The young man was relaxing in the bubbles with a glass of Angela's champagne when the door opened without warning, causing him to sit up in surprise. It was the mistress of the house, turning to him and smiling lazily. "I see you been into my bar again, you terd," she teases.
"Well, ya know, it was there," the raven-haired male said in his defense.
"You are such a sorryass bum," she tells him, peeling off her tight jeans and shirt.
"Ahh but I'm so pretty...you cannae resist me," he teased back as she slipped bra and panties off, stepping into the spacious tub. He was right about one thing, she did think him pretty...not handsome like you'd describe a man, but pretty. And it wasn't that he was feminine, no he was very much male, but his lean form and underwhelming height, along with catlike hazel eyes and graceful bearing contributed to the assessment. He watched her easing herself into the steamy water and champagne was the furthest thing from his mind. He wondered how she'd come by some of the deep scars on her luscious form, and the problems she had with the joints in her legs, and even the thin scar on her kissable lower lip. She would not elaborate on the subject, and he didn't press the matter. He had quite the shady past, himself. It could've been a terrible accident, maybe the same one that she lost her other family in--it would explain her picking up and moving here and starting all over.
"You think yer all that and a bag of chips, huh," she says, covering his lean torso with her breasts as she leaned in to kiss him.
A short while later a squeaky clean, robe-clad and contented Angela picked up her daughter and snuggled her, carrying her downstairs to the living room to watch tv. Inez poked her dark head into the room, smiling when she spotted them. "There's that muchacha disimulada," she said.
"I'm not sneaky," Roberta declared, nuzzling against her mother's comforting warmth and fuzzy robe. The woman looked down at the toddler in surprise, was she learning Spanish already?
The household den mother shook her shiny raven head. "She's hard to keep up with, just like her madre." Sounds of rummaging in the kitchen had her attention focused on that. "Hey! Freddy and Kevin, you two get out of my kitchen if you're trying to wreck it," she said, voice raising and letting loose scolds as only a Mexian woman can.
The little girl giggled, turning back to the cartoons. Angela hoped her offspring was happy, and considered. True, she didn't know her real father, but she had good male role models...well, Kevin was semi-good, anyways. And she had much more comforts and playmates than she'd had as a little girl, even though she'd been spoiled and well-loved by all her family. Absently she played with a strand of the brunette locks, smiling. She was the best thing she'd ever done, Angela thought to herself. It's too bad Mama or RJ or Otis won't ever see her, she thought with a touch of sadness.
Soon the girl fell asleep against her adored mama, thumb firmly in mouth. Carefully she cradled her in her arms and made her way upstairs. Kevin followed, opening the door to Roberta's room quietly and helping tuck her into her little bed. He cared for the rambunctious, irresistible three year old nearly as much as Freddy did. Which was a lot, and that surprised him. He normally hated kids.
The next day Angela intended to spend the whole day with Roberta and sent Pretty Boy Kevin out to run errands and hopefully get a job. The phone rang but she ignored it; she was showing Roberta how to make baskets. A few moments later Inez appeared in the sunny art room and it looked serious from the expression on the attractive, middle-aged woman's face. "All right, I'll get it," she said, setting the project down. Reaching the hall phone she picked the reciever off the cradle on the wall and said, "Hola? Yes, this is her." A pause, then she blanches. Mumbling her understanding she fumbles the phone back on its wall cradle, her eyes wide and round.
"What is it, Angelita," Inez queries.
"Paolo...Paolo's dead," she stammers, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. Just like that, her livelihood was threatened again, after all the work she'd put into it. Not only that, but a mentor and fatherly figure struck down...
Ellen sobbed, gasping for air but the Baby part pushed it down, causing a procession of varying expressions to parade across her still-youthful face. Angela, to keep her tenuous hold on sanity, took hold of them and used them both, as she used either personality's attributes to her benefit. Quiet, you two! All right, first thing's first, go to the druglord's house and gather what information she could. Then, find who shot Paolo and why, and make them suffer. Inside her fractured psyche Baby Firefly smiled, and outwardly Angela did, as well.
Total chaos could be the only way to describe the meeting at the slain crime boss' home, with several differing factions already evident. Pietro was the most powerful of these, being Paolo's brother and familiar with the strong arms of the organization and how to run such an empire. Angela was surprised though when several of the more powerful members backed her in a bid for top dog. Everyone was a suspect in Mr. Chavez's murder, and she looked around at all the possibilities, including Pietro. He made it clear what he thought her place should be--servicing his sexual and/or domestic needs.
She decided she didn't like him too much. Paolo had always treated her with respect and even a bit of reverence coupled with the affection a father has for a daughter. She really had no interest in attempting to take over such a large criminal syndicate; she wanted to find out who aced Paolo and take them out.
What could be pieced together was that the crime boss went out to the backyard to enjoy the sun, without his bodyguards for perhaps a minute, and that's how long it took to kill him with a silenced gun. Pietro spontaneously had the slack guards executed for their failure. Heh, convenient.
Was it a rival gang? Maybe so, maybe even someone like Pablo Escobar coming this far north? Or, as Angela had a sneaking suspicion of, his own brother taking him out.
"Freddy, I don't think we're safe here," Angela told him while eating her pork chop soup. "Vincent is fancying himself a bigshot now, and I don't trust Pietro farther than I can throw 'im. We should move, all of us."
Her adopted brother paused thoughtfully, saying, "Seems like everywhere we go trouble follows. That's what I get for taking up with a Firefly, I guess."
"Shhh," she scolds. "Nobody but you and Paolo knew that, and now he's dead."
"Are you gonna tell Kevin? Tell him...the truth?"
She didn't answer.
Love was sweet that night, and the woman tried to think of a way to talk about her past to her boyfriend. He'd already dozed off with his head cradled on her bosom and she felt like a bath. She needed a good, long bath. She gently extricated herself from the young man and padded to the bathroom. Ahhh, that's the ticket.