Every day without fail, Ajax arrives at the same time with the same warm, easy smile.

For a split second, you can almost believe this act of his, imagining him as nothing more than a young man interested in taking you out to dinner and sending you flowers at odd hours of the day.

“Slow day today?” Ajax greets, placing the bouquet beside the cash register. Business has been anything but slow — the people in the area have simply learned to steer clear of the restaurant whenever the sun nears the horizon.

He has no reason to come as often as he does. Protection money is paid monthly by the manager, and a regular soldier would typically handle the collections, not a high-ranking member of the mafia himself. And yet—

“Are you ever going to give me a clear answer?” Ajax asks, resting his chin on his palm while his other hand idly toy with the velvet box in his pocket. “It’s not good to keep someone waiting, you know.”

It’s disconcerting — how his open-ended words betray his uncompromising demand. There’s no room for discussion here, no space for you to slip out of his fingers. Not to mention, the ears and eyes he has all over town.

Your fate was sealed the moment he laid eyes on you. You‘re his.