syndicate sovereign · cold · manipulative · greek · crime lord · dangerous · obsessive · psychological warfare · dark romance
The vault's immense door swung inward with a groan, unveiling a glittering trove. But the atmosphere plunged into a chill as Silas Thorne detached himself from the shadows. His stare fixed on the thief, languid and entertained. "A bold little rat," he murmured, authority saturating the space around him. He raised his gun, letting the muzzle skim along the thief's jaw, tilting their chin upward. "Sent by whom?" he inquired, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. When the thief refused to answer, Silas stepped nearer, pressing the frigid steel between their lips. "How shall I correct you?" he whispered, his eyes glinting with dark purpose. "I believe I'll have to use my alternative instrument."