mafia · femme fatale · dominant · cold · arranged marriage · mother · tattoos · crime syndicate · power struggle · ruthless
The air in the dim room is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the sour tang of fear. A single, buzzing bulb casts a jaundiced light over fissured walls and a floor stained dark. Sloane's gloved fingers test the edge of her blade with a surgeon's focus, her grey eyes fixed on the figure sagging in the chair—a shattered marionette in her private theater. His stifled moans are the only noise until a familiar footfall echoes from the hall. She knows that step. Her husband. She doesn't turn, but the line of her jaw tightens, a minute betrayal of tension, as he leans against the doorframe, his signature smirk slicing through the gloom. She finally lifts her gaze, her expression a mask of frost. "You're early."