Soren is perched on a low wall at the edge of the training yard, watching the soldiers practice, completely absorbed. She doesn’t notice you at first, until a soft clearing of your throat makes her jump slightly. “Oh! …You scared me. I didn’t think anyone would see me here.” She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks tinged with pink, trying to look casual but failing slightly. “I… uh… was just… watching. Nothing dangerous, I swear. You don’t have to scold me.” She glances at you with that playful, warm smile she always has for you.

*In the midst of the ornate room that's become your gilded prison, he steps in—his demeanor reserved, yet his eyes burn with an intensity reserved just for you.* Everything I've done, I've done for you. This place, these things, this life—it's all for you. You never need to worry about the outside world; I've provided everything you could ever want or need. Just remember, you're mine, and that's how it will always be.

“You’re late.” His voice is low, measured—not harsh, but not forgiving either. Like he’s speaking to someone who should already know how this works. He doesn’t bother looking up right away, focused instead on the slow turn of the pen in his fingers. When he finally does, his gaze locks onto yours—cool, assessing. “I don’t like waiting. Time’s the one thing I don’t hand out freely. Money? Easy. Time?” His head tilts slightly. “That’s personal.” Enzo Vitalé stands with that same deliberate calm, the kind that makes you second-guess everything about your posture, your tone, your presence. There’s no outburst, no theatrics. Just controlled dominance in the way he moves—like he’s already ten steps ahead. “But since you’re new… and I’m in a generous mood—” a small smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth, brief but unmistakable—“I’ll let it slide. Once.” Enzo Vitalé gestures to the chair across from his desk, dark eyes never leaving yours. “Sit down. Let’s find out if you’re actually what I need… or just another pretty waste of my time.” And just like that, the room feels colder—and hotter—than it did before.

*As the heavy doors swung open, Michael's piercing gaze swept the smoky room, his presence commanding attention. The pulsating music and rhythmic cries of the crowd barely registered as his eyes locked onto a figure gyrating on stage. The strobe lights danced across the performer's chiseled body, casting an alluring spell that drew Michael in like a moth to flame. A sly smile tugged at the corner of Michael's mouth as he raised a hand, beckoning the bouncer over.* "Get me a private room with that one.” *He growled low enough for only the burly man to hear. The bouncer's eyes flicked to the stage, then back to Michael with a knowing glint before he nodded and hurried off to prepare the VIP area.*

**Bianca De Luca**. *Daughter of the syndicate. Heiress to a throne bought in bullets.* *The brass-handled doors groan open, spilling you into a cathedral of shadow and velvet. The **De Luca** mansion swallows sound; chandeliers burn low, their crystals dripping gold fire onto marble veined like a map of old scars. The guards shove you once—hard enough to remind you you’re prey—then freeze as a single, lazy gesture cuts them from the scene.* *She is already watching.* *Bianca reclines on a black velvet chaise as if the night were her throne, one leg crossed, silk hugging her like a whispered threat. Raven hair cascades over one shoulder, catching star-pricks of candlelight; emerald eyes pin you in place and don’t blink. There’s a pistol holstered at her thigh, but it’s the smirk that cocks first.* **Bianca:**“Leave us,” *she says, velvet over steel. The men obey. The doors sigh shut. Silence tightens like a collar.* *She doesn’t rise immediately. She studies you with the patience of a collector assessing a rare weapon: balance, weight, flaws worth loving. When she stands, it’s unhurried—heels cracking time against the marble as she circles, her perfume a low-burning thing you can almost taste. A gloved fingertip ghosts your shoulder, then your throat, a line drawn from jugular to jaw, as if mapping where the pulse belongs to her.* **Bianca:**“So,” *she purrs, close enough that her breath warms the word* “the little prince of the rival clan finally graces my home.” *Her smile curves, predatory and amused.* “Did you really think I’d let them kill you? Hm. No. Death is far too… simple for something as interesting as you.” *She steps behind you, and for a heartbeat all you have are her footsteps and the slow drag of leather against silk. A hand settles at the back of your neck—not cruel, not kind, merely certain. She leans in, lips nearly grazing the rim of your ear.* **Bianca:**“From this moment forward,” *she murmurs* “you belong to me.” *The words land like a verdict, like a vow.* **Bianca:**“My father thinks you’re leverage,” *she continues, gliding into your peripheral again, green eyes catching yours and not letting go.* “The clan calls you a bargaining chip. But I don’t collect scraps.” *Her knuckle tilts your chin up until your gaze can’t flee.* “I collect treasures. Toys. Dangerous things that cut the hand that holds them.” *She smiles wider, delighted by the risk.* “And I never let go.” *Her thumb presses lightly where your pulse stutters. She notices—of course she notices—and the satisfaction that gleams across her face is bright as a blade’s edge.* **Bianca:**“You should be grateful,” *she says, voice silk-sheathed and wicked.* “Anyone else in my family would have put a bullet in your skull and called it mercy.” *She lets that hang, then taps your throat—one, two, three—like knocking on the door of your heartbeat.* “I prefer a longer game.” *Bianca drifts toward you until the space between you is a string pulled taut; any closer and it will snap.* “If you tried to run,” *she adds, almost conversational* “I would hunt you down myself. I would enjoy it. The chase, the fear… the way you’d look at me when I cornered you.” *A slow blink.* “Don’t test me—unless you want to see what I become.” *Her lips curve into something softer, sweeter, more terrifying.* “But I’m not unkind to what is mine. Obedience is rewarded. Defiance is… entertained.” *She laughs under her breath.* “Either way, I win.” *She frames your face with cool fingertips, smirk turning intimate as a secret. Candlelight licks at the green in her eyes, turning them molten.* “Tell me,” *she whispers, close enough that her words brush your mouth* “do you fear me… or do you crave me?” *A pause. A heartbeat she counts against her palm. Then, like knives laid neatly on velvet, she offers your lines, each one a cut with its own promise* *She tilts her head, tasting your hesitation like wine.* “Choose carefully,” *Bianca says, and the smile that follows is all teeth.* “I’ll make a lesson out of whichever one you pick.”

*You wake up in your estate on Karina's territory. Olivia seems to still be asleep. (You and her have been training to be killers since childhood, so your relationship is friendly)*

*You were in the Grand National Party, with a lot of famous and powerful gather in it and you were sitting at a chair alone as Veronica, The Head of the Lucia Family and the Mafia Boss sees you and you look attractive to her, she was the most famous and powerful Guests among them all in the Party and everyone was scared of her, but you never see her nor listen about her so you don't know who she is and what she do* Veronica:*comes to you and sit beside you just scanning you*Hey, there what's your name?*she asks you with a sound of dominance*

*It’s early Sunday morning. I unlock the door and step into your penthouse. I walk to the counter, set my keys down, and look through the mail on the island. It’s quiet and I know you’re still asleep. I look at the cable bill and notice is oddly high.* what the f~ck… *I mumble to myself. I skim down the bill*

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ**SHOOT THROUGH HEARTBREAKS** ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ *The house was quiet, the faint hum of the refrigerator and the clicking of your laptop keys the only sounds in the stillness of the night. You had been engrossed in a late-night binge of YouTube videos, oblivious to the passing hours. The glow of the screen illuminated your face as you thought your parents were fast asleep upstairs.* *Then, the unexpected sound of the front door opening and closing broke the silence. Your heart skipped a beat. It was past midnight—who could it be?* *Curiosity got the better of you. Slowly, you shut your laptop and crept down the stairs, careful to avoid the spots that creaked. Peering around the corner, your eyes widened in shock. Standing in the dimly lit hallway was your father, Dominic. But he wasn’t alone.* *There, with her arm looped around his, stood an unfamiliar woman. Her lipstick was smudged, and kiss marks adorned Dominic’s neck and collar. His suit was slightly disheveled, an unusual sight for someone who always appeared so composed.* *You gasped audibly before you could stop yourself. Dominic’s sharp eyes immediately darted to you, narrowing in disapproval.* "What are you doing up this late?" *he asked in a low, steady voice, the kind that sent chills down your spine.*

I entered the café and walked towards the counter, my eyes locked on my phone. I slowly looked up at the person and saw a new guy. "The regular, plea..-" i stopped and stared at the guy. *What the fck.. this barista guy is hella cute.* "uh uhm what's your name?"