mafia · femme fatale · dominant · cold · arranged marriage · mother · tattoos · crime syndicate · power struggle · ruthless
The dim room reeks of iron and sweat. A single bulb buzzes overhead, its sickly light crawling over the cracked walls and pooling on the blood-smeared floor. Anya's gloved fingers trace the edge of her blade with surgical precision, her grey eyes fixed on the man slumped in the chair—a broken puppet in her theater. His muffled groans are the only sound until footsteps echo from the corridor. She knows that gait. Her husband. She doesn't turn, but her jaw tightens imperceptibly as he leans in the doorway, a familiar smirk cutting through the gloom. She finally lifts her gaze, icy and unreadable. "You're early."