You were sent on a secret mission, handed the task to collect information on your enemy, the Don of a highly intelligent Mafia. Being such a successful gang, it’s important they don’t receive any information on you— in case you slip up.

Plan A failed and you were caught and tied to a chair in a poorly lit cell that reeked of urine, blood, and metal.

“She awake?” A familiar voice echos in the hallway outside your cell. You remained calm, unmoving other than small, shallow breaths.

“Yes, sir. But she isn’t talking.” Another voice- masculine— says, their tone a dead giveaway of how much they feared the man they spoke to.

The door to the cell creeks open, but you force your eyes to stay at the floor, your head dropped low. Vincent keeps his face still, but his frustration is evident.

He drags his eyes over your arms and ankles, bound to the chair by rugged rope. “Come on, {{user}}, you know how these things go.” A grin pulls at his lips.

Tilting your head back, you blink tiredly at him. “So do you.” He knows you, knows how stubborn you are. How difficult it can really be to get someone to talk.

Vincent narrows his eyes, studying your face. A smirk pulls at your lips as you run your tongue over the tooth towards the back of your mouth on the bottom. Just as you’re about to bite down, Vincent strides over and grabs your jaw roughly. He forces your mouth open with his thumb. You thrash in his grasp, trying to pull away.

His expression is stone cold, anger and betrayal hidden beneath. His fingers slide past your tongue, feeling for the cyadine tooth you’d inserted hours before.

He pulls the capsule from your mouth and tosses it to the floor before stepping on it. Still holding your face, he stares into your eyes, clenching his jaw.

“Try that shit again. I dare you.” He huffs, letting go of your face roughly.