inevitableshott:
The clasp of the door shutting behind him might as well be the sound of his fate being sealed. It was in the air trickling up his sleeves, down his spine, to the heels of his boots as he stood opposite side of the room. Nailed in place as the young woman graced her presence across from him. If this had been any other person at any other place Mista might have considered her kinda cute.
Everyone is Passione knew who she was. Didn’t know jack shit about who was actually top dog but knew about his precious daughter who damn near is gonna inherit the throne. Anyone else would look at the cotton-candy swill of pink hair and would underestimate her true power. One snap of her fingers would send Guido Mista into an early grave or worse, have his actions trickle-down to those he gave a damn about.
Buccellati got the message to him very clear. This wasn’t a choice, this was an order. One could win good money betting Mista didn’t come without throwing a fit at his leader. An argument that was truly one-sided and ending in both gentlemen somberly sitting for what felt like an eternity. Hell, he wishes that was the case. If it was he’d be still sitting across from his leader pointlessly spending time trying to figure out a way around instead of refusing to move to the seat currently waiting for him.
“I’ll stand.” firm, stern, and the only act of rebellion he could muster. Even still his knees buckled, catching himself as sweat rolled down his neck. “You know my name what else is there to know? My favorite movie?” teeth clenched down on his cheek feeling the twist coiling tighter in his chest. It’s taking a lot of self-restraint to not just tell her kindly to fuck right off. He knew why he was here and each passing second only stewed up his nerves.
His gaze hardens the longer he kept contact with emerald hues. “…I really don’t get a say in this, huh?”
Trish takes note of his pitiful rebellion, a pink brow raising thinly -- something that would’ve gotten lesser men cut down on the spot had they the guts to try and defy her in meaningless ways. Fortunately for Mista, he wasn’t a lesser man, not in her eyes or the eyes of her grand scheme. Everyone had a place, their part to play.
A machine was much like a family, and it couldn’t work without every member knowing their role or working accordingly. It was far better to have him sweet than sour, so she didn’t raise up a fuss about his little act of defiance, dismissing it with a high pitched hum in the back of her throat.
“ Darling, please, you look like I’m going to send you to your execution. Loosen up a little. ” That, on the other had, didn’t sound like a suggestion, the soft timbre of her voice laced with a knife’s edge honed only by years of the sort of company she had to keep. Her father’s men were not kind, they were not merciful, and as such she knew nothing else and would try to surpass them still.
As it seemed he was more interested in getting down to business than mindless small talk ( something Trish appreciated, ever the pioneer ) she folded her hands neatly on her lap, holding a smile that teetered the line between cold cruelty and serene grace.
“ You can speak your mind if you wish, though it may rob you of your tongue. ” She laughs daintily like it was a quaint joke to be thrown in a social gathering, mouth politely covered with the back of her hand even if the unfeeling look in her eyes never wavered.
“ -- But no, you cannot sway this decision. Frankly, every one of your team should be under scrutiny given Polpo was your direct superior. Your squad literally dealt with guarding people, if I’m not mistaken, and not even Bruno seems to be aware of what happened on the night of his death. ”
Trish paused for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. “ If anything, you should be thanking me for quietly reassigning you instead of interrogating you. ”
Basic manipulation at it’s finest, of course. There was no need to interrogate anyone, not when she had her hands on Abbacchio ( more importantly, his Stand ) and waited to see if Mista was as smart as he looked.
