The Daughter of My Enemy
Subtlety wasn’t exactly Frank Castle’s forte. Lies didn’t slip off his tongue easily, and anyone looking directly into his eyes would be able to see his murderous intent. So, no, he didn’t like going undercover to get closer to a target. Putting on a facade of bullshit and making nice with the enemy wasn’t something he’d ever pictured himself doing.
But, it’s not like he had any other choice in the matter. Terrence Page was a man fully aware of his place in the world, and of the many many crosshairs trained on him because of it. He was neither stupid nor reckless and surrounded himself with a veritable army of bodyguards, using the brutish looking men to coordinate his movements with an arsenal of weapons hidden under their dark jackets.
But Frank wasn’t stupid either, and it was easy enough for him to forge a new identity, using old army contacts to provide letters of recommendation for a special ops vet named “Francis Castiglione.”
It took Frank almost a year to work his way up in the organization. There had been months of guarding closed doors and sitting in parked cars outside of nondescript buildings before Frank had finally been promoted into the inner circle, his trigger finger itchier than ever. Page’s last personal guard had met with his untimely demise in a dark alley not a week ago. Frank could still hear the man’s shocked gasp mere seconds before he put two bullets in his chest.
Frank’s promotion had come with another series of mind-numbing responsibilities. Checking Page’s personal quarters before he retired for the night, sitting through long meetings with grovelling business owners, even helping the despicable man. Had Frank been one to employ poison or other quiet modes of killing, Terrence Page would have been dead weeks ago. There was just something too satisfying about turning evil people into swiss cheese.
And today was the day that all his planning had come together. Page had some personal matter he needed to attend to and had banished his less trustworthy men to the outskirts of his estate, leaving only Frank in the room with him. Apparently the matter was sensitive, but Frank didn’t give a shit what it was about, as long as it put him close to the mob boss and left him with a viable exit strategy. He patted the gun under his jacket, his pulse quickening just a bit.
He scoped out Page’s study, doing the cursory pre-meeting once over to make sure the place was safe. He was happy to see the rest of the guards were loitering down by the gated entrance, fucking around with their cars, shooting the shit as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Frank didn’t want to kill any of them. Aside from a few barroom brawls most of the men didn’t have any real criminal activity under their belts and were just trying to make a buck.
The tumblers in the door behind him flipped, a softly muffled clicking noise that had him turning around swiftly. He expected the portly figure of his boss to lumber through the entrance, and he already had one hand under his jacket reaching for his gun, finger flicking the safety off.
But it wasn’t a man’s blunt tipped fingers that curled around the edge of the door top push it open, but rather a woman’s slender manicured ones. Delicately boned and pale. The oak panel swung open to reveal a neatly coifed blonde head, bright blue eyes wide with surprise.
Frank’s breath caught in his chest, hand falling away from the cold metal of his gun. He couldn’t help but stare at the woman, at the way she patted down the front of her silk dress, at the faint blush creeping up her neck.
She laughed nervously, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair back into place. “I, uh… I guess I’m early.”
Early? What business could Terrence Page possibly have with this unassumingly beautiful woman? Was she his mistress? Someone who was at the man’s beck and call for the price of a few fine furs and a strand of pearls? No, that just didn’t fit. There was something about her, an aura of goodness that shone brightly and made him feel like a dim dark thing.
Frank watched her move gracefully across the room, rocking on her kitten heels as she perused one of Terrence’s bookshelves. She reached out tentatively and made a selection, lovingly tracing the title scrolled in gold across the front. A sweet smile tugged at her lips, love shining from her eyes. “I can’t believe he still has this. It was my favorite book as a child.”
Ah. Page’s daughter, Karen. The one person who inspired a soft and loving tone from the hard man. Frank had never seen her before. She’d been carted off to Europe years ago for her own safety, all traces of her basically erased from Page’s home. Frank had expected her to be a spoiled little brat draped in designer threads, used to commanded everyone around her with a flick of her dainty wrist.
He stepped toward her, curiosity winning out over his common sense. He reached out for the book, his interest clear in the expression on his face. She involuntarily shied away from him, nervous once again, before shaking off the feeling and handing him the book.
He looked down at a well worn copy of The Little Prince, thumbing through the pages of the novella. “Kind of a sad book for a little girl.”
Her laugh was quiet, infused with self-consciousness. “Oh, it was. I nearly cried myself sick the first time I finished it.” She sighed. “I loved it. That’s the first edition copy father got me for my tenth birthday.” Warmth enveloped her words, love for her father ringing clear.
He moved past her to reshelve the book, gently slipping it into the vacant spot until it was flush with its companions. She relaxed some, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. “Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is the reason I want to be a writer.” She nodded toward Frank’s coffee sitting on the edge of Page’s desk. “He’d stay up late writing and drinking coffee, seemingly never satisfied with anything, pages and pages of fine handwriting, half of it crossed out.”
She was smiling now, waiting for him to continue their polite conversation, an unbearable lightness emanating from her until it completely filled the spacious office. Frank felt like he was suffocating and tried valiantly not to show his discomfort at the feeling. He stepped away from her, reaching for his coffee. “Your old man’s late.”
She looked down at her watch, biting her bottom lip. “Terrence Page is never late. Other people are simply early.”
Frank peered out the window, watching the men at the gate. He grunted in agreement, “Mmm.” He settled in for an uneventful day. There was no way in hell he was killing Page in front of his daughter. Frank didn’t leave witnesses and he didn’t harm the innocent. Sometimes it really put him in a tight spot.
He’d barely had time to contemplate how many weeks or even months this was going to drag out his plan when he heard a hauntingly familiar sound. The ominous click of a fifty caliber machine gun engaging, bullets whizzing through the air a fraction of a second before he dashed across the room.
He collided with Karen, her face full of surprise, at the same moment the glass in the window shattered. They hurtled to the floor in a hail of debris, Frank trying his best to cover her entire body with his own as the ammo ripped through the office. She curled up beneath him, instinctively making herself smaller, her fingers already covering her head as his own came up to cradle it.
Time slowed for Frank, his adrenaline stretching the seconds out. He counted the bullets out of habit, mentally noting the trajectory and speed of the rounds. He’d already mapped out an escape by the time the shots stopped, jerking Karen up and dragging her out into the hall the very second he thought it was safe.
Without a word, he turned and pushed her toward a service door, the two of them scrambling down the stairs as quickly as possible. Frank knew every inch of this estate and constantly worked under the assumption that he might have to make a clandestine getaway. There was a gassed up SUV full of guns and ammo in the underground garage just waiting for him. Of course, he’d never intended to add ‘kidnap the target’s daughter’ to his itinerary, but then again was it really kidnapping if the victim went willingly?
He wasn’t even pulling her along now, she was running full speed behind him, anticipating his every move. When they reached the escape vehicle she bent down and reached into the tire well, pulling out a handgun secreted there.
His eyebrows shot up, watching her run around the side of the SUV and slide into the passenger seat. Well at least this would be an interesting ride. He opened the door and jumped in, gunning the accelerator toward the exit.