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"I see you still haven't learned how to knock." My father stated behind his desk, puffing on an expensive cigar in his equally expensive suit. I glanced over to see my mother sitting on his desk, leaning against his chest with her cheeks flushed.

What the fuck did I just walk into.

"Sorry to interrupt." I said as I eyed them awkwardly while I walked to a cabinet. I swung it open, and grabbed an emergency medical kit and walked over to a couch in the corner of the office.

Noticing what I was wearing, my father quickly covered his eyes, mumbling a curse under his breath as he shook his head.

Due to my father's position he needed to be an intimidating man, and being a 6'3 trigger happy Mafia boss, it wasn't hard for him. His tan skin and dark features made him look exotic. His black hair was always styled in a long crew cut. My father always tried to be clean shaved, yet he always had a five-o-clock shadow adorning his sharp jawline at the end of the day. Even at the age of forty-seven he worked out every single day, and would happily take down anyone who stood in his way.

"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 before looking back up at her unphased.

I got most of my features from my mother. We shared the same icy blue eyes, high and pronounced cheekbones, full heart shaped lips, and a slightly upturned nose. My mother was the type of woman that was naturally beautiful, and only wore makeup for special occasions. My mother had never taken a liking to fighting and was delicate. But what she lacked in muscle, she made up for in brains. She was the glue and the heart that kept this organization running, and my father often relied on her intuition and knowledge to help run the legal side of his businesses.

"Oh this?" I laughed. "It's better than bleeding out." I said sarcastically as I placed my jacket next to me and nodded towards my arm. The blood had now completely soaked through the white fabric of my shirt, causing blood to drip down my arm and onto the hardwood floor. She bit her tongue, but concern flashed over her eyes as she looked at my wound.

My mother should have been used to this lifestyle by now, and the dangers that came with it. She never approved of the lifestyle I'd chosen, mainly because unlike other Mafia heirs I was actually given a choice.

For as long as I could remember, my father had been grooming me to take over the Mafia. He trained me personally in sharp shooting, Taekwondo, Jiu jitsu, and any other martial art form that would help me survive the dangers that came with this lifestyle. My rigorous training ended when I turned eighteen, and my parents gave me the option of having a semi-normal life. But instead, I chose to continue what my ancestors started. To me, it was a privilege and an honor to carry on the Grey name, as well as someday lead this glorious Mafia.

But my mother was born into a normal life. She was studying to be a neuroscientist when she witnessed a murder by none other than Xavier Grey, my father. He swore her into Omertà, and it's been happily ever after since. Three years later she became Beverly Grey and a year after that their favorite child was born: me.

My parents were the typical power couple. But the thing I admired most about them wasn't their businesses, the Mafia, or their financial success. It was their relationship. Even after being together for decades, they still acted like newlyweds most of the time.

It was nauseating, but cute.

"It's just a scratch, mom." I reassured her with a smile as I took out all the necessary equipment to stitch myself up. I didn't like others touching me.

I grabbed a cloth and started to clean the wound. It burned like hell, but I showed no emotion and hid my discomfort from my worrying mother.

Silence filled the air until my father awkwardly cleared his throat.

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