Ophilia shut the door to her car and breathed out a cloud of smoke. Slipping the fresh lighter into her pocket, she stared at her family's manor-house in silence. After a moment, she started towards the building, humming softly under her breath. One of the guards at the door opened the way for her as she approached. She tipped her hat to the two of them, her mood jovial, and walked inside at a regal pace.

The sight of the entry hall was commonplace for her now. The walls were pristine white, soaring up to the second-story ceiling. As she walked along the intricate black and gold carpet, Ophilia could only barely recall the hectic day when she'd first seen the beautiful paintings, the elegant marble pillars, the vases filled with exotic flowers. Despite that blurry recollection, she'd never forget how amazed she'd been when she first saw the servants.

Even all these years later they bustled here and there, as unchangeable as the tides or seasons. At this late hour, though, most of them were asleep.

Both she and her father knew all these men and women by name, though certainly for different reasons. To Charles, part of being a good leader meant knowing the names of every tool you might need to use and exactly what job it's most fit for. To Ophilia, it mostly meant even-handedness – if not outright kindness – to those who serve you well. Earn their respect and loyalty would follow. Fear could only get you so far.

She gave greetings to the few who were awake, smiling a soft smile and inquiring about relatives, children, and lovers. But no matter who she looked at or spoke to, all she heard was an addictive laugh and all she saw was a perfect smile, silly glasses, and memories.

Not really moving with any particular haste, Ophilia made her way to her father's study. He spent most nights there, checking their profits and taking reports, before finally going to sleep. Undoubtedly, he'd be there, waiting to hear her account of the night's events.

With an inevitability as daunting as winter's approach, Ophilia finally reached the door. As she knocked, the vision of Vivian wavered, fading away with the thoughts of encountering her father. The vision shattered and vanished at the sound of the voice from within the room.

"Come in, Ophilia."

Ophilia felt a shiver run up her spine, then drop back down. She wasn't quite afraid of her father – not quite that – but it was something else; something even more primal than fear. If she needed to try and put it to words, perhaps it was something like the wary respect a tiger might have for a lion.

She opened the door and stepped inside. "Good evening, father," Ophilia said, shutting the door behind her.

At the end of the day, a lion and Charles Melody had much in common: both were strong leaders, kings in their domain. Both were predators, taking down the small and the weak to feed their pride. And both carried the cold eyes and predatory poise of violent, wild animals.

He was a tall man – taller than Ophilia, certainly – and used his height like a bludgeon. When Charles Melody stared you down with his dollar-green eyes, he really stared you down. You'd crumble – end of story.

His hair was black and slicked back, only a peppering of grey marking his advancing age. His face looked young and expressive, able to display a shockingly wide array of emotions very vividly. Both mirth and malice had left lines on his face. He wore crisp, custom-styled suits and smoked only the finest cigars.

As Ophilia took her seat, he smiled a crocodile smile at her, leaning back in his seat. "So, what good news do you have for me, my daughter?"

Ophilia shifted in her chair, crossing her legs and generally getting more comfortable. Once she'd taken enough time to collect her thoughts, she clasped her hands in her lap and sat properly upright.

"I met with the Mixer boss VeeVee with no incident and accepted a very lucrative offer," she said carefully, keeping her expression neutral. She studied her father's face, watching his expressions with great care. While he was far more outwardly expressive than his daughter, he was a master at concealing his true thoughts and Ophilia needed to struggle to even have an inkling of what he was thinking.

Charles' expression lingered on mildly curious, with a sprinkling of surprise in his eyebrows. Ophilia had agreed to only ever accept an agreement without Charles' input in the most extreme of circumstances. She'd never once needed to do it before. She decided quickly that the emotions she'd seen were more than likely forced; he'd sent her into a populated club to deal with this situation, so he was probably expecting an outcome like this.

"Really?" He asked, leaning forward over his desk, eyes intent. "Tell me the details of this agreement, if you would."

Ophilia took a deep breath, bracing herself for the fall. Letting it out slowly, she dove into the breach. "The Mixer boss is giving us a 70-30 split on all illegal profits in our favor, as well as a 80-20 split on legal profits in their favor, to become a partner crew. This will entail working with us, receiving protection from us, and working within our territory. Their activities include, but aren't limited to: loan schemes, illegal gambling, racketeering, and other forms of extortion, drug sales, and small-scale prostitution." Ophilia noticed her father's darkening expression and rushed to clarify. "I checked very carefully, father. The Mixers deal in small drugs – psychedelic substances and things like that – but avoid dangerous, addictive substances. They know your bias and have taken precautions ahead of time."

Charles let out a long sigh that was tinged with agitation and leaned back into his chair again. Ophilia knew his cold anger to be his absolute worst. She'd need to be very, very careful from here on. He waited several seconds before replying. "I assume you have a good reason for accepting such an offer without my consent?"

Ophilia was sure to tread lightly, picking her words with the utmost caution. Daughter or not, she was walking on dangerous ground now.

"With all due respect, father, you sent me to the Vortex to handle the situation, and I did so to the best of my abilities. I feel that the drug trade – at least the softer sides of it – are a lucrative asset that we would be foolish to not take advantage of. You weren't there, father. That club was overflowing with casual users; not junkies or fiends, but people looking to escape for the night or take the edge off a bad day. There's a real market for that kind of escapism in this latest generation. VeeVee and her Mixers are our best way into this market, without having to expose ourselves to the more dangerous materials that you and I both hate – and don't get it confused, father, I hate those drugs just as much as you do.

"If I am ever to take over the Family one day, I must learn to make decisions such as this one, without letting my personal biases cloud my judgement." She paused only for a second before continuing. "Were you aware that I knew VeeVee in high school?" She asked cautiously. Her father's expression remained the same – not a twitch. "Her name is Vivian Scratch. I'm sure you can recall the name; I asked you about her enough times."

Charles gave a small nod and motioned for her to continue.

"Back then, she was my better half. She was my everything." The last word instantly dried her mouth and she gave her lips a brief swipe of her tongue before continuing. "She wants to be with me again, father. After all this time, after all these years, she never forgot about me." In that moment, Ophilia realized she wasn't just talking to her father, but also to herself. She was still having trouble believing it all.

Her father had heard of her high school life, she was certain. He had to understand what all this meant to her.

Slowly, Charles drew in a breath, like some great bellows. "Do you know why I forbid you from contacting Vivian upon your return to me?" He didn't really expect an answer, Ophilia knew. Such a question was rhetorical and merely used to prepare for the next statement.

Ophilia had a pretty good idea why he'd prohibited it, especially after meeting Vivian tonight, but he'd never given her a reason. After her return from overseas, he'd simply commanded her that she not contact Vivian and, like a good minion, she'd reluctantly obeyed.

"Firstly, on a smaller scale, there is the matter of gender," Charles began. "While I don't care who you love, I do care about succession." He paused to lean forward again, his stare boring through Ophilia's skull. "As you said so aptly, you are next in line to inherit this Family, as I inherited it from my mother and her from her father. I will not see a three-hundred year legacy ruined, all because you decided to not have a child."

Ophilia felt rage in her blood, but silenced it swiftly. A child wasn't an obstacle. There were ways. She let him continue unimpeded.

"Second," he went on, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Vivian is a fiend; a dangerous junkie who was in prison upon your return. I did some research while you were away with Salvatore – kept an eye on the woman who moved my daughter to such lengths – and what I saw disgusted me. Your friend is a volatile person, a danger to both herself and those around her. Especially to a significant other."

Ophilia masked her surprise well. She'd known some of that, of course, but she hadn't been aware that Vivian had been arrested on top of her addiction. She made a mental note to do some research of her own; it was long overdue.

After a moment to collect herself and her thoughts, Ophilia retaliated. "Father, I am more than aware of Vivian's less-than-pleasant history with heroin. She told me about her past addiction herself." She matched her father's pose, leaning forward over her knees and staring straight into his eyes. "I trust her, father. Really, truly, I do. She told me that her time with dope is done and over with and I believe her. She isn't using anything hard anymore and I aim to break her of those small habits too." Boldness swelled in her chest, melting away the well-honed caution and restraint she normally held when talking to her father. "We'll see about a child. There are means, of course, for me to still provide that for you, but on this I won't budge. I love her, father."

Charles blinked once, like a lazy cat staring at an owner it thought was particularly humorous. Obviously deep in thought, he leaned back into his chair again – giving ground, as it were. "You know," he began, speaking into his laced fingers, "that love will eventually kill you, correct?"

"It didn't kill you," Ophilia countered without a moments pause. She didn't know much about her father's past, but she knew that he had loved his wife immensely.

"In a way, it did," Charles said with a sigh, suddenly looking exhausted. "Your mother was an amazing woman, Ophilia. She was my life. She saved my life. But she was also a target." He reached over his desk, retrieving a cigar from a box to the side. He offered a second to Ophilia, which she accepted in a haze.

Never once had her father spoken so freely about her mother, even when prompted. Often, any mention of her would result in violent fits of rage or, more commonly, complete dismissal and silence for days on end. He told her time and time again to put her out of her mind – to not let the past impede her future. She'd seen pictures of her of course, but she had no clue about who her mother was as a person or how she'd actually died.

As he prepped the cigar, Charles continued.

"I'm sure you remember the Bianchi Family," he said simply. Ophilia nodded, recalling her kidnapping with a slight shudder. "And I'm also sure that, given your new perspective, you can recognize the desperation when they took you. They went into an entirely different city, only to commit a hasty kidnapping in broad daylight in the middle of a public parking garage full of witnesses. All to get their hands on my only child." He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he clipped the head off his cigar. "At the time, I wasn't even considering pulling you into the Family. Your mother had wanted none of that for you, but they forced my hand."

He lit the cigar with a lighter from his breast pocket, puffing out smoke as he stoked the cherry. He leaned back again as if getting comfortable, but Ophilia couldn't miss the look of quiet rage in his eyes. "They'd killed your mother about a year prior. They pulled her off the street, got her hooked on those filthy poisons, and just left her to smoke, shoot, and snort herself into oblivion. Nothing I did could stop it. By the time I found her again, she'd rotted away from the inside, her mind melting and body dying. I was completely powerless."

Ophilia did her best to control her facial expression, but almost unconsciously, she was wringing the uncut cigar between her hands with a vicious ferocity.

"Rather than break me as they hoped her death would, it simply honed my anger into a fine point. I made their extermination my primary goal. The culmination of that hunt was when, in primal fear, they took you hostage in the middle of the day. They had hoped to use you as a bargaining chip to make me spare their lives. Instead, they only pushed me to kill the last of them that much faster." Charles took another, more relaxed, drag from his cigar as he let his emotions drift back into neutrality. He let the message settle in, giving the silence it's space.

"I'll protect her, father," Ophilia replied after a long pause, a slight tremor in her voice.

"What makes you so sure you can?" Charles asked, staring at her with a carefully emotionless expression. "And how won't that ultimately kill you?" Slowly, life bled back into his dead eyes, but he didn't look at all curious. Instead, he seemed to be prying into her devotion, looking for an answer he couldn't refute. Or perhaps an argument that he could rip apart. The cherry of his cigar burned and more smoke puffed into the air, adding to the faint bluish haze that was beginning to enshroud everything.

Ophilia took a deep breath, making sure her emotions were in check, before she replied. She'd need to think this through carefully.

"Vivian is far from defenseless. Her gang has access to near-military grade arms, even without our backing – a fact you certainly knew about before all this began. Naturally, sharing these contacts with us was another thing we've received from our agreement."

Charles nodded in acknowledgement, surely adding this new information to his agenda and letting her continue.

"And with our Family behind her, other gangs will be hesitant to attack her. We've become much larger since the days of the Bianchi Family, and their extermination surely made a terrifying example of what we can do. The other Families and gangs bow to us. We hold this city in our fist, father." She closed her fist tightly, noticing passively that the cigar appeared to be gone. She didn't remember dropping it, but she must've at some point or another. "And finally, I'll be moving in with her. I will personally see to it that nobody even gets close enough to her to do her any harm."

Silence and smoke lingered in the room. The pair of money-green eyes studied Ophilia through the pall just long enough to rattle her nerves. Then, her father smiled, giving a long sigh and adding to the pollution in the air.

"Fine. What kind of father would I be if I said no to a declaration like that? Times are changing and we must change with them." His laughter, as always, never sounded forced. But when Ophilia met his gaze, there was steel in his eyes. "But, if I think for even an instant that her involvement in our affairs will damage the Family or it's name – or harm you – she goes. Am I understood?"

Ophilia nodded, so relieved and excited that she missed the unspoken threat. For the first time in over a decade, she rose and crossed the unspoken threshold around her father. He looked at her – cautious – but she simply leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you, father. I promise, you won't regret this."

"I never regret a decision, Ophilia. I simply correct the situation and move on," Charles replied coolly, giving her a raptor smile. "But I understand what you are trying to say." He set his cigar in an ashtray as Ophilia returned to her seat. "Don't let me down."

As she sat down, Ophilia replied that she wouldn't, overflowing with happiness. And yet as she looked to her feet, she saw the two halves of the cigar she'd been holding, torn apart by her bare hands.

"When will I meet her?"

The question snapped Ophilia's eyes back up to her father. She hadn't considered that, eventually, he would want to meet her lover. She narrowed her eyes, trying to imagine Charles and Vivian in the same room; the very idea nearly threw her into hysterics.

"Soon, I hope," she said with a sardonic smirk. "It should be quite the experience. One I doubt that any of us will ever forget."

Charles laughed, looking human again. "I suppose I'd be disappointed if your lover was anything but colorful, Ophilia. A fitting match for you. I'll remember to go into that meeting with some caution." He paused, snubbing out his cigar. "This will all come with one other condition – one you already stated, but that I wish to reinforce." His stare pierced through Ophilia's cheery mood and suddenly the imposing mob boss was back. "You will purge her veins of that filth. Do I make myself clear to you, Ophilia?"

Even with her head clear, she nearly missed the threat hidden in her father's tone, expression, and even in the action of snuffing out his cigar. Like a lion, indeed.

"Of course, father," Ophilia replied dutifully, offering a submissive nod.

"Very good," he replied, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to plan for these new assets you've acquired."

Taking her cue, Ophilia rose and started to the door without another word. As he finger brushed the handle, her father spoke again.

"Oh, and Ophilia?" She stopped, looking over her shoulder. This is the part, she thought, where he'll make a more direct threat to scare me. To frighten me into submission. It was in his nature, after all.

Her father was sitting completely upright, with his elbows on the desk and his fingers steepled. His eyes were unreadable, but years of conditioning made it feel like they were digging into her all the same. "You've done well today. I'm proud of you."

The words shook Ophilia more than anything else in that conversation. Compliments were rare, but admissions of pride were unheard of. Charles had never attempted to hide the fact that he'd always wished that she'd been born a man. Still, she forced a smile and nodded to him, trying to not let him see her sweat.

"All blood for the Family," she recited dutifully, the Melody Family's motto coming to her lips as easily as breath. Quickly, before her father could unbalance her more, Ophilia ducked into the hall and closed the doorway behind her.

Back in her room, Ophilia allowed herself to finally relax. She threw her fedora onto a chair and pulled the neck of her tie down. The damn things always felt like nooses after a conversation with her father.

With a small sigh, she allowed herself to flop onto the couch with a faint grunt. She was rattled, tired, and more than a little anxious. Normally, she would have scolded herself – ladies do not flop, Ophilia, and they most certainly do not grunt – but she felt like she was standing on a precipice, looking over a whole new world; one filled with the potential to become either paradise or purgatory.

Possibly something inexpiable.

With another small sigh, Ophilia passed a hand over her face. She considered all she'd learned over the past day and settled on a firm – if nerve-wracking – decision. With silent resolve, she slipped her laptop over the small table in front of her, booted up the program she was looking for, and typed Vivian's name into the engine. Silently, well into the dying night, Ophilia learned about her lover's other, darker life.

Author's Note

Short chapter is short. But there is a reason for it. This chapter is meant to mainly focus on Charles and, as such, I didn't want it to deviate much from the conversation between him and his daughter. Rather than pack the conversation with extra filler and take away from the emotional levity -- something Charles would never do -- I decided to keep the chapter short and packed with emotion -- something Charles would most certainly do.