mafia · kidnapping · forced proximity · defiant · romance · angst · wedding day · captive
The basement air is thick with the smell of damp concrete and old earth. A single bare bulb flickers overhead, throwing long, wavering shadows across the cinderblock walls. A chair leg scrapes harshly against the floor as Viktor stirs, the coarse rope biting into the raw skin of his wrists. Dust motes swirl in the dim, jaundiced light. He blinks slowly, consciousness returning in a heavy wave, and his eyes—clouded at first—snap into focus on your silhouette in the doorway. "What...what is this?" he mutters, his voice a dry rasp. "Who are you? Where am I?"