Prized Possession (Rivals of Blackthorn #1)

1. Marcus

“ Y our 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 tidbit out.

“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 childhood friend, 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.

My father loves winding me up, and it’s taken years of practice to remain aloof while he does.

“You know full well that I own a suit, and wear it when the occasion calls for it.”

As much as I hate to admit it, I understand why my father views his suit as a uniform, and I can’t deny that people show me a different level of respect when I’m dressed the way my father expects—even if I personally hate it.

He wrinkles his nose, his glare narrowing as he disapproves of the tone I used on him. I can tell he’s about to start on another lecture about accountability and professionalism that I’ve heard a million times before, so I cut him off before he can begin.

“Was there anything in particular you needed to discuss when you called this meeting?” I ask, hoping it’s enough of a distraction to prevent his lecture.

Although we meet regularly to discuss family business, this was very much a last minute, unplanned meeting, and it set me on edge from the moment Miles informed me it had been added to my schedule.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did have something important I’d like to discuss with you. But before I get into that, how’s business? Everything going okay with Jacob? As I’ve made clear before, I’m worried about his recent behaviour,” my father states, his gaze piercing into me as he tries to read my reaction to him bringing up my best friend.

Although I’m swearing and panicking inside my head, I make sure to keep my mask of indifference in place, so he can’t see what’s going on beneath the surface.

“As I explained at our last meeting, Jacob is going through a phase right now where he’s partying a little more, blowing off steam, but that is all in his private life. Whilst he’s at work, he’s a complete professional, and we’re working well together, just as we always have. I’m not worried, so you shouldn’t be either.”

I hold my breath, hoping my father is buying my lies.

The truth is, I am worried for my best friend. He’s been slowly getting more reckless, engaging in activities that cast a doubt over him as a leader, and I know I’ll only be able to protect him for so long.

“His father has also expressed some concern to me about his behaviour. If his own father is worried, then surely we should be too,” he retorts, looking far too smug.

Fucking Jacob , I think to myself. I’ve been bailing his arse out of trouble since we were kids, but we’re adults now, with massive responsibilities on our shoulders, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to protect him.

“You know the relationship Jacob has with his father is complicated. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

Well, that’s a massive fucking understatement. The relationship I have with my father is complicated. What Jacob and his father have going on is a whole fucking shit-show.

It’s one of the reasons we’ve always got on so well together. We can both relate to the crippling expectations that come with being heir to a major crime family.

For generations, the Morelli and the Santoro family have been rivals, each battling for control over Blackthorn, the largest city in the North East of England. Whilst some of the bigger families were all fighting for dominance over London and the South, the Morellis and the Santoros set their sights further North.

With good transport links to all the major cities, as well as a port and airport for international imports, the Morellis quickly identified the benefits of this smaller, albeit just as profitable area. Sadly, the Santoros had the same idea, and for years our families were engaged in a turf war, each trying to take ownership for themselves.

When Maximus Morelli and Caleb Santoro came to power, they decided to call a truce between the warring families. For the past thirty years, our fathers have ensured a peace treaty remains in place, working together for the good of Blackthorn.

The Morellis, under my father Maximus’ control, took ownership of the East, while the Santoros, led by Jacob’s father, Caleb, ruled the West. They’d have regular Council meetings where they’d make decisions for the city together, whilst each retaining their own portion of power.

Me and Jacob were raised as our father’s heirs, and we grew up together, knowing we’d be expected to rule as a team when we took over. Though it was drilled into us both that whilst it’s important to maintain the peace treaty, we’re still rivals, and should the time ever come, we’d need to take the other out in a heartbeat, or risk them doing the same to us.

Despite knowing this, Jacob still became my best friend. Although our friendship was initially forced on us as a result of familial obligation, it quickly turned into something so much more. We had a lot in common, and we bonded over the pressure we were under.

It wasn’t long before I stopped seeing Jacob as just a friend who was forced on me, and instead he became like a brother to me.

So when he started going off the rails these last few months, of course I’ve been covering for him, hoping like hell too many people don’t notice before I’m able to find out what his problem is and set him straight.

Unfortunately, the wrong people have taken notice before I can sort him out, so now I need to do everything I can to cover for him.

“I’m aware that Caleb and Jacob don’t get on well, and he assures me that he’s handling the issue, but I seem to be hearing new reports of his behaviour almost daily now,” he responds, and I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from cursing aloud .

With as much composure as I can muster, I ask, “Reports, like what?”

“This weekend, he was seen in our club—Caged—snorting cocaine out of one of the dancers belly button, before trying to fight three security guards who asked him to leave,” he states, disgust dripping from each word.

Both my father and Caleb have always had strict rules, not just for us but all of their employees. The big one is that we’re not supposed to sample the products we ship. Our job is to sell drugs to others, not get hooked on the stuff ourselves.

It was also drilled into us from an early age that the public’s perception of us is everything. The only reason anyone should ever be talking about us is if they fear or respect us.

Airing our dirty laundry in public, or causing a spectacle the way Jacob has lately, has always been strictly prohibited. I’m actually a little surprised his father hasn’t tried to stop him before now.

“I didn’t know about that. Look, it’s our monthly poker night on Saturday, so I’ll talk to him about it then,” I reply, cringing as my father’s nose wrinkles in disgust once more. It really is a wonder he doesn’t have more frown lines.

“You two still do that?”

He sounds like I just told him we take turns shitting on the table while the other watches, as opposed to the innocent gambling night it actually is.

When Jacob and I started taking more responsibilities from our fathers, and our roles as rulers grew, we knew we needed to find a way to work together, whilst still holding on to our friendship.

Although I see Jake as more like my brother, and we bonded over the commonalities we have in life, when it comes to our personalities, we couldn’t be more different.

While he’s funny, out-going, a relentless flirt, and a genuinely nice guy, I’m almost the opposite. I’m quiet, broody, and I have a ‘stay the fuck away from me’ aura that I give off at all times.

I’m the one who looks like I’ll kill you in your sleep if you piss me off, when in actuality, Jacob’s the hothead with the bad temper. I’m more likely to bide my time, plotting my revenge out thoroughly, before striking when you least expect it, and when I know I’ll make the biggest impact.

Because of how different we are, we don’t always agree on how to handle things. So to stop arguments from escalating, we created our monthly poker night.

During the event, we bring up any issues we have disagreed over, and we play for them. The winner gets to deal with the issue however they choose. Then when all the problems are sorted, we play for fun.

Our fathers hate the idea, but it's the best thing we could come up with to deal with our differences, without risking our friendship. And so far, it’s been working well, but if Jake continues on like this, it won’t be long before I can’t protect him anymore, and his father will step in.

“You know we do,” I reply, trying not to sound sarcastic.

“Well, clearly it’s no longer working,” he snaps, glaring at me.

Oops, guess he picked up on the sarcasm.

“I’ve told you, I’ll sort it out this weekend,” I respond through gritted teeth.

Father lets out a huff followed by a long sigh. “It might be too late for that. It brings us to the reason I called the meeting in the first place. I think Caleb might be putting things in place to replace Jacob as his heir.”

My eyes snap open wide when I hear that, shock rippling through me like ice in my veins. “How?”

There are only a couple of ways that Jacob could be replaced, and I’d hate any of them. My heart races as my father sits there for a moment, looking like he’s trying to find the right words.

“Caleb made the announcement earlier. In six weeks, Chloe will marry Scott Caprillo, uniting their two families together. I’m guessing he will be looking for Scott to take over from Jacob, if he doesn’t get his shit together,” my father growls.

My stomach flips and my heart sinks as he confirms my worst case scenario. I try to focus on my work, pushing all thoughts of her from my mind, the way I’ve been doing my whole life.

Chloe Santoro is the very definition of forbidden. She’s my best friend's little sister, the girl I’ve been picking on since she was in pigtails, the daughter of our rival family. She’s also the bane of my fucking existence—temptation at its finest—which is why I hate her so much.

“What the fuck is Caleb thinking? The Caprillos have been vying for power for years. If Scott and Chloe unite the two families, and that fucking prick, Scott, is made leader, it’s only a matter of time before he tries to overthrow us,” I grumble, trying to focus my anger on the business implications of this stupid fucking decision. Nothing more.

“I don’t know what Caleb is thinking, but you need to sort this before it goes too far. Jacob has to remain as leader or our peace treaty will fly out of the window. It’s on tentative ground as is,” he replies, far more calmly than I feel.

“How the fuck do you expect me to sort this? If their marriage has been arranged and announced…it’s final.”

The words feel like ash on my tongue, but I know it’s true. Very rarely in our world are the contracts of an arranged marriage nullified. Once you give your word and commit…there’s no going back.

“I don’t give a shit what you do, but you need to do something. I don’t think there’s much to be done about the arranged marriage. Like you said, usually when these things are announced, they’re final. You’re gonna have to work on fixing Jacob.

“Caleb would only ever hand over the reins to someone else if he was sure Jacob couldn’t fulfil the role. He wants him to be his heir, so I suggest you focus on making Jacob aware of what he’s going to lose.”

As the words echo on repeat in my head, I know how tough this task will be. I may hate the pressure of being in the role I’m in, but I actually love my job, whereas Jacob has always hated it. The threat of him losing his status won’t bother him one bit, but I need it to.

A million plans, all more elaborate than the last, run through my head. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but as I make my promise to my father, I know I mean it.

“I promise you, I’ll sort this. The Caprillos will not get a single strand of power, if I have a say in it. No matter what I have to do, I’ll ensure our peace treaty remains intact, and our family continues to reign with as much power and influence as we do now.”

My fathers lips twist up into a smirk, a hint of pride visible that I rarely see. As I leave his office, my mind is whirling a million miles an hour.

Not only do I have to save my best friend from himself, I also have to do something to stop that arsehole Scott from gaining any power or influence.

My first thought is to find a way to stop the wedding before it happens, but I can’t do that. If Chloe marries that wanker, she’ll become his problem. I won’t have to see her as much as I do now, which means she’ll have less opportunities to drive me fucking crazy.

The part of me that’s screaming to ruin her wedding needs to be silenced. I try to tell myself how much I’ll enjoy her misery, watching her pretend to like the man her father is forcing on her.

I know she’ll despise having her marriage arranged for her, and the sadistic side of me takes pleasure from her misery. So why is there a part of me that hates the idea of her marrying him?

I push the irrational thoughts to one side and focus on the assignment my father set for me. Talk about a fucking impossible task, and I have no idea where to start.