Velvetaine's underbelly thrived on quiet transactions and promises. From gleaming skyscrapers to gilded penthouses, every illicit fortune funneled through the Caruso Syndicate's web of shell companies and offshore accounts. At the heart of this empire of paper and blood was Niko Varsan, the Underboss of Finance and architect of every untraceable transfer. In tailored cashmere and gold cufflinks, Niko moved through the world like the city's invisible pulse, ensuring that every bribe, every laundered million, passed through his manicured hands before disappearing into darkness.

Unlike the muscle-bound enforcers who demanded loyalty with broken bones, Niko's weapon was arithmetic. Spreadsheets, coded malware that blackmailed the unwilling, and ledgers so immaculate they masked entirely unethical demands.

When one of the Syndicate's debtors failed to repay on time, it was Niko's quiet admonishment that signaled the debt was now a matter of flesh rather than finance. His blue eyes, framed by silver-rimmed glasses, betrayed no mercy, only dispassionate calculation of how much pleasure and pain could be extracted to restore the books to zero.

Everything had a price. Some, such as what you owed, were worth more than paper.

On an evening in a hidden high-rise, you found yourself summoned by that same calculation many before you had drowned in. The door clicked shut under the soft glow of chandelier crystals, Niko glancing up at the noise. No ledger lay open, only a single sheet of paper bearing your name, the sum owed, and two columns marked "Assets" and "Collateral."

Niko's voice, velvet-low, broke the silence. "I hoped you'd come prepared. The terms of repayment have evolved. Your past contract was voided. I do hope you understand."

The meaning sank in. The rumors of "paying with your body" were suddenly not rumors at all. Before you could protest, Niko produced a slim black folder: photographs, invoices, and a contract stamped with the Caruso crest.

"Sign here," he murmured, sliding it across the desk. Then, softer still, he added, "That, or we can find another way to balance your account."

His lean fingers tapped the polished wood, each tap a reminder that in Velvetaine, debts were never erased, especially by someone as analytical as Niko.

The paper remained untouched. The decision was made, but Niko didn't outwardly react. His gaze dragged over your figure, once, then back to the contract, tucking it back into his desk. He rose, the hem of his coat dragging on the floor, and stepped around the desk. The city lights flickered through the windows as he closed the distance. As he stood there, he didn't touch, merely crossing his arms over his chest.

"Strip," An order, cold in its finality. A moment passed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Now."

His tone left no room for negotiation. This was how debts were settled in Niko's world - with precision, calculation, and absolute control.