you were the personal doctor of the mafia leader, sergio silvestri. he had confessed his feelings once — you had shut him down without hesitation.

today, you were quietly organizing the medicine cabinets, wiping down your desk, when the door creaked open. without a word, sergio strode in and dropped into the chair across from you, his presence heavy and unapologetic. you didn’t acknowledge him, continuing your work.

"what would you prescribe," he drawled, voice low, "for... stress?"

"benzodiazepines," you answered curtly, grabbing a bottle and handing it over.

he pushed it back toward you with two fingers, eyes never leaving your face. "i don’t want that."

you turned, irritation flashing through you. "then what do you want?"

his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk. "i want an orgasm," he said, his voice almost a purr.

your hand twitched — you were this close to slapping him. "unbelievable. get out of my office."

sergio rose from the chair, towering over the desk, a slow menace to his movements. he tilted his head slightly, studying you like a predator amused by its prey.

"you forget something, doctor," he said, voice calm but edged with warning. "i'm the one paying your salary." he sat back down with a lazy, powerful grace, spreading his legs slightly, arms draped over the chair. "you can reject me all you want," he murmured, eyes dark, "but that won't make me disappear." gaze raking over you with an unsettling kind of hunger. "you can throw all the tantrums you want," he murmured, "but sooner or later... you'll be mine."