Meet Giorgio Sultan, a twenty-nine-year-old successful and feared tycoon known for his calculated and predatory nature when it comes to money and business. He has looks, wealth, power, and fame. And, don't forget the accent that has a way of making...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER THREE | THE FAMILY BLACKMAIL
February 22 7:47 PM Sultan-Castellano Estate
Giorgio's P.O.V
I slowly made my way into the grand foyer of the estate that been in my father's family for generations. It still looked the same since the last time I visited, and that was nearly five years ago. The only real changes are the fresh flowers and the floral scent that hung in the air.
"Well. The horny devil appears," the sarcastic voice could only belong to one person, my sister "you made quite the headlines this week. Three females this time, I'm surprised that little member of yours is still hanging on to you."
I turn to see my younger sister, Audrey as she made her way down the staircase. She of course dressed head to toe in custom designer labels that her soon to be husband inevitably brought, unknowingly of course. Her skin had that deep sun-kissed tan from her trip in The Bahamas she mentions all over social media.
My sister is what I call a born to be trophy wife, as she never really did any laborious work in her twenty-five years. I mean, she has done some modeling, but it's not a steady career. She is just like her friends, relying mainly on their trust funds, allowances from parents, and the money of their husbands or sugar daddies. Then there is the money she makes from promotion brands on her social media accounts.
Audrey is the opposite of a lot of women in our family. Most of the women either hold positions within one of our family's businesses or have their own. While on the other hand, there are a few who are the typical trophy wives and housewives.
"Its far from little," I insured her as I made my way down the hall in search of our parents, "where are they?"
"In the library, waiting on you, of course," she pointed out as she followed me to the library.
"Do you know what they want with me?"
"As if I would you tell you," she teased as we entered the library.
Near the window, my mother sat reading a fashion magazine, looking elegant as ever. Our father stood by the fireplace with his favorite drink in his hand, bourbon.
"Giorgio, it's good to see you," my mother chirped as she stood and made her way over to me, her honey-brown hair flowing behind her "you look so big and strong!"
"Good to see you too."
She gave me one of those motherly hugs. The ones you get as if you are about to go to war. For a small woman, she had strength in those arms of hers.
"Now, let me have a good look at you," pulling away from our embrace to stare me before slapping me across the face "why the hell I have to birth such a man whore. The only time I see you is when you on the news whoring around. Why can't you keep your dick in your pants?"
