The Mafia Boss Submissive

Italy. Sicily...

The security opened the back gate, and my driver drove in.

As soon as the car pulled into the compound, I jumped out and headed straight for the trap door, hidden from anyone living in the mansion.

I swung it open and climbed down the stairs that led to the secret underground bedroom, my very own hideaway.

I usually bring home some ladies to the bedroom to f**k them, but each one of them always ended up escaping in the middle of the fun, and I always think I haven't gotten the right person who will fully submit themselves to me. Luckily for this bedroom, my religious parents never knew I was up to something like this.

Well, I blame my psychological disorder, which always pushes me to do these things.

I stopped looking around the room, which I named the "Room of Pleasure". The acronym is ROP.

I climbed up the stairs and headed to my regular bedroom. I pressed the secret button hidden in the bookshelf, which caused it to open, and I entered my regular bedroom, pulling the bookshelf that separated my original bedroom and the room of pleasure closed behind me.

As I walked in, a knock came from the door.

"Is that you, Ginevra?" I called timidly.

"È mattina, Sullivan." My blonde-haired younger sister Gin spoke ' It's morning' to me in Italian walking into my room, and I raised my eyes at her as if I had just woken up.

Little did my family know that I didn't sleep at home overnight. Every evening at seven o'clock, I say goodnight to my family and retreat to my bedroom, where I secretly sneak out and go to my workplace. The details of my work are best kept secret.

"Good morning, Gin," I called, walking to the bathroom.

"You should come downstairs and have your breakfast before the doctor comes," Gin spoke English this time.

"Alrighty, I will be down in a bit," I said, entering the bathroom, and I could hear her walking out of the room.

When I finished bathing, I put on sweatpants and a T-shirt with my half-dried black hair falling to my face.

I slipped into my slippers and walked out of my room to the hallway before climbing down the well-furnished wooden staircase.

As I climbed on the last stairs and stepped on the concrete tiled floor, my mother noticed me, and she walked to me, who was looking naive, boyishly... Just name it. I'm always on this kind of expression because of my health.

"Buongiorno." My mother greeted me in Italian, hugging me.

"Good morning." I returned to my autistic behavior, and she pulled out of the hug.

"Come, let's get you breakfast before your doctor's appointment." She said, walking me to the dining, and I was limping, or, should I say, staggering, till we reached the dining.

"How was your night? Sullivan?" Dad asked as my mother helped me to sit.

"Great." This time, I was avoiding eye contact.

My mother served me my favorite meal, and I started eating childishly, with the rest of the three members of my family eating as well.

Dad started talking to Ginevra about business matters, but she didn't seem very happy about it. She had never shown any interest in inheriting the family companies, and neither had I.

I may be a patient, but I don't want to take over my adoptive parents' business. I already have my own business, and it doesn't involve inheriting their company. However, they're eager for me to take on that responsibility, so they've arranged for me to see the best doctor in Italy to make sure I get the treatment I need as quickly as possible.

"Take your brother to the guest room; he will be meeting the doctor there." Mother instructed Gin.

"No! I'm fine." I objected, stammering. "I can walk there myself," I added, standing on my feet, trying to maintain a normal standing posture.

I started walking to the guest room, and as I walked, I struggled to keep my balance. I looked at the ground as I walked; my movements were jerky and clumsy, but I maintained my balance until I reached the room.

I opened the door to the guest room and entered it. I sat on the couch, my head still lowered.

Although I have been in the early stages of autism spectrum disorder since childhood, thanks to my adoptive parents for the treatment they provided me with, and I haven't gotten worse with this disorder, I can't help behaving like one.

It took over an hour with me still on the couch, sitting with my head bowed, when the doctor who usually treated me walked in with my parents. I raised my head, avoiding eye contact with my parents or the doctor, and I greeted the doctor in Italian, who responded in English.

"How are you, Sullivan?" Mr. Fiore asked while I was still staring at nothing in particular.

"I'm... I'm fine. Thank you." I replied, blinking rapidly.

"Well, as you know, Mr. Fiore. My son needs to get better. At least, he needs to take on the family business before we get old." My dad started taking a seat beside my mother on the sofa opposite the doctor, who was seated on an armchair facing both my parents and me.

"As you know, Mr. Stone, we can't possibly rush your son's treatment. But gratefully, he's responding to treatment, and he's getting better than some patients that I know." Mr. Fiore addressed.

"Yes, I know. At least he's no longer freaking out when I hug him." Mrs. Stone, my mother added with a smile, which I saw from the corner of my eyes.

"True. And he is making quiet phone calls nowadays. Probably, he already has a friend from the internet." My dad spoke smilingly, and I almost glanced at him.

Did he eavesdrop on me while I was instructing someone who works for me on the phone?

"He's certainly showing signs of improvement," Mr. Fiore said. "Though it may take some time before he's ready to take over your businesses, and to be like everyone else out there." My parents nodded in agreement, while I sat there, trying to process everything they were saying. "If you want him to improve faster, I suggest hiring a professional to work with him regularly." He paused. "But for this to be effective, it's important to find someone who is not already part of your family or social circle," the doctor continued. "Someone who has a different personality and can relate to him in a way that's different from how you do. A lady I know from New York might be a good fit." He paused, waiting for my parents to respond. I kept my gaze averted, trying not to look directly at him.

"Someone with different personalities?" My mother repeated the doctor's words, and he nodded.

"Yes, a female." Doctor Fiore confirmed his suggestion. "With the female worker, he can learn about relationships, responsibility, clear communications, and even express certain emotions that he has never done."

"Wow, we've never thought about this." My dad said, glancing at my mother, and both of them glanced at me. I felt my anxiety rising, and my eyes were about to pop out of my head.