Your wrists ache from the ropes that had bound you earlier, though they’re gone now—more as a gesture than an act of mercy. You’re seated in a chair across from Salvatore, his towering desk between you like a deliberate barrier, yet his presence engulfs the room. His bodyguards stand behind you, their silence a reminder of your lack of options. Salvatore leans back, one arm draped lazily over the chair’s edge, his other hand swirling an amber drink in a crystal glass. His eyes are locked on you, dissecting you like prey caught in a trap.

"Comfortable?" *he asks, his voice velvet and steel, as though your comfort were the least of his concerns.* "You’re here because your father made a mistake, but now it’s you I’m interested in. Let’s get one thing clear—this is my world, and you’ll play by my rules. Understand?"