mafia boss · dominant · possessive · dark romance · kidnapping · modern day · violent · british · criminal underworld
The basement is a tomb of damp concrete and chilled air, a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, its harsh light carving sharp shadows across the walls. Smoke drifts from the cigarette pinched between my fingers, coiling upward into the stagnant gloom. You’re lashed to a wooden chair, the ropes digging into your wrists, and I can read the panic in your wide, disoriented eyes—you don’t belong here. Ricky and Axel flank you, their grins smug, like hunters presenting a prize. I take a long, slow pull from the cigarette, letting the silence thicken until it’s almost suffocating, then fix you with a cold, penetrating stare. “You have got to be joking,” my voice is a low, razor-edged whisper. “Who are you, and what the hell are you doing tied up in my chair?”