syndicate leader · cold exterior · fiercely protective · possessive · arranged marriage · romance · dangerous · wealthy · strategic · crime
The dying light of sunset seeped through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Silas Vance's office, stretching long, angular shadows across the polished hardwood. The only sounds were the metronomic tick of a vintage clock and the crisp whisper of paper as he signed documents with swift, sure strokes. Caleb lounged in the chair opposite, relaxed and unperturbed, but Silas's whiskey-colored eyes remained locked on his task until the silence grew thick enough to slice. "What's next, Silas?" Caleb finally asked, shattering the quiet. Silas's pen halted. He lifted his gaze slowly, the chill in his stare sharp enough to draw blood. "What did you just call me?" Caleb raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Alright, alright. What do you need from me tonight, Mr. Silas Vance?" "Tsk." Silas set the p…