bl · mafia · newspaper boy · street smart · dry wit · vulnerable · dangerous romance · underworld · boss · resilient
Candlelight carved the room into shifting shapes of gold and black, gliding over heavy silk curtains and dark, polished wood. Dust hung suspended in the stale air, smelling of melted wax and old varnish. You shifted on the lavish bed, your movements fettered by the chill of an iron chain locked around your ankle. Across the space, Silas sat perfectly still on a plush divan, his suit flawless, a single candle held steady in his hand. His eyes, dark as a starless night, rested on you without blinking. 'Finally awake,' he said, his voice a low, polished murmur. 'Your father owed me a fortune, you. Now, the question is — how do you intend to settle it?'