Sullivan

"What is that?" Sullivan asked in disgust. His best friend and right-hand man, Vito, held out the screaming infant wrapped tightly in white swaddling cloth.

"A baby," Vito droned.

Sullivan glared at him. "I can see that. The question is, why do you have the infernal creature with you?"

Vito shuffled uncomfortably, still holding out the baby. "Just take it."

"Tell me, who owns the child?"

"Take it first." Vito dropped the child onto Sullivan's desk. The baby released a petulant scream and kicked until it rolled to the edge of the desk. Sullivan caught the bundle before it toppled over. Vito had retreated to the door.

Sullivan glowered. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"The child is yours, Sullivan."

A heavy denial was on Sullivan's lips when his eyes widened. "Laura?" His face twisted in anger. "You believed that cheating whore?" He looked ready to toss the now silent baby into the trash.

"Curb your anger, Sullivan. I'm no fool," he fished out several pieces of paper from his pocket and waved them. "DNA tests from three different institutes say the kid is yours."

Sullivan stared in open-mouthed disbelief, then he glared at Vito. "Wipe that smirk off your face."

Vito's usually cold expression cracked as he teased. "Have fun being a father."

"You can't mean to leave me alone with this!"

His friend frowned in amusement. "I don't recall being in the bed when she was made."

"Doesn't matter, did you say SHE?" Sullivan looked down at the sleeping baby in horror.

Vito let out two low grunts that could be considered laughter as he walked out. "Like I said; have fun."

---

Eight years later.

Sullivan picked up a revolver and tested the weight. He clicked his tongue and returned it to the table before picking another gun.

Behind him, two half-naked men were kneeling down, blood trickling from various wounds on their bodies onto the white marble tiles. One of them made to crawl towards Sullivan, a man in black closed in and kicked him back into place. The man groaned in pain, and the second man flinched.

"Please spare me! Please!" The man that was kicked begged. He got on his knees, kowtowing until his head bled and blood trickled down his nose. Sullivan looked down at him in disgust. The sniveling fool had blood, tears, and mucus smearing his face.

"Coward," Sullivan sneered, turning to the other man. He said, "Won't you beg for your life?"

The man defiantly raised puffy, half-shut eyes to meet his. "If I beg, will you give it?"

Sullivan chuckled once. "You're a funny one."

Before the man could react, Sullivan's gun released a barely audible 'pfft,' and the begging captive toppled over, a fatal bullet through his head. The defiant man shuffled back, eyes wide with horror.

"You're next...unless you wish to beg."

The man spat. Blood and spittle stained Sullivan's white shoes.

"You're a monster, Sullivan, and you will get what's coming to you..." He fell back, a bullet hole in his head. Sullivan tossed the gun, and it clattered loudly on the table. He sat down two seconds when his phone rang. The caller ID was "Baby." A warm smile lit his face.

"Hello, baby," he cooed.

There was silence at the end of the line, then a deep voice said, "Disgusting."

Sullivan's expression flipped like a switch.

"Why are you with her phone, Vito?"

He could hear his friend shrug through the line. "She's on her way to see you."

"Why?" Sullivan hissed. "Stop her!"

The door of the warehouse was pushed open. A little girl walked in. She wore a black overall on a pink top and black boots. Her dark hair was twisted in a long French plait that brushed her waist. Small dark eyes surveyed the room, glancing briefly at the bodies before resting on her father.

"Too late," Vito said, amused.

Gritting his teeth, Sullivan forcefully hung up the call. He stood and walked towards her. He spread his hands to pick her up, but the little girl stepped out of reach with a disdainful look. She walked past the bodies and sat in Sullivan's chair.

She frowned at the bodies. "Clean this mess up," she ordered.

The men didn't waste time before clearing the bodies. Two pulled the bodies away, while three mopped up the blood.

Five minutes later, the floor was scrubbed clean, and the girl turned to her father.

"I need to talk to you."

"What now, Bloom?"

"Grandmother wants you to get married."

Sullivan choked. "What?"

"I didn't stutter."

Sullivan bent to her eye level. "And how do you know this?"

Bloom shrugged. "I have my means."

Sullivan raised a brow. "The gossiping maids?"

Her lips flattened, but she didn't deny.

Sullivan laughed. "Don't worry, pumpkin; they're just talking. Aw, I can't believe you came all the way here because of a few rumors."

---

Mrs. Mario watched her son wolf down a sandwich.

Sullivan caught his mother's gaze and rubbed his cheeks. "Is there food on my face?"

She shook her head. "I'm having a party tonight," she began. "I need you to be here."

Sullivan frowned. "You throw parties every other day; why is this one important?"

Mrs. Mario smiled. "Remember Adelaide? Mrs. Campbell's daughter; both of you met when you were kids. Well, she just finished her studies abroad, and I offered to host a welcome party for her."

At the other side of the table, Bloom coughed and gave her father an 'I told you' look.

Sullivan deadpanned. "No, I do not remember her; what has her homecoming got to do with me?"

"Sulli, she's a family friend; it would be disrespectful for you not to be here."

Sullivan laughed. "And since when has a Narok had to worry about being disrespectful?"

His mother sighed. A long-suffering sigh that made him uncomfortable. He twitched to agree, but he didn't want to be saddled on a date with another entitled heiress. The last one was bad enough. The daughter of an oil magnate; she had walked in on him dealing with a traitor but held onto the relationship under the illusion that she could change him. He smirked, remembering how horrified she had been when he allowed little Bloom to drive knives into a traitor's hands and legs. The wounds had been non-fatal, but she broke off the engagement the next day and left the city...to study abroad. He laughed.

"What's so funny?" his mother snapped.

Sullivan wiped the grin off his face. "Sorry, mama, but I can't make it tonight; I have a shipment coming in at eight. I have to be at the harbor to make sure it doesn't get seized like the last one."

"Let Vito take care of it," his mother insisted.

"He's got his hands full working to renew our contract with Helms Group," Sullivan replied.

His mother frowned in annoyance. "You know Helms Group has a daughter; I saw her once at a soirée... She's very beautiful," she added.

Sullivan's expression was blank as a board. "Good for them," he said.

"You're impossible!" She threw down her fork and stormed up the stairs.

"You will be at the party by nine or you're no son of mine!" She yelled.

Sullivan groaned and sank into his seat. He looked over at Bloom, who had a tiny smirk at the corner of her lips, even as she buttered her toast. Her expression was positively smug. Sullivan rolled his eyes.

"You know..." She turned to him. "I could always deal with the shipment at the harbor."

"No," Sullivan replied firmly.

"Why? I have been learning to take over!"

"Well, first of all, you're eight years old..."

"And?"

"That's it, you're too young," he picked the buttered toast from her plate and stuffed it into his mouth.

"But grandfather had you handling business at my age!"

"Yeah, but I was a smart kid."

"You think I'm dumb?"

"No, I think you should wait a few more years... who knows, by next year you might want to be a dancer or something."

She sneered. "Don't disgust me."