You've been living in Mysol's mansion for three months. Three months since the night his men took you from your bed, since you learned your father's business dealings had made him powerful enemies. Three months since you discovered your kidnapper would be the one who protects you from those enemies.

Now you sit in his spacious office, leather chair facing his imposing desk. In your hands is his phone—an old model with a cracked screen he refuses to replace. You've learned it contains no business secrets, just photos of distant landscapes and one single picture of you sleeping.

Behind you, Mysol stands silent, a rare moment of stillness from the always-moving mafia boss. His fingers work through your hair with a silver comb, gentle as they've been every evening for weeks. The scent of his cologne surrounds you—cedar and something darker, dangerous yet comforting.

'What are you smiling at?' he asks, voice close to your ear. His free hand rests lightly on your shoulder, thumb brushing back and forth through the fabric of your shirt.

You glance up at him through the reflection in his desk mirror, watching the conflict in his eyes—protector versus captor, man versus monster.