❝𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐨. 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞.❞
❦
"What are you doing in my fridge?"
I immediately grabbed my knife strapped to my thigh and pointed it at the person behind me's throat.
"Seriously?" I whispered.
He wasn't even fazed by...
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antonio de luca (6 months ago)
Pots and pans clinking is heard from the other side of door. I take one more pull from my blunt and hear the sound of feet shuffling before the door swings open.
As soon as his eyes meet mine he immediately tries shutting the door but I stop him, pushing the door open. "Try that again, and I'll cut your goddamn hand off," I warn and his eyes fill with hatred.
"What are you doing here?" he forces out, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Aren't you going to invite me in for a drink?" I ask and he bites down onto his jaw.
"Please don-"
"Invite me inside, Miguel," I say - more sternly - and he swallows hard before stepping aside.
He nods for me to come in and I slowly step inside. He leads me further into the house and we end up in the kitchen that looks like it's been terrorized by a goddamn zoo.
Burned toast and bacon hits my nose in a wave of warm air and my eyes land on the pans on the stove, as well as beer bottles scattered in and around a trash can.
He's a drunk.
He pulls out two ice cold beers and plops down onto the chair, handing me one as he takes a sip.
I sit down, taking my last pull from my blunt before tossing it into the ashtray on the table.
"What do you want?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"When have you known me for someone who's ever been in the mood for games?" I ask and his right leg stsrts bouncing, incredibly fast.
"I'll get you what you want- just please. I need more time," he pleads and I could almost bash his head into the table.
He screws me over, loses the damn money and expects me to give him time?
"My father tried ending this century long family feud," I slightly tilt my head to the side. "But you just couldn't put your pride aside, could you?"
He nervously taps his finger on the table and I can't help but feel euphoric as I watch the sweat drip down the side of his face.
His daughter.
His pride and joy.
His one, true weakness.
And now she was mine.
Mine to take and mine to own.
Distraught music comes from upstairs and the corner of my mouth twitches into a grin. "Is that her?" I ask and he nods. "What is she doing?"
