Roxanne - Beautiful Vengeance - [3/?] WIP
Disclaimer: Characters and situations of Kick-Ass are the property of Marvel Comics, Marv Films and Plan B Entertainment. Anything you don’t recognize is mine. Roxanne Robinson is of my own creation.
This story is for the enjoyment of fans, and not for profit. Please don't sue as I have no money.
Author's Note: I'd really appreciate some feedback on this story, just so I know people are enjoying it or if anyone could point out any improvements.
Standing in the shadow of the skyscraper, my future looked ominous. There was no way in hell I’d ever pull this off.
In my anxiety, I had clutched, torn, and twisted my paperwork beyond recognition. So much for references.
Standing in front of a window by the entrance, I eyed my reflection. I looked more like a tramp than a teacher. This would be the first and last time I would ever allow a five year old to play dress up with me.
My morning had been complete chaos. First I woke up late, and then Mindy thought I wasn’t wearing enough purple, so we ended up trying on several outfits right up until twenty minutes before my interview. Somehow I had landed myself in a purple cocktail dress with black stilettos. I was anything but thrilled. Trying to look a tad bit more professional, I did some last-minute adjustments in the cab. I wrapped my shoulder length blonde hair up in a tight bun and dawned on a pair of black rimmed glasses that I’d discovered in the back seat, finding they were by no means my prescription; I left them perched at the tip of my nose.
Eyeing my reflection, I realized I looked reminiscent of Christine Taylor from that God-awful Zoolander movie. Debating whether to leave the glasses on or off, I figured I’d look more bookish with than look like a harlot without.
Trying to keep calm and prevent myself from tucking tail and running home, I started to list off all of the benefits of this job. With it wouldn’t have to struggle from paycheck to paycheck. There’d be no commuting to strange schools on a daily basis. I wouldn’t have to deal with a bunch of overgrown brats (including my colleagues) day after day. I’d get fantastic health care, including dental! Not to mention the perks of ruining a family.
Damn it Roxanne that is not a perk! I reprimanded myself.
I’d been facing a lot of inner turmoil about ruining D’Amico’s family. Damon hadn’t made it clear what his intentions were, besides ‘taking him down’ which could mean anything from murder and terrorism to giving him a big ole’ glomp. I seriously doubt the latter.
From what I learned, D’Amico didn’t have much of a family, just a son. According to the New York Post, his wife had befallen an unfortunate wood chipper accident shortly after publishing a gossip column about a potential affair she was in. The more I had learned about him, the keener I was on vengeance. Not only would I be avenging for Damon’s wrongful incarceration, but I would be punishing D’Amico for the murder of his wife.
I was ready.
Keeping the ultimate goal of making Damon happy in mind, I stepped to the entrance. Greeting me briefly, the doorman opened the door to my eminent doom.
Glancing around there wasn’t much to see. Despite the natural elegance of the building, they hadn’t done much with it. The lobby was pretty barren, just a front desk with a clerk, and two men guarding an elevator. Strutting to the front, I tried to keep calm and look like I know what I’m doing. Looking up from his game of solitaire, the clerk gave me a double take. I smirked; at least I was doing something right. Leaning against the desk, I spoke in a flirtatious, yet matter-of-fact voice. “I have an appointment with Mr. D’Amico.” Nodding to me, the man picked up his phone, pressing a number he speed dialed the boss.
“Mr. D’Amico, your ten o’clock is here.” I winced a bit, hearing that made me feel like an escort. I could faintly hear a voice over the line say “Send her up.” Nodding to the guards, the clerk set down his phone. “He’s ready for you Ms…” his voice trailed off as he read a paper in front of him. “Robinson.” He smirked. I rolled my eyes knowing what he was thinking of. Turning away, I walked to the elevator doors, all the while listening to the clerk whistling to the tune of Mrs. Robinson.
Awaiting me within the elevator was yet another guard. After entering, I turned to see the clerk still whistling the god-awful tune. Just as the doors were about to close, I raised my hand and gave him the finger, promptly shutting him up. Prick.
As the elevator progressed up, I heard the man next to me chuckle at my ladylike hand gesture. Sniggering along with him, I couldn’t help but think I’d fit in with these guys. My snigger quickly died as I realized that would definitely not be a good thing. Trying to preoccupy myself on the flight up, I started to read the numbers on the elevator buttons. There were twenty-three of them, yet only twenty-two numbers. Just above the lit 22nd floor button was a button labeled GOD. I knitted my brows quizzically, either somebody had a sense of humor or D’Amico was a very religious man.
Deciding this wasn’t the best time to ask about it, I kept quiet and tapped my foot to the elevator music. Coming to a halt, the elevator dinged our arrival. As the doors opened, my companion gestured for me to go on. Stepping into D’Amico’s threshold, the first thing I noticed was the amount of security he had. There were four men lining the walls of the entrance, all dressed in suits. Their heavy stares weighed on me. It certainly felt like Big Brother was watching you.
Mustering up some courage, I matched their gaze, making sure each one of them met my eyes. Stepping forward, I noticed a display on a pedestal that had been covered by a silk cloth. They were hiding something. Deciding not to think too much of it, I tried to step around it, only to trip because of those damn stilettos.
Trying to save myself from a nasty fall, I grabbed anything I could. Managing to only catch the cloth, I fell embarrassingly to the ground. Looking up from my position, I noticed none of the men had made an attempt to save me. And they called these guys security. One was gentleman enough to assist me with standing up. Graciously taking his hand, I slipped and slid around the place, trying to balance myself on the ridiculous heels. Righting myself up in one swift motion, I was greeted with a nasty sight. Underneath the cloth was a showcase displaying a decapitated head. For whom the head belonged to was a mystery to me, considering there was no skin or hair left. Trying to decipher it quickly, I took in the features. Whoever it was had feminine cheekbones and… I gasped remembering Mrs. D’Amico’s demise.
Holy shit, I was looking at Frank’s wife!
Noticing my gaze, the man holding me apologized for the sight. “Sorry you had to see that mam.” Letting me go, he took the cloth from my hand and quickly covered the display. “Mr. D’Amico’s office is the first door on your left.” I felt my stomach plunge and my heart soar. This was it. Hopefully my head wouldn’t be the next one on display.
Taking a deep breath in, I marched to the office doors. In one swift motion I grabbed the door handle and turned it, only to have my palm slip right off the cool surface. Inspecting my hands, I realized I had been sweating immensely. Looking around, I found nothing to dry my hands off with, so I resorted to wiping them off on my dress. This is absolutely disgusting, I thought. After, I quickly inspected my dress for any signs of stains left from it, but found none. Taking another deep breath in, I grasped the handle once more, and turned it. Hearing the distinct click of approval from the door, I exhaled in relief. Pushing the door open, I had only one thing on my mind: I was in the lion’s den.
There, seated at his desk before the skyline was Frank D’Amico.
He seemed perfectly calm and collected as ever. With his arms folded in front of him, he exuded authority, resembling the Godfather a bit. A chill went down my back, I had a vague feeling that if he caught me doing wrong, he’d knock me off.
D’Amico smirked at me, eyes looking me over; probably surprised to see me dressed in such a fashion for an interview. Nodding in approval, he gestured to the seat before him.
Stepping forward, I glanced around the room. D’Amico’s desk was situated in front of the beautiful Manhattan skyline, why he’d face away from it was beyond me. The walls were lined with bookshelves and decorative paintings. The décor looked comfortable yet posh. There were tones of orange in practically everything. There were a couple of comfortable couches situated in front of each other in one area, some stylish rugs placed about, lamps, a coffee table, and… inclining my neck to the side, I noticed two giant pop art posters of pistols framing the doorway. Snapping my neck back quickly, I could feel the onslaught of whiplash. Taking my seat, I felt ill at ease. There were two guns literally aimed at my head.
We eyed each other in silence, sizing one another up. D’Amico’s face was void of expression, all except for the faint glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. Taking in his appearance, I noticed his strong features. With hazel eyes and a surprisingly subtle beaky nose, there was no denying his handsomeness. Even with the lack of hair, he looked dashing. His suaveness was only accentuated by his clothing. He was wearing a pressed orange dress shirt along with a tailored suit. Having little experience with high end clothing, I could tell he was wearing Armani. Paring his expression with his history of violence, I knew one thing. D’Amico meant business.
“You didn’t knock.” He stated blatantly, slightly amused by my expression. Fuck. Amidst my rush to get this over with, I had forgotten to be polite and do the most obvious thing. He brushed off my rudeness causally. “It’s no problem, I was expecting you anyway.” He smiled, revealing a slight snaggletooth at the front of his teeth.
I sighed in relief, but didn’t feel comforted. I knew he wouldn’t always excuse bad behavior. My days were numbered already.
Anyone could tell D’Amico wasn’t the kind of guy who put up with excuses. Just by hearing his distinct Brooklyn accent, I knew this guy was not born into money. He had to struggle to get here, and wouldn’t put up with any shit. Despite his sharpness and tough guy attitude, this man didn’t appear to be a villain. Sure he was bald and had a crooked tooth, and a pension for orange. But this guy didn’t look like the kind of person who would try to ruin a family.
Folding his hands in a very Godfatheresque way, he went straight to business. “As you know, my son was recently suspended from school.” His voice grew a bit harsh speaking of his predicament. “Rather than allowing him to get behind on his work, I’ve decided to hire a tutor to keep him up to speed.” Opening a manila folder at his side, he scanned it in review. “I have here a list of every qualified teacher we’ve contacted to resolve this conflict. Do you know what I found?”
“Hmm?” I crossed my legs, trying to deter his attention.
Glancing at my legs, he went on as though nothing had happened. “Your name is not on the list. Therefore, we never contacted you.” His irritation began to show as his hands balled into fists. “Now tell me, how the hell did you know we needed your services?”
Trying to remain calm, I recited in a collected voice. “I overheard some of my colleagues speaking of your son’s predicament. One of whom was contacted to teach him, but declined.” I surprised myself with my confidence.
“Why would she decline?” He inquired, brows furrowed.
I answered frankly. “She knows of your reputation.”
“My reputation?” He interrogated. Nodding my head in agreement, I saw the wheels in his head turn. Putting two and two together, D’Amico continued. “So you took it upon yourself to send in your application despite this reputation?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“What can I say? I like living on the edge.” I leaned forward in my seat, smirking flirtatiously.
“You understand you would not be participating in any of my business activities?” D’Amico questioned sternly.
“Perfectly, nor would your son.” He nodded in agreement.
Looking down, he scanned my resume. “I see you have degrees in education, but you’ve never worked as a full-time teacher. Why’s that?”
“Cut the bull, I know you’ve done a thorough background search on me.” What the fuck is wrong with me? I’d been acting so out of character all morning, it was starting to scare me. I was being interviewed for a job by the biggest baddie in New York City! I have no right to be frank!
D’Amico paused, slightly amused by my audacity, but went on. “It says here you have a criminal record involving…” his eyes traveled across the page “-possession of a deadly weapon?” He questioned astounded. I’m sure he was trying to imagine me jumping someone in an alley. He gestured for me to go on.
I smiled bashfully. “I collect weapons as a hobby. I was caught at the wrong place at the wrong time holding the wrong thing.” By the wrong someone.
“I see.” He nodded in understanding. “Besides collecting, do you have any weapons experience?” This was definitely not in the job description.
“Not per say, but I do know how to handle them if need be. I didn’t find it appropriate to list on my application, but I’m also trained in the martial arts.” Don’t get cocky Roxanne.
“Are you?” He seemed genuinely interested. Grinning, he questioned. “What areas are you training in?”
“I’m involved in karate and am currently a green belt. I’m also involved in kickboxing.” Let’s not forget gymnastics. Oh how my exboyfriend benefitted from that.
“No shit?” He grinned. The conversation was turning casual. Leaning back, he went on. “I’m involved in the same things. I got a dojo right through that door.” He gestured to the right connecting door to his office. “Wanna see?”
I had to bite back a laugh. It was pretty funny to see such a headstrong mobster get giddy.
“I’d very much like to see your room.” I surprised myself with the implication of my words.
Maybe if I got this job, I’d get a chance to train in there, possibly with him. Furrowing my brows quizzically, I was surprised to find myself attracted to D’Amico. I mean come on, he’s bald! Maybe it was the charm, or the power, or the orange, but something about him allured me to him. Glancing at him, I caught his eyes tracing my curves. I’m sure his thoughts were similar to mine.
If only Damon could see me now. He’d probably want to give me a smack-down just for thinking of this going beyond a ‘mission.’
Grinning lasciviously, D’Amico rose from his desk. Remembering what I came for, I leaned across the desk and placed my hand on his, stopping him. Amused by his behavior, I posed the million dollar question. “But first, about the job?”
“Oh yes, yes the job.” Catching himself off-track, he straightened his tie and took his seat. “How often can you be here?”
“Every day of the week, including Saturdays.” I smiled. Things were finally going my way.
“You’re hired.” Offering me a hand, I shook it beaming with pride.
This was the beginning of a beautiful vengeance.