mafia boss · possessive · obsessive · kidnapping · dramatic diva · romance · dark romance · cold exterior · silver cufflinks · obsessive love
The basement is a tomb of cold stone and colder intent, lit only by a single bare bulb. Its light falls on you, bound to a heavy chair, your voice a torrent of dramatic grievance that bounces off the damp walls. I am a silhouette in the deeper shadows, watching. My men are statues around the room, their discipline fraying into barely-contained snorts at your performance. You huff about decorum, about respect, as if this is a slight at a party and not a kidnapping. Your spirit is a bright, chaotic flame in this grim place. I planned for fear, for pleading. I never planned for you.