by B. B. Hamel
“This is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, shaking my head in utter surprise. “I’ve been offered some shit in the past, Roger. But never someone’s own daughter.”
“I told you this was stupid,” the girl hissed. “I don’t even want to be here.”
“Shut up,” Roger snapped at her then looked at me. “I know you guys are involved in girls. Maybe you can… you can use her there.”
I cocked my head to the side. “You want me to make your own daughter a hooker?” I looked at her, top to bottom, and shrugged. “She’s definitely beautiful enough. What do you think, Aida? You want to work for me, pay off your father’s debt?”
“I’d rather you put a bullet in both our heads,” she said, meeting my gaze.
I couldn’t help but smile.
“Damn,” Gino said, grinning. “That’s some cold shit right there. That girl has stones.”
“Ignore her,” Roger said. “Shut up, Aida. Shut the hell up.” He was sweating, visible even in the rain. “She’ll work for you, she’ll be your wife, shit, she’ll clean your house. Whatever you need, Dante, you can have. Please, she’s the only good thing in my life, and I’m giving her to you as penance.”
I nodded my head slowly and looked back at the girl. She glared right back, not looking away, and I found it oddly exciting. Most women knew me, and most of them either tried to fuck their way into my wallet, or ran in the opposite direction. The smart ones ran, the stupid ones fucked me, and the rest were too afraid to make a move either way.
This girl though, she was interesting. Beautiful and the daughter of a notorious scumbag. I don’t know how I didn’t know about her, considering I knew everyone in the city. I stepped toward her and she didn’t move away, although her father took a big step back, leaving her there alone in the light of my SUV. She stared at me, a mix of defiance and anger in her expression. I stopped a foot away from her and looked down at her body as she glared back up at me.
“What do you think?” I asked her softly. “You want to come back with me? Be my wife?”
Her eyes went wide. She didn’t speak for a moment, but her hands dropped down. She bit her lip and tilted her head to the side. “You want to… marry me.”
I smirked. “Maybe. Not yet though. I want to ask you something first.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you think I should spare your father?”
She hesitated and looked back at him. Roger’s eyes went wide. “Aida,” he hissed.
“Yes,” she said, though she didn’t sound convinced.
“And if I do, you’ll come with me? Live with me? Doesn’t seem like the sort of thing he should be able to do.”
“He’s a piece of shit,” she said. “But he’s still my father. I’ll do what I have to do to save his life.”
“Even if I make you work for me?”
She flinched. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Honest. I like that. But don’t worry, you’re not a working girl. I can see that in your eyes already.”
“So what do you want to do with me then?”
I smiled and let my eyes wander her body. I could think of a few things I wanted to do with her. I moved closer, leaned toward her, and she didn’t pull away. I let my lips brush against her cheek as I moved them close to her ear. “I’ll keep you safe,” I said.
“Boss,” Steven said before I could elaborate. I stepped back and she stared at me with surprise. “We should get moving. Wrap this up.”
I nodded once and tilted my head. “Well, Aida?”
“Are you going to spare him?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged.
She clenched her jaw again and glared back at her father. “You’re a piece of shit,” she said. “And you don’t deserve me.” But she turned back to me and took a step forward. “I’ll come.”
“Gino,” I said. “Take our new guest and get her in the car.”
“Yes, boss,” Gino said with a barely concealed smile. He walked over and gently took Aida by the arm, leading her away.
I caught Steven’s gaze and he rolled his eyes. “You finished?” he said.
“I’m finished.”
“Good.” He glanced back as Gino put Aida into the car and shut the door.
“All right,” Roger said. “Okay, boss. You’ve got the money. And my daughter. Boss, I’m so sorry, Dante. I swear, I’ll never fuck up again, I’ll never fuck up ever again.”
I slipped my hand under my nylon jacket and pulled the Glock from the back of my waistband in one smooth, practiced movement. I stepped up to Roger, held the gun out, and pressed the muzzle against his forehead.
He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
“Sorry,” I said.
And pulled the trigger.
The gunshot burst out as Roger’s skull shattered and his body slumped to the blacktop at my feet. The sound of the gunshot ricocheted off the brick front of the school and bounced down along the avenue.
Steven sighed. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Yeah, I know.” I grinned at him and wiped the muzzle of my gun on Roger’s shirt before slipping it back into my pants. I could hear screaming from the car and Gino came out, cursing. He slammed the door shut.
“Fuck, she’s flipping out,” he said.
I shrugged. “Get the plastic. Let’s wrap this up.”
He cursed and went around to the back of the car. He opened the trunk, pulled out a big roll of plastic, and carried it over. Together, we wrapped Roger’s body up, sealed it off with tape, then lugged it back to the car. Aida was curled up in the back seat, sobbing quietly on the floor. I helped shove Roger’s corpse into the trunk and slammed the door shut.
We got back in the car. Gino hesitated before climbing in, then looked at the girl on the floor. “Don’t flip out again,” he said. “Seriously. Fuck.”
She said nothing, just kept crying.
Steven gave me a look then turned the car around. We left Roger’s car where it was. The police would pick it up sooner or later and dispose of it, but it wasn’t like that mattered. Nobody would miss Roger, or at least nobody that mattered.
Only the girl on the floor of my SUV, crying her eyes out.
“Drop me off at the bakery,” I grunted at Steven. “I’ll handle the body. You and Gino take Aida back to my place in Mt. Airy.”
Steven frowned. “You sure about that?”
“Lock her up, make sure she’s safe.”
“Boss—”
“Do it,” I barked.
Steven just nodded and didn’t argue.
I turned around and looked at her. She was curled up on the floor, like a tiny butterfly broken and hiding. I felt bad for her, but I really had no other choice.
Vlas was the son of the Russian mafia’s boss. He was a Capo in his own right, and a powerful guy in the city. And we had a very deep and very mutual fucking hatred.
Things hadn’t been good between our families for some time. There hadn’t been all-out war, not yet at least. The Leone Family could handle a war with the Russians if that was what it came to, and I knew that my boss and fellow Capos would be up for the challenge, but everyone agreed that war wasn’t profitable. Things were good, we were making a lot of money, and nobody wanted to start the blood flooding the streets.
Once bodies began to pile up, that was when the cops came sniffing around, and cops were very bad for business.
“I couldn’t let him go,” I said to the girl. “You had to know that.”
She looked up at me, her eyes red, tears on her cheeks. “Fuck you. You didn’t have to take me. Fuck you.”
I nodded once. “Yeah, I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” I said. “You’ll thank me for it.”
“Fuck you,” she said again and looked away.
I sat forward and let out a sigh as Steven glanced at me, a frown on his face, but said nothing.
Fucking Roger. Fucking Aida.
I should’ve left her there in that parking lot. She was a
liability, and I knew she would eventually cost me something more than I was willing to pay.
But I didn’t have the heart.
Maybe it was weakness, or maybe it was something else. But the idea of cutting her loose was worse than the alternative. She hated me at the moment, and I couldn’t blame her. I’d hate me too if I had done that. But she’ll come to understand why I did what I did, and maybe she’ll forgive me.
Doesn’t matter either way. I killed her father to avoid further bloodshed. There was no getting around that one. He had to die, even if I personally would’ve forgiven the stupid bastard. Vlas wanted his head, and so Vlas would get the fucking head.
Bastard dug his own grave. That wasn’t me.
We drove through the silent, rain-slicked Philly streets, and I thought about what it felt like to lose my own parents, their blood sticky thick in my memory.
2
Aida
I woke in a strange bed in a strange room tangled in light blue scratchy sheets. I was still in my jeans and tank top, and I kicked away the blanket as I sat up and stared at my surroundings.
The walls were white and bare. There was a small closet with an old brown door in one corner. A nightstand sat next to the bed with my phone on top of it. There was a dresser with chipped gray paint and one missing drawer. A fake sunflower sat in a vase on top of it. I stared at the fake flower for a long moment as the memories of the night before came creeping back.
I saw Dante smiling at me, moving closer, his lips nearly brushing mine as he whispered in my ear. I felt the thrill run down my spine as that handsome monster moved closer. He was tall, muscular, hair casually swept back, light blue eyes almost smiling, almost laughing. His full lips never quite pulled into a full grin though, always a sideways approximation.
Then I heard the gunshot again. I saw them wrapping Dad up in a sheet of plastic.
I shut my eyes and tried to push it away.
Slowly, I got out of bed. My sneakers were on the floor nearby. I walked over, picked them up, and grabbed my phone. I tested the doorknob, found it unlocked, and stepped out into the hall. The hardwood floor creaked as I moved, and I winced with every noise, but I tried to move as quietly as I could. I passed a bathroom on the right, another bedroom on the left, and came to a set of stairs that led down. I hesitated, listening, before creeping down them as slowly as I could.
When I got to the bottom, I could see the front door. A big half-moon window sat at the top, covered with a light blue curtain. It was painted red, the knob was gold, and it looked like it was new. I took one step toward it before I heard a noise and looked over my shoulder down a short hall.
Standing framed in a doorway was Dante.
I wanted to scream. Instead, I squared my shoulders and looked at him with all the hate I could muster, which was a lot in the moment.
I didn’t love my dad. He’d barely been around when I was growing up. I was raised by my mother until I was sixteen. She died of cancer that year, and at the end of her life, my dad began to show up more and more. He wasn’t a good person, was drinking half the time, and high the rest of it, but he was there for my mother emotionally at least. He talked to her when she was afraid, soothed her when she was sick, and held her hand at the very end. I hated him growing up, but in that moment, I gained a little bit of respect for him.
And then he moved in and took everything my mother left behind.
Bit by bit, he sold it all, blew through her money, and left me with nothing but the few things I could lock away in my room and keep from him.
He drifted in and out of my life for years after that. I took care of myself, got a job after school. I was lucky that the house was paid off, and my aunt helped out as much as she could. I took some classes at the community college and got a job as a secretary for a law firm downtown, and things were looking okay for me.
Until my father came to me in the middle of the night three days ago and explained that if I didn’t help him, he would die.
I don’t know why I agreed. Maybe it was the memory of him holding my mother’s hand, stroking her hair, whispering soothing words in her ear. Maybe it was the way she looked at him and cried, and the way he didn’t pull back from those tears, but embraced her.
So I agreed to help him. I knew it might cost me everything, but I had to try, at least for her. I knew she’d want me to.
“Morning,” Dante said.
“Where am I?” I asked in a rush.
“My house,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Do you remember last night?”
I nodded once. “I remember you killing my dad.” I choked on that last word and felt like an idiot, but didn’t turn away.
Dante looked at me for a long moment. He wore a tight black shirt and black gym shorts. His hair was pushed back, but there was a sheen of sweat on him, like he’d just been working out. I hated myself a little bit but my eyes roamed his body and I couldn’t stop the thoughts that ran through my mind.
His lips on my skin, his teeth biting my nipples, his hands gripping my ass.
“Come on, I made coffee and juice.”
I didn’t move. “I don’t want anything. I just want to go home.”
He nodded. “I get that. And I’ll let you go. But the orange juice is fresh, just squeezed it myself.”
I snorted. “You squeeze your own juice?”
“Sure. Better that way.” He gestured with his head. “Come sit with me.”
He walked away, disappearing into a back room. I got a glimpse of a kitchen counter and a living room beyond that, a big brown leather couch, and a flat-screen TV mounted above an antique fireplace with old-looking patterned green tiles all around it.
I turned and looked at the door. It was right there and it wasn’t locked. I could open it and run. Maybe he could catch me, drag me back kicking and screaming. Or maybe not, maybe I could get away. I could get to the bus, or call an Uber. I could stop at home, grab all my things, pull the money out from the back of my closet where I’d been hiding cash for the last few years, and move to some new city.
I could start over, away from the ghost of my mother, away from the specter of my father.
Instead, I turned and walked down the hall and stepped into a spacious open floor plan room.
On the right was the kitchen. It was modern with dark green granite countertops, a deep bone-white farmhouse sink, and all stainless-steel appliances. To the left was the living room, with that big brown couch and television. The decoration was simple, just a few thrift store paintings on the wall. I couldn’t help but frown at them as my eyes swept across the room and stopped on Dante.
He was drinking from a glass of orange juice. On the counter were more oranges, and a pitcher full of juice was next to them. I couldn’t help but shake my head when I realized that he really had squeezed his own orange juice.
“Try some,” he said. “It’s good.”
“No, thanks.”
“I have coffee too.” He gestured at a silver drip machine.
I hesitated then nodded. I sat down at the island on a wooden stool and put my shoes and my phone on the smooth granite top. He poured me some coffee in a mug and looked back.
“Cream, sugar?”
“Milk,” I said.
He nodded, got some whole milk from the refrigerator, and poured in a splash. He stirred it and put it down in front of me. For a second, I felt absurd. A mobster just got me some coffee and meticulously stirred in some milk like it was no big deal.
I took the coffee, sipped it, and met his gaze.
“We should talk,” he said.
“Why am I here?”
He smirked and stretched his massive, muscular arms. I noticed colorful tattoos move up his skin and disappear into his shirt. I couldn’t get a good glimpse at them, but I thought I saw a moon and a lion together, but I couldn’t be sure. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be my wife, right?”
I flinched. “No. That was just… that was just my father trying to s
ave his own life.”
“Ah,” he said, tilting his head. “So you don’t want to marry me?”
I met the monster’s pretty eyes. “No. Because you killed my father last night. Or do you not remember?”
“Oh, no, I remember,” he said softly. “I delivered his body to my rival, actually. Do you know who my rival is?”
I shook my head and stared at my coffee. I felt sick but took another sip anyway, hoping the caffeine would clear my head.
“My rival is an important member of the Russian mafia. And do you know what your father did to piss them off?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Your father stole from him. Apparently, your father learned the combination to a safe Vlas keeps in the back of one of his strip clubs. How your idiot old man got that combination, I’ll never know, and I don’t give a fuck. He stole over thirty grand from Vlas, and that sort of shit is tantamount to declaring war.”
“But what do you care?” I asked, slamming my palm down on the counter. I glared at him as he tilted his head to one side, a little smile moving across his handsome lips. “My father didn’t work for you.”
“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m the Capo assigned to take care of Girard Estates, which means any thief not working for the Russians is working for me. Your father paid me tribute, and in return I provided the occasional work and protection.”
I stared at him and felt the true horror of what he was saying wash over me. I knew my father was a bastard. I knew he was a junky, an alcoholic, and a thief. He’d been arrested before and did some serious time a couple years back for stealing a couple cars and trying to sell them. Of course my father tried to sell them to undercover cops.
But I didn’t know he was involved in organized crime. I always thought he was just some small-time loser that couldn’t do anything right. Turned out, he was exactly that, except he was also involved with the real criminals, the real bastards that ran the city from the shadows.
“You still didn’t have to kill him,” I said, feeling hot with rage and embarrassment. My father was a loser, a junky loser, and there I was trying to defend him to this young, handsome Capo like a moron. I hated my father for putting me in that position.