The Under Boss's Ballerina [18+]

14

I finished the cigarette throwing the nonsmokeable bit on the ground crushing it with the toe of my Testoni shoe.

Realising it was time, I buttoned the single button on my suit and walked toward the entrance, the shades still covering my eyes.

The royalty hotel and restaurants stood on the heart of Athens, Greece owned by Richardson group of industries, inc.

A serveuse stood by the reception side, dressed in baby blue uniform as she welcomed me.

"This way, signore Giovanni." The women said in her Greek accent with a flattering smile as she lead the way, with me following behind, to a VIP lounge.

"Mister Richardson, sir." The waitress announced. "Angelo Giovanni for you, sir."

I stepped onto the finely furnished however small room, taking off my dark shades.

The room was occupied by a mini bar and a rectangular table completely set up with utensils for lunch as Aron Richardson sat at the head of the table, a black leather folder in hand, hairs greying to the sides, reading glasses on place.

"Angelo." He greeted with a smile lingering on the corner of his lips as he stood up from his seat extending a hand for a shake.

Papa. "Mr. Richardson." I greeted.

The man's smile slightly died down. "Take a seat, take a seat."

Nodding, I took my seat on the other end of the table and cross my finger resting my elbows on the table.

"The rest of the family, will be joining us shortly, I hope you don't mind, I wished to talk to you alone, son."

"Sure." I replied impassively.

"I was going over my will, and I realized that, you in fact have the right over the family business as much as my other sons as the eldest and the first born, I wished to make some amends on the previously made will that will of course be executed after my demise-"

"I do not, want or need tour money, Mr. Richardson." I said before he got a chance to finish his sentence. "I was requested by my mother to join you for lunch and so here I am, putting enough dents in my life, having lunch with you, neither your money nor your life interests me, if you will." I said.

"Angelo." He sighs. "I am your father."

"You're not." I replied composed and calm. "You made me, sure, but you're not my father, you've never been my father, Mr. Richardson. And I don't want to you to start being my father."

"Angelo, whatever you deny or do not deny, doesn't change the fact that my blood runs through your veins, you're my flesh, my blood, my son, surely in the last twenty eight years I've neglected my duties to you, but I want to start, and I want to start by including you in my will."

"I am no beggar, Mr. Richardson." I reply, the fact that he's offering me money, makes my skin crawl with disgust.

"Angelo, as my eldest you have right on my belongings." He says.

The door opens again. "Mrs. Richardson and master Richardson, for you." The same serveuse announces stepping back letting the women, years younger then mama, body clad in a dress inappropriate for her age and blond hairs styled with perfection, enters the room, followed by two boys.