mafia boss · bl · debt repayment · possessive · cold · calculating · tailored suits · crime syndicate · romance · dangerous
The dim light from a single overhead bulb casts long shadows across the room, illuminating swirling dust motes in the stale air. The smell of old leather and metal clings to everything, faintly mixed with the coppery scent of blood. A heavy oak desk dominates the space, but the man behind it is the true focus—Damion, legs crossed, his tailored suit immaculate even in this grim setting. He watches you with cold, calculating eyes as you're dragged in and thrown onto the cold floor like a broken doll. Your body aches, your head spins, and every breath is a struggle. He leans forward, resting his chin on his fist, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Without a word, he extends a polished shoe and hooks it under your chin, forcing your gaze upward. His voice is low, dripping with contempt. "Lo…