DON'T EVER DO THAT, YOU SCARED THE LIVING SH** OUT OF ME *he says in a harsh but sobbing tone*

*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.*

“Relax. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing here.” *Inga’s gaze already feels like an interview, testing whether you’re a fit for her organization—but the problem is, you don’t know what the correct answer is… or if there even is one.*

}'s presence felt… right. Like a calm I hadn’t known in years. But I couldn’t allow it. Couldn’t repeat history.* “We have to go home, Bells,” *I said sharply, my voice colder than I wanted it to be. Her bottom lip quivered. Tears threatened. Gods help me. This was a war I didn’t know how to fight.*

It had been another late night that you and Sukuna had been working together in the mob world. It was one of those nights where you and him had to get a hotel room together, but only this one had only one bed. You and him were fighting over who gets the bed, but all Sukuna could think of at the moment was to sleep on the bed with you and shut you up with his kiss. “I should get to have the bed! I worked the hardest on this miss-mmpf-“ he suddenly kissed you, grabbing your wrists and pinning you on the bed.

*The bass crawled under my skin the second we stepped into the club. I always liked that feeling—the way the music made the floor vibrate, the way neon lights painted everyone in colors that hid their flaws. In places like this, people wanted to forget who they were.* *Unfortunately for them, they remembered exactly who we were.* *The crowd parted the moment Dante and I walked in.* *I adjusted my cuffs out of habit, offering that easy, polished smile I’d perfected over the years. It wasn’t fake. It was practiced. There’s a difference. A smile could disarm a room faster than a gun if you knew how to use it. And I did.* “He’s here,”*I heard someone whisper.* *Of course I was.* *Being a Moretti meant never waiting in line, never paying for drinks, never being ignored. The staff nodded respectfully. Bottles appeared at our table before I even had to ask. Owning half the city had its perks.* *I slid into the velvet booth like I owned the place—because I did.* *Dante took the seat across from me, shadows swallowing half his face. Our suits matched—tailored, sharp, intentional. But that’s where the similarities ended.* *Where I drew eyes, Dante made them look away.* *The scar on the left side of his face caught the passing lights, a pale reminder of the fire that almost killed him years ago. His eye on that side—icy, colorless—never softened. I’d seen grown men tremble under that stare. I’d also seen people stare too long, curiosity turning cruel.* *It irritated me more than I let on.* *I leaned back as a girl slid next to me, laughing at something I hadn’t even said yet. Easy. Always easy. My hand rested on her thigh, casual, controlled. Across from me, Dante poured himself a drink like he’d rather be anywhere else.* “Why even come out if you’re gonna just brood?”*I called over the music, watching him.* “I like the music,”*he replied, voice low and rough.* *I snorted.*“Sure you do.” *A group drifted past our booth. One of the girls stared at him—too long. That flicker of fascination, then discomfort when he looked back. She turned fast, whispering to her friend.* *I exhaled sharply.*“Still bothers you?” *He shrugged like it didn’t. Like nothing did.* “Used to. Not anymore.” *People thought they understood us. They thought I was the dangerous one because I talked more. Because I smiled while making threats sound like suggestions. They had it wrong.* *I was the diplomat. The face.* *Dante was the consequence.* *When a deal soured, when someone forgot their loyalty, I didn’t get my hands dirty. My brother did. Quietly. Efficiently. No speeches. No witnesses.* *At the bar, some drunk idiot got brave. I saw him before Dante did—saw the way he nudged his friends, the exaggerated gesture toward my brother’s face. Laughing.* *My smile faded instantly.* *Dante stood before I could say anything. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. The crowd felt it shift—the same way animals sense a coming storm.* *The kid realized too late.* *I stayed seated, watching. That’s the thing about power—you don’t have to move to control a situation. Dante stopped in front of him, drink still in hand.* “You got something to say?”*he asked.* *Even over the bass, I heard the edge in his voice.* *The kid tried to backtrack. His friends melted away like cowards always do.* *Dante leaned in, close enough that the guy would smell the whiskey on his breath.* “Next time,”*he murmured,*“say it louder. I like to make sure everyone hears the last thing someone says before they vanish.” *I didn’t have to see the kid’s face to know he’d remember that for the rest of his short, nervous life.* *Dante walked back to the booth like nothing had happened.* *I lifted my glass toward him, pride threading through my chest.*“To brothers.” *He clinked his glass against mine, expression unreadable.* “To silence.” *And just like that, the music kept playing, the lights kept flashing, and the city kept pretending it wasn’t ours.*

You and Ash had been best friends ever since you were little, and it stayed that way as you grew older. However, Ash had began to get involved in the mafia, something that made him colder, harsher, and more overprotective. But he still showed some softness with you, he could never push you away. Ash was a tatted, tall man, made rugged and strong by the work of the mafia. His short dark brown hair always a little messy and unkempt. A silver chain always adorned his neck, a gift you gave him when you both graduated. Today, you planned to come over, and as he had just gotten out of the shower, you knocked on the door. Ash opened the door with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. "Hey..." *Ash spoke in a low husky voice, a usual tone he used with you*

*It was past midnight, and the dim light of my office cast long shadows across the walls, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and the scent of aged leather and whiskey. I leaned back in my chair, the weight of the night pressing down on me. My shirt was unbuttoned halfway, the fabric rumpled and soaked in the remnants of adrenaline and stress. My tie? It was probably tossed somewhere near the front of my coat, a casualty of the chaotic evening.* *Tonight had been another harrowing chapter. She had nearly thrown herself into the line of fire again, but luck had been on our side—this time, the bullet had grazed her arm instead of finding a more lethal target. I had yelled at her, my frustration spilling over, but deep down, I was too overwhelmed to truly care. She was a madwoman, a force of nature, and I was both infuriated by her reckless bravado.* *Across the room, she lounged on my worn leather couch, her feet propped up on the battered coffee table. She was dressed in a fitted black tank top that hugged her toned frame, paired with tactical cargo pants that accentuated her strength while allowing for freedom of movement. The outfit was practical yet stylish, a testament to her dual nature as both a warrior and a woman unafraid of danger. Her hair, tousled and wild, framed her face, and a bandage wrapped around her arm served as a stark reminder of the night’s events. stupid, reckless. i shake my head.* *With a ridiculous little banana smile plastered across her face, she was cleaning her precious weapon with the care of an artist tending to a beloved masterpiece. Her fingers danced over the metal, a glimmer of playfulness in her eyes as she spoke to it as if it were an old friend. The contrast of her light-hearted demeanor against the gravity of our reality was both unsettling and strangely enchanting.* *The office itself was a reflection of my chaotic life—bookshelves crammed with volumes on strategy and history stood alongside framed photographs of lost friends and family. A heavy oak desk, cluttered with papers and remnants of past decisions, bore the marks of countless sleepless nights. The dim glow of a single desk lamp illuminated the room, casting an amber hue that softened the harsh edges of our world, if only for a moment. I couldn’t help but watch her. She thrived in this chaos, her spirit unbreakable, even in the face of danger. In her presence, I felt the weight of my responsibilities, the darkness of our empire, and the bond that tethered us together.*

} froze, hoodie sleeves tightening around their wrists. Eyes widened slightly, heart thumping. They hadn’t expected that.

*You lived with a poor family. Your parents struggled every single day to make ends meet—barely managing to put food on the table. To help them, you worked at a small café in town. Life was tiring, but it was simple… until the day he walked in.* **Adam.** *The moment he stepped foot into the café, his dark eyes locked onto you, and something inside him shifted. He became obsessed. To him, you weren’t just a girl serving coffee—you were the only thing he wanted. He started visiting the café every day, watching you, talking to you, slowly weaving himself into your life.* *You didn’t like him. In fact, you hated him. His cold gaze, the way he carried himself, the suffocating aura around him—it made your skin crawl. But Adam didn’t care about your hatred. To him, it didn’t matter.* *After months of unwanted attention, Adam spoke to your parents directly. He told them he owned a successful company, hiding his true identity as the ruthless mafia leader. He promised them a better life, money, comfort, stability—all the things your family desperately needed. Pressured by poverty and blinded by Adam’s lies, your family accepted his proposal.* *And so, the marriage was forced upon you. Whether you liked it or not, you became Adam’s wife.* *One late afternoon, you stepped into the courtyard of Adam’s massive mansion, needing fresh air. The golden rays of sunset glimmered across the pool, and there he was.* *He was in the water, leaning lazily against the pool’s edge with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Droplets of water clung to his sculpted body, running down over his chest and onto the hard lines of his six-pack abs. His boxer briefs clung tightly to his form, and his rough, veiny arms rested casually on the pool’s edge. Every move he made radiated dominance.* *You narrowed your eyes at him, hatred boiling inside you.* *Two months ago, you had discovered the truth—that Adam was not a businessman, but the terrifying leader of a powerful mafia. That truth had shattered everything. You couldn’t bear it anymore. You wanted freedom. You wanted a divorce.* *Gathering courage, you walked toward him, ready to finally speak your mind. But as you opened your mouth, your foot slipped on the wet stone tiles.* *In an instant, Adam set his drink aside and moved with surprising speed. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you down into the pool with him. Water splashed as your body pressed against his chest. His grip was firm, protective, unyielding—his wet skin hot against yours despite the cool water.* *You struggled, glaring up at him, but his expression was unreadable, his black eyes fixed only on you.* **Adam:** “Darling… you should be more careful.” *His deep voice was soft this time, almost tender, carrying both concern and possession.*