wanted to try a few times – he’d go long periods of time without seeing me and then he’d turn up for a visit, tell me he was doing better. Sometimes, he would even do a visit two months in a row, but inevitably over the past nine+ years, the more common pattern was for him to get my hopes up and then let me down and disappear for months at a time. I stopped having expectations of him a long time ago. Becoming a ward of the court made it simpler. They stopped trying to make him try.

This foster home has been, by far, the most nurturing of all. Not only do they go out of their way to make their home a real home, but whatever isn’t provided that me or the other girls need through the “system” they take out of their own pockets.

Three years ago, Rose and Cal bought bicycles out of their own pockets for Christmas gifts for all of us. Two years ago, they took us to Disney World on their dime. They are amazing people and they’ve helped so many girls get their lives together. I hope to repay them someday. Karma is definitely on their side.

Rose, a sweet round woman with a heart of gold, tells me all the payment she wants is my happiness and success. And for me to continue to be a part of their family. Come for Christmas; come for special dinners on my birthday when I don’t have other plans. Have them at my wedding someday. Think of them as my family.

They have one son and one daughter. Their autistic son is one of my favorite people in the world. Their daughter, Ruby, is my best friend. She still has a year left of high school, otherwise we’d just get a place together.

I’m starting college next Fall for social work, to make a difference in the lives of other kids who might otherwise fall between the cracks. So many do, and many blame the system. I’ve had a great social worker all along who has always cared about my safety and happiness. I aim to follow in her footsteps.

I wouldn’t say I’ve been the perfect student or foster child. I make mistakes. Boys. Partying. Skipping school. But, for the most part, I try to be responsible. I know what I want from life and I’m grateful for the blessings I have.

Of course I miss my mom. I wouldn’t say she was a happy person and clearly her unhappiness ran deeper than I knew. I also wish Dad could’ve pulled his life together. While he was never all that responsible before she died, he was really, really messed up afterwards.

Although I don’t know how often he checks messages, I’ve sent him a Facebook message to tell him about high school grad and left a ticket at the office with his name on it. I’m not counting on him making it, he’s never made it to any school plays, birthday parties, or anything else I’ve asked him to attend. When Dad shows up it’s generally very random. Some wonder why I bother to go out of my way, but I guess I’ve never given up on him. I’ve always wanted to believe that people are redeemable.