Michael Clifford, the son of the infamous mafia leader Monte Clifford. He was destined for a world of danger and violence. A world full of powerful men and women surrounding him, either wanting his power or his life just because of who he was relate...
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3 - War
Michael hadn't said a word ever since he left his dad's office. He was pissed about this whole situation.
He didn't say a word to them when they left his house, when they went on their six hour drive ride, or even when they arrived to their safe house. Michael didn't know what state they were in; he wasn't paying attention during the car ride. All he could focus on was how much he disliked this.
They were in the middle of some large city, however. He could tell because of the traffic, the amount of people walking up and down the streets, and the seemingly endless stores and restaurants littering the blocks.
His eyes took in the small house they pulled in front of. He followed the men into the said house, walking throughout his rooms to start to get used to his new environment.
It was nothing fancy, but also nothing terrible. It was all plain and simple. A regular two bedroom house with one bathroom, one kitchen, one living room, and one garage where Luke went to park the black SUV.
"This is your room." Michael suddenly heard when he was taking in the bigger bedroom. He turned around, seeing Calum walking in with his bags. Calum plopped Michael's bags on the bed before towering over him, "Do whatever you want with your stuff in here."
"Shouldn't I take the small bedroom?" He finally said something to one of them.
Calum went silent for a few seconds, looking down at the smaller man. Michael hated how taller he was than him.
"Why?"
"Since it's just going to be me in here. Shouldn't you three have the bigger room?"
Calum suddenly chuckled darkling, making Michael furrow his eyebrows in confusion. What was he missing?
"At least one of us will be with you at all times. That includes when you're asleep."
Michael's eyes widened, "There is no fucking way I'm sharing my room—much less my bed—with one of you!"
"Too bad, cupcake, because that's exactly what's going to happen."
"Ugh!" Michael groaned, "Whatever. Just let me unpack."
Michael heard movement, but he quickly heard it stop. He narrowed his eyes at Calum who was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed with his brown eyes set right onto Michael.
"What are you doing?"
"Did you not just hear what I said? At least one of us will be with you at all times."
"Fucking hell." Michael muttered before glaring at Calum, "We are in a small ass house. You don't need to be five feet from me. Make it at least ten."
"No can do."
"I swear to fucking god..." Michael muttered under his breathe until he finally snapped, "Get the fuck away from me, Calum!"
Michael's order was sharp with displeasure and hate, expecting Calum to listen. He did not expect to see Calum's once teasing persona turn into something dark and deadly.
Because before he knew it, Michael felt his back hit the wall with a violent crash. Calum was looming over him, sending him a warning glare.
"What are you doing?" Michael seethed out, completely enraged.
"You don't get to order me around, Clifford."
"Like you said: I'm a Clifford. You're not in charge of me and you can't tell me what to do."
"Oh, sweetheart...You might be a Clifford, but you're definitelynot the one in charge here."
"Fuck off." Michael glared at him.
"Gladly. But you're stuck with us and we're stuck with you while the war continues."
"Then let's pray my father ends the Sorentties once and for all, for good."
"You really are already tired of us?" Calum smirked, obviously entertained by Michael's annoyance.
"Tired isn't even close to how I feel about you three."
"Well get used to it, Clifford. You can pray all you want, but this war isn't anywhere close to ending soon."
