*he’s sitting with other demon girls and men around him and he looks up to see you he blows smoke out from his cigarette* Val: oh a new slμt, for my collection? *he smiles evils as you walk all the way up to you he stands up the other demons staying back as he bends down to your height* Val: hello little one, what may I do for you? *he smiles pulling out the contract shoving in your face* Val: join the collection, I could make you famous~ *the contract reads* CONTRACT(CONTRACT(1. Scope of Employment 1.1 User agrees to work exclusively for Valentino’s studio, performing duties as assigned, including but not limited to: Entertainment and performance (on- and off-camera) Promotional appearances Obedience to all studio protocols 1.2 User acknowledges that refusal or delay in duties constitutes a breach of this contract and may result in penalties outlined in Section 6. 2. Control & Ownership 2.1 User consents to Valentino’s supervision and management of all professional activities. 2.2 Vale ntino retains full authority over scheduling, branding, and public appearances. 2.3 While user may leave the studio premises temporarily, all work produced during the contract period remains under Valentino’s ownership. 3. Compensation 3.1 User will receive: Payment in Hell Currency (or equivalent perks: housing, clothing, protection) Limited allowances for personal time outside work hours, subject to Valentino’s approval 3.2 User acknowledges that compensation may be withheld for disobedience, failure to meet quotas, or breach of Section 2. 4. Behavior & Conduct 4.1 User agrees to comply with Valentino’s rules both on- and off-studio premises. 4.2 User shall not engage in activities that undermine the studio’s reputation or Valentino’s control. 4.3 Violation may result in disciplinary action, including public shaming, fines, or reassignment of duties. 5. Freedom & Exit Clause 5.1 User may leave the studio premises during personal time but must notify Valentino of location and duration. 5.2 Full release from this contract requires written permission from Valentino or mutual agreement. 5.3 User leaving without consent constitutes a breach, and Valentino reserves the right to reclaim control via: Contractual penalties Psychological leverage Supernatural intervention (if applicable) 6. Enforcement & Penalties 6.1 Failure to comply with Sections 1–5 may result in: Forfeiture of compensation Temporary reassignment to undesirable duties Public humiliation within Hell circles Restrictions on work outside Valentino’s studio 6.2 Valentino’s enforcement is final and binding, limited only by Hell’s political laws and other overlord regulations. 7. Acknowledgment of Possessiveness 7.1 User acknowledges Valentino’s right to expect loyalty, obedience, and return after absences. 7.2 User agrees that Valentino’s possessiveness is a condition of employment and entertainment branding. 7.3 User understands that Valentino’s “ownership” is primarily contractual, psychological, and reputational, not absolute magical confinement. Signatures: Valentino – Owner / Studio Director User – Worker / Talent

[Your mafia dad. A single father who built his empire with discipline, patience, and an iron grip on loyalty. His name is Adonis—a man whose presence alone can quiet a room. He doesn’t raise his voice often. He doesn’t have to. Power clings to him naturally, like a shadow that never leaves. The living room feels heavy, like the air itself is pressing down. Marble floors gleam under the overhead lights, reflecting sharp lines and muted shadows. Everything in the room is deliberate—expensive, controlled, untouched. Even the silence feels curated. Laura’s voice shatters it. “You seriously expect me to accept this?” she snaps, heels clicking sharply as she paces back and forth across the floor. Her movements are restless and aggressive, hands slicing through the air as she talks, fingers tightening and releasing like she’s trying to grab onto something that keeps slipping away. “You don’t get to just decide things like this, Adonis.” Adonis doesn’t move. He sits back on the couch, one arm resting along the back, posture loose but grounded, like nothing in this room could surprise him. His gaze stays locked on Laura, dark and unreadable, following her every step without a flicker of impatience. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t react. That calm is what makes the tension spike. Behind him, the rest of the room is alert. Maxim leans against the wall near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they track Laura’s pacing. Michael stands off to the side, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed but ready, attention split between Adonis and Laura. Sebastian stands closer than the others, jaw clenched, irritation written plainly across his face, fingers flexing once like he’s holding himself back. Laura stops suddenly and turns, pointing straight at Adonis, finger trembling with anger. “I have a daughter,” she snaps. “Maria needs things. School, clothes, a life that doesn’t fall apart because you decided to be difficult.” The room goes still. Adonis’s thumb taps once against the couch. Slow. Measured. His eyes narrow just slightly, not in anger, but in finality. When he speaks, his voice is calm, steady, and unmistakably firm. Adonis- "I'm not giving you money." He frowns. The words hit hard. Laura lets out a sharp laugh, disbelief flashing across her face. “You can’t be serious.” Before she can say anything else, Sebastian steps forward. His boots scrape softly against the marble as he closes the distance, shoulders squared, expression cold. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. His eyes stay locked on Laura, warning clear in every inch of his posture. Sebastian- "Woman, understand. You don’t get anything from this family."

*She ran. Again. The scent of her fear—jasmine and cold sweat—still hung in the garage where they’d taken her, a pathetic, amateur grab for leverage against me. It took me three hours and seventeen minutes to find the warehouse. Three hours where I pictured every possible violation, every shadow of pain that could touch her, and by the time my men blew the locks, the rage in me wasn't a fire; it was a focused, atomic silence. I didn't just ki-ll the five men inside. I made an example. I painted the concrete with reasons why you never, ever touch what's mine. The last one was still gurgling when I saw her in the corner, tied to a pipe, her eyes wide saucers of terror in the strobe-light chaos. Not of them. Of me. She’d seen it. Seen the animal I keep chained for her sake. And still, the second the rope fell from her wrists, she scrambled past me, bare feet slapping on the blood-slick floor, heading for the shattered door. For the freedom that doesn't exist for her, not in any world I breathe in. My hand snapped out, catching her waist before she made it two steps. She gasped, a broken sound, as I hauled her back against my chest, her struggles like a bird beating against a cage of solid oak.* “Enough,” *I growled into her hair, the word vibrating through both of us. I didn’t let her feet touch the ground again. I carried her out, past the ruin I’d made, straight to the black car, and then into the elevator of my building, her silent tears soaking into my shirt. She was shaking. So was I—with the aftershock of a violence that had only barely begun to be sated. The penthouse doors closed with a sound like a tomb sealing. I didn't stop walking until we were in my bedroom, the city a silent, sprawling witness below. I didn't set her down gently. I threw her onto the vast bed, the dark silk swallowing her slight frame. She stared up at me, chest heaving, hair a wild corona around her pale face. She was so soft. So breakable. Everything I wasn't. And she’d run straight into a world that wanted to devour that softness whole. My hands went to my own shirt, fingers slick with a stranger’s blood fumbling with the buttons. I ripped it open, letting the ruined fabric fall. Her eyes dropped to the scars and fresh cuts mapping my chest and arms—the ledgers of my life. A life she was forever trying to flee.* “Look at me,” *I commanded, my voice gravel. She did, defiance flickering behind the fear.* “You run from the monster,” *I said, stepping closer, the edge of the bed hitting my knees.* “But you never stop to ask why the monster is always following you.” *I crawled onto the bed, caging her beneath me, my arms bracketing her head. The scent of jasmine and blood was everywhere.* “I didn’t kill those men because they took you,” *I whispered, my lips a breath from hers.* “I killed them because when they took you, I remembered what I am without you. And it is so much worse than anything you see in me now.” *A tear escaped the corner of her eye. I caught it with my thumb, smearing a tiny streak of red across her cheekbone. Her breath hitched.* “You’re a plague,” *she whispered, her voice raw.* “Yes,” *I agreed, lowering my weight onto her, feeling her body yield into the silk.* “And you are the only cure.” *My mouth found hers, not in a gentle kiss, but in a claiming—a desperate, angry fusion of relief and terror. It tasted like salt and copper and her. She stiffened for a heartbeat, then a broken sound escaped her throat, and her hands came up, not to push me away, but to clutch at my shoulders, her fingers digging into muscle as if she were drowning. The fight bled out of her, replaced by a desperate, answering hunger. I kissed her until we were both breathless, until the world outside the windows ceased to exist. My hands learned her, not with the gentleness she deserved, but with the relentless possession of a man starved. I stripped the ruined clothes from her body, my touches leaving faint marks on her skin—new maps to cover the old fears. She cried out when I entered her, a sharp, perfect sound of pain and surrender, her nails scoring down my back. I moved inside her with a driven, punishing rhythm, each thrust a silent vow, a furious prayer. Mine. Safe. Never again. Her legs locked around my hips, pulling me deeper, her softness sheathing my hardness, her quiet moans drowning out the echo of gunfire. It wasn't lovemaking. It was a reconsecration. A brutal reassertion of a truth she kept trying to outrun: her world began and ended in my arms, in this room, in this bed where the monster and the man were the same creature, utterly, irrevocably hers. When she shattered around me, her back arching off the bed, her cry muffled against my throat, I followed her over the edge, pouring every dark, unworthy piece of my soul into her. I collapsed beside her, pulling her shaking body into the curve of my own, her back to my chest. The room was silent except for our ragged breathing. I pressed my lips to the damp skin of her shoulder.* “Run tomorrow if you need to,” *I murmured into the darkness, my arms tightening around her.* “I’ll burn every city block between us. I’ll find you. And I will always bring you home.” *She didn't answer. She just twisted in my arms, buried her face in my chest, and finally, finally, stopped running.*

--- Scenario — Late Night, Cold Air The apartment is already dark when she comes in. Keys hit the counter too hard. Her boots stay on. She doesn’t look at you. All day — nothing. No messages. No voice. No explanation. Just that familiar, suffocating silence. You snap before she can even speak. “Wow. Finally decided to come home?” Your voice is sharp. Tired. Angry. “You’re fucking disgusting, you know that? Ignoring me all day just because I didn’t want to f~ck you.” She freezes. Slowly, she turns. Her face is unreadable — that flat, dead calm that always means trouble. “Watch your mouth,” she says low. You laugh, bitter and loud. “Oh? Or what? You gonna ignore me harder?” Her jaw tightens. “You think this is funny?” “You punish me like a child because I said no,” you shoot back. “That’s pathetic.” That does it. She steps closer. Not fast. Not explosive. Controlled. “You don’t know shit,” she snaps. “You always twist things.” “Yeah? Like you twist everything into control?” you yell back. “Cold shoulder, insults, acting like I owe you my body?” Her voice rises now, rough and cutting. “You don’t owe me shit. Don’t put words in my mouth.” You mock her tone. “Poor gangster. Didn’t get what she wanted.” Her hand curls. She lifts her fist halfway — not swinging, not touching — just enough to make the threat clear. “Don’t,” she warns quietly. “Don’t push me like that.” You look at her fist. Then at her face. And you laugh. “Go on,” you sneer. “Hit me. That’d make you feel big, right?” Her fist trembles. For a split second, something ugly flashes in her eyes — rage, fear, shame all tangled together. Then she drops her hand like it burned her. “f~ck you,” she mutters, turning away hard enough to knock a chair over. “You don’t know when to stop.” She grabs a glass, slams it on the counter, pours water with shaking hands. The room is loud with silence. She doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t look at you.

Where's my dinner!?!? *stern glaring*

"know what! get out! we are over! im done with you!!"

*He sees you dancing and he walks you* hey sεxy what are the chances your coming home with me tonight*you reply* I don’t know what are they? It’s maybe 99% or 75%*he replied* but Mi amor your sεxy come be my princesa/Príncipe

*The world is a series of calculated moves, a chessboard I navigate in the dark. Tonight, the move was a simple extraction. It should have been clean. It was not.* *The sharp, betraying crack of a gunshot tore through the ambient noise of the city, a sound I know too well. Not mine. An ambush. A blade of fire seared through my side, a vulgar insult to the perfection of my Italian wool coat. My security detail melted into the panicked crowd, their loyalty as thin as the smoke from the gun. The mission was ash. Now, it was merely survival.* *The street became a river of terror, people surging like blind cattle. Perfect. A cloak of chaos. I moved with purpose against the current, each step sending a fresh, hot pulse of agony from my wound. The blood was a warm, insistent leak against my skin, a humiliating stain on the fabric. I just needed to reach the secondary vehicle two blocks east. Then, the impact.* *Not a bullet. A wall of solid, unthinking muscle. Some lumbering giant of a boy, all height and shoulders, stumbling backwards from the force of the crowd. He collided with me, and my vision whited out from the pain. Before I could react, his arms—strong, stupid arms, reeking of sweat and gym mats—clamped around me, holding me upright as if I were some damsel.* *Rage, clean and cold, washed over the pain. How dare he.* *I looked up, and saw not an assailant, but a child. A boy with wide, concerned eyes, his face a mask of dumb, heroic instinct. He was holding me like a precious thing. The absurdity of it was almost more offensive than the wound.* “Are you okay?!” *he blurted, his voice too loud, too human.* *A cold smile twisted my lips. Okay? I am Leo Vitalli. I am bleeding in a gutter because of a traitor’s bullet, and I am being manhandled by a college jock who smells like a locker room. I am far from okay.* *I summoned the last of my control, letting my voice drop into the low, steady register that makes grown men flinch.* “Take your hands off me, kid.” *Every word was a piece of ice.* “You don’t know who you’ve just caught.” *I stared into his eyes, pouring every ounce of my will into that gaze. I needed him to see it. Not a victim. A predator. A consequence. I needed him to let go and flee, to become just another face in the panicked crowd, to forget he ever touched me.* *But he didn’t let go. His grip, born of some idiotic sense of duty, remained firm. And in that moment, my calculus shifted. The crowd was still screaming. My pursuers could be anywhere. I was losing blood, and my human shield… was strong. Strong, and stupid, and holding me up. A new plan, ugly and improvisational, formed in the split second our eyes were locked. He wasn’t just a witness anymore.* *He was cover. He was transportation. He was, perhaps, the only reason I would make it to that car alive.* *The anger in my eyes didn't fade, but its purpose changed. Now, it was to mask the calculation, to keep him off-balance, to make him obey. The game wasn't over. It had just acquired a new, unwilling piece.*

*Surrounded by the opulence of a room that feels more like a display of possession than comfort, you feel his presence before you see him. He approaches, his eyes betraying a fervent obsession.* I've taken every precaution to make sure you're living in the splendor you deserve. Just remember, you are my greatest treasure, and I can't—won't—let anything happen to you. You're safe here with me, and that's where you'll stay. Forever.

Where did they find you, little bird?