Love By Vengeance
Prologue
Charlie Swan sat in the last row at Aro Bugiardini's only daughter's wedding, watching as the long line of bride's maids made their way out of the building. The service had been nice—beautiful even; pretty décor, beautiful dresses—it was really more than any father could imagine being able to gift their daughter. Charlie knew that Aro Bugiardini was bursting at the seams with pride—as well as any mob boss could.
When Charlie had come to America, he was determined to live a good life—a clean life. He had worked his hands down to the bone to make sure of it. There were times that his family went without meals because they couldn't afford them, even when there were many easier, less painful solutions—less legal solutions he could have taken. But no—with broken pride, Charlie offered no more than a half loaf of bread and cups of warm water to his daughter and wife many nights, just for the sake of living a clean American life. And as the Bugiardini's ate like kings, his family ate worst than mice. As the Bugiardini's spent their nights at one lavish party after another, his family slept in a one-bedroom apartment, barely suitable for stray dogs.
It was another unjust at its finest—it proved that in America too, criminals were first in line and the upstanding citizens were last. But that wasn't going to be how it was for him any longer. He simply couldn't do it. No more of the unjust for him—Charlie Swan sought justice. This was how he came to sit in the back row of Don Bugiardini's only daughter's wedding.
With the assistance of Sulpicia Bugiardini— a stout cheerful woman, with graying hair and deep laugh lines—Aro's wife and his wife's closest friend, he secured an appointment to see Don Bugiardini to request a service of him.
With a resolved mind and only a little shame clouding his bowed features, he followed Alec to meet with the famous Don Bugiardini, hoping that this solution would not fail him also.
When Charlie entered the room, three men dressed in suits greeted him. The Don being one of them of course, and two blondes, one looking bored and tired while the other watched him intently, his cold blue eyes following his every movement.
Don Bugiardini, always appearing to be a gracious, most considerate host, got up out of his leather high back chair and poured Charlie a drink, offhandedly waving him into a seat. Charlie sat and accepted the drink, gratefully. After Don Bugiardini filled Charlie's glass twice, he leaned onto his desk and steepled his fingers, as if to say, 'your turn now.'
Now with warm scotch settling in his gut, and encouraged by the Don's hospitality, in broken English, Charlie told him everything. He told him about the small rat infested apartment his landlord forced him to pay three times the actual rent in exchange for not turning him and his family into the streets. He told him the meager means he was paid working as a 'shop boy' in a small bakery. He told him, with flushed cheeks, the food he brought to his small table every night, and how some nights he wasn't able to bring anything at all. He even told him of his wife's recent illness and how the Doctors believed they could bring her back to good health but refused because he would not be able to pay the medical bills.
Don Bugiardini sat through Charlie's speech with only a little amusement plastered across his face. He sighed when Charlie talked about his small one bedroom apartment he shared with his wife and daughter, and nodded encouragingly when Charlie flushed, embarrassed, when he admitted to the small dinners he provided for his family. When Charlie mentioned his wife's recent illness Aro waved his hand, not needing to hear any more.
Aro sat back in his seat, casually fiddling with his gold pen. "So my friend, you have come to request money from me on my daughter's wedding day," he laughed this off as if it was no big deal to him at all.
Charlie flushed, embarrassed, but nodded his head before clearing his throat, "Yes," he croaked.
"Then that is what you shall have, my friend. Money for the hospital fees, money for a new home for you and your family, and more. Have no more worries, my friend. I will help you, but there may or may not come a time where I will knock on your door, seeking a service as you have done of me today, and as a friend, you will be required to do it," Aro murmured distractedly, picking up a pad before writing something down on it.
He tore a piece of paper from the small pad and said, "Here, call this number in three days. This man will offer you a job with a better salary, and will take care of your ailing wife's hospital bills." He handed him the piece of paper before tossing back the rest of his scotch.
"Do this while remembering your debt to me." Aro dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
In three days Charlie Swan called the number and was offered a job as a police officer. The increase in salary allowed him to move his family into a larger home—a house with three bedrooms and it's own backyard, and a small donation from the same guy allowed him to pay for his wife's hospital fees and he even had money left to send his only daughter to one of the private schools in the area. Within five years Charlie was Police Chief of Chicago. That same year he was found dead in his squad car, leaving behind his wife Renee Swan, and his young daughter, Isabella Swan.
Isabella Swan swore for vengeance against her father's murderers at the tender age of twelve.