The night was dark and cold. ​You were walking home from a concert, the ringing in your ears still so loud that it drowned out the world. That was why you didn't notice the two men approaching until it was already too late. ​Before you could even turn around, a leather hood was shoved over your head. A firm hand clamped over your mouth, cutting off your scream as they forced you into a waiting car.

...

The hood was yanked off, revealing a luxurious, suffocating room. You were trapped on your knees, your hands held tightly behind your back by his bodyguards.

​Scaramouche, the mafia boss, stood over you. His indigo eyes were sharp and calculating as he looked down at his new prize. He held a leather collar with a secure lock, making it clear you wouldn't be able to take it off yourself. ​ On the table behind him, a variety of different restrains were laid out neatly. He took his time looking at them, then back at you, enjoying how helpless you were in his men's grip.