A Hit-Girl Christmas!

(Merry Christmas, everybody! I meant for this to be like 3000 words, a quick gift along with another story... but this happened instead. I hope you enjoy! If you want me to continue it, let me know in the comments!)

The night before Christmas, the Spilleti mansion looked much like any other high-end home. The roof and the surrounding trees glittered with lights, snow coated the lawn, and there was a large diorama of the nativity lit with flood lights that probably annoyed the neighbors. The usual guards that stood watch around the house had been greatly thinned and there were none at all inside the house. Mafiosos broke the law, but they had their own rules about attacks on Christmas; if any of the other families decided to make a move on Christiano Spiletti, it wouldn’t be tonight.

However, for Mindy McCready, better known as Hit-Girl, all that meant was getting to the current head of the Chicago outfit was going to be a walk in the park.

Slipping through the window, the only sound heralding Hit-Girl’s entry was the flutter of her pleated skirt. She landed crouched in the Spilleti’s massive kitchen, then reached back to close the window behind her. No alarms, no barking dogs, she was as quiet as the falling snow outside.

“Not a creature was stirring,” she grinned to herself, “’Cept for me and my glock…”

Standing up, pistols already in hand, the diminutive commando took a quick look around.

The lights were off, but not the lights from the Christmas tree, coating everything in a festive gleam that blinked red and green. Holly and streamers hung from the ceiling, the living room was all but covered in presents, and someone had even left milk and cookies for Santa on the kitchen counter. Spilleti’s boys had probably worked hard to decorate the place for their boss. The nice thing about being a mob boss is you didn’t have to put up or take down your own lights, and you were usually rich as fuck.

The downside was when someone showed up to turn your white Christmas red.

Tip toeing across the kitchen, Hit-Girl curled her lip at all the presents, then carefully climbed the stairs. That’s where she’d seen Christiano, in his office with the light on, pouring over plans for some job the next day. From her observation point across the street, she’d watched him talking on the phone and pushing papers around for at least an hour, egg nog beside him and already in his pajamas. He’d be in there for a good while, stationary and unsuspecting. Dead fucking meat.

In a lot of ways, this was Mindy’s Christmas present to herself. She and her dad had always celebrated and though she’d never believed in Santa, he’d always come up with some tactical explanation for how always managed to find her on Christmas (and usually gave her guns). Even without him, she continued to celebrate, giving herself a different kind of present.

Some years she bought herself a nice new ammo reloader or a custom katana, but this year she’d decided to go all out and take down some scum bag from another city. In preparation, she’d rented a house here, faked some parents, spent a ton on a bogus background, and even enrolled herself in the same school as Christiano’s psycho daughter. She’d set things up to be her best friend (for a while, at least), got invited to her house to scope things out, learned the layout of the security system, covered every eventuality.

It had been a lot of work and the most painful had definitely been pretending to be Luissa Spilleti’s friend. The girl wanted servants more than friends, took pleasure in making people do what she said, so the way to be her best friend was just to suck up the most and be the biggest doormat. At least it had been a pleasure to tell her to get fucked in the end.

Whatever the case, now it was all going to be worth it.

The shine of her violet body suit dimmed as she got to the top of the stairs, away from the light of the Christmas tree. To anyone watching, she wouldn’t have looked like much, a little girl in a violet wig and a cape, moving with the speed and precision of a trained operative, but still looking like she was playing a game. Her pistols seemed too big for her, her crouched position making her look even smaller, dressed up like a pretend superhero.

But the fact was, no one did see her. In regards to stealth, her size was an advantage, particularly in the dark; most people watching for a threat weren’t scanning the floor and overlooked her entirely.

The boss’s office was just past the landing, light shining from under the door. Mindy could hear him inside, talking to one of his guys, probably a lower ranked guy unfortunate enough to be working on Christmas eve.

“All right, then tell me again what you’re doing… Yeah… Yeah…”

She drew closer, staying low and silent.

“Right… Yeah… No! Goddamnit, from the back of the house! It has to be from the back of the house! Why?! Because I fucking said so! And the chimney is in the back of the house! She notices details like that!”

Hit-Girl stopped beside the door and stood up to her full height. Stuffing one of her pistols into her shoulder holster, she used her newly free hand to take the doorknob, carefully so as not to jiggle it.

All her work had built up to this moment. Coming through a doorway with an enemy on the other side was always the most dangerous part of a hit. She narrowed her eyes and focused her mind’s eye on opening the door and squeezing through in the same motion. She visualized his face, his stunned expression as he realized Hit-Girl had come for him and he was staring down the barrel of a Glock 9. She’d give him a one liner, superhero style, then pop, pop, pop, two in the chest, one in the head.

“She’s fucking smart, Gary, twice as smart as you and three times as mean! You know what she asked me for this year?!”

She’d practiced this hundreds of times, done it for real at least a dozen. Now it was only one more.

Go time.

“She asked me to buy her a girl from school! Can you believe that?! She had a plan for it! A legitimate plan!”

Hit-Girl turned the doorknob and pulled the door open, then flowed inside in the same motion. It was swift and somehow matter-of-fact, no wasted motion. The door opened and she was suddenly, calmly there, pistol aimed.

Christiano was leaning over his expensive desk, snapping into a cell phone.

“If she wasn’t—wasn’t--!”

Caught in the middle of his rant, the shock of suddenly find a gun pointed at him strangled what he was going to say. He froze like a deer in headlights, drawing in a sharp breath. His eyes were big, locked onto the barrel of the gun, lips pressed together, frozen in the middle of his next intended syllable.

Hit-Girl recognized the look. ‘Oh, shit’, it said. When they were on the other side of a gun, Mob guys suddenly weren’t so tough. He probably knew exactly what his victims were thinking now, right before he dropped them to the bottom of the river.

Yeah. Definitely worth it.

“No presents in your stocking, Spilleti,” Hit-Girl sneered, “Just three lumps of lead—”

Movement in the corner of her eye.

Her reflexes were razor sharp and she turned immediately, realizing someone was beside her, someone she hadn’t seen through the window. Her pistol was instantly leveled at the person’s chest.

But she didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, it was her turn to freeze.

The other man in the room had been standing right beside the door and he was large. If he’d been visible from the window, the red suit with white fur trim would have stood out like a sore thumb. A belly bulged out beneath his coat, a shiny black belt stretched around his waist, his round face so hidden behind a thick white beard and curly white hair that she could really only see his eyes.

It registered that the fat man’s arms were over his head, and he was holding something, but she was too stunned to react. In that instant, only one thought crossed her mind.

Santa?

She blinked.

The man in the Santa suit didn’t hesitate. He brought the oversized candy cane down onto the little intruder’s head with a crack.

And she knew nothing more.

----------------

Breathing quickly, the surge of adrenaline stealing their breath, Christiano Spilleti and Marco stared at the small, purple, would-be assassin lying facing down in the carpet. Their eyes were wide, mouths agape, too stunned to move. Even Marco, who had knocked her out with a candy cane of all things, looked like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

The phone held to his ear, it took a couple of seconds for Christiano to realize his guy on the other end was still trying to talk to him.

“Boss? Hey, boss?” the man was saying, “Boss, did I get disconnected? Hey, you okay?”

Christiano shook himself, snapping out of his momentary daze.

“Boss?” the man on the other line continued, “Hey, don’t be mad, okay? I’ve written it all down! I’ll memorize it! Boss?”

Christiano cleared his throat, “U-uh, yeah, Gary, good, you do that.”

Snapping out of his shock as well, Marco regained the wherewithal to approach the crumpled figure in the cape. She’d fallen with one arm outstretched, pistol a few inches from her fingertips; he kicked it well away from her grasp.

“Listen, Gary, something’s come up,” Christiano said, “I gotta go.”

He hung up without waiting for Julius’ response and set the phone firmly down on the desk.

The candy cane still at the ready, holding it in both hands like a baseball bat, Marco stood over the crumpled little body, ready to bash her again if she moved. His eyes were wide, and he looked more than a little unnerved.

“Wh-what the—?!” he yanked off the fake beard, revealing a flushed, chubby face, “I mean, what the fuck?!”

Christiano shot him a sharp look, “Hey. Quiet down. My daughter’s at the end of the hall.”

Marco gulped loudly.

“This is fucked up!” he hissed, trying to be quieter, “Genovese coming at you in your house?! On Christmas!? And he’s sending fucking midgets now?! I fucking HATE midgets!”

The plus-sized mobster raised the candy cane again, about to bring it down with all his might.

“Marco, you swing that thing again and you’re a dead man!” Christiano snapped.

Marco stopped with the yuletide weapon over his head. He blinked in astonishment at his boss.

Christiano glared at him.

He waited for Marco to slowly lower the candy cane again before speaking.

“You do NOT do that in MY house,” the crime lord growled, “NEVER in my house. Ever. Get it?”

The fat man licked his lips when he saw the look in his boss’s eye. He’d been around enough that he knew the “never shit where you live” rule, and that went double for where the boss lived, he’d just been so freaked out he forgot. He also knew he was lucky that the boss had just warned him, rather than… reminded him in some other way.

He nodded, jiggling his double chins, then carefully set the giant candy cane aside. To show he took the warning to heart, he even took a couple of steps away from the unconscious girl.

“Y-yeah, you’re right, boss,” Marco rubbed at his face, “Of course, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, I… I got excited.”

Christiano watched his underling back up, clearly penitent. Once he felt his point was made, he softened slightly.

“Relax, Marko, you did good,” he said, “You did real good. You saw an opportunity and acted. I won’t forget it.”

Marco licked his lips again, putting on a halting smile.

“Y-yeah, I… yeah, thanks, boss. Anything for you, you know.”

Christiano pushed back from his desk and stood. Eyes now on the crumpled vigilante, he strode around his desk, hands clasped behind his back.

“Really, relax,” he said, “Genovese isn’t starting a war with us. He didn’t send this one. And she’s not a midget.”

The mob boss stopped beside her. He snuck his house slipper under the figure’s shoulder, lifted it up, then shoved to roll her over.

The small figure flopped onto her back without a sound of protest, arm landing to one side while her head lolled towards her shoulder. Her chest rose and fell, but her eyes were closed, and her mouth was ajar; she was entirely senseless.

Marco squinted, more confused than before. Now that he got a good look at the smooth features, pouty lips and girlish body, he could clearly see she was not a dwarf. That made even less sense to him.

“That’s…” he began.

“Yeah,” the boss grunted, “That’s fucking Hit-Girl.”

Marco scratched his head.

“Uh, yeah… You’re right, boss,” he said, “Definitely a hit girl.”

He nodded sagely, now having a supreme comprehension of the situation.

Christiano glanced at him, then back down at the small, masked face.

“My daughter told me all about her, at least every day for a week,” he smirked, “She’s supposed to be a real superhero. Fights crime and everything. Even took out some wise guys in New York.”

“Fucking New York…” Marco grumbled.

Christiano sank to one knee beside her. The girl was clearly outfitted for action, looking like she was wearing Kevlar under her violet suit, had a pink tool belt fitted with knives and other tools, and from under her arm another pistol jutted out from a shoulder holster. He worked it free from the holster, taking it away from her.

“She came to the wrong house this time,” he grinned, tapping the barrel against her forehead.

Hit-Girl didn’t even flinch.

“Heh,” Marco grinned, “Yeah. Tough luck.”

Standing back up, Christiano continued to grin down at the unconscious girl.

“Ya have to admit, pretty ballsy coming in here like that,” he said, “If you hadn’t been here, who knows what might have happened.”

He tapped her pistol against his thigh and shrugged.

“But in the end, just a little girl playing dress up. Not much when she comes up against guys that know what they’re doing,” he said, “And I still got a ton of shit to do before tomorrow morning…”

With a sigh, he turned back to stride around his desk. The altercation with Hit-Girl had been a nice little distraction from putting everything together for Luissa’s Christmas surprise, but it was over now and there was work to be done. He plopped down into his chair, dropped the pistol on his desk, and scooched himself back in, looming over all the receipts and phone numbers he’d been wrangling.

“Get her little ass out of here, Marco,” he waved a dismissive hand without looking up, “Call some guys and take her somewhere quiet. I don’t want to see her again, capisce?”

“Gotcha, boss,” Marco nodded, “We’ll tuck her in nice and quiet.”

Stepping up to her, the big man leaned down, grasped the chest of her violet suit and sat her up with a single yank. Another firm yank stood her up, her knees buckled and head dropping back.

“Any way you want us to do it?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“Nah,” Christiano waved again, “Just quietly and quickly. We got other things to do.”

Marco nodded, took her under the arm, then lifted her up with both hands. She plopped over his shoulder with ease, arms dangling down his back, then turned to leave.

Before he got to the door, the boss stopped him.

“Wait.”

Stopping, Marco turned back to look quizzically over his shoulder.

Christiano was looking at the limp bundle over the big man’s shoulder, drumming his fingers on his desk. He glanced down at some of the papers, and picked up a receipt, holding it up to eyeball it. After a second, he crumpled it up in his fist and tossed it over his shoulder, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I changed my mind, Marco,” he gestured at the unconscious form, “Search her, take all her toys and weapons, tie her up and put her on the sofa. Leave the mask on, the wig on, the cape on, her whole little suit, but take anything she can use to cause a problem.”

Marco blinked. He had no clue why his boss had had a sudden change of heart, but he knew better than to question it. When Christiano Spilleti told you to do something, you did it, you didn’t ask why.

“Uh, right boss. I got it.”

He carried her over to the sofa and plopped her down, starting to go through her tool belt while the boss picked up his phone, hitting call back.

“Gary, listen,” Christiano said, “No, I’m fine, listen. Cancel the pony. You heard me, cancel the pony, I got something else in mind. Call our pharmacist guy and get him to my house right now. Offer him double. And get the dollmaker guy too.”

The boss listened for a moment, grinning as he watched Marco working a butterfly knife out of Hit-Girl’s belt.

“Tell him I found something better,” Christiano said, “Tell him I found something perfect…”

* * *

By 10 am on Christmas morning, all the presents that had covered the Spilleti living room had been eviscerated. Both methodical and ravenous, Christiano Spilleti’s only daughter had ripped apart packaging and boxes, giggled and thanked her daddy for the contents, as was customary, then torn into the next. Wads of colorful wrapping paper had been stuffed wherever it would fit, piling up and covering everything like the snow outside, bows and empty boxes sticking out at odd angles.

The boss himself slouched in his easy chair, smiling with heavy, lidded eyes and a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. There had been a lot to prepare the night before and he hadn’t really slept, but he would have literally killed not to miss this. He liked spoiling his daughter, even if she expected it, and though she already had piles of dolls and toys, he’d still managed to make her eyes light up with tickets to a concert, and a personalized Merry Christmas message from Chris Evans.

And that was all just the build-up. The grand finale was on its way.

He sipped his coffee, considered adding a little more cocaine to it to keep him awake, and grinned mysteriously at his daughter.

“Did Santa get you everything you wanted, honey?”

Her own chair surrounded by various dolls, stuffed animals, jewelry, and toys, Luissa Spilleti turned from tying up one of her dolls with ribbon. Dressed in pink pajamas and a robe, she was button nosed, with gleaming dark hair, almost angelically pretty. However, she had her father’s poise, dominating presence, and cold blue eyes. She offered her father a small smile, precisely calibrated to display exactly how pleased she was.

“He got me some very nice things, thank you, daddy,” she said politely, “But not everything.”

She tilted her head, letting her smile grow an inch or two.

“Is it time for my Christmas surprise yet?”

Christiano nearly choked on his coffee. He spilled some of it in his lap and bit back a curse, wiping it off his pajama pants. Once he had the situation somewhat contained, he narrowed his eyes at his daughter.

“How did you…?” he paused, reconsidering his words, “Young lady, if you bugged my office again, you are in deep trouble. How much do you know?”

Seeing she might have gone too far, Luissa beamed innocently.

“Of course not, daddy!” she hugged her bound doll, cuddly and sweet, “All I know is there’s a surprise! I’m so, so very excited!”

Christiano scowled, wiping at some of the coffee he’d spilled on his chair. A scowl like that would have made most of his guys fear for their lives, but not Luissa. Not that she didn’t respect him, but she knew he was more annoyed that he’d been outsmarted than actually angry; he wouldn’t be angry at her for being clever and manipulative, not when he was the one who’d taught her to be that way.

True to form, after a moment his scowl turned to a grudging smile. He slowly shook his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Smart as you are pretty,” he chuckled, “Is that really all you know?”

Luissa opened her mouth to innocently protest, but quickly saw her father wasn’t going to buy it. Playing cutesy would only get her so far. Instead, she shrugged, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.

“Welllll…” she bit her lip, “I know it’s a pony, but only cuz I saw you meeting with the equestrian guy.” She looked at frankly at her father, “I really wasn’t snooping, I promise. I was just curious who he was and did a background check on him.”

Her father slowly nodded, his gaze weighing her and judging. He didn’t speak, just watched her, gauging whether she was telling the truth.

“Really!” she raised her eyebrows, “And I really AM excited! I don’t even know what color she is!”

Christiano continued to nod, but a sly grin pulled at his lips.

“My daughter, the master of puppets,” he said, “I swear to the blessed Mary, it won’t be long before you’re running your own crew.”

Reaching into his pocket, he keyed a button on his cell phone.

“But…” he chuckled, “Your old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve…”

Signaled by the cell phone, someone opened the back door to the house and heavy footfalls entered the house. The person stopped to knock the snow off their boots, carefully wiping their feet on the entry mat, then marched the rest of the way in.

Marco, decked out once again in the Santa costume, stomped into the living room, a brown sack over his shoulder.

“Ho ho hos!” the mob soldier bellowed, “A Merry Christmas to everybody!”

Christiano shifted in his seat, his grin fading slightly. For security and cost efficiency, he’d used Marco, but seeing the performance he was now wishing he’d hired a professional Santa Claus.

Luissa didn’t mind. She set her hogtied Barbie aside and sat up straight, clasping her hands in her lap. She looked at him and smiled expectantly.

“Hello, Santa,” she said politely.

“Hello, little girl!” Marco roared again, “I’m Santa Claus and I’ve come from the North Pole to… because there’s a very good girl in this house!”

He cleared his throat, hesitated, then dug in the pocket of the red coat. A broad, toothy smile was fixed on his face and he was sweating profusely behind the beard, his eyes too wide to be comfortable. Realizing he was messing it up, terrified, his performance only grew more erratic.

“It’s the n-naughty and nice list!” he said, struggling to get said list out, “For the the good boys and girls—”

“Just give her the surprise, Marco,” Christiano sighed, “You’re not fooling anyone.”

“Oh, thank Christ…” the portly mobster gasped with relief.

Picking his way carefully across the cluttered room, Marco bounced the sack on his back, tip toeing his way around all the wrapping and scattered toys. A rectangular shape pressed through the thin fabric of the sack, looking almost the size of a rocket launcher. Once he reached Luissa, the faux Santa slung the sack off his shoulder, laid it down flat, then skipped and tip toed back the way he came, beating a hasty retreat.

“For future reference, it’s ‘ho ho ho,’” Christiano scowled at him as he left, “Singular. How do you fuck that up…”

Luissa paid no mind to either of them. As soon as the faux Santa let go of the sack, she had dropped down from her chair and flung it off the present beneath. Inside was a yellow box the size of a small coffin and wrapped with a red ribbon. She bent down to pick it up, grunted in surprise at how heavy it was, then gave up and quickly set to tearing the ribbon off.

By the time she worked the ribbon free and started pulling the lid off the top of the box, her father was looming over her, grinning smugly.

“That doesn’t look like a pony to me,” he chuckled, “What is it, huh?”

Finally, Luissa lifted the top off the box and tossed it aside, peering eagerly in at her surprise.

Inside the box was a doll box, much like the others she’d already opened that day. The front of the box featured a clear plastic window, with holes carved inside, revealing a full-sized Hit-Girl, lying on her back with her eyes closed. The doll’s hands and ankles were tied to the back of the box with ribbon, she had a few plastic knives and guns in plastic beside her as accessories, and another ribbon had been pulled between her teeth as a gag. A big red bow sat on her chest, clearly marking her as a gift.

“Who is that?” Christiano grinned.

Luissa frowned, her heart sinking with disappointment.

It was an excellent depiction of Hit-Girl, down to the metallic shining suit, pleated skirt, boots, zorro mask, and wig. The body shape was real enough, the small breasts poking up beneath the suit was a nice touch, the trousers of the suit pulled tight and shaped like there were real legs underneath, even the mouth and nose looked soft, not at all like plastic. She had lots of things she wanted to do to Hit-Girl, and this doll would be a fun facsimile, but… a pony would have been so much better.

Luissa sighed, preparing to put on a happy face for her father… but before she did so, she stopped.

The doll’s chest was slowly rising and falling.

She drew in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as saucers.

“D-daddy…?”

“Yeah?” Christiano smiled innocently.

Luissa leaned closer, pressing the plastic window to the doll’s chest. It gave gently, a real body, and she could feel the sternum rising and falling, warm beneath the shining suit. She could even feel a heartbeat.

“DADDY?!” her head jerked up towards her father, “Is—is that—is that Hit-Girl!? The REAL Hit-Girl!?”

Christiano raised his eyebrows. He gave his daughter the coy, slightly mischievous look all father’s give their daughters when teasing them. He looked at her for a beat, building the anticipation, enjoying being able to surprise the clever girl for once.

“… Maybe.”

Luissa let out an excited cry of such a pitch that it almost became a sound only dogs could hear. She sprang up into her father’s arms and wrapped her arms and legs around him like a monkey.

The sound was shrill enough that Hit-Girl groaned and stirred slightly.

“EEEEEEEEEEEE!” Luissa squealed again, “DADDY! THANK YOU! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!”

Christiano chuckled, hugging her back, “Merry Christmas, you little snoop.”

“YOU’RE THE BEST DADDY EVER!” she cried, “THE BEST! EEEEEEEEEE!”

“Well, go on and open her up!” Christiano grinned, “No reason to wait…”

Luissa didn’t need any further encouragement. She unwrapped herself from her father and pounced on the box, ripping into it, not even bothering to try to open it. She grabbed the plastic, ripped and yanked it out of the cardboard frame, then just started tearing the cardboard apart, frantic and almost wild.

“It’s—it’s really, really her?!” she threw a piece of cardboard aside, “It’s not—you didn’t just dress someone up?”

Realizing this was a memorable Christmas moment, on several levels, Christiano took out his phone and began filming. Looming over the girls, he grinned, watching his daughter open her present through the screen.

“It’s the real Hit-Girl,” he said, zooming in, “Santa and his elves caught her, dosed her up with some holiday cheer, and wrapped her up, all on Christmas Eve. Because my little girl deserves the best.”

Luissa grinned up at him, her eyes wide with delight, then finished tearing away the last of the doll box.

“Unhh…” Hit-Girl moaned through her gag, blinking her eyes open to stare blearily up at the ceiling.

The dollmaker, along with Christiano’s guys, had made the doll box with a titanium back to give a solid surface to tie her hands and feet into. It was uncomfortable, digging into her should blades and back, but she was far too doped up to notice.

Seeing her waking up somewhat, Luissa leaned over her to look right into her dull, befuddled eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Hit-Girl!” she giggled, “Merry, merry, merry Christmas! Are you feeling a little dopey?”

She patted the other girl’s cheek.

“That’s because you’re captured,” she cooed, “You’re my Christmas present. You’re going to belong to me from now on.”

Hit-Girl blinked again, barely able to make eye contact. Her blue eyes were glassy, expression soft and innocent almost like she actually was a doll.

“Hnnh… muh…” she mumbled through the gag between her teeth.

Luissa nodded along with her, reaching behind the girl’s neck to untie the gag.

“Uh huh, that’s right,” the budding young criminal cooed, “I’m going to take you out of your wrapping now, because I want to play with you. You’re going to have to do what I say now. Got it?”

Hearing those words, a small crease formed in Hit-Girl’s brow. Her lashes fluttered, bewildered.

“Wrapping now… p-play with me…” she mumbled, “Do… wer-what you say… got it?”

Luissa looked up at her daddy and giggled, sharing a quick joke, then looked back down at her new toy.

“Oh, Hit-Girl, you’re so silly with all the medicine Santa gave you!”

She leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the girl’s cheek.

“I can’t wait to give you some more!” she grinned, stroking the spot she kissed, “I’m going to keep you nice and silly for a while! Long enough so you won’t cause any problems by being naughty! We don’t want that!”

She reached down and quickly undid the ribbons tying Hit-Girl’s left hand to the box, then did the same to the right.

“I’ll have to condition and train you before I show you off to my friends,” she said as she worked, “But don’t you worry, that won’t take long! I know just the right medicine to fix you! Then you’ll be free to play my games, do chores, and do exactly as I say!”

“Zactly… as you say…” Hit-Girl mumbled.

Christiano chuckled and shook his head as he watched the interaction. Part of him had been a little concerned about handing someone like Hit-Girl to his daughter, but looking at them now, he almost felt sorry for her. He’d never seen Luissa this eager and focused, even girlishly excited, and he knew just how intense his daughter could be when she put her mind to something.

Luissa was going to eat this little “superhero” alive. She wasn’t even going to have a chance.

Once she untied Hit-Girl’s ankles from the box, Luissa didn’t hesitate before leaning down to loop her arms under the drugged girl’s shoulders. She drew her new toy upright, hugging her to her chest and adjusting her grip. As if this was something she’d practiced before, she paused and counted a couple of beats, preparing herself, then shoved herself back to her feet, hoisting her limp plaything with her.

“Unnhh…” Hit-Girl slumped with a faint moan, her head resting against the other girl’s shoulder.

“There we go… out of the box…” Luissa’s voice was tight with strain as she hefted the limp body, “And now… let’s put you…”

She turned in place, shuffling towards her chair.

“Right… there…”

With a shove, she dumped Hit-Girl into the cushions. The young vigilante bounced against the back of the chair with a confused grunt, slouching down like a sloth. She sank until her hindquarters almost slipped out of the seat, but settled into place at least partially sat up, shoulders against the back of the chair, blinking in surprise at the sudden movement.

With a squeal of delight, Luissa pounced into the chair beside her. Unable to resist, she pressed another quick kiss to Hit-Girl’s nose then turned and wiggled herself into the seat, scooching the drowsy vigilante to the side. It took a bit of work, but it was a full-sized lounge chair and more than big enough to fit both of them; after some scrunching, grunting, and pushing, she finally managed to settle her bottom right beside her new toy’s, looping an arm around her shoulders and hugging her tight.

Grinning up at her daddy, who was drawing closer to film, she gave the girl another squeeze then sighed, utterly content.

“You look pretty happy with your present, Luissa,” Christiano grinned back, “What kinda game are you gonna play with her first?”

Luissa tilted her head, considering for a moment, then looked at her drugged toy for inspiration.

Hit-Girl blinked dully, her drooping. Sat in soft cushions, snuggled next to a warm body, she was starting to drift off to sleep.

A sudden spark on inspiration. Luissa’s eyes widened with excitement.

“Oooh, I need to unmask her!” she clapped, “Yes! Take that mask right off her little face!”

Hopping up, she turned and swung her leg across the drowsy girl’s lap, then plopped her bottom down.

Hit-Girl grunted in surprise.

“Wakey, wakey!” Luissa clapped her cheeks, “It’s time for your unmasking and you need to be awake!”

Hit-Girl’s eyelashes fluttered, the insistent slaps to her cheeks making her wince. Groaning, her eyes rolled around for a second, then focused on the grinning face before her, looking sleepy and miserable.

Luissa grinned, eyes lidded and smug.

“You,” she planted her finger on the tip of Hit-Girl’s nose, “Have had a secret identity for much, much too long! Someone needs to take that mask off and show everyone who you really are, little miss Hit-Girl! And that someone is going to be me!”

She gave the girl’s nose a little nudge, then quickly glanced over her shoulder to make sure her father was filming. When she saw he was, she grinned and turned back.

“Now, no fussing or crying!” she wagged a finger in the other girl’s face, “That mask is coming off right now! And you are just going to lie there and let it happen! Got it?”

Hit-Girl blinked at her, “Muh… it happen…?”

“Good!”

With a firm nod of satisfaction, Luissa took the other girl’s chin and tilted it up slightly. She positioned it how she wanted it, turning the limp head slightly so it was upright, then back a little more, glancing over her shoulder to check the angle of the camera. Once Hit-Girl was looking where she wanted, she finally nodded again.

“There!” she harumphed, “Now let’s see who you are! First, the wig!”

She reached out and grasped the top of the violet wig, giving it a firm yank. It was clipped into place in the other girl’s hair to keep it from slipping off, so it took a few jerks to pull it free, bobbling Hit-Girl’s head around.

When it finally came loose, a pair of mousey brown pigtails fell free, spilling down the girl’s shoulders like dog ears. The rest of her hair was mussed, sticking out in places.

“Now everyone knows what color your hair is!” Luissa proclaimed tossing the wig aside, “And now… everyone is going to see what your face looks like!”

Reaching behind Hit-Girl’s head, the young mob princess began working at the knot that tied it in place. She plucked and picked, grunted in annoyance, then gave up and just pinched the top of it and began wiggling. Slowly, inch by inch, she worked the black mask over the girl’s brow.

“I wonder, wonder, wonder who you are…” she mused aloud, “Are you someone famous? Are you the president’s daughter?”

She finally slipped the mask over the heroine’s forehead then altogether loose, pulling it free of the pigtails.

“Are you—”

Luissa froze as she looked at Hit-Girl’s exposed face, still holding the girl’s mask in the air. For an instant she just gaped.

“MINDY!?”

Not understanding the significance of this, Christiano zoomed in.

“What’s up, honey?” he asked, “She famous or something?”

Luissa’s face slowly scrunched into a scowl. She looked over her shoulder at her father, narrowing her eyes, wondering if he’d lied to her about this being the real Hit-Girl.

“No,” she pouted, “She’s not famous, she’s just a little twerp!”

She turned back to cross her arms at the unmasked Hit-Girl, glaring at her through squinted eyes.

Christiano zoomed in on her face. The girl had a round face, very pouty lips, but with a slightly impish chin. With her bangs and big blue eyes, she had a cute girl next door quality, rather than a dollish beauty like his Luissa. She looked downright normal, innocent, harmless.

“A twerp, huh?” he said.

“Yes!” Luissa snapped, “An insolent, back-stabbing, nasty little twerp! She’s a new girl at school and she said some REALLY mean things to me, daddy! I was super nice to her and she was nasty to me for no reason!”

Christiano narrowed his eyes. Knowing his daughter, he doubted she was super nice to anyone, but the fact that this girl was in her school seemed like too much of a coincidence. He’d have to look into that.

“Hm,” he grunted, “Not nice at all.”

Luissa nodded, still glaring intensely. Finally, she drew back her hand, ready to punish the girl with a hard slap to the face… but stopped.

Gradually, the angry scrunch of her mouth softened, her glare becoming more thoughtful than furious. She lowered her hand, considering things for a moment, like her position, and Mindy’s, and what this all meant. Like her father, she began to reason that maybe this wasn’t a coincidence either.

But above all, among her ruminations, one single, pleasing thought floated to the top.

A cruel grin spread her lips wide.

“So…” she pinched Mindy’s chin, “You’re Hit-Girl, huh?”

She grinned into the girl’s drowsy face for a moment, then turned over her shoulder to look at the camera phone.

“Hey, everybody!” she proclaimed, “Hit-Girl’s real name is Mindy McCready! She’s a dummy, a butt face, and she’s mine now!”

Turning back, she thrust her face almost right into Mindy’s, so close their noses pressed together. Her eyes blazed into the other girl’s, wide and feverishly intense.

“You’re mine,” she hissed, squeezing the girl’s chin, “Mine. I own you. You belong to me.”

Christiano actually felt a little chill at the harsh, almost rasping tone of his daughter’s voice. As intense and giddy as she’d been before, now it had just been magnified exponentially.

There was no doubt about it now. He actually felt sorry for the little brat that had broken into his house.

“Mine,” Luissa growled again, “And you… are in very big, big trouble.”

She glared into Mindy’s eyes until she felt she’d made herself crystal clear. Then, with a final ‘hmph’, she turned away and set herself to task.

Hopping down from the chair, she looked around on the floor for what she needed, turning her head with sharp little jerks, like a hawk scanning for prey. It was only an instant until she found what she was looking for and snatched up the ribbon that had closed Hit-Girl’s box. Turning again, she stomped over to a different toy she’d gotten, a robotic puppy with legs that could walk just like a real puppy. She went for the toy’s collar and leash, unsnapped them, tossed it onto the seat next to Mindy, then returned with the ribbon.

She took the girl’s hands, set them in her lap with the wrists crossed, then took the ribbon. With professional efficiency, she wound the ribbon around and around them.

“No one talks to me like that,” Luissa sniffed, “Especially not you, Mindy.”

She jerked the ribbon tight, squeezing the girl’s gloved wrists together, then began tying a crisp knot.

“Before I’m ever nice to you again, you are going to say you’re sorry, sorry, sorry!” she said, “You are going to apologize over and over! And I’m going to punish you until you do!”

She finished the knot with another stiff jerk, then plucked up the collar and leash, moving it to Mindy’s neck.

“I’m going to spank that bottom of yours red, ‘Hit-Girl’!” she snapped, “And I’m going to show everyone! You’re going to cry and beg me for mercy and everyone’s going to see you and laugh!”

She clipped the leash around Mindy’s neck. It barely fit, squeezing into her slender throat, but it closed tight.

Luissa gave it a couple of test tugs, making sure it was solid, then took some of the loose ribbon that was still tied around Mindy’s wrists and pulled it up to the collar. She threaded it through with a bit of work, jerked it tight, then began tying the girl’s wrists to her neck.

Christiano shook his head, amazed at how sharp and precise his daughter’s movements were. He knew she’d been tying up her dolls for a long time and now he was seeing that those skills transferred over to a real person just as easily.

“You’re going to be very sorry,” Luissa grinned, “Maybe after you’ve cried enough and said you’re sorry enough, I’ll be nice again, but we’ll see. I might just keep punishing you forever!”

With a last jerk on that knot, she took the leash again and gave it a yank.

Mindy’s eyes widened for a moment and she gagged.

“Now up!” Luissa gave another tug on the leash, “Up, out of the chair! No more sitting for you!”

Mindy groaned, looking around bewildered, then gagged again when the other girl yanked on the leash.

“Up, I said!” she snapped, “We’re going upstairs to my room right now! The living room is no place for nasty, naked girls getting their butts spanked! Up!”

Even through her drugged haze, the vigilante formerly known as Hit-Girl clearly knew something was happening. She blinked around, eyes wide, uncomprehending and afraid.

“Wh… wh—llk!”

“Up!” Luissa ordered again, choking her with the leash.

Finally, impatient with the other girl’s progress, the domineering young Spilleti took Mindy by the arm and dragged her out of the chair. The drugged girl staggered up, her knees buckling, but managed to stay upright, blinking in a bleary daze.

“Now march!” Luissa yanked on the leash again.

Mindy gagged and stumbled, almost falling into the other girl but somehow staying on her feet.

“March!” Luissa gave her rump a smack, “Go on!”

One hand still pulling the leash, the cunning crime daughter guided her new pet to walk past her before leading her along, through the piles of wrapping. She continually cried at the wobbly girl to keep moving, smacking her on the rump as needed to urge her on, marching her like one would a stubborn pack animal.

Eyes wide, Mindy stumbled along, wobbling precariously. All her training and skills didn’t mean a thing. Barely able to think, partially hallucinating and exhausted, the shouts and constant urging overwhelmed her completely. In a clumsy, delirious panic, she did exactly what the insistent girl told her, the smacks and tugs herding her along like a dumb animal.

It wasn’t by happenstance; Luissa knew exactly what she was doing. As she led her former rival to the stairs, she grinned wickedly, continuing to smack her butt and draw her along, not giving her an instant to rest. She’d overwhelm Mindy’s willpower in the same way, Hit-Girl or no. Now that she had the girl where she wanted her, it was only a matter of time.

Christiano finally stopped filming as the two girls began climbing the stairs. Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, he trudged over and flopped into his chair with a sigh.

He’d done it. Christmas morning was a success.

“Have fun, honey!” he called after his daughter, “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Daddy!” she called down sweetly, “Thank you! I didn’t say you could lean on the wall!”

SMACK!

Christiano closed his eyes and dropped his head against the back of the seat.

Luissa would be playing with her new toy for a good while, happy and preoccupied. He would have his boys over to clean up the mess, fix anything that got broken, and make lunch, but for now he could finally enjoy a nap. He rested his hands on his lap and heaved another satisfied sigh, smiling to himself.

It wasn’t long before he began hearing smacks and squeals coming from upstairs.

He ignored it, enjoying the moment.

It had been rough in places, but it was a Merry Christmas indeed.

The only thought that troubled him was how he was going to outdo himself next year…