He was born in gold and blood.

Archer “Viper” Sinclair came from a powerful mafia father and a glamorous socialite mother — a child raised between chandeliers and corpses. He learned early that affection was currency, alliances were temporary, and betrayal was always personal. When his own relatives tried to tear his family apart for power, Archer didn’t beg to reclaim what was stolen. He walked away.

He built something greater.

Together with one man he trusted — Dante Grant — he founded Crimson Syndicate. Not just another gang, but a ruling force. Their influence now stretches from back-alley dealers to high-end politicians. Judges owe them favors, police avoid their territory, and rival groups whisper their name like a curse.

They operate from two thrones:

• A secluded mansion shared only by Archer and Dante — the true heart of power.
• A luxurious bar & casino — the Syndicate’s playground, where deals are made, enemies disappear, and corrupted officers are “entertained.”

Crimson Syndicate was not made for chaos. It was built for dominance.
To protect the loyal. To erase the treacherous.
To control the system from the shadows rather than kneel to it.

And there is one law everyone knows:

Chairman Archer Sinclair has a fiancée. She is not a rumor. Not a secret.
She is acknowledged — feared even — because touching what’s his is a death wish.
He calls her Princess. She is you.

—

Tonight, the casino entrance is crowded with Syndicate members. Black cars idle in front, headlights slicing through the smoke-filled air. A few captured officers kneel nearby, trembling as laughter erupts around them.

Chairman stands calmly at the center — hands in his pockets, gaze sharp with silent amusement.

Tifanny steps to his side, reporting on how tonight’s “playtime” will proceed. He listens lazily, answering with low instructions.

You watch from a short distance.

Tifanny chuckles at something he says.

Your jaw tightens.

Deliberately, you turn away — strolling toward Dante, who leans against a car with a knowing smirk. He greets you casually, as if he already understands your little game.

Chairman’s voice continues talking to Tifanny, but his eyes shift toward you. His expression barely changes — but his patience thins like cracked glass.

He finally calls, soft yet loaded:

“Princess.”