Mistress of Vendetta

“Please, I beg you, please. I don’t have the money yet, but I’ll get it! I can get it soon.” Mr. Salazar’s frail voice cracked as he folded in on himself, one hand pressed to his gut where one of Sonny Giuseppe’s men had driven a fist into him. The workshop smelled of oil and stale sweat. Sonny leaned against the edge of a scarred worktable, watching the man on the floor while he lit a cigarette, the flame bright for a second, then gone. He took a long drag, let it sit in his chest, then crouched so he was level with Salazar’s bowed head. “You know, we gave you time,” Sonny said, smoke leaving his mouth in a slow stream toward Salazar’s face. “We do not have much of that now.” “I am sorry,” Salazar groaned. “I just… could not… get all the money.” “Well, that is a shame.” Sonny straightened the cigarette between two fingers, and reached inside his coat. His hand came back with a revolver. “I am sorry too.” Behind him, the crew shifted their weight and one of the men went out, making sure there were no eavesdroppers that could testify in court. To Sonny’s right, Ricky “Cig” Saldado watched with thumbs hooked in his belt, eyes moving from the old man on the floor to his boss. “Sonny,” Ricky stepped in close. “You take care of him, we get nothing. He has a shop, a life, something. Maybe there is another way to collect.” Sonny kept the revolver pointed at the ground and turned his head slightly. “He had another way. It was called paying me on time,” Sonny said, his voice flat. “A body sends a message: pay on f*cking time.” Ricky sighed. “He’s got another way.” “A treasure chest?” “His f*cking daughter.” “What?” “You heard right, Sonny.” “Does she come with money or diamonds for teeth?” “She’s a diamond, Sonny. I’ve seen her a few times and, goodness, is she fair to look upon. “Easy, Cig. You’re in love.” He took another drag, turned back to Salazar and raised the gun. “Wait, please. Do not kill me,” Salazar blurted, hands up. He had seen his opportunity to hear the conversation Ricky had with Sonny. His eyes were wide and wet and frantic. “Let my daughter be the debt paid, I offer her to you.” For a second, everyone was still. Then laughter broke out. “You are desperate, old man,” Sonny said, shaking his head. For the first time since they walked in, Salazar looked almost sure of himself. “You’ll see,” he said. He raised his voice. “Diana!” Quick footsteps came from the back room. She came in with her head down, hands clasped in front of her, dark skirt brushing her ankles. Conversation among the men stopped at once. No one told them to be quiet. “Here she is, Mr. Sonny,” Salazar said, pushing himself up on one elbow so he could see her better. “Look. Clean and respectful. She will do anything you say.” Sonny dropped his cigarette onto the concrete and ground it out under his shoe, his attention fixed on the girl now. He walked towards her, the revolver loose in his hand, and stopped close enough to smell soap on her skin. With the barrel he tipped her chin up. Blue eyes met his. Not wet, not pleading, but spoke volumes. There was a steady challenge in them that did not match the bowed head or the folded hands, and for a heartbeat Sonny felt something in his chest skip. His knees felt a little unsteady, which annoyed him enough that he straightened at once and pushed it down. He had not seen any woman like her before. “Well, old man, why not, eh?” Sonny said, raising his voice, so the crew heard him. “She is damn pretty.” The men cheered, hoots and whistles filling the workshop. Even Mr. Salazar let out a broken laugh of relief and gratitude. Sonny jerked his head at one of his boys. “Put her in my car,” he said. “Back seat. You ride with her.” The soldier grabbed Diana’s arm. She did not pull away, only kept her eyes fixed on Sonny for a second longer, then let herself be led. Sonny watched her go, then set his fedora straight on his head, buttoned his coat and headed for the door. His men fell in behind him, the old man still babbling thanks on the floor. The next morning, Sonny lay awake and stared at the ceiling, the events of the previous day looping through his mind in stubborn detail. He was supposed to have walked out of Salazar’s shop with an envelope full of cash, another debt collected from one of the many small places that paid for the right kind of protection. Instead, he had the prettiest blonde he had ever seen sitting in his house, down the hall, in the guest room he barely used. He tried to push her out of his head and could not. Those eyes kept coming back. With a grunt, he swung his legs off the bed, rubbed a hand over his face and walked out into the hallway. Halfway to the kitchen, he stopped. She was already there, in the living room, standing close to the wall with her head bowed, hands loosely joined at her waist. “What are you doing?” Sonny asked. His voice came out deep and throaty from sleep. “I am made to believe my father sold me to you to pay his debt,” she said, without looking up. “My sole purpose is to repay that debt.” He walked toward her, slowly, watching the line of her neck, the rise and fall of her shoulders. He walked slowly to her, realizing he wanted to hear her speak again, to see whether her eyes would look the same in daylight. “So, how do you think you will be repaying that debt?” “With my life, with whatever you want.” She was trying very hard to keep her voice steady, to sound firm, but still, it came out soft. The mix did something to him, and he could not decide if it was because she was small, or because she was there on his terms, or because he had never seen someone look both afraid and stubborn at the same time. Her head stayed bent. “You should look me in the eye,” he took a handful of her hair, thick and blond between his fingers, and jerked her head up. “When I am talking to you.” She shuddered at the pull, then steadied, and he stared into those blue eyes from inches away. The defiance was still there, clear, bright enough to send the message. Sonny found himself wondering how they would look if that edge went out of them, if there was something else there instead, something less violent. It irritated him that he was thinking about it at all. His gaze traveled down, over the slim line of her shoulders, the small frame under the plain dress. He could feel how easy it would be to push her back against a wall and keep her there, and he folded that thought away without comment. “I’ll figure out what to do with you,” he said. “For now, make sure everywhere is clean. No dust.” He let go of her hair and turned toward the hall. “Yes, sir,” she said, toneless. He had a few hours before his crew came by, and he intended to use them to get more sleep. He had just started to drift again when it broke. “Sonny! Sonny! Come out here now. Sonny!” He sat up at once, hand going toward the bedside table where his revolver lay, then stopped. The voice was familiar enough, he could picture the face that went with it. “It is a little too early to muck around, do you not think?” Sonny said as he walked into the living room. He went behind the kitchen bar, took a pack from the counter and lit a cigarette. “And good morning to you, Joanna.” “Who the f*ck is this, Sonny?” Joanna stood in the middle of the room, fingers pointed straight at Diana, cheeks flushed, hair wild around her shoulders. Her chest rose and fell from the effort of all the yelling she had done to get him out of bed. “That is Diana,” Sonny said. He took a drag, felt the smoke calm his nerves, and tapped ash into a tray. “Her father owes me a huge debt, and she is repaying that debt.” “Oh, what a great story!” Joanna shot back. “She is your mistress, is that it? Is this why you do not want to get married, so you can keep cheating without me knowing? That is why you do not want me to move in with you, is it not?” Sonny laughs and sighs deeply.