I do not own any of the Dark Knight characters, only the one I have made myself. [: Reviews/critiques are greatly appreciated. This is my first story, I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 1
Yet another day with the Maronis. My father and Uncle Sal were off on business, so I hung out at the guarded Maroni house with Salvatore's wife, Isabella.
After grabbing a shower, I settled down to watch a movie with Izzy. Technically, we're not related to the Maronis. But being at the top of the mob as we were, my dad and Sal became good friends and we treat each other like family.
Sal's house was nice. Much bigger than ours, but that's because he's higher up in the mob than my father is. It was fairly large and very clean. Unlike us, the Maronis had no animals. My dad kept a pack of watch dogs. He recently got a new one for me. I named my rottweiler pup Brody, and he followed me everywhere, including Sal's home. He lay beneath my feet on the spotless carpet panting. My aunt frowned at the animal in her home and I chuckled at her, which made her frown more.
A commotion at the door made my aunt quickly turn off the television and stand abruptly. The Chechen and Salvatore came crashing through the front door.
My dad panted out, "Gambol dead," with his heavy accent.
"What?" I knew Gambol wasn't as close to us as the Maronis, but my dad worked with him once.
As usual, Uncle Sal was completely calm, but a little out of breath.
"Were you running from something?" Isabella asked.
"Won't be problem no more," my father motioned to his small but lethal handgun.
"Dad, we should get going. Brody's getting hungry."
"Sure kid. Get dog and say bye to Sal."
I did as I was told and thanked Izzy for her company.
"Chechen," called out Sal.
My father turned around. "Ya?"
"Remember we have that meeting tomorrow."
"Course," my father nodded.
Turning, we left the Maroni residence, my father on one side of me and my panting rottweiler on the other.
Walking through the back alleys of Gotham, we finally made it to the locked up, abandoned looking apartment. We made sure the outside looked crappy so nobody would break in. We didn't have guards like Sal. We had our dogs.
Making conversation with my dad as we let ourselves inside, I asked, "So who killed him?"
My dad looked like he was considering telling me who it was. Finally he replied, "Joker."
"That psychotic clown?"
"You got it."
I made a small noise of disgust and unlocked the door. Brody bounded inside to try and stealthily tackle another guard dog. I heard his startled squeal and laughed. He'd failed.
Throwing the keys to my dad for him to lock up, I ambled into the kitchen to microwave some dinner. I'm surprised we're still living. He and I both can't cook for shit.
"So did you guys get that money stored away?" I called from the kitchen.
"The Asian took care of it," dad mumbled.
Nodding, I placed his dinner on the table and retreated to my room. I wasn't really hungry. I had some lunch with Izzy earlier.
I called Brody and he trotted over to his small dog bed in the corner, plopped down onto the soft material and let out a long snort.
I snorted quite loud myself from laughter. My dog was very dramatic.
A knock on the door caught my attention and my dad let himself in. "Laurel?"
"Hm?"
"You staying home tomorrow or you going out?" he asked.
"Either or. I think I might go out. Why?"
"Just wondering. I be at meeting with Sal. Make sure you bring pup if you go out."
"Dad, he's not a pup! He's almost two," I laughed.
Faintly smiling, he said goodnight and closed the door.
Amazingly, I hadn't adapted my dad's thick accent. In Chechenya he hadn't studied much English and barely spoke proper sentences. My Cheberloi dialect was only faintly noticeable, unlike dad's, which was thickly pronounced with each word. I grew up in Gotham since he moved here for the mob, so I abandoned my own former accent after staying here a few years.
Setting my alarm, I got into bed and drifted off to sleep.