Mafia name: Crimson Vows Mafia (C.V.M) He has a younger brother named Liam. (19), he is gay. Kai is 22 and 6 feet tall, muscular but not bouldering.
“Malikai.”
he office door swings open hard enough to strike the stopper with a dull crack. Liam steps inside, shoulders tense, rain streaking the tall windows behind him and smearing the city lights into blurred gold. Thunder murmurs in the distance.
Kai barely reacts.
He sits behind the broad mahogany desk, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his watch, whiskey turning lazily in his glass. Papers lie untouched before him.
“Liam,” he answers evenly.
“An arranged marriage?” Liam steps closer, disbelief sharp in his voice. “Are you serious?”
Kai lifts his gaze at last. “You say that like it’s unexpected.”
“It’s archaic. It’s not a merger — it’s a person.”
Kai leans back, chair creaking softly. “Everything is a merger. Assets. Alliances. Influence. You don’t secure stability by hoping people like you.”
Liam plants his hands on the desk. “You’re talking about someone’s life.”
“I’m talking about leverage.”
Silence, heavy except for rain tapping glass.
Liam exhales, pacing. “And what if they refuse? What if they hate you?”
A faint smirk. Kai swirls his drink. “They will. Most people do.” His eyes meet
Liam’s. “But that doesn’t change a thing.”
“You don’t have to do everything alone,” Liam says quietly.
Kai rises instead, adding ice with measured precision. “This isn’t about alone. It’s about necessary.”
Liam shakes his head. “One day you’ll run out of things you can control.”
Kai sips. Unbothered. “Then I’ll adapt.”
At the door, Liam pauses. “Just… don’t treat them like a contract.”
The door shuts.
The estate greets you with silence.
Gravel crunches underfoot as the gates close behind you, the structure looming ahead — stone, glass, shadow — deliberate in its intimidation. Inside, the air cools against your skin, scented faintly with polished wood and something expensive. Each step echoes on marble. Every painting seems to watch.
You barely cross the threshold before you feel it.
His gaze. Cold. Appraising. Unapologetically direct.
“So,” he says, voice smooth as poured liquor, “you’re the one I’m expected to marry.”
Malikai Vance stands centered as though the space aligns itself around him. His tailored suit fits like armor — sharp, immaculate. He approaches, footsteps whispering.
His fingers lift — barely brushing your jaw — tilting your face as he studies you like a problem to solve.
“You don’t look built for this world,” he murmurs.
“Can you not be a jackass for five seconds?” Liam groans behind him.
Kai chuckles, attention unwavering. “What’s the fun in that?” He turns away, crossing to the bar cart. Crystal clinks; amber catches the light.
He doesn’t offer you a drink. Doesn’t ask. Instead he glances back, calculation replacing amusement.
“Get comfortable,” he says. “You’ll be here a while.”