But Daddy! I Love Him!

Chapter 1 - Daddy's Little Soldier

“The city of Daggerpoint is a beast of its own making!”

It was Mayor Jonathan Calloway on the television, standing at his podium in a coal-gray suit and crimson tie, the heel of one hand pressed to the pine beside his notes. Lazing on the sofa in the den of the DiFausti safehouse in the inconspicuous coat and jeans she’d worn earlier to unload some contraband to a forgettable middleman uptown, Vittoria lit up her cigarette and shook her head. “Look at him, with his cheekbones and his skinny little wrists. Where’d you get the suit, Calloway? Borrow it from your dad?”

Onscreen, the newly elected mayor went on: “Today, I stand before you not with empty promises or rehearsed platitudes, but with a clear mission. Our city—our home—has been left in the grip of crime, corruption, and decay for far too long. The streets that should belong to families, workers, and honest businesses have been overrun by violence, fear, and lawlessness. That ends now!”

“Soire it do, soire it do,” drawled Jack ‘Two-Times’ Johnson, perched on the arm of the couch. (They called him that because he always repeated himself.)

“For too many years, you have been told that crime is just part of life in this city,” Mayor Calloway went on.

“Well, ain’t it?” grumbled Sid ‘The Shiv’ Sinclair, somewhere in the back with his beer. (They called him that because he shanked a guy once while he was doing hard time.

“You’ve been told it’s an unsolvable problem, that we should look the other way, that we should accept it. Well…I refuse! I ran for office on the belief that no child should have to hear gunfire as a lullaby.”

“I’unno, I’ve always liked the sound of guns, myself,” remarked Nick ‘Nine-Lives’ Napoleoni. (They called him that because none of the cops had managed to kill him yet, despite his illustrious track record of opening fire first.)

“No business owner should have to live in fear of closing their doors forever because of theft and extortion!”

“Hell if they don’t ask for it,” said Freddie ‘Blackout’ Fratelli. (They called him that because he made people disappear, permanently, and you’d never see him coming.)

“This administration will not tolerate the status quo! We will fight for every block, every street corner, every neighborhood! First, we will put criminals on notice. If you peddle poison in our communities, if you rob, if you assault, if you terrorize the innocent, you will face the full force of the law. We will give our police officers the resources they need to take back our streets. We will target the gangs that have turned our neighborhoods into battlegrounds. We will ensure that repeat offenders do not walk free to victimize the people of this city again!

“Second, we will root out the corruption that enables crime to flourish. No more backroom deals, no more dirty money trickling into the halls of law enforcement. If you wear a badge or hold an office in this city and you betray the people you swore to serve, you will answer for it.”

“Will they, though?” snickered Ray ‘Red Hands’ Ricardo. (They called him that because he was always fresh off a job, usually a bloody one.)

“Third, we will not just punish crime—we will prevent it. The people who threaten the peace of our townspeople’s lives will be made a proper example of,” Calloway began to wrap it up, “with the toughest sentences that can be carried out, and the media coverage to discourage copycats. Would-be lawbreakers will quake in fear at the IDEA of stepping a toe out of line!”

Suddenly, the screen went black. Startling in her seat, Vittoria turned around, hooking one arm over the backrest of the sofa, to see her father walking in, the spare remote squeezed so tightly in his grip, she thought it might shatter in his hand.

Gino DiFausti stood tall in his pinstriped suit, his sneer as cold as his temper was hot. “Figures. FUCKING figures!” he snapped. “Just when you think you’ve put one problem in the ground, up pops another. Tori, honey? I need you to take care of him.”

Vittoria tilted her head. Over the years, she’d done many jobs for the city’s most fearsome crime lord: she maintained his books, she delivered drugs and weapons for him, and she handled the upkeep of the safehouse’s kitchen and cellar, making sure the boys always had full bellies and clean laundry. Playing mother hen to the ‘family’ had its perks, but she’d never been asked to take part in an assassination before.

It was a little late now, however, for her to say anything other than ‘yes, Daddy’. Besides, defying the boss was a bad idea, even as his only daughter: he wouldn’t harm a hair on her head, but he could still make her life a living Hell.

“Sure,” she shrugged, as if killing a politician was no biggie. “Who’s coming with me?”

“Whaddya mean? This is a solo job.”

As the weight of his words settled upon her, she felt as though the blood had frozen in her veins. “Well, whaddya mean a solo job?”

“That’s what he said, ain’t it?” said Jack. Then, turning to Gino, he added, “That’s what you said, Boss, ain’t it?”

“But I can’t fight,” said Vittoria. “I can’t shoot–”

“Look,” explained Gino, “a hit like this has gotta be done on the sly. It can’t look violent, and he can’t just disappear. But you, Tori? Pretty face, set of gams like that…”

An involuntary ‘ugh’ slipped out of her throat.

“I’m just sayin’!” said Gino. “If you wasn’t my own flesh and blood–”

It was all Vittoria could do not to snap back in disgust. Luckily, Freddie beat her to the punch: “Not really helping your case there, Boss.”

“Look, Calloway’s just a guy, okay? You get close to him and then…”

“Then what?” she asked as he trailed off.

“Well, you can figure that out, can’t ya? You got that big brain of yours. You like the life you’re living, right? With your fine champagne and caviar? Your own box at the stadium, your private booth at the Colonial? Be a shame if this putz puts all the guys behind bars who fund it all, yeah? Think of it as a personal investment.”

She knew refusal was not an option…but, thinking about it, she realized orders like this gave her an incredible amount of bargaining power. At last, she stood and walked around the sofa to meet him. “Of course I can do it, Daddy. But once I pull it off, I expect things to change around here.”

“Change how?”

“Once Calloway’s gone, I’m gonna take a little holiday off from my duties. Permanently. I want to dine with male models and millionaires from Paris and Barcelona. I want to fly to the most beautiful beaches all around the world. From now on, I’m gonna be your little princess. Not your accountant, or your maid, and definitely not your soldier.”

For a moment, he studied her. Something like hurt flashed in his eyes, and she almost regretted saying what she’d said. But then, he extended a hand, and she met him halfway in a firm handshake, just like he’d taught her.

“You got yourself a deal, kid.”

***

Jonathan knew he had impressed people with his speech at his charity gala, but as the applause began to quiet in the ballroom of the Grand Luxe Hotel, he was grateful to have gotten it over with. He’d heard it said that the true mark of a man’s bravery was not his lack of fears, but his ability to face those fears–in his case, public speaking.

Didn’t make it any easier on his nerves.

Under the soft glow of the golden lights overhead, he made his way through the crowd in handshakes and muttered gratitude for each congratulation until finally, he arrived at the bar. He didn’t intend to get sloppily drunk or anything–just take the edge off, that was all. However, the stocky, gruff-looking fellow in a vest and tie tending bar poured them strong.

It was as he sipped his second Tom Collins that he saw HER walking up.

Earlier in the night, he’d noticed her from across the room, the beauty in the royal blue gown, her burgundy hair falling to the middle of her back in a cascade of loose curls, mingling in the crowd with a drink ever in her hand…but this event, like most of them, was full of pretty women in nice dresses. What drew his attention was that in a crowd of the same familiar faces, she was new to him.

When she reached the counter, he decided to be the first to speak: after all, was it not important for him to get to know his constituents?

And the sultry sidelong glance she gave him made it oh so easy to want to get to know her.

“Word in the rumor mill is that you made an unprecedented donation to the Junior Anti-Drug League,” he mentioned. She turned to face him, resting one elbow against the bar next to her glass of spent ice.

“It’s true,” she replied. Up close and personal, she was more breathtaking than he’d been prepared for, her dark eyes wide and wide-set like a woodland doe’s, her pouty lips curled into the most shy little ghost of a smile. But despite her innocent appearance, he soon found her words carried an edge: “I hope you won’t be offended to learn that I only did it to get in the door…see what all the hoopla was about, and all.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t think our youth deserve self-advocacy when it comes to the ongoing war on drugs?”

“I think,” she said, “that it’s the government fatcats up top who are always funneling all that smack into underprivileged neighborhoods in the first place.”

If she’d wounded him, he quickly covered it up with a dismissive scoff. “That may be true of my predecessors, but I’m nothing like them.”

“Really? We’re doing ‘I’m not like other politicians’ now?” she asked, her face still a serene mask in spite of her bold words. Just how many of those drinks had she had?

“I’ll have you know, my family made their fortune in philanthropy.”

“So you’d have me know you come from a long line of professional tax-evaders? Gotcha.”

His eyes narrowed. “May I buy you a drink?”

“No,” she said, “but you can let me buy you one. Wouldn’t want you to think I’m only after your money.”

“Why would I think that?”

“Isn’t that what all the girls want?” she ventured. “That’s why you’re all business, all the time, isn’t it?”

“And who says that?”

“Everyone!”

As the bartender set down their fresh drinks, he asked, “So, have you got a name, or…?”

***

While Mayor Calloway had been occupied making his rounds amongst Daggerpoint’s elite, Vittoria had spent the days leading up to the gala studying VHS recordings of his latest speeches and monitoring his moves in the papers with a thoroughness that bordered on obsession. To win the attention of a man as important as he, she would have to stand out from the rest of the flock of women no doubt throwing themselves at him, all pandering to the sense of justice he placed at the forefront of his public image. He had ambition in spades, but she doubted that alone was enough to blind him to the fact that women would say anything they thought he wanted to hear for a shot at a place on his arm.

Playing the part of the outspoken doubter was a risky move on her part, but she suspected from her observations–and her suspicion grew more confirmed the longer they talked–that he had a thirst to prove himself as the ultimate altruist.

So far, forcing him to do that was working for her.

“Tori,” she introduced herself.

“No last name?”

“Why, so you can look me up in the phone book? No thanks,” she countered. “I’ll decide myself whether I want to surrender my number.” She raised her glass and drank deeply. (It was Freddie behind the bar tonight; the temping agencies that staffed these events couldn’t background-check their way out of a wet paper sack. So far, this had been her fourth tonic and tonic with a lemon wedge.)

“What I want to know is this,” said the Mayor between dignified sips of mostly straight gin. “You don’t believe in my politics…you don’t want my money…so why DID you come over here?”

“You should learn to have as much confidence in your dashing good looks as you have in the future of your administration,” she said.

And with that appeal to his ego, that scrap thrown at him after her prolonged withholding of the validation he craved, her hook sunk into him: “So, Tori…do you dance?”

A few dances–and a few drinks (and ‘drinks’) later–they were sitting on a sofa in the hotel lobby, exchanging their lives’ stories.

Well, sort of.

He revealed that as a kid, he used to drive a paper route, despite his family fortune: his parents insisted the job would build character and teach him the value of a dollar. From behind his bike’s handlebars, he bore witness firsthand to the corruption of the city before the sun came up: gambling debts settled with broken bones, cops looking the other way, the desperate looks in the sunken eyes of the city’s most impoverished. He admired his parents, but it didn’t take long for him to decide that one day, he would clean up the city, and to do that, he’d need to do far more than simply collect money for charity.

“And what about you? What do your mom and dad–?”

“Well, my mom died when I was a baby, so really it’s just been me and Daddy,” she said, and that much was true. “He’s…difficult, but he knows how to do business.”

“And what business is that?”

“He’s got fingers in a lot of pies. Mostly drugs…medicine, I mean.”

“I see,” said the Mayor. “Is he with anyone I might know? Wyeth? Fisons?”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that. More…homeopathic,” she lied, but she’d already woven enough truth into her ‘backstory’ to make her fabrications seem plausible.

“Oh, so placebos.”

She affected a small grin. “Glad to see you can dish it as well as you take it.”

“You like that, do you?” He’d started slurring two drinks ago, and by now, she knew she had him.

“I like a man who’s not afraid to meet me blow for blow. A man who takes what he wants.”

“In that case…” He leaned in, speaking low near her ear, so close she could feel the heat of his breath. “Why don’t I ‘take’ you home to my estate?”

Vittoria smiled a little wider, letting her fingers graze the lapel of his suit. "I thought you’d never ask."

He was gone for a minute or two, to ‘make a quick phone call’, before returning to lead her through a discreet side exit, where a sleek black limousine awaited them. The city lights blurred through the tinted windows as they pulled away, the hum of the engine thrumming beneath them.

"Tori, you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met at one of these things," he said. "You’re like…you’re like a jigsaw puzzle, or something."

There, in the backseat, it was her turn to close the distance between them, and as their lips nearly brushed, she said, "Then I guess you’ll just have to keep me around long enough to put me together."

His hand brushed against hers. A soft laugh escaped his throat. "Oh, I will. But first? Tonight? I’m going to tear you apart."

Soon, the mansion loomed ahead, its wrought-iron gates parting like the jaws of a beast.

The seduction had begun.

And she could smell the salty air of far-off beaches and taste the sweetness of freedom already.