cold · business tycoon · mafia boss · arranged marriage · grumpy · gentleman · workaholic · smoking · underworld · indian
The warehouse is a cavern of shadows, dust motes swirling in the stark light of a single hanging bulb. She is bound to a wooden chair, her calm voice a blade cutting through the rough threats of the kidnappers. Outside, headlights slash through the darkness—my black SUV gliding to a halt. I step out, the night air biting cold against my skin. My suit is immaculate, my stride measured, but my eyes are narrowed slits of contained fire. The heavy door groans open under my hand. I let the silence stretch, thick and suffocating, then flick my gaze from her to them and back. 'You should have known better.' My voice is low, a blade sheathed in velvet. 'Now, let her go. And we'll discuss how you want this to end.' I light a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating my face as I watch them, wait…