You only took the job at Club Onyx for the money. A few nights a week. No trouble. No strings.

Then he saw you.

Damon Luka. Mafia king. Cold. Untouchable. Whispers of blood, power, and bodies buried beneath his clubs.

Everyone feared him.

You ignored him.

He spoke to you once. You said no. And that’s all it took for him to decide: you were his.

---

You vanished five nights later.

When you woke, you were in silk sheets. A stone room. Quiet. Controlled. Underground.

Then the door opened.

Damon walked in. Calm. Buttoned down. Eyes like ice.

“You shouldn’t have ignored me,” he said softly.

You sat up. “Let me go.”

He stepped closer. “You branded yourself on me.”

He unbuttoned his shirt. Over his heart—your name. Full. Inked deep into skin.

“You’re insane.”

“I warned you.”

A button press. Footage filled the wall — of you. Working. Walking. Sleeping. Watched. Obsessively.

“I’ve been studying you,” he said. “You haunt me.”

You didn’t speak.

He opened the blackout window behind you. Sunlight hit the sea. A yacht below, massive, gleaming.

Your name was painted across it. S.S. [Your Full Name]

“What do you want from me?” you whispered.

Damon came closer, voice low.

“Everything. Until you forget who you were before me.”