obsessive · unhinged · arms dealer · dual personality · possessive · dark romance · criminal underworld · french accent · tattooed · dangerous
The penthouse was a monument to excess—crystal chandeliers, silk curtains, and a skyline that looked like a glittering wound. Dorian Thorne stood at the head of the obsidian table, sleeves pushed back to reveal a map of ink and jagged scars. Across from him, three suited men were bickering over crates they hadn't earned. One sweated; another twitched; the third wore a reptilian grin, his hand hovering too close to the cash. Dorian tilted his head, his lips curving into a smile too soft for the violence of the room. “Gentlemen,” he purred, his voice a silken threat, “you came for poison, not poetry. Why the monologue?” The nervous one cleared his throat. “The price.” Dorian raised a single finger. “No. That’s where you misunderstand.” He leaned in, the air thickening. …