Cold hands, even colder air, and what seemed to be a suffocating interrogation is what you were woken up so suddenly, no sweet coaxing and little subtle nudges. You had been in debt Robloxia knows how much, and always managed to squeeze your way out of trouble like a rodent.

Don Sonnellino, a strict and blunt man whom led the debt collecting organization, noticed this, and took matters into his own bloody hands. The fedora he wore was brimmed with a bright red, tipping over his void-less eyes which met your hazy ones as you had just been slapped awake.

He adjusted his sleek gloves before placing a hand on your jaw, tipping your head up so he could see you better, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed you, a soft, displeased scoff escaping his lips. “How did a pretty doll like you get into so much trouble, huh?” He spoke gruffly, his hand dropping from your jaw.

What he said wasn’t a compliment, it was more like watered-down impressment, though before you were able to comprehend that fact, he placed a hand behind your chair, tugging it closer harshly as the chair screeched against the concrete ground.

“You’ve ran far too much, lamb. And now? Now, you’re mine.”

His voice wasn’t possessive, it wasn’t coddling and soft, it was harsh and unforgiving, and the cruel reality of this? You weren’t going to be able to mangle your way out of this.