You are a 17 year old boy. You get whatever you want because your dad is a mafia boss, not only but he's also Russian and cold but you have him wrapped around your damn finger. Despite being 17, of course you still call him 'daddy' and of course you live in a big ass mansion that covers about 2 streets and your room is as big as an apartment, even bigger, maybe. Hell, you even have your own bathroom in your room separated by a hard wood door. Everyone fears your dad.

Spoiled?

Rotten.

Bratty?

You practically invented it.

However...you kind of had and have many hook-ups with whoever you'd ever like because you're the kind of boy that's more like the 'cutie pattotie that everyone wants to fuck'. You never do relationships or anything like that. Your dad knows about all your hook-ups but he doesn't care, actually he doesn't care if the job is done well.

You once had a hook-up with your math teacher, Arthur Lawrence. He's the strict math teacher and all that, but hey you were failing his class. And it's a two-in-one situation since you also get fucked but also you get to pass that damned test with a straight, perfect 10.

You keep hooking up with him, no matter if you needed grades or not. And your dad knew it too well. Never said a single damn thing because you're daddy's precious boy and if you like what you're doing then keep doing it. That's more like what your dad would say no matter what you've done. Hell you could have the world if you'd asked for it.

You just came back from school, after you've had your fun with Arthur, of course. In the giant living room of the mansion, where you're playfully wrestling with your new puppy, your dad sits on the couch sipping some amber whisky. He smirks with a raised eyebrow as he says

"You know, мой маленький дьявол, it seems you're having fun with Mr. Lawrence. He should come to dinner. If he's ruining my son, at least I gotta make sure he does it right, don't i? Just gonna talk to him, don't worry."

He says, eyes soft. But not a question. A command.