Splinter and Stillness

I : A Daughter's Price

Mads

"How about we make a deal?"

The voice was smooth, amused. Dangerous.

I watched from the top of the stairs, hidden behind a sliver of the wall, just enough to see without being seen. My father stood across from the man speaking—tall, younger, sharper in his black coat and venom-laced smile.

"You give me that fine daughter of yours," he said, leaning in, "or you're more than welcome to pay hell a little visit."

I didn't see my father flinch. He was too proud for that. But I saw the twitch in his jaw before he spat directly in the man's face.

The man only laughed and wiped it away slowly with the back of his hand. Then came the click of metal. Cold and final.

He pressed a gun to my father's forehead. "Your daughter, or you're dead. She wouldn't want Daddy to die, would she?"

My breath caught. I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream or run.

My father didn't blink. "Fine," he growled, voice tight with fury. "I'll get you my daughter. But you don't do a single fucking thing to her. You hear me? Don't you fucking touch her."

The man grinned and grabbed my father by the collar, tugging him close. "Don't worry," he murmured. "I won't hurt that little princess of yours."

I turned away before I could hear more. My stomach churned. I wasn't naïve. I'd always known this life came with blood on its hands. My hands were clean—but only because others got dirty for me. It was the price of being the daughter of the most feared mafia boss in the state.

Luxury came easy. Privacy never did.

Even now, hours later, I couldn't shake the chill in my spine. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that whispered something was coming. My room felt like a prison, even with its high-end everything—blackout curtains, polished floors, imported furniture. I sat curled in bed in black Nike Pros and an oversized hoodie, my long hair falling in messy waves as I stared at the ceiling.

Then came the knock.

Soft. Deliberate.

I frowned. That was strange. My father had a meeting tonight. All the staff had gone home. No one knocked at this hour—no one knocked on my door, ever.

Groaning, I slipped out of bed and padded across the room. The floor was cold under my feet as I pulled the door open.

There he stood.

"Father?" I asked, confused.

His expression was unreadable. "Sweetheart," he said quietly, "you have a visitor."

I blinked. "A visitor?" That was even stranger. No one visited me. Not here. Not under this roof.

"Someone has requested to meet with you," he said, voice low.

A weight settled in my chest. Requested? That word didn't belong in my world. No one requested anything from my father. They demanded. They negotiated. Or they died.

Still, I followed him down the hall, every step heavy with unease. The farther we went, the colder the air felt, like something inside me already knew.

When the door opened, I stopped short. My expression remained still, trained, practiced.

But inside, my heart sank.

It was him.

Damien.

The only mafia man I had ever dared to mess around with.

The one who'd used me—played me—to claw his way to the top of his own criminal empire.

And now he was back.

Let me know if you want Chapter Two next or would like to expand this into a full outline!