The Mafia and his Daughter

Prologue

Alberto had cleansed his hands of blood, had practically bathed in it. Now those hands tucked his daughter into bed, the sweetheart of the Russo household. Freya had been only two when her mother died. She was just as oblivious now as before.

"Another story, daddy," Freya said, eyes glowing. She grabbed at his arms.

Alberto sighed, and sat down. It had been a long day for him. Although he wished nothing more than to crawl into bed, he obliged, and pulled out Green Eggs and Ham.

"Alright, baby. Just one more. But then daddy has to go back to work, yeah?"

Freya nodded quickly, clutching her pink sheets to her chest, the finest sheets made of the most expensive silk. She listened as her father read to her. It was so good to have him back. He'd been gone for nearly a month this time. She'd missed her father, and longed for him to come back.

Of course, when Alberto came back from his dealings in Mexico and Italy, Freya received the finest jewels, and toys a six year old could receive. Her nanny had been appalled at the mountain of candy she got.

At last, Alberto finished the last of the pages, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and turned on her pink night lamp. She was scared of the dark, like most other children.

Freya hugged her stuffed unicorn to her chest, and snuggled closer to it. "Goodnight, daddy!" she called out when he left.

"Goodnight, princess."

Oblivious, Freya was, to her precious daddy's work. It was what had gotten her mother killed. Alberto stared at Freya as her breathing slowed, and she drifted off to sleep. He'd do anything to protect her. No one outside of his household even knew of her existence. It was as if to the world she would never exist.

---

Alberto's face morphed into something of shock when he had first received the news of his wife. Dead. Shot twice in the face, and left to rot behind a dumpster. After that, he up and disappeared. Alberto hadn't even attended her funeral. Instead, he planned the disappearance of his daughter from every camera that had picked up on her face everywhere in America. He made sure every single trace of her was wiped clean.

He was a careful man, who loved no one now but Freya. Humans meant nothing to him. He would make sure to keep her from knowing of his life, this criminal led life. It would destroy her.

"Mr. Russo," Bob called out. Bob was the butler who had assisted in Freya's birth.

"Bob," Alberto nodded.

"Dinner has been prepared, sir."

Alberto kept a stone face, and waved a wrist at everyone upon entering the lavish dining room, covered from head to toe in gold, diamonds, and silver. Everyone exited without a word.

Plates of food were placed before him. An entire chicken, pasta of every kind, fruits from the forests of China, freshly baked bread, and the finest wine. He dug in, savoring the taste of everything. Although not vocal about it, he was grateful for his cooks.

His phone rung. Alberto placed his fork on the plate. Nodded once. Twice. Reached into his jacket, and pulled out his gun.

It was time to fuck everyone's night up.