Guns, Not Roses

~Chapter Six: Forgeddaboutit~

“You know what I was thinking, Savannah? You go on a little holiday. Somewhere exciting,” Vincent Ardeur said, signalling the waiter to bring the bill.

Savannah rolled her eyes and took her final sip of chardonnay. “A holiday, Daddy? Or a trip to a safe house?”

“Don’t be silly, Savannah.”

The waiter appeared at his side and placed the bill before her father.

“Everything to your liking, Mr. Ardeur?” This was her father’s favourite Franco-Italian restaurant, which, understandably, was called The Franco-Italiano. It served both French and Italian cuisine, which appealed to him, seeing as he was a hybrid himself.

“Yes. I expected nothing less,” Vincent Ardeur replied, paying the bill and adding a generous tip. They were the last diners.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m not going anywhere, OK?” She continued the conversation after the waiter left. “I’m going to get a job, actually.”

She saw the annoyance in his face. “A job? Now you’re being ridiculous. I give you everything you could possibly want, Savannah,” he snapped.

Now she was infuriated. “I’m twenty-five-years old, Dad. Not five, in case you’re confused! I have a life. Well, I could have a life, if you stopped butting in and sending your heavies to watch me!”

“I wouldn’t care if you were forty, Savannah. You will always be under my protection. This is a dangerous world we live in,” he said calmly.

“No, it’s a dangerous world you live in,” she hissed.

Vincent Ardeur sighed heavily and stood up. “Dinner was nice.”

Savannah followed suit, violently pushing her chair back and ignoring the crashing sound it made as it tipped over. She was suddenly a five-year-old throwing a tantrum in her playroom.

Angelino was sitting at the table beside theirs, pretending not to listen. Savannah was giving him the cold shoulder after he went cold on her - and refused to sleep with her. Angelino would cut his testicles off before he’d betray her father. She supposed that was admirable, if not, sad.

“I’m walking home,” she spat at her father.

“No, you’re not. Your driver will take you there.”

“You can’t stop me.”

Her father nodded at Angelino. “Angie, take her.”

Before she could react, her bodyguard had wrapped his thick, muscular arms around her, and swung her over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” she shrieked at the top of her voice, kicking and punching him. IShe might as well have been hitting the Wailing Wall for all the damage she did.

Angelino said nothing as they left The Franco-Italiano. He flung his charge into the BMW. Her father got in and sat beside me. The doors were locked as the driver put the car into gear.

“I saw a five-year-old little girl just now,” her father said quietly.

“Oh, yeah?” She looked out the window, into the darkened road. “And I saw a tyrant.”

*

She saw her first gun when she was six. It was shortly after her mother died, and it was a rainy Saturday evening.

Her father had been in his study with a bunch of his pals. She'd recognized most of them – Uncle Sly, Uncle Donnie, Mr. Palazzo – but the rest were unfamiliar. They were all dressed in black suits, as if they were attending a funeral.