Live For It

|1|

A few years ago, if you told me I was going to be hiding out in a drug warehouse disguised as an old diner to get information on one of the most dangerous groups of people in the world, I would've told you that you are completely and utterly...

Bat. Shit. Fucking. Crazy.

But hey, we're all a little crazy, right?

Of course, no one ever wants to be put on a suicide mission by their own father, but I, unfortunately, had no choice against the tyrant I am biologically damned to. 

To him, this mission is "for the business" and if I would "stop being a selfish child and caring only about myself" I would understand that. So apparently, sending your only daughter into the lion's den is "just for business" and not because my father secretly wants to see me fail so he can shove it in my face to later compare me to my oh-so-immaculate brothers. 

I surprisingly have not sold myself out with my positioning here, which is stuffed into a booth in the back corner near the window of the building, giving me a full glance at the abandoned parking lot and the drug-infested building itself. 

I guess the whole don't-mess-with-me-I'm-a-bad-bitch-with-my-hood-pulled-up persona is working pretty well. 

I slowly pick up the fragile, white glass teacup with my shaky hands and bring it up to my lips, feeling the heat of the steam graze them momentarily as I stare out the window, waiting for the main antagonists to show up. The black raspberry flavor soothes my tongue as I sip my tea, giving me something else to focus on instead of the expensive, matte black car turning diligently into the paved concrete area. 

My heart rate picks up as I set the cup down a little too hard, little droplets of dark, almost crimson translucent liquid splattering in a row of tiny puddles on the table consequently. I clench the fist that sits at my side, leaning back into the worn-out cushion of the booth.  

The senses I was so graciously blessed with were becoming alert as the old, aproned man behind the counter starts visibly tensing up. I hear the slams of car doors and suddenly the drunk lady practically falling asleep in the seat across from me becomes very interesting as I avoid looking to my right. 

I reach up into my hood and click the earpiece hidden behind my dark hair, giving my father and his men the notification that they are here and alerting the listening device. I try and push myself further into the booth as I see 4 men approaching the door in my peripheral vision, looking casual and hidden in my cowering. 

My foot silently taps against the cool tile of the diner, my own body notifying me of growing impatient and anxious as the bell above the door rings through my ears, as well as 4 pairs of heavy footsteps. 

"We're viewing through the cameras, Miss Di Maggio, your father has informed that it is best if you don't make any moves for the next 5 minutes," the familiar, muffled voice of my father's most trusted tech-guys, Raul, makes itself known in the earpiece, almost too loud for my liking. 

I keep my eyes trained on the backs of the 4 men in black suit jackets, each looking like some sort of secret FBI agent. 

I almost laugh at my comparison of the men...

They are quite the opposite of the FBI

"I thought you said we were going to be alone, Daniels," one of the men speak, anger lining his words with each syllable.