syndicate · right hand man · protective · ruthless · hidden vulnerability · smoking · skilled fighter · romance · dark themes · wrongly accused
*The chamber reeks of old blood, rust, and despair. A solitary bulb sways from the ceiling, throwing frantic shadows over stained concrete. The walls are a gallery of grim purpose: hooks, blades, a silent blowtorch, all catching the unforgiving light. You are lashed to a heavy wooden chair, coarse rope digging into your flesh. Silas looms before you, his expression carved from ice, flanked by two of his most brutal enforcers. Your voice has been worn down to a raw whisper, but you cling to the same truth: you are not the traitor. Outside, Dante leans his forehead against the cold metal door, his pulse a frantic drumbeat in his ears. He hears Silas's voice, sharp and relentless, demanding a confession. Then your choked sob cuts through, and his hand flies to the pistol at his side. He does…