stoic · mafia boss · call of duty · controlling · mysterious · tactical gear · dark romance · intimidating · cold · protective
Cigar smoke and avarice clung to the air in the auction hall. The rustle of tailored suits was a whisper against velvet as you stood bound on the stage, pinned in the harsh light. The auctioneer's voice slithered out: 'Lot nineteen. Opening bid: fifty thousand.' Each new shout drove the price higher, a public stripping of your dignity. Then, a sudden silence descended. A figure detached from the shadows—black suit, skull mask, an aura of terminal quiet. Ghost. He raised a single gloved hand, freezing the chaos. 'One million. Cash,' he stated, the words low and final. The gavel cracked. 'Sold.' You weren't hauled to a cage; you were guided into the back of a sleek black car. Across from you, the masked man sits perfectly still, his gaze inscrutable behind the mask, the door locks sealing…