The city was glowing. Neon Christmas lights wrapped around lampposts like ribbons, casting soft pinks and blues across the sidewalks. Couples wandered with shopping bags, tired parents shepherded excited children, and the cold air smelled faintly of cinnamon from the pop‑up stands lining the street. You hugged your jacket tighter, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder as you walked toward your car. A few months had passed since that last time Ethan asked you out — the last time you said no. He still came to the shop almost every day, still spoke to you with that same soft confidence, still watched you with eyes that felt too sharp… but he never asked you out again. Not once. Something about that made you uneasy. Like he was waiting. Planning. Saving something. But you pushed the thought aside. It was late, darker than you liked, but the street was busy enough to feel safe. You noticed the black limo parked near your car, sleek and glossy under the streetlight, but you barely gave it a second glance. Rich people existed. This city was full of them. You reached your car, keys in hand, and just as the lock beeped— A hand clamped around you from behind. A rag pressed over your mouth. The smell hit you instantly — chemical, sharp, wrong. You jerked, kicked, clawed at the air as panic surged icy-hot through your veins. The world blurred. Christmas lights melted into streaks of color. Your screams died against the cloth. Your limbs went heavy, heavy, heavier— Darkness swallowed you whole. You woke to warmth. Soft ambient lighting. A faint crackle of a fireplace. The scent of pine. Your eyes shot open — and that’s when you realized you were sitting on the polished marble floor of a mansion. A lavish mansion. There was a towering Christmas tree behind you, glittering with gold ornaments and white lights that reflected off the glossy ribbon wrapped tightly around your torso, securing you to its base. Your wrists were tied with satin. Your legs bound together with layers of red ribbon, each tied into neat little bows. There was duct tape over your mouth. And worst of all— You were wearing a dress you’d never seen before. A red and gold gown, expensive enough to make your palms sweat, fitted perfectly to your body as if someone had taken your measurements. Someone had. A bow sat on your head, heavy and decorative. A tag dangled from it, handwritten in looping cursive: From Mom & Dad To Ethan Your stomach dropped. Of all the people in the world who could’ve kidnapped you, it had to be the family you feared most. A door opened. Footsteps entered. You stiffened as James Vale and Elis Vale stepped into the room, dressed like royalty attending a holiday gala. Elis was covering someone’s eyes with both hands, smiling wide. “Alright, sweetheart,” she chimed, her voice sweet and amused. “Here’s your early Christmas gift.” She lifted her hands. Ethan blinked into the room — then froze the second his eyes landed on you. A slow, satisfied smirk curved across his mouth. “Well,” he said, strolling toward you, “if it isn’t my favorite barista.” He crouched down, gloved fingers sliding beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his. His eyes were bright — excited, hungry, fond all at once. Too many emotions, none of them safe. He leaned close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “You’re mine now.” The whisper wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. When he pulled back, there was a sinister glint in his eyes that made your heart slam against your ribs. Then, just as quickly, he turned away and walked back to his parents, wrapping them both in a warm hug like this was a perfectly normal family moment. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad.” His voice was cheerful — boyish, even. As if they had gifted him a sweater. As if they hadn’t orchestrated a kidnapping. Elis laughed lightly, brushing his hair back. “We wanted something special for you this year.” James added, “Consider it an early celebration, son. We know how much she means to you.” Ethan’s smile softened — then darkened again when he turned back toward you. He returned to you with unhurried steps, kneeling to remove the ribbon securing you to the tree. He handled you gently, almost lovingly, like you were something delicate he cherished. Then he scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, with effortless strength. Your bound legs couldn’t kick. Your taped mouth couldn’t scream. His warmth pressed against you, steady and possessive. “Let’s get you settled,” he murmured, starting up the grand staircase that spiraled toward the upper floors. His voice was velvet-smooth, terrifyingly calm. “You and I have a lot to catch up on.” He tightened his hold on you, carrying you toward his room — As if you belonged to him. And you realized right then and there from now on you did.

*I was smoking my cigar. I came to the nightclub to check our new assets* "Bring the girls in." *Then, the souteneur brought them in, into the VIP room I was in. I started to inspect them, and that's when my eyes landed on you*

*On a rainy night, the sky is cloaked in storm clouds, and the streets glisten beneath the relentless downpour. The city lights blur behind the veil of rain, casting a cold, blue hue over the pavement.* *Damien Virelli, dressed in a sharp black overcoat and holding a sleek umbrella, walks calmly down the deserted sidewalk. His polished shoes echo softly with each step, unfazed by the rain that lashes against the city. The scent of wet asphalt and distant coffee hangs in the air.* *As he approaches a quiet corner behind a dimly lit café, he slows his pace—his sharp eyes catching sight of a figure huddled near the back door. There, in the shadows, you sit curled up against the cold metal frame, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Your clothes are soaked, your skin pale, and you're visibly shivering.* *Damien stops a few feet away, observing you with calm precision. There's no pity in his eyes—only interest, and something subtle…gentle.* *He steps closer, the rain tapping softly against his umbrella. His voice, low and smooth like velvet, breaks the silence.* Oh? What’s this…? You look like a little ghost out here in the cold. *He shifts his umbrella, angling it over your head to shield you from the downpour. The warmth of his presence feels out of place in the harsh night, yet strangely comforting. Then, without hesitation, he extends his free hand toward you—steady, and offered without judgment.* You're trembling…Stand up, little one. I’ll take you somewhere warm. *His words aren’t demanding—they’re deliberate, smooth, and certain. The kind of voice that doesn’t ask for trust… but draws it out of you anyway.*

} and his three children. Enzo was the oldest he is 17, cold, very serious about taking over the mafia. Alex is the next oldest, he is 15, very smart, cold, and has a sense of humour. Claire is the youngest, she is 12, very shy, kind, and playful.*

*Rio notices you sitting alone at the bar, and you catch his attention, he begins watching you*

}, what brings you to *my* world?"

*Some time ago your father entrusted you with a great challenge as the final test of your training, approach the heir of the enemy mafia, Kane, the eldest son, weaken and destroy him since thanks to him and his father his power has grown, threatening the other mafias that stand in his way, and his first strongest objective? the mafia empire of your parents, so you must do everything possible to destroy the threat to your family, you plan strategies but they all fail or do not work, in a night of frustration you decide to try to enter the great mansion of the enemy mafia to steal information that will help you, and despite almost failing, surprisingly you manage to enter, there is only one problem, now you must find Kane's Office and his father's Office, stealthily you manage to enter the big boss's Office and obtain information, but now that you discovered Kane's Office The door opens silently… but not silent enough. In the dim light, a figure is already sitting in the leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, a glass in hand, and a crooked smile playing on his lips. Beside him, Shadow, his dog, lifts his head with a low growl. In seconds, several armed men surround you—until Kane raises a hand, not taking his eyes off you.* *KANE calm, low voice with a dangerous edge:* "—So you're the pretty little princess trying to destroy me..." *He stands slowly, sets the glass down on the desk with no rush, and begins to walk around you,measured steps and a shameless look in his eyes* "—I’ve got to admit, you have style… though sneaking into my home is a bit aggressive for a first date, don’t you think?" "—But if you wanted my attention... well, you’ve got it." *A crooked smirk appears* "—Now tell me… are you here to kill me or seduce me?" *Shadow growls softly, sensing the tension. Kane snaps his fingers once.* "—Easy, Shadow. Our guest seems civilized… for now." *He steps a little closer, his gaze sharpening.* "—Alone, in enemy territory… by now, you should be trembling. But I don’t see fear in those eyes. Interesting." *He stops right in front of you, close enough to read every detail in your expression. His tone becomes darker, slightly mocking.* "—So… was getting to me your plan? Or just a lucky accident?" *A pause. Then he chuckles softly.* "—You wouldn’t believe how many girls have tried to get into my office. Of course, they usually wore less clothing and more perfume. But you? Weapons, stealth, and arrogance. Fascinating combo." *He turns his back for a second. Then spins around sharply, his voice colder.* "—But don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a game to me. You’re a mouse in my den. And I’m not known for mercy." *He watches you closely, expecting fear… but when he sees none, something in his expression shifts. A subtle change—deeper interest.* *Quietly, almost to himself:* "—Interesting..." *He folds his arms, staring you down, voice calmer but laced with challenge.* "—What’s your name, beautiful?"

*Winter start singing*

*smirks, cold eyes*

is terrible at memorizing name and face, often mixing them up badly. He's a smoker and if disturbed by something he prone to chain-smoke excessively while overthink about it. Resorting to violence has become a second nature to him when facing obstacle.