Chapter 4: A Sweet Promise
Rotti pinches the bridge of his nose in weariness. It always comes down to this. His daughter is relentless and manipulative. He knows this, but he gives her money anyway. It's cruel to think that he gives just so she'll shut up. It's undeniably true. She'll yap and whine the day away if he does not comply.
"Carmela-" Rotti begins only to be cut off by his daughter.
"Daddy!" She flourishes her arms in the air as if she were suffering a great crisis. Her hands rest upon his desk. Her blue eyes fill with scorn. Rotti's eyes reflect that - only it's a different type of scorn. He notes that the lengths of her dresses are growing shorter much to his distaste. She's bitter, "The surGEN screwed up. He didn't get my nose right. It's crooked!"
It's just an excuse, he thinks to himself. The sharp tone in his voice makes him wince. Rotti forces himself to look at his daughter, a possible heiress to the fortune. There's nothing wrong with her face. It's surgically perfect. She wants Zydrate. In order to get it, she needs surgery. He's read the tabloids, he knows. He sees her come home every night in a drunken manner. Rotti Largo is not a dumb man. He is intelligent. He waits for her to recover and fix her own mistakes. He won't do it for her.
Instead of money, he gives her advice, "Carmela, please be more sweet." It's a desperate attempt. Carmela arches a brow, blinking. It's obvious that she's confused. An idea begins to form in her mind. She wants to be famous, more so than she already is. She craves this. She wants to sing. This, she needs a stage name. It's not that she needs one, but that she wants one.
Sweet... She thinks, musing with the word.
No amusement flickers on Rotti's face. He shifts in his leather chair. His daughter and himself are not on the same page. Carmela remains oblivious to this. She only sees him as one of many to supply her with what she desires. She only thinks of him as Daddy, the cash cow. He givers her the money. She runs off to get surgery. Then, there is Zydrate.
He sees his own children as monsters. All they ever do is take, take, take. It's clear they they have weathered him down. He gives and gives and gives! They repay him with spit. It infuriates him. My own children...vultures. He twinges at the thought. It's true. It's all so true. Whenever he sees them on the media or in person, disgust and bile dwells within his soul. It's a shame. He can't control it. My children are not worthy of my genes!
"Promise me this."
"Yes, Daddy." She beams, flashing her inhumanely white teeth. Carmela sashays from side to side in impatience. Her hair is not a deep burgundy. Her fingernails match the dye's color. Her black heels click against the tile.
"Promise me," he sighs heavily in defeat. Rotti places a blank check in front of himself. He briefly turns his head away in repulsion. Amber's eyes spark. She practically foams at the mouth. The dog wants the bone. He signs his name, addressing the check towards a new surgery. "Promise me you'll be more sweet."
"Oh, Daddy! I will! I promise!" She gushes in an automated response. She always was a Daddy's girl.
The King has been defeated in this battle, "How much?" He asks as he sighs. Why don't you take my soul as well, you vultures?It's a sad admittance. Does Rotti Largo even have a soul? What is left of it, has died long ago. He's bitter. Of course, he is.
"Just forty-five grand."
My God, they're going to suck me dry. He waves the check in the air only for her to snatch it in a minute's notice.
Sweet... Carmela thinks. It's a good stage name. She likes it. Amber Sweet.
"I promise!" She loosely swings her arms around her father before gleefully skipping away.