MOTM Chapter 1 on AO3
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“Clean up on aisle six,” I deadpanned, looking at the poor schmoe that I’d offed. His brains were scattered along the back wall of the dingy warehouse. I’d found out that he was trying to skim off some of the profits from numerous gun sales in the city and selling to kids.
That’s a no-no.
Yes, I’m a part of the mob, but selling to kids was never a good thing.
“Jas, you got this?” I asked.
“I’ve got a crew on the way, boss,” he said, smiling widely. Jasper was my right-hand man/bodyguard. Not that I needed one. I was the best shot in my family. “You were awesome, Edward. Mid-sentence and then, bam! He never saw it coming.”
“Yeah, well,” I shrugged. “Make sure that this is cleaned up and I’ll see you back at the office. I need to work off some aggressions. His revelations pissed me off.” I said as I gestured to the mess on the floor. I stuffed my gun back into my holster, leaving the warehouse. I drove to one of my long-time fuck-buddies, Kate. I fucked her for an hour, losing myself in her tight pussy and her breathless moans. When I was done, I felt much calmer and could start my day.
My legit business.
Yeah, I lived a double life.
By day, I was a businessman, a multi-millionaire, a real-estate mogul and venture capitalist. It was the cover for my less-than-stellar, highly illegal night job as the heir-apparent for the Cullen Crime Consortium. We dabbled in a lot of things, but our main focus was selling guns and drugs. My father, Carlisle Cullen, was the head of the family. He took over after his father, and my namesake, Edward Cullen, Sr., was killed by Aro Volturi, our arch nemesis. We took revenge, killing Aro. His moronic grandson, Marcus, took over and things had not been the same for the Volturi since. However, we kept a close eye on their dealings. Marcus tended to partner with people smarter than him.
I stopped at my penthouse apartment, changing out of black clothing and showering. I put on a crisp grey suit, driving to Cullen Towers and riding up to my lavish penthouse office. Angela, my personal assistant, was waiting at the elevator. “Mr. Cullen, I’m so glad you’re here.” She handed me my coffee and walked with me. “We’ve had several offers on that large building on the near-north.”
“Any full-price offers?” I asked, tossing my briefcase onto the leather sofa.
“No, sir,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “The closest offer is almost two-hundred thousand dollars below asking price.”
“Let me see,” I said, taking the files from her hands. I read them, scanning the offers. “Counter the most expensive offer, meet them halfway and reach out to them about their business plan for this club they want to offer. See if they want an investor. The idea sounds intriguing.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, grinning. “You’ve got a ten o’clock meeting with a prospective client, wanting to sell their restaurant and relocate to a bigger, better location. Then, you have a late lunch with your father at one. He said you cannot cancel. It’s imperative you meet with him. His words, exactly.”
“Fuck,” I growled.
“You have a strict nonfraternization policy, Mr. Cullen,” Angela quipped. “And I’m married.”
“You’re hysterical, Ang,” I snorted. She smirked. “Anything after lunch with dear old dad?”
“A couple of showings, but I can reassign them to one of your junior associates,” Angela nodded.
“Do that, Angela. You know how I get after I meet with Daddy dearest,” I sighed. “Thanks.”
She gave me a curt smile, darting out of the office and I loaded up my laptop. I looked over several business plans, seeing if any of them had merit for me to provide capital as an investor. Shortly before ten, my clients came and I met with them. We discussed selling their current restaurant and purchasing a larger space to expand their business to include catering. They already had an offer on a building, but needed help selling their current location. I took them on as clients, sending them to the restaurant with my younger brother, Emmett.
“Edward, don’t forget your lunch with your father,” Angela called over the intercom. “It’s nearly one.”
“Thanks, Angela,” I said, grabbing my cell phone. I rode down to the basement, hopping into the limousine that was waiting for me. Inside the limo, sat my father. “Hello, Carlisle.”
“Edward,” he said, arching a brow. We kissed cheeks, settling into the leather seats. “I see that Angela got you to meet with me. You should give that girl a raise.”
“I pay her more than enough, Carlisle,” I said. “Now, what is so important that you have to schedule time with my personal assistant?”
Angela Weber-Cheney (Edward's Assistant)
Uncle Jimmy Swan
Edward's Aston Martin
Edward's Gun of Choice ... a Desert Eagle