2. Chris
CHAPTER 2
CHRIS
T he flight to Seattle feels like a blur of noise and motion, the constant drone of the engines and the rhythmic thud of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. As the plane touches down and I step onto the tarmac, a sense of weary anticipation washes over me. I know that my life is about to change in ways I can't even begin to imagine.
Waiting for me on the runway is a fleet of sleek black cars, lined up in perfect formation like soldiers awaiting their commander. I eye them with a mixture of disdain and resignation, knowing that each one represents a piece of my father's control over my life.
“Good afternoon, Sir, I’m Zack,” a voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn to see a man in his mid-thirties standing before me, his posture rigid and his expression deferential. He's dressed impeccably, a pin bearing my family's crest gleaming on his collar. Il lecca piede di papà. My dad's puppet . Just what I need, another idiot to report my every move back to him.
“Christopher,” I reply curtly, extending my hand for a perfunctory shake.
We make our way to the lead car, the driver holding the door open for me with a respectful nod. I can't help but roll my eyes at the unnecessary display of deference. “Was it necessary to bring all of them?” I ask, gesturing to the line of cars. “Non potevi trovare la via da solo, o cosa?” Couldn’t you have found your own way here?
I can see the confusion in Zack's eyes, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. “Ordini del Signor Bonetti, signore.” Mr. Bonetti's orders, Sir, he explains dutifully.
“I'm not him,” I state flatly as I climb into the car, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. I may be my father's son, but I refuse to be his puppet.
As we speed through the streets of Seattle, I can't help but marvel at the city's skyline, the towering skyscrapers casting long shadows in the fading light.
Arriving at the penthouse feels like stepping into another world entirely. The spacious living area is bathed in soft, ambient light, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the city below. The furnishings are opulent yet tasteful.
“Do you need anything from me, Sir?” Zack seems uncomfortable, and I wonder why. I haven't done anything yet.
“No, thank you,” I reply with a nod, watching him leave. I take a deep breath and turn around. “Damn.” My heart pounds against my rib cage as I come face to face with the woman standing before me in silence.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bonetti.”
“Christopher, and you are?” I respond, trying to ease the tension.
“Stacy, the maid, Sir.” She seems tense.
“Are you a ninja or something?” I chuckle, shaking my head. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“My apologies,” she murmurs.
“It’s okay, go get some sleep. It’s late.” I try to erase the awkwardness.
“Thank you, Sir. What time would you like breakfast?” she asks, but her tone makes me wonder if she's mocking me. Dad's rules have always been breakfast at six am, and if you're late, you miss it.
“Six am, please.”
“Noted, Sir. Do you want me to show you to the master bedroom?” she offers.
“I think I can find it myself, Stacy, but thank you,” I notice her attire. “That skirt needs to be longer, and you'd be more comfortable in jeans or trousers. And those heels—lose 'em. I can tell they're not comfortable.”
She gives a shy smile. “Are you sure, Sir?”
“More than sure, but we’ll talk about the rest in the morning,” I assure her. As I reach out to touch her shoulder, she tenses, and I quickly pull back. “I'm not him, Stacy. I won't lay a hand on you. I just wanted to turn you around and let you get some sleep.”
Tears well up in her eyes. “Good night, Sir.”
I know how my dad treats the maids. Viola was an exception, but the rest of them have always been treated like objects of pleasure. The thought of it makes me sick.
Wandering around the penthouse, I can't help but admire the breathtaking view from the floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a stunning panorama of the city skyline. The contrast between the sleek, white walls and the dark-toned furniture adds a touch of modern elegance. The winding glass staircase is a masterpiece of its own, spiraling gracefully up to the second floor. My mission, however, is the office. As I leave the living room, I catch a glimpse of the state-of-the-art kitchen and the stylish hallway. On my way to the home office, I snag a bottle of aged whiskey from the bar, then make my way upstairs to the bedroom.
I'm haunted by memories of Leila, her face appearing before me like a ghost in the darkness. Desperate to numb the headache, I reach for the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand, washing them down with a generous swig of whiskey.
Cursing my father under my breath, I try to push aside the thoughts of Leila, to focus on the task at hand. But no matter how hard I try, her memory lingers like a shadow, a constant reminder of what I've lost.
The next morning, I take charge of the business in Seattle with a sense of determination. Sitting at the table in my office, I pore over the records, my brow furrowed in concentration. The assistant hesitates in the doorway, clearly startled to see me there so early, I move my gaze up for a second before getting back to work.
“Mr. Bonetti,” she stammers, her voice uncertain. “I wasn't expecting you so soon. I’m Janet, and if you need me, I’m right here.”
I nod curtly, not bothering to acknowledge her presence as I continue my work. The more I delve into the company's affairs, the more I realize just how much is out of place. It's going to take time and effort to set things right, but I'm determined to succeed, no matter what.
Months pass in a blur of meetings and negotiations, the struggle to forget Leila a constant presence in the back of my mind. I try to bury myself in work, to drown out the memories with endless tasks and responsibilities, but she haunts me like a specter, her presence impossible to ignore.
Unable to resist the temptation, I find myself snooping on her social media accounts, scrolling through her posts with a mixture of longing and despair. Each image is like a knife to the heart, a painful reminder of what could have been.
I grab my keys and storm out. The streets blur away while I drive to one of our clubs. Never loved clubbing but I’m not home and I fucking need a distraction. After a nod to the bouncers, I make my way inside.
The music pounds in my ears, the lights flash in rhythm, and the crowd surges with pulsating energy. Pushing through the sweaty bodies, I spot the bar and I move toward it eager to bury my troubles in the alcohol.
After a few shots, I let the music take over and I walk on the dance floor. The stunning blonde is swinging her hips and I approach her, my hands finding her hips in the dimly lit frenzy.
She turns around and when she meets my eyes a mischievous smile shows up. Without a word, I draw her closer, and we meld into the rhythm, our bodies moving as one. The connection ignites a fire within me, momentarily drowning out the cacophony of my thoughts. Getting closer I rank my hand in her hair forcing her chin up before taking hold of her mouth. She kisses me back with the same intensity. Grabbing her ass, I pull her closer making her feel my boner.
We make our way in the office and I kick the door close, pinning her against it. The moan she lets out as my hands room over her body switches the animal in me. Pulling her dress up I kiss her neck while her hands fumble with my belt. Fingering her makes her moan out loud.
“Fuck, that was sexy,” I push her leg aside while with a hand I pull my cock out and sink in one thrust in her cunt. The more she meets my thrusts lost in the moment the more my brain seems to switch off. Her walls are squeezing me, making me growl and I pull out. “Clean your mess,” I demand while forcing on her knees.
She licks her lips and grabs my cock, licking it from the back to the top, cleaning her juices. The moment she starts to suck me off, I let my head back, trying to enjoy it. Yet, amidst the euphoria, guilt claws its way to the surface. Leila's image flashes before me, a painful reminder of the hurt I'm trying to escape. I try to banish the thought, to lose myself in the moment, but it persists, casting a shadow over the fleeting pleasure.
Shoving my cock down her throat I see the blonde struggle to take all of me, but still that glint in her eyes says more than words do. I help her up and make her bend over the table before using her for my own pleasure. Feeling her coming hard doesn't stop me, I work my hips faster until I feel that tingling down my spine pushing forward. I pull out jerking over her cheeks leaving her gripping on the table. I move backward, looking at that perfect ass paint in cum for a while feeling nothing at all. The blonde gets up, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips before she pulls her dress down and kisses my cheek.
We move back into the club and as the music pumps and the lights twinkles, a sense of clarity washes over me. The comfort I seek lies not in fleeting distractions, but in confronting my emotions head-on. With a heavy heart, I step away from the pulsating club, ready to face the pain and find healing in the light of a new day.
The air is thick with tension as I step into the meeting room, the sound of muffled voices echoing off the walls but they stop. They got the new orders and I can tell they have a say on it. New rules are in, and what I have in mind for this society is not exactly what Dad’s planned for it. The atmosphere is charged with an energy that sends a shiver down my spine.
My eyes narrow as one of my men stands before me. I can see the defiance in his eyes, the simmering anger that threatens to boil over at any moment.
“What's the problem?” I demand, my voice cold and clipped.
Frank's gaze flickers to mine, a flash of resentment crossing his features before he schools his expression into one of forced neutrality. “It's nothing, Boss.”
I step closer, my gaze boring into his with a steely intensity. “Don't lie to me,” I growl. “I can smell the bullshit a mile away.”
He shifts uncomfortably under my scrutiny, his fists clenched at his sides. “It's just... I don't think the job you gave me is worth my time.”
My jaw tightens at his insubordination, a surge of anger coursing through me. “You don't think it's worth your time?” I repeat incredulously. “You do as I say, when I say it. Is that clear?”
Frank bristles at my tone, his eyes flashing with defiance. “I'm not your puppet but Mr. Bonetti’s,” he snarls. “It’s him to whom I pledge loyalty.”
Without hesitation, I reach for the gun at my side, my fingers curling around the cold metal with a sense of resolve. “And I have a business to run,” I say calmly, leveling the gun at him. “One that doesn't tolerate insubordination.”
The man's eyes widen in fear as he realizes the gravity of the situation, his bravado crumbling in an instant. “Please,” his voice trembling. “I…I…”
But it's too late for apologies now. With a steady hand, I pull the trigger, the sound of the gunshot echoing through the room like a thunderclap. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air as the bullet found its mark. The man crumples to the ground, a pool of blood spreading beneath him as his life slips away.
I holster my gun with a sense of grim satisfaction, knowing that I've sent a clear message to anyone who dares to defy me. In this world, respect is earned through fear, and I will do whatever it takes to maintain my power and authority. “Anyone else dislike my new orders?” I peer around, “Andiamo, non siate timidi.” Come on, don’t be shy.
No one dares to say something. The silence makes me smirk. “Clean this shit.” I order as I move up to my office.
I’m just at the beginning.
It’s game on, Dad. It’s time for change.
I walk past Janet, my secretary, and nod at her. “Zack, I need a list of Seattle events, from the little to the biggest. Make sure to include the charity ones.”
“Shouldn't Janet take care of it?”
“Scusami?” Excuse me? I cock a brow at him.
“On it, Sir.” He turns around and leaves the office, undoubtedly aware that my expectations are non-negotiable.
I need to build strong connections, forge alliances with influential figures, before reaching who I want to. They fear us, whisper about our influence in hushed tones. Now, though, I want them to speak out loud. The game has begun, and I'm here to win.
Janet knocks on the glass door and comes in. “Mail delivery, Sir.”
Looking up from my papers I see her new attire and I’m glad she has followed my rules. Taking the few letters she hands me, I sigh. Why don’t people use emails? Three invitations for a charity event makes me feel like winning the jackpot but the last one leaves a bittersweet taste in my mouth.
Peering at Nicholas’ wedding invitation, jealousy consumes me entirely. Knowing he and Leila are about to tie the knot, a surge of anger courses through me, the familiar ache of longing and regret twisting in my chest. I know the bastard sent it on purpose, to throw in my face he gets whatever he wants. But I push the feelings aside, burying them beneath a facade of indifference while reading through the names on Dad’s payroll. I have more important things to focus on now, more pressing matters that demand my attention and I may have just found my gold ticket too.