Skyscrapers Fall |18+|

Part XXVI

| DAISY |

"Adoni," the man in front of me declares, holding his hand out for me to take, "I've heard a lot about you."

I tentatively shake his hand, not really present in the moment. It's hard to be after what I've just found out. Vito doesn't love me. My father never loved me. They were both using me to further their business interests.

And neither of them thought to tell me.

"Daisy." I respond, my voice void of emotion as I shake the man's hand, "I'd love to say I feel welcomed but my time here has been anything but." I grip Adoni's hand hard. Harder than he was expecting, hard enough for his perfectly manufactured smile to waver.

I'm done playing nice, I'm done with people underestimating me.

I'm fucking done.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Adoni replies, clearing his throat as his hand falls back to his side, "I had instructed my men to treat you nicely."

I hum, not letting him intimidate me, "it seems your men aren't good at taking orders."

The tone of my voice catches him off guard, apparent by the way he flinches slightly at my words. I straighten my spine, angling my chin up so he knows I'm not a weak little girl. I'm no longer worried about dying, it's better to die than to live a life of lies.

"Come," Adoni says, fixing his expression, "take a seat."

He gestures to the desk situated in the centre of the room. A large office chair sits behind it, mirrored by two smaller chairs on the other side. I sit down in one of the smaller chairs and allow my eyes to wander carefully around the room. There are four guards positioned in each corner, loaded guns strapped to their bodies. 

I make sure to stare each of them in the eye.

"Miss Matthews," he says, sitting down across from me, "I would like to make you a proposition-"

"I'm not interested in anything you have to offer." 

He chokes out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. It's safe to assume this man has never been rejected in his life. He assumes that his money and power give him a special authority over me.

"I just want to go home," I add, "I'm not accepting offers from someone who's holding me hostage."

I push those words out like poison. Malice and enmity threaded through each syllable. I'm not going to sit here and play nice, not when I've been treated so horribly. If he truly wanted to make me an offer, he easily could've asked me. Instead his men kidnapped me, raped me, and left me to die naked on the cold, hard floor. So best believe I'm going to make this entire interaction as uncomfortable for him as possible.

"We can arrange that," he responds, "but first I want you to hear my proposition."

This time, rather than interrupting him, I simply stare off into the distance and tap my fingers loudly against the armrest. 

He knows I'm not paying attention.  

And he hates it.

"If you're still uninterested, I have something that may help entice you." He says, louder so he knows I heard it.

With that, he opens up his laptop and spins it around so the screen is facing me. The curiosity builds up and I find myself unable to resist looking away from whatever he's trying to show me.