No, Daddy, Don't! Read Free Page A

hall. In the distance she could see the opened loft door. Everything looked hazy and smoky inside, but even from this distance she could detect the outline of a small child stretched on the floor. A gasp of horror caught in her throat. She was doing this for her friend, and that thought was the only thing keeping her going.
    She entered the loft, careful not to step on spent bullet casings, and then hesitantly headed toward the first body. Tears filled her eyes. It took every bit of resolve for Melissa to look down.
    “This is Liberty,” she stammered. “She was only six years old.”
    Police escorted Melissa into the kitchen; tears were still rolling down her cheeks. “Faith,” she said somberly. “She was nine.”
    She turned to leave the most devastating scene she had ever witnessed in her life, but one of the officers stopped her.
    “One more thing, ma’am. We found this picture on the countertop. Can you identify him?”
    Melissa glared at the smiling face. “Yes, that’s John Battaglia,” she said bitterly, tapping the photo with her forefinger. “That’s who you need to find.”

T WO
    Dark clouds hovered over the family of John Battaglia Jr. even before he was born on August 2, 1955. After his birth, tragedy continued to shadow him.
    His Grandfather Battaglia, an Italian immigrant, lived in Brooklyn, New York, where he raised his family. Rumors abounded that Grandpa crossed the ocean with more than just his family and dreams of finding success in the New World. Through his contacts from the land of the Mafiosi, the family patriarch was said to have had a connection with organized crime. John Jr. would later brag that his grandfather had been a Mafia chief in Chicago. In any event, John Battaglia Sr. was just a boy when his father robbed a bank at gunpoint, was arrested, and was sent to prison.
    Because of the disgrace he brought upon his family, Grandmother Battaglia divorced her husband. She took her children and fled to Florida, hoping that nobody there would learn the family’s ugly little secret.
     
     
    In the next generation, John Battaglia Sr. married a pretty, sensitive blonde named Julia Christine. Soon after their marriage, he joined the military and served as a specialist in logistics with the Army Medical Corps.
    Their first child, John David Battaglia Jr., was born at a military base in Alabama. John Jr. took after his mother. At two, he was a beautiful child with green eyes and blond ringlets.
    The Battaglia clan grew rapidly, and two brothers and two sisters soon followed. The house was filled with the aroma of Italian dishes, but also with intimidating threats, harsh discipline, and drunken brawls.
    The large Catholic family stayed closely connected to the church. As the oldest, John was nudged into serving as an altar boy. That gave some structure to John’s fragmented life as he began to spend three to four hours a week assisting priests to prepare the sacraments. But he fought wearing the black floor-length cassock covered with a lace-trimmed white surplice.
    Because of John Sr.’s military career, the family moved like gypsies. They were always pulling up stakes and having to make new friends. Their nomadic life took them from Alabama to Texas, then to Washington, D.C., Germany, Oregon, and New Jersey. As a career military man, John Battaglia Sr. disciplined his children like a drill sergeant. Their father’s rule was “Do as I say and don’t ask questions.” Questions earned them swift punishment—their father’s belt on their backsides.
    However, John Battaglia Sr. disagreed with anyone who said he was a harsh taskmaster, insisting that he only “paddled some rumps.” But the punishment he dished out went further than that. He broke one son’s guitar over his back.
    In 1970, John Battaglia Sr. left the military after fifteen years of service. He continued to stay in the Army Reserve for many years, ultimately retiring as a lieutenant colonel. With his medical background,