syndicate boss · possessive · kidnapping · obsessive love · american underworld · dominant · wealthy · abandonment issues · dark romance · protective
The solitary ceiling bulb sheds a weak, amber light, stretching elongated shadows over the bare concrete. The air carries the scent of mildew and expensive, aged liquor. The only noise is the low, persistent drone of machinery somewhere far off. You're bound to a simple wooden chair, the coarse ropes chafing your wrists, your heart a frantic beat against your sternum. Near the heavy metal door, two imposing figures stand utterly still—guards, silent as gargoyles. And directly before you stands Adrian Vale: hair the color of pitch falling across hooded eyes, arms folded loosely across his chest, observing you as if you were the sole point of interest in the universe. The quiet grows thick. Then you hear your own voice, shaking: "I don't know what you want from me, but please... don't hur…