I'd give my all to have
Just one more night with you
I'd risk my life to feel
Your body next to mine
'cause I can't go on
Living in the memory of our song
I'd give my all for your love tonight

She stared at the man. Beaten, bloody and tied to the chair, he sat there returning her stare with his one open eye.

“Is this how Marcus died?” she asked gesturing to the ropes keeping him in his seat. “Or did you give him a semblance of a chance and let him face you man to man? Please tell me, did he beg for his life? For a chance to see me, his mom, his family one more time or just to talk to us and tell us, ‘He loved us,’ one last time. Or was he silent at peace with his fate?”

Dara paced back and forth in front of her husband’s killer. She paused, “Do you not hear me talking to you?”

Marcus’ murderer gave her a defiant stare.

She walked over to Sonny and reached inside his blazer.

As she removed his secret gun from the small of his back, he whispered, “Dara - -“

She shook her head and calmly walked in front of the man, who took her husband’s life. She cocked the gun and placed the gun in the center of his forehead. Her finger rested steadily on the trigger.

“I asked you a few questions and I would really appreciate it, if you would answer them. Cause if you don’t Marcos here,” Dara said, tilting her head to the right to Sonny’s bodyguard, “is going to get the machete and I’m going to cut off your toes one by one and feed them to you,” she finished in a conversational tone.

This chick is nuts, he thought. She’s the ADA; she didn’t have the balls to carry something like that out. He turned his head slightly to see the one she called Marcos.

But Marcos was staring at Dara with a look of shock and admiration in his eyes. The shock Marcos quickly covered, but the admiration remained.

Taggert’s killer looked around Dara to the man, whose name he didn’t know, but who was obviously the head boss man. Unfortunately the boss man’s face and eyes revealed nothing.

Dara bent down and laid the gun on the ground. She unlaced his shoe and removed his sock.

Damn, she was serious. “I ambushed him,” he said hurriedly as she placed his bare foot on the floor.

She retrieved the weapon and stood up. She stared him up and down and found him lacking. With disbelief in her voice, she commented, “You couldn’t have taken my husband by yourself.”

Stupid whore, what did she know. He closed his eye.

A bullet ripped through the air, hitting the ground a quarter of an inch from his baby toe. His eye flew open and his mouth dropped.

“If we’re going to have a conversation, then at least be truthful. I hate liars,” she stated simply.

He tried to calm himself and focus in on her eyes and what he saw told him she really wasn’t playing. If he didn’t speak up, he wouldn’t get a painless death. The ADA was out for blood and the truth, and quite possibly in that order, too. He knew now, watching her stand there seemingly casual as if she were at one of those garden parties with her rich friends, that she was going to kill him. There was no doubt about it; and if she had to slowly drain him to uncover the truth, then she would.

“I found out that he liked to eat at that 24-hour diner on the outskirts of town, when he was on night duty. He would talk to the cook outside in the alley before going inside to order. So one night, I pay this bum and hooker to stage a fight cause I knew Captain Do Gooder would come running, and he did. As he helped the hooker up, the bum took off, and I jumped out from behind the dumpster and shot him in the shoulder before he had a chance to reach for his piece.”

“What happened to the woman?”

“I clipped her shooting him, but she’s a ho. So like all hoes, I gave her a few bucks and she went merrily on her way. I shot him in the other shoulder and watch him bleed, then I shoved his face into the dirty, filthy alley and took his gun.”

He took a breath, if she wanted to hear what went down with her husband, the pig. He spat on the ground. Then he would tell her every agonizing moment with glee.

“After a little one on one, except he couldn’t hit much with those damn bullets in his shoulders,” the murderer smiled. His smile faltered when he noticed that the tramp hadn’t broken down in tears. Not one emotion registered on her face or in her eyes. Oh, but he’d get to her before he was finished.

“Please don’t stop, what’s next? You’ve shot a defenseless woman and now you’re bragging about fighting an injured man, please keep going,” Dara requested.

Damn bi- -, he thought.

“I said, continue,” repeating her request. “I’m getting antsy.” She cocked her gun and aimed it at his foot.

“I was just going to leave him there in the alley, but then I remembered what my homies were going through. Because of that scum pig, they were looking at life in prison. Idiotic three strike law.” The killer said the last part more to himself than to his attentive audience. “They were looking at life because he couldn’t mind his own fu- -“

A shot winged his baby toe and he yelled, “What the fu- -“ Another shot hit his big toe.

“I hate liars and people who can’t refrain from using foul language,” she said matter of factly.

The pain radiated throughout his body.

“So how did my husband stick his nose into your business?” She asked, curious at the answer that would be given to her.

“He pulled us over for running a red light. It was two in the morning for chri- -“

Dara shook her head.

“For pete’s sake. Eddie was a little high, told the coppie exactly what he thought about cops, and the next thing I know, we’re in handcuffs and he’s found our stash. Damn pig!” he shouted.

“What did I tell you about liars? I think the story goes, your friend Eddie bumped the glove compartment while being a smart alec, the door opened and out split a bag full of coke. Does that sound familiar?” she asked.

“That’s what the cops say. That’s not how it went down,” he yelled.

She rolled her shoulders. “Surprise, surprise, but somehow I don’t believe you. I think I’ll take my husband’s word over yours.” Dara patted the injured man’s head. “Sal, you’ve been in trouble with the law enough to know that before Marcus could go home, he had to write out a report of what happened.”

“Cops lie! They get paid to lie and hurt innocent people,” the murderer said angrily.

“You- -I don’t even know how to articulate what I’m feeling right now, but let me see if I can recap what happened. You were dumb enough to let your friend sample the goods you were transporting across state lines in unfamiliar territory, then on top of that you decide to ignore simple traffic laws. And because of your own stupidity, my husband has to pay the ultimate price.” Shaking her head, “Do you know whose territory you were bringing drugs through?”

Sal remained silent.

“Salvador Achoy meet Sonny Corinthos.”

Dara moved aside so Sal could get a good look of the most powerful man on the East Coast.

Sonny didn’t acknowledge Sal’s exisistence.

The dumbfounded look on Sal’s face was almost laughable.

“From the look upon your face, I see you recognize the name.”

Stunned couldn’t even begin to describe how Sal felt. He grew up hearing from the boys in the neighborhood about Sonny and his rise to power. He wanted to be the West Coast’s Sonny Corinthos. How in the world did the ADA know the mob boss? Oh my, was that scum working for Sonny Corinthos? Had he just confessed to murdering an employee, or a mole, of his hero? On that thought, Sal soaked his pants.

“Sonny may do a lot of things, but he doesn’t do drugs. He doesn’t like drugs being bought, sold, or run through his area. So now not only am I upset with you, so is he,” she said pointing to Sonny.

Moving to Sal’s side, Dara said to the men in the room, “I think it’s time for a road trip,” before hitting him with the butt of her gun rendering him unconscious.

I'd give my all to have
Just one more night with you
I'd risk my life to feel
Your body next to mine
'cause I can't go on
Living in the memory of our song
I'd give my all for your love tonight