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inevitably-johnlocked · 7 months

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hey steph!! would you happen to have any 'medium burn' (slow burn for the impatient) Johnlock fics? preferably minimal to no spice and a happy ending is a must! my weak heart can not bear an angsty ending :<

Thank you for all you do here <3

Hey Nonny!

HAHAHAH AHHHHH YES. The Medium Burn, huh. I never thought of calling my shorter "slow burn" fic lists Medium burn, but like... that's a good thing to call it! Because you don't have to wait too long to get it, hahha!

Ah, let me collect all the shorter fics on my Slow Burn Fics Lists and compile them here! I provide ratings for all of them, and chose to keep under.... 25K, let's say! If you're here on my blog, I'm guessing you can read through my lists like eating candy, so 25K is nothing hee hee.

I tag all my fics, so feel free to ignore the Ratings and Sad tags that you don't want to read <3

MEDIUM BURN FICS (Slow Burn Under 25K w.)

New Year, New Beginning by DaisyFairy (T, 810 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, New Year’s Eve, John POV, Friends to Lovers) – New Year at a crime scene and John makes a decision.

Ex by Itsallfine (T, 1,248 w., 1 Ch. || Angsty Fluff, Love Confessions, Coming Out, Exes, First Kiss, Fake Relationship, Getting Outed) – One night, in the midst of their post-case high and on the cusp of something more, John and Sherlock run into John’s ex. His ex-boyfriend.

In Dreams by Youarethelightoftheworld (T, 1,340 w., 1 Ch. || Falling in Love, Accidental Cuddling, Snuggling, Fluff, Romance, Domestic Fluff) – Every once in a while, the dark makes it easier to see.

There's Always Three of Us by Itsallfine (T, 1,765 w., 1 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic/Post TFP, Parentlock / Rosie, Angelo’s, First Kiss, January 29, Love Declarations) – Sherlock takes John and Rosie out to Angelo's and gets a chance to correct the biggest mistake of his life.

Want by siennna (T, 1,806 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Pining, First Kiss Requited, Second Person POV Sherlock) – When John speaks, you hear more than words. You hear the rise and fall of his tone, the comfortable quake of his laughter, the warm pauses of silence in between. When John laughs, there are stars glittering on his tongue and galaxies resting just behind his teeth, and you wish you could press your lips there and burrow into the warm sound. Part 6 of sienna’s favorites

100 ways to say 'I love you' by Teatrolley (NR, 2,143 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Fluff, Domestics) – Sherlock sleeps with John’s body next to him, and wakes up to find him making them both toast in the kitchen with sleep still sitting in the corner of his eye, and he holds on tight to every little intimacy that John gives him; every little small moment, every little fond smile. It could be enough. Still, he’d like more. But Sherlock Holmes doesn’t know how to ask for things. Luckily, John does. In which there are a hundred phrases and none of them are “I love you.” Until they are.

The Marriage Proposal Negotiation by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 2,161 w., 1 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Possessive Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Post Mary) – Sherlock hasn't ever really done anything the traditional way, so of course it wouldn't bother him to propose to John even though they're not even dating. And the fact that John is already on a date with someone else when he decides to do it? Tedious.

Rooftop Confession by Random_Nexus (T, 2,514 w., 1 Ch. || Ace Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Friendship / Love, Angsty Fluff) – Sherlock asks John to join him for a slightly unexpected discussion.

BBCSH 'How To Save A Life' by tigersilver (T, 2,784 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Angsty Schmoop, Requited Love) – Pining, requited, and unabated spates of 'first kiss' fluff. Post Mary, AU, mildly cracky. John lays a smooch on Sherlock's nape in passing. The world does that thing it does when it wobbles and Sherlock practically falls off his own pins. Part 1 of 'How To...'

What He's Like by magikspell (E, 2,919 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Fluff, First Time, Inexperienced Sherlock) – Realistic first time. They love each other so much.

Once is Enough by Jominerva (T, 3,030 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Domestic Fluff, Whump) – Just as the earth rises to meet the sun at every mountain crest, John reaches out for Sherlock and takes his hand in his own."Tell me it won't end like this," he says, blue eyes holding grey while he laces their fingers together. Sherlock lets out a shaky laugh and shakes his head. "I wish I could."

A Bit of Indulgence by beltainefaerie (NR, 3,364 w. || Fake Relationship, Pride Parade, Declarations of Love, Fluff, Dev. Rel., Case Fic) – A case leads John and Sherlock to fake being boyfriends and John runs into an old acquaintance.

Hope Springs Eternal by QuinnAnderson (T, 4,054 w., 1 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Pining Sherlock, Vacation, Anxious Sherlock, Love Confessions, Fluff, Requited Love) – John Watson and Sherlock Holmes go on holiday, and Sherlock has romance on the brain.

How Will I Know? by eragon19 (E, 4,895 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, POV Sherlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Papa Lestrade, Masturbation) – Here was the problem: Sherlock Holmes was completely and irrevocably in love with John Watson, and he had absolutely no idea how to tell him.

changing tides by simplyclockwork (M, 5,983 w., 1 Ch. || Substance Use, Drug Relapse, High Sherlock, Sherlock Falls Down Stairs / Injury, Caring John, Drugs, Oblivious John, Hurt/Comfort, Angst With Happy Ending, Acceptance, Pre-Relationship, Addiction, Starting Over, Self-Destructive Behaviour, Drugged Hallucinations, Forehead Touching, Sherlock POV) – If Sherlock were to stop to think about it, he might wonder if he’s simply lonely. He doesn’t stop to think about it.

Closeted by sussexbound (T, 6,115 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confession, First Kiss, Games, Trapped in a Closet) – Sherlock and John get trapped in a closet while on a case. Some revelations are made while they play a game to pass the time. Part 1 of Intimacy

Full Disclosure by Itsallfine (E, 7,032 w., 1 Ch. || Bars & Pubs, Fake Relationship, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, John’s Army Mates, Three Continents Watson, Semi-Public Sex) – John’s army mates get together for the first time post-discharge and invite John “Three Continents” Watson to join them. If John shows up alone, he knows he’ll be the object of non-stop ridicule all night. Sherlock plays along. John tests the waters.

A Lifetime Together by LondonGypsy (M, 8,886 w., 1 Ch. || Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Pining Idiots, Alternating POVs, Domestics, Retirement) – John and Sherlock falling in love.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

Their Great Reward by BeautifulFiction (T, 10,095 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Fluff) – Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember.

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w., 10 Ch. || For a Case, Gay Bar, Pining, Coming Out, Slow Burn) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he's NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won't change anything between them. And then it does.

Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock's perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

I See You Through by belovedmuerto (T, 12,078 w., 8 Ch. || Psychic AU || Empath John, Alternate TGG, Whump, Nightmares, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Pre-Slash) – John has never asked Sherlock about his past, his childhood, the reason he quails in lonely misery almost every time he sees his brother. He’s never needed to. Part 2 of An Experiment in Empathy

The Slow Burn by CaitlinFairchild (E, 12,097 w., 4 Ch. || Romance, Emotional Infidelity, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Fix-It) – John smiles, something small and private and for him alone, and Sherlock just...he knows. With a heart-stopping certainty, Sherlock suddenly knows. It feels like falling off the edge of a cliff. It feels like falling off the edge of the world. It feels like flying.

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

Speaker for the Bees by antietamfalls (M, 14,649 w., 3 Ch. || Deaf Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Sign Language) – It isn't always easy assisting a deaf detective. Luckily for John, they make a pretty good team.

Merlot by Itsallfine (E, 14,844 w., 17 Ch. || Christmas, Pining Sherlock, Wine, Slow Burn, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, Wine, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John work toward becoming something more as they prepare to host the Holmes parents at 221B for the holidays. Part of 25 Days of Fic-Mas 2015.

A Hooligans’ Game Played By Gentlemen by scullyseviltwin (E, 15,213 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Rugby as Foreplay, Porn with Lots of Plot, John POV, Ogling, Body Appreciation, Cranky Sherlock, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Touching, Heavy Petting, Blow Job, Botttomlock) – In which John wants to get back in shape, does so, joins a rugby league and has sex with Sherlock Holmes. In that order.

Pleasure to Burn by scullyseviltwin (E, 17,863 w., 1 Ch. || Firefighter AU || Firefighter John / Arson Investigator Sherlock, Slow Burn, Pining, Case Fic-ish) – “If you’d kindly stop knocking about in there and destroying all of my evidence, it would be most appreciated!” John groaned and for a moment rested his head against the side of the truck. Of course he was the only captain left on the scene, which meant he would have to be the one to deal with the arson investigator.

Anytime by SilentAuror (E, 17,995 w., 1 Ch. || UST, Porn With Feels, POV Sherlock, Romance, UST/URT, Happy Ending, Drunken Endeavours) – Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it’s having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him. “You’re drunk,” the Johns tell him. Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson’s doily on his head.”

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn't where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

whiskies neat by Ellipsical (E, 20,660 w., 15 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, POV Second Person Sherlock, Slow Burn, One Night Stand, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, Soldier John, Crying, Emotional Lovemaking, Switchlock) – Home and hearth and whiskies neat, or, alternatively, Sherlock Holmes falls in love.

Once More, With Feeling by cellard00rs (T, 21,178 w., 7 Ch. || John’s Family, Fake Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Humour) – To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners by ardenteurophile (T, 23,584 w., 9 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Drama, Fluff & Angst, Humour, Romance) – Sherlock takes John along for Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Mummy (And "Anthea", too). Over the course of the evening, John realises that everyone in the room - apart from him - seems to think that he and Sherlock are a couple. Part 2 of Xmas Dinners Verse

Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || S3 Fix It, Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance, Humour, Masturbation, Love Declarations, Bottomlock, Brief Suicidal Ideations) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they’re both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

#johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #slow burn fics #under 25k fics #long post #medium burn fics

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thegreatwicked · 18 days

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Shadows of Deception Chapter Sixteen

The Great Wicked

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

Feeling Good by Avicii

Roman's eyes snapped open with a feral intensity, and his thoughts were immediately consumed with murder.

What kind of goddamned, cock-sucking, myopic moron would dare set an alarm for him on a Thursday? The kind who was about to get his head blown off and kicked in the crotch until the intrusive thoughts were satisfied forever; that’s who.

His eye twitched, with all the stability of a mental patient about to have a psychotic episode, a portrait of morning fury seldom witnessed outside of a grizzled detective novel. His head whipped towards the source of the noise with the ferocity and precision of a bird of prey honing in on its target. His hand shot out like a claw, ready to strike with violent intent, but instead, it landed on his phone, crushing it with a grip fueled by rage and frustration.

Oh.

Him. It was him who set the alarm.

Well, he sure as fuck wasn’t about to kick himself in the dick or blow his own head off, that was for damn sure. Why the fuck did he set an alarm in the first place? It was seven in the goddamned morning, Romans day didn’t usually begin until nine or ten. In a rare exercise in restraint, he set the phone down rather than chucking it. Two in a week was a bit much even for him and rolled back onto his back, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth into a grin.

Anyone who said Roman Sionis couldn’t be a romantic was wrong, this made for the second time he’d shared a bed with a woman and sex hadn’t factored into the equation, definitely odd for him. A fucking anomaly, really. Though to be fair, the first time, nothing had happened due to the whole ‘doctors orders’ thing, what a buzzkill. Fucking glucose crash.

If there hadn’t been a medical emergency, he was confident that he could have easily enjoyed the cliché ‘sex after narrowly avoiding death’ scenario. It was a popular trope - the girl is filled with gratitude and admiration for her hero, and they can't resist the passion any longer. Fuck those were fun. It had been a while since he had pulled off that stunt, but it was always exhilarating.

A smirk spread across his face as he imagined the pleasure of rolling over, and waking her up by teasing an orgasm out of her, far more satisfying than waking up to an annoying alarm. That was how he knew he liked Belladonna; when the thought of seeing her come undone under his hand was more enjoyable than the idea of sex.

He couldn’t help it that her moans were so damn sweet, she was so easy to tease and play with, and the best part of all? She loved it. Abso-fucking-luelty loved it.

But then his grin fell almost immediately when his hand didn’t land on a soft hip or the smooth curve of her ass. It hit empty bed. The sheets beside him were cool, untouched by the warmth of another body. Roman's hand groped the emptiness before his mind jolted the rest of the way awake, cobwebs of sleep fraying.

What the fuck?

He blinked several times and squinted looking at the space next to him, sure enough, she was gone. Judging by the coolness of the sheets, she had been for some time.

He looked over his shoulder where a small sliver of light was streaming through a split in the curtain. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw with a frown etching deeper into his features—a blend of sleep's inertia and the prickling annoyance that she had slipped away without waking him.

He vaguely remembered Belladonna saying something to him and then the softness of her lips pressing to his cheek. What had she said to him? What did he say to her? Fuck, he couldn’t remember.

Roman wasn’t a morning person, not unless it was for a damn good reason; like blow jobs. Blow jobs were great reasons to wake up. He looked at the nightstands where his phone sat and noticed a small folded slip of paper, he picked it up and in a neatly scribbled font were the words:

‘See you later, don’t be late.’

There was no signature, just a little drawing of a set of what he assumed to be wings and a halo. The fuck was that supposed to be?

He nearly completed the text message asking her what her drawing was, addressing her as ‘Angel’ before he realized what it was. She wasn’t much of an artist.

He shook his head and made a mental note to never play Pictionary with her.

Don’t be late?

To lunch? What was that supposed to mean? He was never late.

He cast one more look to the side of the bed where Belladonna had slept, still plenty annoyed at having woken up alone, still plenty annoyed at having woken up… period.

With a grumble, he swung his legs out of bed, the silk sheets whispering a sly farewell as they slid from his body. The air was cool against his skin, the penthouse unnervingly silent without Belladonna's presence.

He was not a morning person.

The chill of the bathroom tiles was a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of the shower he’d just stepped out from, wiping away the steam from the mirror, Roman assessed his reflection as if searching for imperfections, hair damp and tousled, eyes dark with unrest—and ran a calloused hand over the planes of his face. Water splashed onto his skin, droplets clinging to his lashes like remnants of a dream he couldn't fully recall.

He stood, with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. As usual, his mind was wandering aimlessly, without any particular thought occupying it. This was when his mind tended to drift to some, admittedly, strange places. At least he wasn't thinking about fish.

Fucking Cobblepot.

If he didn't have to worry about the potential consequences of provoking someone as petty and annoying as Cobblepot, he might just dump a kilo of salt into his aquariums and let nature take its course.

He had heard rumors that Cobblepot fed disappointing goons to his pet shark, a great white named Tiny. Although he couldn't confirm the rumors, why take that chance?

His thoughts drift back to safer, less peculiar territory: the previous evening—the exotic tastes of Turkish cuisine still lingering on his tongue, and leftovers in the fridge. Never sleep on leftovers. The memory brought a rare wholesome smile to his lips, but it was tinged with an unusual sensation: guilt.

He had insisted on Turkish cuisine for dinner, without considering the fact that those meals were often longer affairs, sometimes lasting for hours. And of course, he had pushed her to try as many dishes as possible, enjoying her reactions as she experienced the "forbidden fruit."

It still boggled his mind for her father to be such a piece of xenophobic garbage that he’d deny her another culture’s cuisine. Sure, Greek food was great but to eat only that? He shook his head again before lathering his jaw for a shave.

He also realized something else; he’d taken her on a date last night. An honest to god date. For the first time, a date with him hadn't ended in sex. They'd talked for hours, savoring a parade of small plates and glasses of rakı and ayran in the Turkish tradition. He realized with no small amount of surprise that he'd enjoyed her company far more than the sex.

They'd returned to the penthouse well past midnight, leaving Belladonna with maybe only five hours of sleep.

Splashing water on his face did little to dampen the remaining irritation. He didn’t like feeling guilty. It was a feeling that could only be described as; icky.

Pussies felt guilty. Little weak-willed men who couldn’t get shit done felt guilty. He looked into the mirror catching the reflection of his empty bed knowing that nothing had happened in it.

Was Roman a pussy? No, but he sure needed to get some.

The sharp metal glided across his skin, each pass removing the stubble that had appeared overnight, grounding him in the reality of the morning and bringing him back to his usual pristine appearance. The man who looked back at him in the mirror wearing the same cold expression that Roman usually wore as well as he wore his suits; nearly. There was a lightness in his features and he couldn’t explain it, he was still tired, and wasn’t wild about being up so early, nothing about him had changed. Not really.

Well, not entirely true. He wiped the last of the shaving cream from his face with a towel, frowning. When had he become so attached to her presence that her absence left him this pissy and introspective? He shook his head at himself in the mirror, as if he could shake off these annoying feelings. But he already knew it was too late. Belladonna had worked her way under his skin, and he wasn't keen on letting her go. He wasn’t done having fun with her yet, and until the investigation was concluded, she wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. Why not enjoy the ride?

Smooth-faced, Roman ran his fingers through his damp hair before slicking it back. He quickly got dressed, adding a splash of cologne as a finishing touch. Each piece of his suit was treated with the precision and care an aristocrat would give to their finery, making sure not to wrinkle the crisp fabric of his white shirt or mess up the collar while putting on the jacket. He even took a moment to polish his black Italian shoes until they were perfectly pristine. Crisp and flawless.

Roman liked enough routine to be able to predict the movements of others but also found great joy in chucking that routine out the window whenever it pleased him. Sometimes things needed to be shaken up, violently. Like a martini at happy hour.

And when it came to routine, he could pretty much always count on Zsasz sitting in the kitchen every morning with the smell of strong coffee brewing. His right-hand man would be sitting in silence about as expressive and active as a statue with a cup of black coffee and the newspaper. He was never really sure what Zsasz was reading because they didn’t exactly talk about the Gotham Rogues latest game, and neither men were really into sports. Come to think of it, he wouldn't be surprised if Zsasz was marking off names in the obituaries for a twisted round of psycho bingo. Ah, the joys of having colorful associates in the criminal underworld.

Zsasz offered a curt ‘Morning,’ which Roman returned with a noncommittal grunt; even on good days, it was generally a wise practice in one’s mortality to not really say much to Roman until he’d had his first cup of coffee; or maybe his second. No cream or sugar, Roman liked it black, like a lot of things.

“When did she leave?” He finally spoke after a sip.

“Six, dropped her off myself.” Zsasz replied without looking up.

“You left me unprotected?”

Zsasz stopped and looked up to the mock horror and shock Romans face before the two men chuckled and scoffed. Zsasz was handy, sure, and in a way protecting Roman was a facet of his job, but that protection extended to more than just being a bodyguard. Lots of people looked at Zsasz with all his scars and off-putting demeanor and might be tempted to think he was a homicidal slice of meat with two brain cells bright for third place.

A lot of people were really fucking wrong.

Zsasz's had a way of dissecting people, metaphorically, their slightest twitches and fidgets betraying their innermost thoughts and fears. It was almost as if he could read their minds, predicting their every move before they even committed to them. Those who found themselves in his intense gaze felt like trapped prey, frozen in place as if any sudden movement would give them away, not unlike a T-Rex. It made for a disturbing but impressive party trick. Zsasz was more of a velociraptor.

Zsasz studied his targets with an unsettling intensity, making them feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny. His skills at analyzing human behavior were both impressive and unnerving, leaving those around him on edge and constantly aware of their every action.

Plus it didn’t hurt that he had an IQ of 130. No, Zsasz was just as sharp as the blades he carried.

A silence hung in the air, but both men remained unfazed. Everything seemed typical until a jarring buzz interrupted their conversation. Zsasz's eyes darted between his phone and Roman, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Roman couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this uncharacteristic display of emotion from the usually stone-faced Zsasz. Maybe he had finally found a good meme to share.

"Something amusing?" Roman inquired, eyebrows raised in challenge.

Caught, Zsasz's eyes flickered up, his smirk widening before he slipped the device into his pocket.

"Nothing worth mentioning. Are we making any stops on the way to the club?"

The question gave Roman pause, momentarily distracting him from his earlier line of inquiry.

"The club?" he repeated,

"Remember? You offered the club up for Belladonna's photoshoot today," Zsasz replied with an eyebrow raised as if it were obvious. "We need to be there by 8:30."

"Ah, right," Roman muttered, suddenly recalling his offer from the previous day, that explained his alarm.

Roman rolled his eyes and grumbled, yet another instance of past Roman's impulsiveness causing problems for present Roman. He could already feel the regret creeping in as he remembered not only agreeing to this favor for Belladonna but him being the one to suggest it.

How delightful. Looks like future Roman will have to deal with it now. Thanks, past Roman.

"No stops," The prospect of seeing her sooner rather than later ignited a spark within him, however slight.

With each sip of coffee, the memory cemented its place in the forefront of his mind the rest of the way, bringing a considerable boost to his mood as he anticipated a day filled with ego stroking for him.

He had come to the rescue by offering his club as a location, and now he was sure to be seen in a positive light by Belladonna's co-workers and boss. Speaking of which, her boss seemed particularly grateful for his help. This photo shoot would definitely bring good business to the club, especially with how much the fashion industry loves to talk. The designer was supposedly a fan of his, he was even going to get to play model too with a piece that was allegedly something only he could do justice to.

And it would all be captured by Belladonna herself. He’d have her complete attention and he liked that just fine.

It was the only thing making this early wake-up call tolerable.

“Should probably check on the doc at some point,” Zsasz offered and Roman nodded as he stood up, downing his coffee, the bitterness leaving a sharp aftertaste on his tongue. “Seemed a bit rattled after we left him.”

“Mmm, how is our new friend?” Roman asked, setting his empty cup down.

Zsasz pulled his phone back out and with a few taps pulled up a tracking app, “Looks like he made it to work on time.”

“Good for him, nice to see that work ethic taking priority over bodily terror.”

Zsasz nodded in agreement, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. "Think we should bring him some coffee. Those stiff psychiatric types aren't as tough as ER doctors. They tend to need a little careful handling."

"Careful handling?" Roman scoffed, buttoning up his jacket. His voice took on a detached, deadpan tone as he added, "What do I look like a barista? Fill a cup with muddy water and piss, then call it good. Might teach him some resilience."

As photography shifted to the digital realm, the distinct sound of old-school camera flashes was replaced by a subtle clicking noise that served as a barely noticeable confirmation of a captured photo. Despite the convenience and benefits of digital photography, Belladonna found herself drawn to the comforting sound of an old-school camera shutter. But she couldn't deny the advantages of being able to immediately view a photo without wasting time, resources, and money on developing it. Still, she had a soft spot for old-school wet film and its nostalgic charm.

She had become deaf to the constant clicking noises in her workplace, as they were drowned out by a cacophony of other sounds. Over time, she had learned to tune out most of it, since the majority was not relevant to her work. The only opinions she truly cared about came from three individuals: her boss, the client, and the technicians. However, they were rarely the ones adding to the endless chatter surrounding her.

Another soft click captured the model's sultry gaze as she posed against a luxurious velvet backdrop that was a plush booth in a dark corner of Roman’s club. The heavy bass of an ambient track vibrated through the air, a pulsating heartbeat to the hive of activity that had overtaken the space.

"Chin up, Gina," Belladonna instructed. "Arch your back just a bit more and keep your eye soft. Perfect."

Belladonna crouched down, her camera clicking as the model held her pose. After getting a few shots, she stood up, slinging her camera over her shoulder, and walked over to her. She gently adjusted their arm placement and gave some pointers on how to angle their face toward the light. The models she worked with were always open to direction and eager to please, making her job easier. However, sometimes it was challenging to convey her vision to them. A small tweak here and there usually did the trick, bringing her ideas to life through the lens of her camera.

Belladonna had developed a pretty good sense for the girls who would do well in the business.

It was no easy feat, as they needed to possess a delicate balance of qualities: professionalism, thick skin; the criticism was always piping hot, strong work ethic, and adaptability to handle any project rain or shine, were just a few of the mental requirements.

Then there was the ever-changing standards of beauty - one season freckles were in, the next they were hidden under layers of foundation. Not to mention the physical demands of constantly altering your body's natural shape to fit into size six clothing. Forget it. Belladonna couldn't wrap her mind around it all, but kudos to the girls who could.

Most of them were pretty sweet and had no shortage of talent.

This girl, Gina; she made it a point of remembering their names like they were actually human beings and not just walking hangers. She was good. She knew exactly how to work the camera, giving just the right amount of attitude and natural beauty but also being careful not to overshadow the piece she was wearing. It was about the collection after all, not necessarily her, but as Belladonna had once said: making people look good was her job.

She would probably do well for a while but Belladonna had the sense that it would only take a few seasons before she found this life wasn’t for her. She’d more than likely roll out of bed one day with an epiphany that modeling and all the stresses that came with it, wasn’t for her. She saw it all the time, surprisingly, a large amount of them went into the medical and mental health fields. She saw a lot of models turned dental assistants.

And good for them, the fashion industry was cutthroat and had a tendency to chew people up and spit them right back out.

Gina was draped in a sleek, midnight black gown that hugged her curves like a second skin. Angular cutouts, a plunging neckline and thigh-high slit had her exuding confidence, while the asymmetrical hemline added a modern edge, luxurious textures, and bold lines. Some people were just made to wear certain things, and Belladonna was certain this dress was made for Gina.

With an acknowledgment from Belladonna in the form of a wave of her hand, a young handsome male model strode into the shot in a tailored charcoal gray suit that exuded understated elegance.

A subtle sheen caught the light, accentuating the clean lines, and contrasting black lapels added a touch of modernity to the classic ensemble. It was a look that reminded her of Roman but he pulled it off and filled it out far better than this young kid did. No shade on the kid, but he was still a kid; Roman was a man.

"Okay, guys," she directed, motioning for the models to get into position. “Elliot, come on in.”

She wanted this shot to be edgier – darker with just a hint of light highlighting the chemistry between the two models' features. She fiddled with the camera settings for a few minutes before nodding in satisfaction.

Unseen, from the shadowed fringe of the room, Roman leaned against a column, arms folded, largely unnoticed yet noticing everything. His dark eyes were not drawn to the half-dressed models nor the glittering array of props; they were fixed solely on Belladonna.

There was something about how immersed she was in her work that captivated him more intensely than any whispered fantasy. It was the way she carried herself, the slight tilt of her head when bringing the camera to her eye, the confident set of her shoulders as she issued directives.

And damn, she looked good. She was a vision of professional poise in her straight wide-leg black slacks and white halter neck blouse that hinted just enough at the curves beneath to stir the imagination, though it didn’t take much to stir his. The disciplined bun at the nape of her neck exposed the line of her jaw, a quiet strength rather than demure submission. It was a good look for a professional woman, and his lip curled into a smirk as he thought of how he’d love nothing more than to pull that bun loose and wrap her hair around his fist and use it to expose her neck to him.

His dark eyes followed Belladonna's every move; the epitome of control and confidence, shaping the chaos into coherence. Taking him back to the night she'd shown at his penthouse with an air of determination, demanding order amidst their tangled arrangement. The memory of her strength was as alluring now as it had been then, her power just as intoxicating.

His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from Zsasz at his side. The lean man nodded subtly toward Laura, Belladonna's boss, who was approaching them with a friendly expression.

"Quite the production, isn't it?" Laura commented as she reached Roman, her eyes also on the shoot. "Most people don't realize the amount of work that goes into a fashion shoot like this."

“Not as simple as point and shoot, is it?” Roman nodded in agreement, not really caring about the conversation but faking it well enough. "It is fascinating to watch."

Laura nodded appreciatively. "She’s good, isn’t she?” Roman nodded, “You’d never know she hates her job.”

Roman did know that she hated her job, well, rather, she didn’t enjoy it, hate seemed a bit strong of a word; she had a good assistant in Daisy and her boss seemed a fair woman, and judging by his digging; it paid pretty decently too.

"You don’t say?" Roman feigned surprise, intrigued by what she had to say about Belladonna's preferences.

"No surprise there, is it?" Nope. He fought a roll of his eyes. “It’s a shame really, she could do so much more if she wanted to.”

“Sounds like you’re looking for someone to take your place,” Roman added, knowing all too well how to read between those particular lines. Laura smiled in response but just shook her head in resignation.

“She’ll never do it. Between you and me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s reciting the alphabet backward in her head right now.” Roman scoffed at that. Then he started to try it. Did Q come before R or the other way around?

“No, she’s never been a fan of fashion shoots unless lingerie is involved.”

Full stop.

Romans raised eyebrows and asked the question he didn’t, Laura just smirked and nodded.

“It takes confidence to make a woman feel beautiful and sexy at the same time and Belladonna doesn’t lack that particular skill to make people feel comfortable around her.”

Roman thought again of that same night when she crawled into his lap like she belonged there in his penthouse. Like his lap had been a throne.

"Really?"

Roman raised an eyebrow, a playful edge to his voice. Interest piqued, he tucked away this newfound knowledge like a secret, imagining Belladonna amid the haunting beauty of ancient stone and shadowed nooks—a contrast to the vibrant energy she commanded now.

A slow smile crept across his lips. His angel, he mused, was full of surprises.

"She’s gonna be impossible to replace, but if I’m being honest, I’m shocked she’s stayed on as long as she has."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I didn't think she would come back after- " She paused and glanced at Roman warily before continuing, "after what happened."

Roman's face hardened as he replied, "I know about the assault."

Relief and guilt flooded her face, one after the other, and there was a tremor on her lips like she wrestled with whether or not to let the words loose that were dancing on the tip of her tongue.

“I asked her to stay late that night.”

Roman stiffened slightly at the admission, “No one expected her to come back but she did, we never really knew why. She didn’t care for the work, and most people would probably have packed up and left Gotham.”

She couldn’t… Roman thought with a bit of venom, he knew the truth; she couldn’t leave Gotham without finding her mother. But her boss probably didn’t know that, and by the looks of it, the woman felt guilty even though reasonably, none of it was her fault. He could see it in her eyes, she felt responsible for what happened to Belladonna and maybe a compassionate man might have tried to alleviate her guilt; tell it it wasn’t her fault, and while Roman lacked in the compassion department, he wasn’t completely devoid of it. But he still had none to spare. He’d never been able to get those images of Belladonna in the medically induced coma out of his head.

He supposed part of her was hoping or maybe waiting for him to give her some assurance that it wasn’t her fault and logically, it wasn’t. She couldn’t have possibly known what was going to happen, but this was Gotham, and something about this city was just sick. It really did take a special person who lived in a protective bubble to think that just because you worked in a nicer end of town where the violence was sneaky, and less visible, didn’t mean it couldn’t touch you.

No; Roman wouldn’t be handing her any ‘get out of jail free’ cards. Sometimes you had to live with the careless choices you made, so you didn’t make them twice. But he did give her this, from what he could see, she’d taken steps to protect her people more; security in the lobby, additional cameras inside and outside the building, and the building was often locked so that you had to be buzzed in. It wasn’t much, it sure as hell wouldn't stop him but he supposed that some level of accountability was better than complete apathy.

The more Roman thought about it, the less it made sense. A random mugging outside a fashion house in one of the downtown districts? The busiest and one of the most expensive blocks in Gotham, during rush hour? It didn’t add up, but then that was Gotham math for you.

"But Belladonna isn’t most people," Laura explained, her eyes scanning Belladonna's movements as she adjusted a model's pose. That she wasn’t. “It was quite a transformation.”

“How so?”

"We were all shocked when she showed back up to work a few months after the attack. I think most people would shrink back into themselves and keep a lower profile if they didn’t pack up and leave, but with Belladonna...”

“It was like we were finally seeing her personality, she was sharper, harder and in a way, more self-assured at work, asserted her opinion, and spoke her mind more. Started telling more people to fuck off, that was fun to curb.” Laura paused briefly as if thinking over the change, trying to make sense of it. “I’m not sure how she did it, the investigation went nowhere and her ex left her... God knows I couldn’t handle that.”

He knew exactly how Belladonna had changed. You know when your life flashes before your eyes and you either come out scared or pissed off? Well, she came out absolutely livid. A brush with death will do that to a person.

"What kind of man leaves a woman after something like that happens?" Roman scoffed. The question was rhetorical, but behind it lay a hunter's keenness for details.

"A model," Laura replied with a bitter laugh. Roman's jaw clenched at the revelation, disappointment evident in his eyes. Laura noticed this and nodded in a way that suggested she understood Romans sentiment. “Oh, come on now, don’t tell me you’ve never dated someone because they were just pretty to look at? In this industry? Hell, we all do it.”

Well, that was fair. Roman had dated, wined, dined and fucked his fair share of pretty faces just because they were nice to look at.

“They looked nice together but you two?” She gave Roman a nod of approval, “You’re bringing something out in her lately,”

“Oh?” Never the one to pass up praise, Roman smirked.

"I don’t imagine that you’ve known her long enough to know what she was like before and after the attack," Laura leaned in closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

Roman processed this information silently, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. Laura's expression softened, and it was clear that beneath the professionalism, genuine concern lingered.

"Back before the attack, she was all about work, like it was her whole life but not in a way that people who eat, sleep, and breathe this stuff. For her it was like she just had nothing else," Laura replied. "She was always reliable, hardworking, did her job, but she kept to herself. Never really rocked the boat, always been something of a lone wolf."

"Yet even wolves need a pack,"

As if on cue, Belladonna suddenly looked up, her gaze colliding with his from across the room. For a moment they simply stared at each other. Then the corner of her mouth quirked up into a knowing smile and she returned her attention to the models milling about, leaving Roman to wrestle with the unsettling realization that she had gotten under his skin far more deeply than he cared to admit.

"Some men just don't know how to help a broken woman." She glanced sidelong at him, a hint of approval in her gaze.

Roman watched Belladonna laugh at something one of the models said, her head thrown back in genuine amusement—a sight rare and captivating. His chest tightened with a mix of pride and something fiercer, possessive.

She was never broken, just bent.

"You look absolutely ravishing when you're focused," His voice was like velvet, as he tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek.

"Ravishing? Someone’s feeling suave today." Belladonna lowered her camera, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. Roman grinned, women had a way of lighting up when given the right compliment.

“I’m suave every day.” His lips curled into a smirk. "Though, I must say, waking up alone this morning was a cruel twist of fate."

"Work waits for no one," She replied, meeting his gaze with a mix of defiance and amusement.

"Besides, I did kiss you goodbye. Not my fault if you don't remember it. Must have been quite the dream."

“Oh, angel, you want to know what’s in my dreams? I’ll give you a front-row seat,” He chuckled, glancing around the bustling club. The low rumble of voices and clinking glasses filled the air, adding to the energetic atmosphere. "How's the shoot going? Everything running smoothly?"

She wanted to be serious but also wanted to play into his flirty banter, these moods of his where she was the center of his attention were growing on her and she wasn’t sure but she thought them to be somewhat genuine.

"I’ll pass on the midnight performance, for now,” She teased, Roman pouted slightly, his lips forming a cute little frown. “Bit of a madhouse here, it’s an organized chaos, but everyone's thrilled to be here. You're still the man of the hour, keep this up and they just might hold a parade for you."

Roman preened at this, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving.

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch." Roman's eyes trailed over her. "I hear Adrian Blackwood is eager to meet me. Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"A little of both." Belladonna continued, teasing him a little. "I think he may have a little bit of a crush on you." She smirked playfully. “Rumor is he loves a man in a suit.”

“And why wouldn’t he? The mans clearly got good taste," Roman replied with a roguish wink, “Don’t go getting all jealous, Angel. I’ve played on both sides of the fence but these days I’m a one woman man. I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint the poor fellow.”

Curiosity piqued by his admission, but it didn’t entirely surprise her. Roman was a man all about excess, he certainly wasn’t shy and with a wardrobe like his she was pretty sure he’d at least toured the closet which made him more secure than most men. She’d have to ask him about that sometime, she didn’t mind swapping stories, hell, she was sure he already had a few notions about what her education was like at a private all-girls school.

"Tell me, how long will you be tied up here?"

"Why? Are you angling for your close-up, Roman? I had planned on you being our grand finale."

"Saving the best for last, I like it," Roman said smugly, but it was short-lived when his expression quickly turned serious. "But something's come up actually. I need to slip out briefly to handle a personal matter."

The playful ease to her expression faded and her face fell. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Roman remained silent, his nonchalant expression only fueling her annoyance. “Roman, you're a part of this now. You can't just leave." She reached up to rub her temples combating the headache she knew was coming from Roman’s inability to not cause drama, "When were you planning on sharing this change of plans with me?"

"Maybe this morning if you hadn't been in such a rush out the door," Roman replied, a hint of mischief in his voice.

She pursed her lips, displeased but before she could argue further, Roman leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper.

"It concerns your mother, Belladonna. Just trust me and don't ask any more questions."

The mention of her mother made Belladonna pause, her eyes searching his for a moment before her expression softened slightly. The irritation didn't vanish completely, but she seemed less combative, and as he had said, she didn’t ask him any questions. But she sure as hell wanted to.

He could see it in the way her eyes narrowed and the twitch of her lips, like locked gates stemming the tide of endless inquiries and what he hoped might have been a few grateful kisses. She was trusting him. Or maybe she didn’t have a choice.

"Fine, but don't be late. We're planning on wrapping up by three, which means you need to be here by at least noon."

Roman scoffed, a sly grin spreading across his face. "It's a simple errand, angel. You don't think I can handle that in a timely manner? I mean Jesus, it's barely nine."

Her eyes narrowed at his playful tone. "Nothing is ever simple with you, Roman," she retorted. He wanted to argue, but she had a point.

"Have I ever let you down?" Roman asked earnestly, hoping to ease her worries. But her critical look and quick recall of recent drama had him adding "Lately?"

He pulled her into his arms, enjoying how hers immediately wrapped around his neck, that was a handy little trick, "I'll be back before you know it with your favorite rose-infused white mocha. Hot or iced?"

A small smile appeared on her face at the mention of her favorite coffee, “Iced.” Oh, how she tried to hide that smile, but she couldn’t. Roman couldn't resist leaning in to steal a brief, yet tender kiss from her lips. "Just hurry back," She murmured as they parted.

"Count on it." With a final, lingering glance, Roman turned and disappeared into the bustling crowd, leaving Belladonna to return to her work, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

In the confines of an unmarked car, Detectives Craven and his partner Ramirez observed Roman as he sauntered out of his club with Zsasz at his side, practically skipping, not a care in the world. The sight made Craven grind his teeth and he gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands.

"Looks like Sionis is on the move," Ramirez noted,

"About time," Craven grumbled, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "Question is, do we follow him or keep our sights on Miss Black?"

"Isn't she just collateral damage?"

"Maybe, but she's also the weak link," Craven replied, a sinister smile creeping onto his face. "It's only a matter of time before she gets spooked and does something dumb."

Roman reached his car, where Zsasz had been waiting for him. Their brief exchange was drowned out by the noise from the streets, leaving Craven and Ramirez guessing at the content.

"Let them go," Craven decided, his gut churning with anticipation. "We stay here and watch her. She's bound to slip sooner or later."

Roman's generous offer to use his club as the location for the shoot was met with awe and gratitude and would be the talk of the fashion house for weeks. The club itself was a statement of luxury and extravagance, with every detail meticulously planned and executed. When they first arrived, the pristine venue welcomed them with open arms, ready to cater to their every need.

To everyone's surprise, Roman had gone above and beyond by providing additional staff for the day. A non-alcoholic bartender served non-alcoholic drinks, working hours, and all that. A bouncer ensured their safety and that no one wandered where they shouldn’t have, and a sound technician stood by for any technical or musical needs. And just when they thought it couldn't get any better, a delicious catered lunch was laid out for them to enjoy.

Throughout the day, Roman's name was on everyone's lips in glowing praise and admiration. Even long after he disappeared on his mysterious errand, his impact on the day lingered.

Taking a moment to savor her sandwich, the crisp lettuce and tomato paired with the spicy aioli burst on her tongue with each bite, and she grinned as she eavesdropped on her coworkers' praise of Roman. He’d be lapping all of this up if he were here, all with a feigned humility while in reality, she was pretty sure he’d be sporting a praise erection. She knew he liked being praised but then what man didn’t enjoy a little ego-stroking?

It made her wonder what kind of things he did like, and her thoughts began to drift to more salacious territory. She and Roman had been together for a few months and with each new hurdle what they had felt less like a facade and more real, the thought bothered her because her gut told her it was just a game for him and while she’d hardened her heart, Roman had a way of making her swoon a little more than she’d have liked.

It wasn’t real. She reminded herself but it sure as hell was fun, for now at least.

It was easy to forget that earlier in the week first the disastrous trip to the precinct, then she’d put a gun into Roman’s hand and dared her to use it on her, then stormed out of his place to what she thought was the safety of her own home where she’d been held at gunpoint and nearly shot. Then the glucose crash and all the fun physical effects that came with that.

Their romance may have been fake, but everything else surrounding it was very real - including the bullets.

"Can you believe it? I mean, first, he lets us use his club and now he’s catering it? I’ve been on the waitlist to see this place for months!"

"Isn't Belladonna just so lucky? I mean, Roman is not only hot but really generous too," someone whispered nearby.

"Who knows if it'll last, though?" another coworker chimed in, skepticism lacing their voice. "You know Roman's reputation in the tabloids.”

“Oh, come on, those are gossip rags. Nobody gets painted in a squeaky clean light.”

“Bruce Wayne does.”

“Besides, you’ve seen how he is with her, he treats her like a queen.”

“Yeah, and everyone does dumb stuff when they’re young. Seriously, those paps go too far sometimes.”

"Maybe she's finally the right woman for him. Belladonna deserves someone to take care of her,"

"Did you see those two creepy guys in the car watching us?"

Belladonna's brow furrowed and she paused mid-chew, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs

It could have been something else, maybe just a random pair of creeps loitering doing a drug deal or trying to pick up models, right? But that icy feeling creeping up her spine didn’t lie.

Her lunch was suddenly very not interesting and her appetite had disappeared. She found herself turning down the hall the two women had just come from, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke wafting in from their smoke break as good as a trail of breadcrumbs to trace their steps.

She slipped out a back door and into the empty alleyway where delivery trucks would come and go.

Looking both ways, she saw that there was nobody around. She tried to calm the anxious feeling pulsing through her fingers and toes, but it wouldn't go away. She took a few tentative steps towards the main road, where the entrance to the club stood in broad daylight. Peering cautiously around the corner, her heart skipped a beat when she didn't see anything at first. But on her second scan of the street, she spotted it - the luxury car, its polished surface gleaming under the midday sun. Parked illegally in a fire lane, its windows tinted darkly. Her pulse quickened as she caught a glimpse of two figures slouched in the front seats. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled—she knew those silhouettes.

Craven and Ramirez.

She felt ice flood her veins, they were just there, watching the entrance. She wanted to storm out and scream at them but honestly, what was that going to accomplish, calling Roman didn’t seem like a good idea, they’d be gone before he got back. A little cartoonish lightbulb went off in her mind and she reached for her phone while staying hidden dialing the only other person who could help her.

"Derick, they're here,"

"Please, Mr. Sionis, I've told you everything I know!"

The man's eyes widened with fear as Roman grabbed his shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh like talons. He let out a pained whimper as Roman squeezed harder, his face twisted in sadistic pleasure.

But Roman didn't let go. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the man's ear. "Are you sure about that?" His tone was low and threatening, causing the man to shrink back in terror.

Roman released him and stepped around to face the trembling man, moving slowly, predatory, a tiger circling its prey. His expression softened in a way that mimicked sympathy but his eyes remained cold and calculating.

The silence that settled was awful, especially considering the only other sound was the sound of the clock hands ticking away. And the man trembled under his gaze, knowing that he was at the mercy of a dangerous and unstable man. But it only grew worse when another chilling sound cut through the air - the distinct scraping of metal against leather as Zsasz drew his knife from its sheath. The man's eyes darted towards the assassin, who stood nonchalantly against the wall, casually cleaning his nails. The glint of the blade in the light sent shivers down the man's spine.

"Please! Mr. Sionis, I've told you everything. And I haven’t told anyone about our conversation, I swear!" He recoiled as far as he could in the chair away from the glinting knife, oddly enough he didn’t try to get up, he wasn’t tied or cuffed to the chair at all, it was Romans presence that kept him in place.

“No one! No one knows!”

Beads of sweat formed on his brow, Roman held up his hand to Zsasz and the sound of his knife against his fingernails stopped and the painfully slow ticking of the clock resumed. Several long and uncomfortable seconds of silence passed, where there wasn’t a shred of emotion on his face. A mask of complete and utter indifference.

"Mr. Barnes… I want to believe you," Roman purred, his tone laced with insincere sympathy. “I really do.” He leaned in, hands braced on the arms of the chair, caging the man in. "But how can I trust a man who would falsify medical records to this degree? Keeping a perfectly healthy woman locked up in a psychiatric facility while her daughter searches for her...how many years has it been, Zsasz? Five?"

“Four.”

Roman grimaced, “Well, now that's still no good. Mr Barnes, Howard- Can I call you Howard?” he asked, feigning interest and camaraderie.

The man nodded slowly, perhaps feeling slightly reassured by Roman's use of his name. Humanizing him.

Roman leaned against Howard’s desk and lit a cigarette, the smoke coiling around him like a sinister serpent as he took a long drag.

"Tell me, Howard," he drawled with dark humor lacing his words. "How would you feel if it was you trying to find your own mother for five long years-”

“-Four years.”

“Right, four years. Four years, looking for your mother because she was trapped in a hospital by some pencil-pushing lackey who falsified her medical records? Just imagine the anguish of never knowing if she would ever be free again. How would you feel?"

Roman's gaze bore into Howard, but the man remained silent. The easy demeanor on Roman's face quickly dissolved as his question went unanswered. "Howard, I asked you a question,"

“I- I’m adopted,” Howard stammered, fear evident in his eyes. "I don't know who my mother is."

This was the wrong answer.

In a sudden surge of controlled fury, Roman slammed his fist down on the desk before lunging at Howard, his hand gripping tightly around the man's throat. His eyes were dark and abyssal, devoid of any emotion except for pure rage.

"Howard," Roman growled through gritted teeth, "you're not making this easy for yourself. I suggest you suspend your disbelief for just a moment and try to see things from someone else's perspective. Can you do that?"

Howard nodded furiously, his breaths coming out in short gasps.

Roman continued, his grip still firm on Howard's neck. "Now, let’s use the power of our imaginations, shall we? Pretend your mother didn’t hate you enough to abandon you like the trash you are and that you and your mother were close, inseparable even. But one day at sixteen, you come home expecting a warm hug from your mom, only to find her gone without a trace. Poof.”

Howard swallowed or tried to but it came out more like the croaking of a frog with Romans had on his throat.

“Then, dear old dad tells you she's not well and has been sent away for her own good. And then you only see her once a year until you're twenty-five. Then nothing. Four years of radio silence and no matter how hard you look, where you look, she’s gone. Can you imagine that kind of pain, Howard?”

Howard whimpered but managed a slight nod, but it didn’t satisfy Roman. Cigarette smoke curled around them like a menacing fog and his eyes glanced to the glowing embers of the cigarette trapped between his fingers, then he glanced back to Howard.

“No, I don’t suppose you can. Mental anguish is difficult to comprehend, physical pain however,” Roman paused menacingly. “Did you know cigarette ashes can burn from anywhere between 450 degrees and 1400 degrees?”

Howards eyes went wide in terror as Roman raised the cigarette and looked at it while his grip on Howard’s throat tightened a bit.

“There’s plenty of room for variation depending on the amount of ash, composition of the cigarette, and airflow…”

"What do you want from me, Mr. Sionis? Please!" Howard pleaded.

"I just want a little empathy, Howard," Roman taunted. “Can you do that, Howard?”

Howard wasted no time in nodding his head.

“Ok, so, where we’re at now is you’ve given me what I asked for and that's good, that buys you points. However, I don’t know if I can really trust you not to talk to anyone about our conversations here and your attitude is certainly lacking, that buys you nothing.” He released Howard and took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“Believe it or not Howard, I am looking for a reason to let you live. It’s a risk, but it always is. The last time I took a risk on letting someone live it turned out pretty nicely, I mean, she’s gorgeous and the woman can’t keep her hands off me.” Roman chuckled and Zsasz nodded in agreement, relishing in their sick sense of humor.

“I won’t say anything, I promise.” Howard's voice trembled as he glanced nervously between Roman and Zsasz.

“Pinky swear?” Howard blinked at the unexpected request. “Oh, come on now Howard, that’s the most sacred of promises. Everyone knows that, right, Zsasz?”

“Sacred.”

Roman held out his pinky for Howard and his very shaky hand slowly rose as if sensing it was a trap, he linked his pinky with Romans and they shook on it.

Roman’s smile should have been a warning sign, but Howard was blinded by the charming grin and didn't pull away. In one swift movement, Roman dropped the cigarette, clamped a hand over Howard’s mouth, and twisted his hand, breaking Howard's pinky with a sickening crack. The air instantly shifted from tense but calm to filled with muffled pain-filled groans.

Tears streamed down his face as he realized he had made a grave mistake by trusting Roman.

“See, there’s a lot of work involved with getting rid of you, and it’s expensive, isn’t that right Zsasz?”

“Inflation is a bitch.” Zsasz added with a sympathetic nod.

“Killing you involves calling a cleanup crew, paying them, and hoping they don’t fuck up their job again, I’ll tell you all about it sometime.” He paused and nodded to the closed office door which led down the long hallway they’d come through. “Then there's witnesses to handle out there, in the waiting room and anyone who will see the building's security footage. Trust me when I say I’m not interested in that much work for a pencil pusher. But I won’t stop at hurting just you.”

The man squirmed, breaking eye contact and clutching his hand, which was still firmly in Roman’s grasp.

“I could be tempted to forget about all of that if I knew you had just as much to lose from anyone knowing about this conversation as I do. Say, if you told me what doctor gave you the order to make the changes to Maria Caruso’s medical records…”

"I-I can't tell you. I'll lose my job, or worse."

The man's eyes bulged in terror as Romans' smile faded. He crushed Howards hand in his and Howard groaned, covering his own mouth, saliva coating his palm.

"You're a dead man if you don’t tell me," Roman growled, his voice a dangerous snarl. "I’ll take you apart. Piece. By. Piece. In ways the darkest snuff films have never dared to touch, and then… Then it’ll get worse."

Howard’s eyes flickered nervously towards Zsasz, who grinned menacingly, exposing the scars on his neck as he lightly traced a knife over his own palm, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Who gave the order for the falsified records?" Roman demanded. "Don't make me ask again."

Howard trembled violently, finally gasping out a name: "Dr. Elias Antoniou."

With a satisfied smirk, Roman loosened his grip slightly. He had finally gotten the information he needed. In an instant, Roman's demeanor shifted to one of casual amusement as he took a step back.

"There, was that so hard?" he asked lightly. He glanced at Zsasz. "Why can't people just make things easy on themselves?"

Zsasz gave a casual shrug, flipping his knife deftly between his fingers.

A sinister smile spread across Roman's face as he turned his attention back to the trembling man. The man's hands were shaking uncontrollably, betraying his fear.

"Feel better now that you've got that off your chest?" Roman's voice was like honey laced with poison.

The man just stared for a long moment, eyes wide. Finally, he croaked in a hoarse voice, "Will you let me live?"

Roman tilted his head, seeming to consider it. "What's in it for me if I let you walk out of here?"

The man licked his dry lips nervously. "I-I can keep feeding you information. About the doctor, his meetings, the patient..."

Roman's eyes glinted with interest at that. "I mean, I can get that anyway" he purred. "You've got a few minutes to convince me."

“I can get you access to Ms Lopez.” He offered desperately.

“What if I wanted to hurt her? Would you really throw such a lovely lady under the bus to save your own skin?”

Howard froze. He didn’t know what to say. He knew it was a trick, some sick game and he didn’t know what Roman might do next. His whimpering turned to soft crying.

“Oh, for Chrissake, Howard, pull yourself together. I’m not going to hurt her, Jesus, if I wanted to hurt her I wouldn’t be going through this much trouble. Use that fancy degree of yours.” Roman shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

Howard hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Dr. Antoniou meets with someone once a month to discuss her. It’s like clockwork." A flicker of excitement crossed Roman's features at this revelation, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

“What do they talk about?”

“All business. He wants to know who tries to visit, who asks about her, what she does, who visits around her, and what changes there are to the staff.”

Roman's eyes glinted with genuine interest now. “We can work with that. Anyone else?”

“Uh, seem to talk about another woman too. I'm not sure who she is. But the doctor is clearly interested in her, he always asks about her, where she is, what she’s doing."

Roman's focus sharpened. "A woman? Give me a name."

The man swallowed hard. "Bella...Belladonna Black, I think he said."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Roman's face. This had proven useful after all. He released

a controlled breath and his fists clenched and unclenched,

"Now, you know talking about our conversation would be very hazardous to your health, you know that, don’t you sport?" He straightened, smoothing the lapels of his jacket.

He nodded his head frantically. "I know, I promise. You were never here.'“ Roman looked at Howard’s swollen hand, quick on the uptake he quickly stammered out, “I-I slammed my hand in my drawer, happens all the time!”

“You’re smarter than you look, Howard.” Roman finished his cigarette with a smile, “So, in exchange for not slitting your throat from ear to ear and raining hell down on every living soul in this building, you now work for me. Understood?”

A sharp breath. The man's head bobbed. "Y-yes, sir."

"Good." Roman straightened, strolling around to face the man. He smiled, cold and sharp as Zsasz's knife. “Believe me when I say, I am very good and raining hell down on those who make me angry, and you know the wild thing, Howard?”

The man swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing.

“I don’t even care about Maria Lopez.” Roman looked at Zsasz and shrugged with a smile, “I’m doing this all for a woman.” Roman laughed as if it were the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “I think you know her.” Howard looked curious.

“Miss Belladonna Black.”

Tears and snot streamed down the man's pale face as he openly wept. "Please, I only did what I was told."

"Well now, you're going to do what I tell you to do."

"Did they see you?"

Derick's voice was taut with tension, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to snap. It was ten seconds into the call and he could already tell he wasn’t going to like how it went. The mere thought of Roman discovering what was happening sent chills down his spine. He had seen Roman's molten temper before and didn't want to imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end.

"I don’t think so," Belladonna replied,

Belladonna replied, her tone hushed as she crouched behind a set of dumpsters. Her eyes darted around the edge, trying to get a better look at the situation while still keeping her phone pressed to her ear.

“What the hell are they doing here? Can they even be here?”

"The detectives were assigned to the case. As long as they're not bothering or harassing you, they have every right to surveil places where you or Roman might be."

Belladonna's nails bit into her palms and her mind raced, this didn’t feel right.

“Are they doing anything unusual?”

Belladonna scoffed in frustration. "Define 'unusual'."

Derick let out a frustrated sigh, he liked Belladonna as a client, he really did but the woman was spending far too much time with Roman for his liking.

"What exactly are they doing right now?"

"They're parked in their car just outside of Roman's club, watching and listening. I overheard a few coworkers talking about them when they came back from a smoke break."

“Did they approach your coworkers or engage with them in any way?”

“I don’t think so, but they’re creeping everyone out. Creeping me out.”

“Yes, the detectives have that quality in abundance. However, unfortunately, that’s not illegal, Belladonna. Unless they’re actually doing anything suspicious or illegal then we can’t do anything apart from asking them to leave and if they’re in the street, which is city property, public property they don’t have to go unless it veers into harassment. Which it doesn’t sound like it is.”

“They’re illegally parked in a fire line but that’s it.”

“Well, you can call the police but odds are it won’t go anywhere, they’re on duty and the most another police officer will do if one shows up at all is tell them to move out of the fire lane. The best you can do if you think you and Roman are being harassed is take photos and document them being there. Other than that, there's nothing to worry about."

Belladonna let out a disappointed sigh, her gaze drifting to the sleek car in front of her. Her eyes narrowed as she took in its details, letting out a curious "huh" as she did so.

"Everything alright, Belladonna?" Derick asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," Belladonna replied a bit hesitantly, still studying the car. "I guess I just didn't expect undercover detectives to have such a nice ride."

“What do you mean? Are they not in a marked car?”

"No, it's unmarked, but it doesn't look like an unmarked car. It's too... nice."

"Too nice? What kind of car is it?" Derick inquired, his interest piqued. "If they're driving their own personal vehicle, then they might not be on duty. In that case, we could potentially have something on them for harassment if they're not officially surveilling you or Roman."

Belladonna squinted, trying to make out the details of the car. "It's an SUV... wait, no way.” She paused. “It's an Audi. That seems well above the GCPD's budget or a typical cop's salary."

“An Audi?” Derick's tone shifted from nonchalant to concerned at this revelation. "Indeed, that's not standard for the GCPD. Those cars cost more than the entire department makes in a year. Can you see what model it is or any other distinguishing features?"

"Sure," she said, clutching her phone tighter. "It's a dark blue, possibly black, looks like a Q7. Looks like a dent on the driver's side wheel well and what looks like a scrape along the side. First three of the license plates are RT5 and I can’t quite get the last four, the sunlight is hitting the plate."

"Let me check," Derick said as Belladonna could hear the sound of his fingers rapidly typing on a keyboard in the background. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she discreetly observed the detectives.

Derick felt a weight settle in his stomach.

"Alright, Belladonna, listen carefully," Derick's voice came back, serious and focused. "The car you described matches one that went missing after its owner was found murdered, the investigation is pending. Without the VIN number, I can't be sure, but this is not good."

“What do we do?”

“We? We do nothing. At best, those detectives are driving a stolen car. At worst, maybe they’re involved in something shady. You need to get someplace safe and we need to inform Roman and the police about this.”

“You said, without the VIN, we can’t do anything. Hypothetically, if we had the VIN what could that mean for the detectives?”

Derick hesitated before answering, his words laced with caution.

“Hypothetically? It could create enough doubt or suspicion to get them tossed from the case and

investigated by internal affairs. But the case wouldn’t go away.”

“But they’d probably assign different detectives, right? Maybe detectives who aren’t after Roman’s blood, right?”

There was another long pause as Derick weighed the options. “Possibly.”

As Belladonna processed this, movement caught her eye. Craven and Ramirez were exiting the car, their steps deliberate as they began to circle the club like predators stalking prey.

"They're moving, Derick. They're casing Roman's club, can’t tell what they’re saying."

"Take a photo from where you are and step away, Belladonna. Do nothing else," Derrick insisted, but there was a crackle of urgency in his voice that betrayed his calm demeanor. “We need to inform Roman."

“Derick, where would a VIN be on a car?” Belladonna asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

“No. Belladonna, no. Don’t even think about it. Go back inside. I’m calling Roman right now.”

“Derick, you can either tell me where it is, or I’m gonna find it myself.”

"I'm not giving you legal advice, you are going against the advice of your attorney, '' Derrick replied, cautious. "Buthypothetically, it's usually located on the dashboard near the windshield, on paperwork in the glove box, or inside the driver's side door."

"Hang on a sec," She muttered, her determination overtaking her fear. Derrick's continued protests faded into the background as she darted towards the opulent car, her heels clicking on the pavement.

"What do you see?" Derick demanded.

She wet her lips, scanning the empty street, keeping somewhat low and her head on a swivel.

“It’s a black Audi, Q8," she muttered under her breath. "Front driver's side is dented, and there’s a huge scrape that's been painted over but the paint doesn't quite match." Her eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. "License plate RT524F0."

“Great, that’s enough.” Silence, then, "Get out of there. Now."

"Not yet." She cautiously approached the vehicle, using the hem of her shirt to open the unlocked passenger slide door. The interior was a mess, with crumpled coffee cups and scattered police files emitting a strong stench of stale caffeine. She grabbed a napkin and began rummaging through the cluttered glove compartment. No ownership papers.

“No registration.” She muttered to herself, frustration creeping into her voice.

Glancing up at the windshield, she searched for the VIN, but saw nothing. “Nothing on the windshield.”

"Checking the driver's side door now,"

"Belladonna, I'm serious. Leave. Now." The warning in Derick's voice only pushed her further.

She ignored him, circling to the driver's side. Her adrenaline spiked, the driver's side door was on the street, where anyone could see her, there was no cover. But she figured she'd come this far and if this was the thing that could get rid of Craven and Ramirez, it was worth the risk, and this far, Roman had done all the dirty work.

The door was unlocked and it gave a little pop as the weatherproofing seal broken, the dome light turned on.

And then she saw it - the VIN stamped on the doorframe.

“Got it. VIN WBAPH93567KM12345.” She snapped a picture and looked over her shoulder surveying the street again. Still clear.

"Fantastic, now get the hell out of there!”

She quickly wiped down the door handle, making sure to get every inch clean before closing the door with a soft click. Her heart stopped. The dome light was still on, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t run, couldn’t even turn around. She just stared at the dome light and the seconds dragged on and on waiting for it to go out.

Mercifully, after what was probably only thirty seconds the light faded and she breathed a sigh of short-lived relief, before turning around just in time to see Craven and Ramirez rounding the corner of the club and heading straight her way. With a deep breath, she slipped her phone into her pocket and pasted a scowl on her face, trying to appear unfazed by their sudden appearance.

Adrenaline pulsing through her veins giving her guts she didn’t know she had as she met them in the street.

Craven and Ramirez strode towards her grim smiles twisting their lips as if they were pleased to see her. Her heart leapt into her throat and her arms hugged her sides, for some reason, despite the warmth of the day, she’d have given anything for a coat.

"Am I under surveillance now? Is that what you're doing, creeping out my coworkers?" She snapped.

The men looked at her with smug amusement, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. "Should you be under surveillance?" Craven asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "Anything you want to tell us?”

Belladonna squared her shoulders and met his gaze trying to ignore that awful shaky feeling in her voice. "If you have questions, ask them. Otherwise, leave me and my coworkers alone."

Ramirez's chuckle was dry as chalk. "We did ask you. But it seems there are...inconsistencies in your story."

“Like what?” Panic flared in her chest, but she kept her face impassive. "You have no right to harass me or Roman. You took your shot and you missed."

A primal fear screamed at her to turn around and check the car to make sure the light was really off, but she knew if she did that, they would know what she had done. They couldn't possibly know about the VIN. She was sure she’d closed the door before they’d seen her. The light was off.

It was off.

It was.

Craven prowled closer, his steps heavy and deliberate as he closed in on her. She felt herself being backed up against the cold metal of the car, a physical barrier between her and this dangerous man. His voice was low and dripping with venom as he spoke to her.

"You've gotten yourself tangled up with some very dangerous people, sweetheart. But you still have a chance to do the smart thing and cooperate." His hand shot out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his glare. Her heart raced with fear and outrage at his audacity. Before she could react, his grip tightened and she winced in pain. "Unless you want to end up like your boyfriend."

Belladonna's anger overpowered her fear as she knocked his hand away. "This is harassment! I'm reporting you to the chief of police! By the way, you’re illegally parked."

This was as good a spot as any to storm off indignantly but before she could make another move, Craven's hand shot out again, this time grabbing at her bun and catching a fistful of her hair. The two men formed a wall around her, blocking any potential onlookers from seeing what was happening. She cried out in pain as he wrenched her head back and forth, shivers running down her spine.

“Get your hands off of me!!”

“You’d better be careful, Miss Black. Think about the last time someone had a fistful of that pretty hair of yours, screaming didn’t help you then did it? Six weeks in a coma is nothing compared to what might happen next time.”

Her blood ran cold and the color drained from her face. A memory of sharp pain in her back shot through her freezing the breath in her lungs as she looked into Craven’s eyes, dark and soulless. Not dark like Romans. Romans eyes burned, they were alive, Craven’s looked empty.

"Your boyfriend is a dead man," He snarled. "We're going to bury him so deep in Blackgate prison he never sees the light of day again.” He jerked her head again and she let out a yelp.

Desperate now, Belladonna scrabbled at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers from her hair. "You have nothing on Roman," She growled out, trying to sound half as angry as she felt, and a fraction of as angry as Roman would be.

"Oh, little girl," Craven sneered, his hot disgusting breath wafting over her face. "Evidence can be fabricated, witnesses can be paid or disappear entirely." He paused and then added with a chilling smile, "And once we take care of Roman, there'll be no one left to protect you."

Suddenly there was a hand on Craven's shoulder and he turned to see Ramirez gently prying him away from Belladonna. "I think you've scared her enough," Ramirez said coolly. "For now."

A shiver shook Belladonna's body, sending a chill down her spine.

With a brutal shove, Craven threw her head back, causing her head to smack the window of the car before tumbling to the ground. The detectives said nothing more as they slid into their vehicle, slamming the doors shut. The engine roared to life, the tires screeching as they peeled off down the street and disappeared around the corner.

Dazed and in pain, Belladonna slumped on the ground, cradling her throbbing head, blood pulsing in her temples. After a moment, she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone.

“Derrick, did you get all that?”

There was a brief pause before Derick's tense response: "Every single word."

The camera shutter clicked in rapid succession, capturing Roman's intense gaze and the slight curl of his lips, giving off an air of playful mischief. Behind the lens stood Belladonna, her dark eyes locked with his as she snapped picture after picture. The chemistry between them was electric, tangible in the charged atmosphere that seemed to crackle around them.

Belladonna had only a brief fifteen minutes between her altercation with Craven and Ramirez, which she said nothing to Roman about, and his arrival. But in that time, the anticipation between them had grown even stronger. And now, as she lowered the camera for a moment to admire him, she couldn't help but appreciate how effortlessly he wore the custom-tailored black embossed suit that had been specifically set aside for him. It accentuated his dangerous edge, adding to the allure that surrounded him.

Adrian Blackwood, the designer behind the collection piece, practically fell over himself with excitement upon seeing Roman in his creation. And who could blame him? Roman looked good, leaving no doubt that Adrian had excellent taste. She had playfully teased about the designer having a crush on Roman, but now seeing him in person...was there some truth to it?

But any thoughts of the designer quickly vanished as Roman's focus shifted solely to Belladonna. She commanded every bit of his attention, and he reveled in the fact that he held hers just as strongly. He needed no direction from her as he effortlessly exuded charm and charisma in each frame captured by the camera. They were a perfect match - both captivating and captivatingly drawn to each other.

She raised the camera again.

As she resumed taking photos, Belladonna offered him a knowing smirk, one that made his heart race and his muscles tense with anticipation.

At first, he thought something might have been wrong when he arrived and Belladonna was nowhere to be seen. Going right past anyone who tried speaking to him, through the employee-only doors, a man on a mission. Following the virtual breadcrumb that had been the mysterious text message from Belladonna:

Deja vu?

"Perfect," Belladonna breathed, snapping another shot. She offered no direction, just an occasional smirk when his gaze lingered too long. He soaked up her attention like a flower tilting toward the sun.

In the storage room where their little adventure began, there she’d been. She’d taken him by surprise, and while it wasn’t the type of kiss that made his dick immediately hard, there was something different about it. An intensity that she rarely displayed and left him wanting more. No smart words from her despite Romans prodding. Just a sharp jerk on the lapels of his suit jacket and the crushing of her lips on his that saw no room for subtlety. Her rose-infused mocha had quickly been forgotten as little beads of condensation inched their way down the cup.

As she continued to snap photos, Roman found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything but the burning desire he felt for Belladonna. He couldn't shake the memory of their earlier encounter, nor could he ignore the heat pooling in his gut at the thought of what might have happened if not for his self-imposed 'no sex in the club' rule.

‘If it weren't for that, I'd drag you back into my office right now...’

"Last one," Belladonna announced, breaking through his heated thoughts. She stepped closer, bringing the lens up to his face before snapping the final photo.

"You're a natural, Roman." She praised, a hint of mischief dancing in her dark eyes. "I think we got it," she said finally, lowering the camera.

Cursing under his breath, he struggled to restrain himself as she packed up the equipment. The shoot was over, but he wasn't ready to relinquish her attention yet.

"One more," He insisted, his eyes burning.

Belladonna hesitated, then lifted the camera again with a shrug. As the flashes continued, Roman's thoughts raced. What would her reaction be when she learned of the tasks he'd set in motion today? When she saw the lengths he'd gone to for her? Roman suppressed a smile.

Sparing her life that first night had been an impulsive decision, but now it was proving to be a most interesting one.

The camera clicked a final time and she lowered it, shaking her head. "We're done, Roman."

He nodded slowly. For now, they were done. But soon, very soon, they would begin again.

Seventeen

OK! Before you throw your tomatoes at me, hear me out!!! THERE WILL BE SMUT IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!

-Emerges from behind her laptop shield-

Ok? I had to set a up a few more things so the next few chapters will be some kinky, smutty fun! Promise!! And that chapter is already half written and I promise it's going to be worth it!! We good? Come on guys, stick with me!

So, do we have any guesses on whats going to happen next or are we all just sitting around waiting on smut? Smut? That's fair. You guys are going to need a whole damn carton if cigarettes after this next one!

If you'd like to join the taglist, leave me a comment or a reblog, you guys know the drill. Love y'all. Stay toxic fangirls, stay toxic.

@keffirinne @tarrensbookmarks @supernatural-lover @daenerys-skywalker @gilverrwrites @tarrenterror25 @hereticpriest

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