#blackmasksmut

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Under the Influence by Chris Brown

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

---

His index finger rapped against the glass of scotch, the rhythm not bound by any conventional beat but rather mirroring the erratic tempo of Roman’s internal world. He listened intently to the audio from Belladonna's police interview. He’d lost track of how many times he’d replayed it, too many to count. He was fixated in particular on replaying the moments where Belladonna described her understanding of their relationship on an endless loop.

“Roman only cares about himself. You’re nothing to him.” 

His lip curled up each time he listened to Ramirez’s bold assertions. Just who the fuck did he think he was? Every word that he spoke only egged on Roman’s more violent intrusive thoughts, every little dig at Belladonna, every attempt to rile her up and his index finger tapped a little harder on the glass. But then Belladonna’s voice came over the recording and his tempo returned to its earlier calm but odd tempo.

“I know.”

"I'm not stupid—maybe a little starry-eyed, but not stupid. I see the score. And you’re right, men like Roman don't fall in love; but they do dip their toes in it for a bit. I get it. Sooner or later, he'll move on, find someone more exciting, someone willing to do things I won't. And when that day comes, I'll thank him for the good times and go my own way."

Then his tapping stopped altogether, and his grip on the glass relaxed so much it nearly slipped from his hand.

“And what if he doesn’t let you go that easy?” 

"Life's short—last year sure hammered that home. If Jimmy's fate tells us anything, it's that nothing's guaranteed. Not today, not tomorrow. So, until my clock runs out, I'm going to enjoy every second I can, and right now, I’m enjoying them with Roman. He makes me feel alive." 

He grinned at that last part, so he made her feel alive, huh? Funny, he usually had the exact opposite reaction on people.

He’d had more than a few run screaming from his presence when he lost his temper, when the mask of the confident club owner slipped and the monster beneath it peaked out, eyes burning and frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. One way or another, none of them had what it took to handle a man like him, though to be fair, he’d never been terribly interested in women as anything more than a means to let out some pent-up frustrations, and they didn’t always enjoy it either. He wasn’t a gentle lover. That wasn’t to say Roman ever forced anyone to do anything they didn’t want to, he wasn’t one of those types. 

Women were a fickle thing that he never understood, like most men, and he’d seen them all. The starry-eyed naive girls hoping to bring out a softer side to him, the wanna-be she-doms who thought they could control him, what a laugh. The ones that insisted they could be everything he wanted and meet his every desire, not in his experience. There had even been a few crazies who’d insisted they could match his particular brand of insanity, but Roman had time and time proved to be too much for even them to handle and in the end, they were just words.

He’d listened to the interview a handful of times since returning to the penthouse with Belladonna, long after the doc had told him to sit down and wait, there wasn’t anything else Roman could do apart from look like a lovesick puppy at her bedside. And he sure as shit wasn’t about to do that, though it didn’t stop him from occasionally putting down the recorder and wandering into the room to look at her. 

He'd managed to keep his visits under five, and he certainly didn’t sit by her bedside, or rather his bed all weepy-eyed clutching her hand, no he simply stood in the doorway like a respectable psychopath, thank you very much. At least, he’d started out that way. With each visit he found himself drawn a little closer into the room but it had been hours since their return, and every time he looked at her, his gut twisted into tighter knots. She looked like a rag doll, her olive skin unnaturally pale and sickly—a sight that grated on him. When the hell was she going to wake up? This was just plain ridiculous.

He’d nearly strode into the room with the intent of shaking her awake but the second he’d felt her breath on his outstretched hand the sudden urge died inside him replaced by something he couldn’t understand or explain and he once more retreated to his office. Stan’s assurances did little to quell his unease; he claimed she was fine, just experiencing the aftermath of a sugar crash, and that sleeping was a natural consequence but he wasn't convinced. 

Everyone in this whole damned penthouse was entirely too calm. He felt like he was going crazy. Well, crazier.

He didn’t even understand why he was so fixated on her. There was no reason to be.

Damn it, there wasn’t a safer place for her than right here, in his bed nonetheless.

She was fine. 

It was fine. 

Everything was fine!

Except it wasn’t. And he wasn’t the only one who knew that.

Powerless wasn’t a feeling Roman Sionis liked at all and that’s exactly how he felt. Powerless. All he could do was wait for her to wake up, and then they would have a discussion about her stupid decision to leave his penthouse. They’d most definitely be going over some of her answers in that interview… Oh, he had some thoughts about that too.

But then his thoughts would circle back to the reason for her departure in the first place, and he clenched his fists in frustration, cracking his knuckles, before pouring another scotch.

He wasn’t good at this. The whole waiting thing, patience wasn’t his strong suit. God, what he wouldn’t have given for a little good old-fashioned interrogation right now, just something to take his mind off the uncharted territory he was drifting in. He wanted familiarity and routine, his normal, so his mind wandered back to the only thing he could approach cold-heartedly; the recent encounter with Cobblepot. Surely focusing on business matters would provide some respite from the chaos of his emotions. Ew, emotions, what was he, turning into some pussy little girl? But as he replayed the scene in his mind, the anger that had simmered within him boiled over once more.

At first, he was furious with Belladonna for finding herself in such a precarious situation, his lip twitching. But when he saw the gun pointed at her, his fury transformed into a blazing inferno of rage. At that moment, he felt an overwhelming need to protect her, to assert his dominance and stake his claim.

And then, without hesitation, he uttered those possessive words in front of both groups of men. 

‘His woman.’

His.

It was a slip of the tongue, he told himself. Of course it was, he would never say something so stupid.

But then it wasn’t. Was it? 

In his mind, he went back and forth, debating every which way he could, talking himself in circles. It was a purely tactical decision he’d made, a carefully selected choice of words. By attaching Belladonna to him like that, it sent a message loud and clear; keep away. 

But at the same time, it was a double-edged sword, making her a bigger target, a vulnerability to Roman opening him up to further attacks from those who were stupid enough to use her against him. And of course, he had to protect her anyway, because if anything happened to her, his life would only get more complicated with the police breathing down his goddamn neck.

Frustrated and angry, he clenched his teeth and gripped the leather arms of his chair before everything inside him welled up and exploded like a reactor, chucking his glass of scotch at the wall in a burst of murderous glitter. Why had every moment since he’d decided to let her live only been incredibly complicated and taxing? 

This wasn’t like him, and he knew that his little heroic display would cause problems within his ranks. His tunnel vision wasn’t so all-consuming that he missed the shocked and curious looks his men gave him as he left her loft, carrying Belladonna in his arms. No, this was going to be something he’d have to sort out later, probably in a very grand fashion. He needed to be more vigilant now than ever, more ruthless, which meant she had to stop being so damn careless. He had to bring her in closer, tell her more. Pull her in deeper.

Most of his men were simply hired help and very few of them possessed what one might think of as genuine loyalty; Zsasz aside, he couldn’t think of anyone specifically that he didn’t have to make a direct deposit to for reliability. Until the enigma that was Belladonna Black.

"If you want me to spin a story to help you dodge your duties and let the real killer go, find someone else," she asserted. "Roman didn’t kill Jimmy. He was with me, delivering a memorable experience against a cinderblock wall, then I gave him my number and got a lift home."

He smirked again as the audio came to its conclusion. She said she could do it and she’d done it. She’d lied for him and in exquisite fashion as well, it was a good performance, one she deserved a standing ovation for. She’d been in control of every second of that interview from the moment she’d sat down. It sounded so convincing and he would have given anything to see the look on Ramirez’s face, but Derrick assured him it was everything he imagined it was. 

A quick flash of frustration, his stupid, fat, fucking face filling with disappointment and anger. But mostly it was a realization that Belladonna Black wasn’t going to be one turned so easily, and that brought a smile to his face.

Which was, precisely when the twin Detective Douchebags turned their focus on him. They wound him up easily and he couldn’t explain why. Well, that wasn’t true, he knew why he’d gotten so wound up. It was because, at the time, he hadn’t entirely trusted Belladonna; he didn’t know if he could. He knew it now though, and so did those fucking cops.

Fear didn’t keep someone loyal, it kept them afraid, and in that interview room, Craven had used that fear of Belladonna’s trustworthiness against him. All his pep talks, all his charm on Belladonna, and the few threats he’d made against her had all been unnecessary, she trusted him enough to put her neck on the line for him and he hadn’t exactly been a gentleman. At best he’d been a reliable source of thinly veiled threats, promises he’d yet to deliver on, and the occasional orgasm.

No, he couldn’t explain what was happening to him these last two months, any more than he could explain his decision to let Belladonna live. It was a whim. But the facts were the facts now, she was in far too deep for her to just disappear. And he was quickly coming to the understanding that he wanted it that way. That he wanted her to continue to drive him insane with her smart mouth and constant retorts, wanted to keep showing up at her work and making a spectacle out of their displays of affection but he also wanted to keep driving her insane too. He didn’t know why but he loved it.

Two firm raps at the door pulled Roman from his thoughts, and Zsasz leaned against the doorframe, his sharp gaze taking in his brooding boss. He looked to Zsasz and gave a simple head nod to enter, then he rose to grab another glass and poured himself a new drink.

"It's not too late. We can still find a solution for her," 

Roman paused, and the gentle clinking of the decanter against his glass ceased.

Zsasz’s suggestion lacked his usual sharp certainty, but rather it held an edge of hesitancy that wasn’t typical for him. To some degree he was right, people disappeared in Gotham every day, never to be seen again, but the notion of Belladonna being one of them wasn’t one he was willing to entertain anymore.

Roman took a long sip of his drink before responding in a flat, emotionless voice, "No, Zsasz. I think we're past that now."

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, knowing that what Belladonna said about their relationship was true, but hating it all the same. He wanted her to want him, he couldn't pinpoint why, she had become important to him. It both irked and exhilarated him. It was the way she’d looked at him like he was the hero, as opposed to what he really was, the monster in the closet. Somehow she was changing from a pawn he liked to play with, to a queen whom he was pulling out all the stops for.

Zsasz sat down "If she's here to stay, we'll need to increase her security. We’re looking at major changes to protect her and address the problems this’ll cause."

Roman nodded, understanding that both he and Zsasz had similar concerns about maintaining his reputation as a formidable criminal without appearing weak. The notion that a woman could soften a man’s heart like him was a fantasy, the fact was; Roman was about to get meaner. There would be fewer severed ears and more severed limbs and plucked eyes.

“Where do we start?” Roman pushed a glass over to Zsasz. “Could we just burn down the whole damn city?”

“That’d be a lot of bodies,” Zsasz replied after a moment pouring himself a drink with no ice.

“Oh, what’s a few hundred thousand bodies?” 

Zsasz smirked and looked as though he was running the numbers in his head but ultimately he came to the same conclusion he knew Roman had come to. They needed to be smart about this, the game was changing, and losers clung to outdated rules, while the victors won by creating their own.

“Her place is a weak point, had the men going through it top to bottom, found a few listening devices aside from yours, but we’ll need a team to do a more in-depth sweep for anything else. Cobblepot has access to top-tier gear, I doubt we’ve found everything.”

“Oswald… He’s not even the real problem is he?” The ice in Roman’s glass clinked with another sip. “What’s the word in the ranks?”

“There's some mutterings but nothing that can’t be fixed by an appropriate show of force.” An appropriate show of force usually meant bodies or blood. Or both. “She’ll have to step up too, they need to be just as afraid of her as they are of you.”

Roman scoffed, that was an amusing idea, his men being afraid of Belladonna, sure she had a resting bitch face that could make most people shrivel, but he couldn’t see Belladonna so much as squishing a bug. “Where are we with Jimmy?”

"Everything seems to line up with your plans," Zsasz reported, "except for one thing: Jimmy doesn't appear to have any association with Cobblepot." 

“How the fuck is that possible? He had at least ten grand worth of product all with Cobblepots branding, and the boys at the lab even had it tested, it was all legit and 100% pure.”

"Well, Cobblepot did say you two needed to talk," Zsasz replied, a sly grin on his face. "We could get the information we need if you handle him carefully."

Roman agreed, scowling at the mention of Cobblepot's name. "How the fuck is he involved in this?" he muttered under his breath, adding, "Keep your enemies closer..."

Just then, a knock at the door alerted both men to the presence of Roman's personal doctor. 

"Roman, she’s awake."

—

Belladonna's eyes fluttered open, the world around her resembled more of a kaleidoscope; unfocused and hazy. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to her surroundings, the only source of light came from a bedside table and a light outside the room she was in. The walls were a dark, rich color and adorned with expensive artwork. The furniture was modern and sleek, befitting of someone with lots of money. The sheets were luxurious and cool to the touch when she stretched out on them only to realize she was lying in a bed that wasn't her own. She knew this was likely Roman’s penthose but it wasn’t until she turned into his pillow and breathed it in.

A mixture of expensive cologne with an underlying hint of something dark and alluring. The clean, fresh scent of soap hung in the air, mingling with the cologne to create a distinctly masculine smell. And beneath it all was a raw, primal scent that could only be described as pure testosterone. All of it screaming Roman Sionis.

As she struggled to sit up, the room spun around her, and a sharp pain shot through her arm and she drew in a ragged breath; somewhere between a shriek and a gasp. When she finally managed to prop herself up, she noticed something that made her stomach drop: there was a needle lodged in her arm, connected to an IV bag hanging next to the bed. Panic quickly set in as she struggled to focus on the contents of the bag; her vision was still hazy. She had no clue what was being pumped into her and began to hyperventilate.

She couldn’t just unhook it, she didn’t know how, and she had nothing to stop the bleeding. She wanted to get out of there. She tried to stand but that was a mistake and dizziness washed over her like a tidal wave, causing her to lose her balance and fall back, grasping at the nightstand.

"Shit!" She muttered, knocking over a glass of water in the process, its contents spilling onto the cold floor, glass shattering everywhere. The needle in her arm shifted causing more pain and blood began to trickle down her arm. Fuck!

Footsteps quickly approached, and a man she had never seen before entered the room. Panic surged through her veins, and she scrambled away from him while trying to avoid the glass.

"Stay away from me!" Her voice was scratchy and weak.

"Miss Black, it's alright, I’m Dr. Stan," he said calmly, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. "I'm Roman's personal physician, and you're currently in his penthouse." She studied him for a minute, he could be a doctor, sure, he looked the right age, and his glasses gave him a scholarly kind of vibe. And not that it meant anything but she was fairly sure, he was wearing a hairpiece, but that wasn’t really a judgment on her part, just an observation.

"Roman?" 

"You had a sugar crash, do you remember?" She squinted like she was trying to remember but groaned and clutched her head, ultimately shaking it. "Ok, I understand, don't worry, you're perfectly safe, I’m going to help you."

“What is that?”

He approached carefully like one might cozy up to a wounded animal with the intention of helping it. “It’s a dextrose solution, you were dehydrated and your sugar levels were too low, I had to administer an IV to get you to a safer place.”

Belladonna's gaze darted to the needle in her arm again, and she winced as she felt a sharp pain. "Can you take it out?" she pleaded, her voice tinged with urgency.

The doctor nodded, understanding her distress. "Of course," he said, moving closer to inspect the IV. 

As her panic subsided, and she allowed him to come closer, he carefully helped her back onto the bed, kicking the glass aside. 

What kind of name was Stan? Was that his first name or his last? Did doctors go by their first names when it came to personal doctors? She didn’t even know they made house calls. He reached for his medical bag that had been on the floor and pulled out a few things, 

"How long was I out?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's been a few hours," 

She winced as he pressed a quarter-folded piece of gauze against the needle site, but she mostly stayed completely still. Once the bleeding subsided, he took an alcohol wipe and started cleaning up the blood that had trickled down her arm, before turning to the IV. His movements were precise and controlled, the adhesive tape pulled on her skin and it was the kind of sensation that made her want to rub the spot profusely. 

"Hold pressure here," he instructed, placing another piece of gauze over the needle site before he finally removed it. Then he reached for a roll of blue self-adhesive tape and wrapped it around her arm, securing everything in place with a bit of pressure. “Better?”

“Much.”

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like the floor of a taxi," she admitted, rubbing her temples, he chuckled. At least her sense of humor was intact.

"Understandable. You were in pretty rough shape when Roman found you. Let’s check your vitals,” 

He reached back into his bag and began pulling out several items, setting them on the bedside table; a blood pressure cuff, one of those things they stick on your finger at the doctor’s office, a stethoscope, and a thermometer. “You know, you’re very lucky, Roman knew how to stabilize your sugars." 

Roman did what? She didn’t remember any of that, the last thing she remembered was seeing Roman looking as angry as she’d ever seen him telling her to come to him. 

Belladonna furrowed her brow in concentration, trying to recall the events that had led her here but everything was hazy at best and it really did feel like a dream. 

"What happened?"

He placed the cuff on her left arm and inflated it, inducing the familiar annoying pressure, then placed the stethoscope on her brachial artery listening as the pressure released slowly. 

"You called Roman, and he arrived before you lost consciousness." 

She vaguely remembered Roman telling her to eat something but it was so unclear she thought it was part of a dream. Doctor Stan must have noticed the constant licking of her lips and he supplied the answer before she even asked the question, “He said he got you to eat some M&Ms, but you were pretty out of it, good thing you had them handy, complex carbohydrates are your friend at a time like this.” 

He loosened the cuff and the tingling in her fingers began to ebb. “120/80, that's good.”

He placed the pressure cuff back into the bag and placed the little monitoring thing, whatever it was, on her finger and then brought the thermometer to her forehead. 

“He was pretty frantic when called me and had me come over, said it was a top-tier emergency, and to be honest I expected worse,” the thermometer beeped and he seemed pleased with the result, “98 degrees.” He said passively, then he took his stethoscope from his neck and put it on. "Alright, Belladonna, I'm going to listen to your breathing now. I need you to take slow, deep breaths through your nose. Inhale deeply, then exhale slowly."

"Roman was worried about me?" she asked skeptically before complying with the first breath, he moved the stethoscope and indicated another deep breath.

"Very much so," the doctor said, nodding. "I've never seen him like this. When he called me, I was surprised it wasn't about him being in trouble – but well, Roman has a way of defying conventional expectations." He moved the stethoscope one more time, “Few more deep breaths,”

She nearly laughed, then breathed in deeply and slowly several times. Feeling a spark of warmth at the thought as she settled back onto the bed.

"He’ll be glad to know you’re awake," He put the stethoscope away and took her pulse, centering his index and middle finger on her radial artery and applied pressure while looking at his watch. 

“Your pulse looks good. Alright, sit tight, I’ll be right back.” 

Roman was worried? No, he didn’t say worried, he said; frantic. It was hard to picture Roman any other way than amused or angry, there was no in-between. At least not that she had ever seen. It was impossible to picture Roman as anything other than composed, what exactly did that mean? What was frantic Roman like? Probably very similar to angry Roman, she reasoned. 

Roman wasn’t a man who liked it when he wasn’t in control. That much was well understood. She could almost imagine him yelling into a phone, lots of swearing, probably reiterating that money was no objective and it was a sweet thought. One that caught her off guard so much so that she almost didn’t notice the multiple sets of approaching footsteps. 

Moments later, Roman appeared with Zsasz in tow. His expression was stern, but maybe there was just a hint of concern in his eyes. She wondered if she was imagining it.

“Welcome back, Angel.” Roman’s heavy and dark voice drifted back into the room. "Doctor, what's the verdict?" 

Doctor Stan looked up at Roman and he seemed very pleased, "I think she’ll be fine, just going to do a few more things and I’ll be out of your hair, let's check your glucose levels." 

He took out an alcohol wipe and produced a glucometer, a lancet, and a bandaid. As if second nature she held out her index finger, he wiped down her finger and the lancet snapped out pricking her fingertip, she made a face at the lancet and stuck her finger but otherwise didn’t react. 

“Any lingering pains?” He pressed the test strip to her finger and the blood soaked into the strip.

“Just a headache.” 

“Well, that’s normal, I’d recommend some electrolytes, sports drinks, or maybe some coconut water.” 

Zsasz pulled a face at the lancet and the small bead of blood on her fingertip, he seemed uncomfortable. 

“Oh, come on now Zsasz, with all the work you do for Roman, a little finger prick test has you squirming?”

“You have any idea how many nerve endings are in your fingertips?”

It seemed an off thing for Zsasz to be uncomfortable with but she supposed it made sense, she instinctively brought her fingertip to her lips but Roman quickly grabbed it and wrapped the bandage around her index finger.

“As a matter of fact I do, learned all about it in med school, over 3000 per square inch.” 

He fed the test strip into the glucometer and waited for the device to finish its reading. 

“The headache we can manage with over-the-counter headache medicine, but if you like I can give you something a little stronger, drink plenty of fluids, no strenuous activity.”

The glucometer beeped and he checked the results, his brow furrowed. 

"Belladonna, your blood sugar level is a bit lower than we'd like to see right now. It's currently measuring between 60 to 70 milligrams per deciliter, which is slightly below the normal range for someone without diabetes. While it's not dangerously low, it's important to bring it up a bit to ensure you're feeling your best. A good balanced meal with carbohydrates, proteins, healthy fats, fruits, and vegetables should fix that. How do you feel about having a snack or a drink with some sugar in it?"

She offered a weak smile and nodded, “Sounds good actually,” Roman whispered something to Zsasz and he quickly left the room.

"A nice quiet evening will have you back on your feet and let's try to avoid any more sugar crashes, no skipping meals.” He actually wagged his finger at her, she hadn’t been chided by a doctor in a hot minute, but she liked Stan. Seemed like a nice guy and she added his name to the list of people whom she was shocked to associate with Roman Sionis. 

“A nice evening of what the kids call 'Netflix and chill.'"

"It’s already handled" Roman agreed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What sort of snack in the meantime?”

“Candy can work in a pinch but let’s try to stay away from it, something like fruit would be better, it's absorbed more easily into the bloodstream. Don’t forget to replace that emergency stash of M&Ms in your bag.”

“With or without the chocolate fountain?” The doctor just chuckled, shaking his head at Roman, and packed up his bag. 

“Get some rest, Miss Black, call me if you need anything.” He spoke the last part more to Roman than Belladonna. 

"Thank you, Stan," 

Roman walked Dr. Stan to the door and in the shadows that fell over them, but they were still in Belladonna’s view, as was the small stack of cash Roman tried to discreetly hand him. Stan held out his hand to Roman and tried to wave it away but Roman didn’t budge.

“Oh, no, no, Roman, this is far too much. It's not like I removed a bullet."

"Not this time," Roman countered, his tone darkly humorous.

Dr. Stan chuckled and nodded, “Well, this was one of the easier house calls,” As they reached the door Dr. Stan mentioned something Belladonna heard but couldn’t understand it was too muffled from their distance, and Roman didn't respond.

There was the sound of Roman footsteps coming back into the room, but when he returned to her side, he held a pomegranate in his hand and wore the look of a parent about to lecture her. She pulled her knees a bit closer to her chest as he sat on the bed, still not saying a word.

She watched as Roman meticulously peeled the crimson pomegranate, its juice staining his fingers. 

“Where’d Zsasz go?”

"I had him go get Thai for you." Her eyes widened in surprise; she didn't recall ever telling him she liked Thai, but then again, who didn’t?

"How'd you know I like Thai food?" she asked, curiosity evident in her voice.

Roman smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I have my ways, Angel." He held out the pomegranate to her. She hesitated, never having eaten one before, then pushed it away, seeking answers instead.

"Roman, what happened? Tell me about Oswald Cobblepot. Why was he at my place?"

"He was dropping off my dry cleaning," he replied humorlessly, but his expression turned serious, holding out the crimson gem-like pomegranate seed again, “I’m waiting, Angel.” 

“So am I.” Stubborn as ever.

"I’ll make you a deal; questions answered, but only if you eat." 

He gently pressed a pomegranate seed between her lips, holding his fingers there for her to bite down on. After a few seconds, her lips gave way and she accepted the piece of fruit, her lips brushing his fingers. He seemed relieved. 

"Ask away, Angel," Roman said, biting into the pomegranate like an apple. He placed a chunk of the seeded fruit into her hand, which she studied for a minute before plucking several little ruby-like seeds and popping them into her mouth. The tart sweetness burst on her tongue in a way that put strawberries to shame, and she asked;

"Who is Oswald Cobblepot?"

"Oswald is a criminal who deals with stolen goods, bribery, witness intimidation, theft, controlled substances, and occasionally murder," Roman replied deadpan. "As for our personal relationship, we've known each other for years. We went to prep school together, and our families have a long history together." 

So Cobblepot wasn’t lying about that, the conversation she had with him began to drift back into her mind. “Tell me about your family,"

His face darkened. "That's not up for discussion."

She looked away, the frustration was impossible to miss and after the day she’d had, and in a rare act of submission he offered up the following.

"We haven't spoken in years, I last saw them when I was twenty-one." he said tersely. "Now, let's talk about what happened at your apartment. What's the last thing you remember?”

She chewed on the seeds before spitting one into her hand, uncertain of what to do with it, 

“Eat the seeds angel, they're good for you. You can swallow them whole.” Roman took another bite of the pomegranate juice staining his lips, something she tried to ignore.

“He had a magazine with our picture in it,”

Roman smirked, “I saw it. Explains what got into you that night after the party,” He grinned, biting into the fruit again and licking his lips. 

“He was there when I got back, I didn’t even get the door shut all the way before I saw them, I went for the panel but it was disabled.” Roman nodded, “He said, he needed to talk to you about the docks and he thought I could get ahold of you. I called, a bunch,” she looked at him squarely in the eyes, “You didn’t pick up.”

“I’m sorry.” 

It couldn’t go more silent than it already was, and it soon became overbearing with how he looked nowhere other than her eyes, black on black. No hiding, no deflecting, no excuses. He apologized to her. She was stunned.

“It’s-it’s ok-”

“No, it's not.” He chewed a few more seeds, “It won’t happen again, if you call I come running, guns blazing. No questions asked.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, she was speechless. She just nodded in agreement, unsure of how to handle such sincerity. 

“Did he touch you?”

She thought back to her loft, aside from the hand patting a few times, the answer was a resounding no and she shuddered at the thought.

“Not really,” she rubbed her hands, “Patted my hands like a teacher or something.”

“He didn’t hurt you?” She shook her head and continued to rub at her hands trying to erase the memory. 

“I feel like I need a scalding hot shower,” 

Roman took her hand and pressed a surprisingly gentlemanly kiss to it, then her palm like he did whenever he visited her at work. It was a sweet gesture but it did little to counter the taste of apprehension that came with her next question. 

“What happened at the docks?”

Roman paused and seemed like he was weighing his options before replying. “Business.”

“I saw the guy's ear, Roman. You did that?” He gave her a hard look, not a cold or cruel one but it was like he was trying to decide something. “And you, bit a kid's ear back in high school?” He smirked.

“Only a little.” At the mere mentioning of the memory, Roman grinned a dark grin.

He seemed to have made up his mind about what to tell her because he handed her more fruit and began speaking again. 

“His men were trespassing on my territory, so I interrogated them.”

Interrogated. 

“You mean tortured.”

Now he wore no smile, just a strangely detached expression that communicated just, nothing. “I had to send a message. Cobblepot was responding in his own way, I don’t usually send men back alive once they've crossed me. It was a bit out of character.”

“Is he going to come back?”

“Not if he’s smart, he won’t.” He sighed and laid on his side, “But it doesn't mean we’re out of the woods yet, in fact, now that he knows how important you are to me things are only going to get harder.” She stayed quiet on that last note, “You’re not going home.”

She wanted to argue and he knew it, her lips went to form a reply but ultimately her brain caught up with her mouth, and she nodded. Understanding that his concerns had more to do with the practicality of the situation and less about his possessive tendencies.

“That's the third time I know of that a man has broken in, not sure how I’ll ever sleep there again.” 

“I had Zsasz make some calls to some shops for some things for you, I’m not going to have you wearing anything Cobblepot or his men might have touched.” 

There was such a venomous tone to his voice just then and it should have scared her, but after today, Roman seemed like the lesser of the two evils. And in a way, she understood where he had been coming from, she wasn’t sure she wanted to wear any of it either. She stopped eating and stared off into space, maybe thinking of all the things that had gone on in her apartment in her absence and she shuddered.

“Keep eating, angel.”

“Am I in danger?”

He didn’t answer right away, “Yes.” She already knew the answer, but somehow she just needed to hear it from him, maybe because if Roman took something seriously then somehow it was comforting because he didn’t fuck around. 

“Which is why things are going to change.” He suddenly became very serious and he sat up and reached forward to grasp her chin “You are never to leave my side, not even to that little bodega Ernies, no more mysterious motorcycle rides either. And don’t you ever pull a stunt like this again.”

“Don’t give me a reason to.” The expression ‘Don’t bite the hand that feeds you’ should have kept her silent but it didn’t, was she scared? Shitless. Did that make her spineless? Hell no.

“Angel, I don’t think you realize the gravity of our current situation. I came to your place in force with a dozen of my best-armed men and Cobblepot knows I’ll did it to protect you. My own men know that and let's just say they've never seen me hold a door open for a woman much less call up an armed assault. And I’ve certainly never carried an unconscious woman in my arms before.”

She started to smile but Roman's hard expression stopped her.  

“There's going to be doubts I’ll have to quiet, people questioning me and my effectiveness. I’m going to have to make some examples. Painful, messy ones. So you’re going ot have to put a bandaid on that bleeding heart of yours.”

“The rules of our agreement have to change.” Now she looked like she might fight him but he stopped her. 

“Never question me in front of any of my men. Ever. Don’t even talk back, nothing that might be construed as you having any sort of control over me, because if you do; I’m going to have to kill a lot of people to prove that you don’t.” 

That stopped her, she didn’t know Romans men or what kind of men they were but she didn’t want any more blood on her hands. 

“Things are going to get even more unsafe and more violent, which is why you can’t leave me, ever. Understand?”

When he said ‘you can’t leave me, ever,’ his voice did a funny thing, so subtle she almost missed it, there was the tiniest hint of pleading in his voice, like something desperate and quivering, then in an instant, it was gone. She nodded and looked to the ground briefly, only to be brought right back to Romans gaze by his grip on her chin, his thumb brushing her lip almost lovingly. 

“You have to listen to me.”

“I promise.”

“You're going to have to learn to look the other way or ask me far fewer questions. Understand?” She nodded, not liking the picture he was painting but also realizing there was little other choice.

"Roman, about today—" she started hesitantly, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Enough about that. I have a lead on your mother," he said, effectively changing the subject. “It’s going to take some finessing but I’ve got Zsasz on it and I’ll know more within the week,”

The mention of her mother made her heart skip a beat. Had he found her already? How? She didn’t care and his confession prompted her to all but crawl into his lap leaning in for a kiss. There was every chance he was just saying it to keep her nice and calm and pliant, he could very well have been lying, but it didn't make sense. Roman was very protective about his reputation as a fairly honest criminal so when he said he had a lead on her mother, she believed him.

He accepted her kiss with little resistance but he clearly wasn’t expecting it, allowing her to lead the way with slow and smoldering movements. Surprisingly, his lips were soft and gentle against hers contrasting with the dangerous aura he had previously exuded. 

But what surprised her even more was his docile behavior; he didn't try to take control or rush the pace. He seemed content to savor the pomegranate juice that lingered on her lips as they moved over his and her tongue dipped into his mouth.

Finally and with some effort, he pulled back from Belladonna’s almost feral advance, his voice a bit breathless and sounding like he was teetering on the edge of some invisible boundary, "Angel, doctor's orders," Roman reminded her as gently as he could manage. 

She remembered his warning from the week prior, when he said ‘no’ he meant it and it had been an uncomfortable lesson and experience, her fingers curled in his hair as she pressed herself against him for one last deep kiss. 

"I know I'm irresistible, but really, the doctor did say to rest," he teased. He held up more of the crimson fruit, “Keep eating.”

She took the seeds and sat back down. "Any more questions?" he asked. 

“What now?”

“Now? We’re moving in together.” She blanched and shot him a panicked look, “Relax kitten, just until I sort out your apartment situation.” 

“What's to sort out?

“Well security, obviously. And your place has been broken into four times, not three.” She looked like she was about to say something but he kept talking, “Need to sweep it for any listening devices or cameras that I didn’t put there before I let you go back.

“I knew it,” Roman winked at her.

“Until that's all settled, I’ll see to it you have anything you need, but for now, you stay here; where I know you’re safe.” 

His choice of words in saying ‘I know you’re safe’ as opposed to 'where I can keep an eye on you’ settled over her with an odd sense of finality and comfort.

“Might just have you stay here till I wrap things up with Jimmy though, got a few things in the works for that too.” 

What did he mean? Jimmy was dead, what sort of plans could he possibly have for a dead man? She started to speak but he placed his hand over her lips, “No, angel, not this. Can’t tell you this. It gives you plausible deniability.” 

How oddly considerate of him? She smirked, lightly pressing her lips to his fingertips. He promptly withdrew them, maybe doubting his ability to adhere to his own suggestion of following the doctor's orders of avoiding strenuous activity.

"Earlier, you told me I was replaceable," Belladonna reminded him, her tone challenging. Roman gave her a hard look, unwilling to discuss it further. "But you seem to be pulling all the stops out for me," she pushed.

"Angel, you haven't seen anything yet," he answered cryptically, his dark eyes promising protection, possession, and a future rife with uncertainty.

The room seemed to swallow them as Roman and Belladonna fell into a heavy silence, she didn’t feel the need to ask any further questions, or maybe because she just couldn’t think of any. 

"So who has pomegranates lying around instead of apples?" 

"Someone with refined taste. You should expand your palate, Belladonna. Pomegranates are considered the fruit of the gods.” She eyed him skeptically. “The pomegranate holds great significance. Some even believe it was a pomegranate, not an apple, that Eve ate in the Garden of Eden. And it was the pomegranate that Persephone ate to become the queen of the underworld in the love story of Hades and Persephone."

"Wait," Belladonna interjected, her brow furrowing. "You mean the pomegranate Hades forced her to eat after he kidnapped her?"

Roman tutted, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Belladonna, you're half-Greek; you should know your mythology better. There are theories that suggest Hades and Persephone had a passionate romance and she willingly went with him, just as much evidence as there is for his supposed kidnapping." There was an odd cheekiness to his expression, as though he was trying to make some coded reference.

He offered her another piece of the fruit, but she eyed it suspiciously. Roman smirked. 

"It's too late. You're already trapped in my underworld until the investigation is done. You may as well enjoy the food." 

It was fascinating how easily Roman could slip between personas - one moment the charming owner of Masquerade Noir, able to entertain and entice, and the next a cold-blooded criminal who had shown mercy by only cutting off a man's ear. The portrait of Roman lounging on his side on a luxurious bed, in a black shirt with a few buttons undone, black slacks, casually eating a pomegranate was quickly burning itself into her brain. He looked so normal.

"How did you know I'm hypoglycemic?"

Roman gave her a mysterious look, his eyes dark and unreadable raising his browns suggestively. "I have eyes everywhere."

"Like my bedroom?" 

"Especially in your bedroom," he replied smoothly. "How else would I know about that little purple toy of yours?"

His teasing was less annoying and now more charming in its own odd way, and whereas before she might have ignored it or gotten irritated, she opted to give it right back to him. 

“Guess, you didn’t find the big black one…”

Romans expression quickly fell and he didn’t look as amused as she was, but after he noted the upturn of her lips, he shook his head and finally answered her question.

"I did extensive research on you after we met. I know all about that fight with you and Olivia Danvers when you were sixteen and you’ve got one hell of a right hook.” Belladonna smirked a little bit at the memory. “It’s clear that you could have been valedictorian if not for that D on your senior chemistry final and your Spanish class, Eso no es bueno, ángel.” 

Roman knowing Spanish wasn’t surprising but then it kind of was, he wasn’t stupid, no, Roman had proved time and time again that he was highly intelligent. But it just seemed such a… frivolous thing, to speak another language, like, it was such a normal thing, for normal people. But she quickly reminded herself that was stupid. Belladonna herself was trilingual, adding Greek, Italian, and Latin to her repertoire. 

“I know how you switched majors halfway through college from business management to photography and graphic design even though you can’t really stand either one and I know all about the attack last year,” His tone dropped at the mention of her attack and he offered no particular insights on it. “But no one’s perfect, because despite how deep I dug, I somehow missed that little tidbit." Roman admitted with a hint of annoyance. "But Daisy clued me in after I sweet-talked it out of her."

Yeah, Daisy, that sounded about right. It wasn’t exactly privileged information, and she had no doubt there wasn’t much Roman couldn't sweet talk Daisy out of.

"I was diagnosed after the attack last year. It was hard to want to eat anything, didn’t sleep much." Belladonna said, "Guess I should thank you," 

His cocky demeanor returned in full force as sat up and he scooted closer, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “But how will you thank me?” 

“Don’t get cocky, you’re still in la casita del perro in my book, you’ll be lucky if you get another kiss.”

Roman chuckled, undeterred, seeing her challenge as an invitation. He closed the distance between them, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered seductively, “Oh, really?”

"I can be very persuasive. And it seems to be working." Their lips barely brushed, a tantalizing tease of what could be. "Admit it, you've wanted to kiss me since the moment I rode in on my dark horse, saving the day that night in the back of my club with Jimmy."

That was certainly one way to put their meeting, if not a little skewed, it almost sounded romantic, and she couldn't resist teasing him. With a playful smirk, she grabbed his chin and planted a simple kiss, it wasn’t what he wanted, she knew that but he’d already shut her down when she was practically climbing on top of him. 

"Is that all I get?" he asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"You'll get what I give you, and you'll like it.”

The door to the bedroom swung open and the scent of spicy Thai food quickly filled the air, mingling with the lingering tension between Roman and Belladonna. Zsasz strode into the room carrying takeout bags in both hands. He seemed to have returned faster than expected, much to Roman’s dismay, but then again, Zsasz was more often than not, more punctual than a Swiss watch. It also helped that he cut quite the intimidating figure and Belladonna wouldn’t have been surprised if people had jumped out of line upon seeing him.

“Cockblocked by the doctor's orders… and Thai food.” 

Roman grumbled, finally tearing his gaze away from Belladonna and taking the food from Zsasz. A flicker of warmth flashed across Zsasz's usually cold eyes as he handed over the bags to Roman. It was a brief, unexpected moment that caught Belladonna off guard. Then with a curt nod that carried an unusual ease to it, Zsasz took a bag and disappeared. Was she beginning to grow on him?

Roman settled back onto the bed and produced several takeout boxes with enticing aromas that could only come from a yāy’s soulful cooking. Bold spices, succulent roasted meats, and hints of coconut. He handed her one box filled with Thai green chicken curry and rice, and another containing papaya salad. To her surprise, there was even a small container of mango sticky rice for dessert. She didn't bother asking how he knew her favorite dishes; his answer would probably involve some vague explanation about being "all-knowing." 

As they ate, she watched Roman open his own container of Thai basil chicken, captivated by the movement of his jaw as he chewed, before drifting to Roman's strong hands, deftly maneuvering the chopsticks to pick up a piece of chicken. She had seen those same hands clenched in anger, and wrapped around a gun with deadly precision. Yet, here they were, sharing a simple meal together. Life was certainly dealing her some strange cards lately.

Here she was in Romans bed, after having briefly been held hostage in her own apartment, and being saved by her own knight on a dark horse, as he had dubbed himself. Eating Thai food, like any normal couple might, Roman lounging in a casual manner that Belladonna had never seen before using chopsticks like a pro. He seemed more like just a man eating Thai food with her than the dangerous figure she knew him to be.

"So, no Netflix?" 

"The beds for sleeping, not Netflix," Roman replied playfully, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You should be glad I'm letting you eat in my bed at all."

“You don’t ever eat in bed?

"No," he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I eat at a table like a civilized criminal." His tone was light, teasing even, and Belladonna couldn't help but let out a surprised laugh. Was he making an honest joke? No dark undertones? Guess there was a first for everything.

“The only thing that gets eaten in this bed is pussy.” There it was. He couldn’t let it go, but a sex joke was better than a dark one, she supposed.

Belladonna glanced down at her box, a vibrant array of colorful vegetables and steaming rice accompanying the spicy chicken that filled her senses with a mixture of comfort and warmth. She hesitated for a moment before looking up to meet Roman's unwavering gaze. The dim lighting of his bedroom cast shadows across his chiseled features, accentuating the intensity behind his dark eyes.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever really know you," she admitted, her voice laced with vulnerability. It was a thought that had been gnawing at her ever since they'd gotten involved with each other – an unsettling feeling that there was always more beneath the surface. “You’re like a puzzle with no picture.”

A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I'm a puzzle, am I?" he asked, the playful tone in his voice belying the weight of her words. "How many pieces? I'm at least 10,000 pieces."

Belladonna couldn't help but smile at his lighthearted response, even as the unease continued to churn within her. As much as she wanted to believe that she could understand him, she knew deep down that there were aspects of his life that she never would.

"More like a Rubik's star cube," Belladonna countered, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she looked at Roman.

Roman raised an eyebrow, clearly appreciating the challenge. "Ah, one of those, huh? Well, I suppose that makes me even more intriguing."

"Alright, then," Roman said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "Why don't you ask me something? Anything you want. Consider it your first move in solving this puzzle."

"It’s all just games to you, isn’t it?"

"Trust me, angel. I never play games with what's mine," he replied, his gaze never wavering from hers.

"Yours?" she echoed, feeling both a sense of belonging and unease at his words.

"Undeniably," 

——

The concept of moonlight illuminating a sleeping lovers form while they slept was bullshit, stupid and cliche. So was the idea of longingly looking at them, as if moonlight was a magic highlighter that drew attention to all the details that you never noticed before. 

He always thought the moonlight at night thing only worked because the person you were looking at had finally shut up. He didn’t need the magic of a planet fragment reflecting light to draw his eye to Belladonna's hourglass form, he didn’t need it to draw his attention to the swell of her hips, the full lips he wanted to taste, that long black hair he wanted to use to direct her, or the curve of her breasts he wanted to touch. No, he could appreciate those things in broad daylight, the low light of his club or the artificial light of her studio while she worked. 

But that’s exactly what Roman was doing

Fuck it, the moonlight was doing its job, casting that magical soft glow on Belladonna's peaceful face as she slept. And Roman lay next to her, wide awake, his dark eyes studying her delicate features. It was the first time he'd ever allowed a woman to share his bed without sex being involved, and strangely enough, he found himself not minding much. People were interesting to watch when they slept, Belladonna, for instance, was lying on her side with one arm embracing her pillow and her knees slightly drawn up towards her chest. It wasn't quite the fetal position, but she wasn't sprawling out either, and Roman couldn't blame her. She didn’t sprawl out and take up more of the bed than she should, didn’t hog the blankets leaving him to freeze his ass off, and she wasn’t one of those types who tried to suffocate him by clinging to him like a lovesick teenager. 

That wasn’t Belladonna though. 

Roman's interests were about as varied as the weather, but he always found the way people slept to be fascinating. It was like a secret language they couldn’t help but speak. Belladonna's sleeping habits, in particular, caught his attention. They suggested she was guarded and lacked a sense of security or comfort.

As for Roman himself, he usually slept on his back with his arms at his sides. He didn’t move around much unless he was really stressed. Occasionally, he might flop onto his stomach and bury his head in the pillow, but that was rare. He didn’t like how exposed he felt sleeping on his stomach, even if it was comfy as hell.

As for Zsasz, well, he had never seen Zsasz sleep but he was fairly certain if Zsasz slept at all, he slept like a vampire and he hadn’t ruled out the possibility of a coffin.

The whole situation was an odd one for him. Sure he’d let women sleep in his bed but more often than not it was only because he was too tired to kick them out right away. He’d let them sleep and then send them on their way to that glorious walk of shame home, in the clothes they’d worn the night before, covered in the marks he’d left on them, both seen and unseen. And really, even if he was tired, he would have much rather they leave as soon as he was done with them. His only real motivating factor behind letting them stay was the possibility of a morning blowjob. What man didn’t love waking up and having his dick sucked before breakfast?

His late-night musings were interrupted by a quiet presence at the door, Zsasz lingered just outside the room, he gave Roman a nod and Roman slipped from the bed's warmth. 

"Got something."

Roman followed Zsasz to his study, where they reviewed the security footage from Belladonna's loft. The screen flickered to life, revealing Cobblepot's arrival and the entire conversation between him and Belladonna. Roman clenched his jaw, anger simmering beneath the surface. 

It was the first time he’d watched the footage and it was just as she’d said earlier and although it infuriated him, he had to admit; he’d never been more impressed by a woman. Her voice hardly shook but he could hear it, there were no tears and she wasn’t frantic when she put the phone down after a finally failed attempt at reaching Roman. His lip twitched in a sneer when he thought of how many times she’d tried calling him and how calm she’d been throughout the whole thing and in a rare moment, he felt like shit. 

He’d told her he’d take care of her so long as she was with him and he didn’t. In fact, he’d acted like some shithead teenager. It angered him but not as much as the moment Cobblepot offered a bullshit apology to Belladonna before directing one of his men to shoot her in the chest as opposed to the back of her head. Even still, she didn’t move, she didn’t cower, didn’t plead, didn’t cry. Nothing. 

Solid as a statue, only closing her eyes. He knew grown men who wouldn’t have handled having a gun pointed at them half as well as she had. 

"Reach out to Cobblepot's associates," he instructed Zsasz, his voice cold and controlled. As much as he didn’t like Cobblepot he wasn’t so stupid as to go on the warpath. "Set up a formal sit-down. No more surprise visits from him, I need to know how he's connected to all this and how Jimmy came to have his stuff if he didn’t work for him."

He didn’t much like Cobblepot but it would be idiotic to make him an enemy rather than a strained acquaintance. 

"Arrange for new security measures at her loft, after it’s been cleared," Roman ordered, dismissing Zsasz's unspoken concerns. "She'll stay with me until everything is in place. Did you call the shoppers?” Zsasz nodded, “Good, make sure she has whatever she needs."

As Roman contemplated their situation, he found himself recalling the myth of Hades and Persephone—a tale that seemed to mirror his own relationship with Belladonna. 

"Who is our Demeter?" he muttered, leaving Zsasz slightly confused, but not surprised. Roman often spoke in cryptic references that made sense only to him. 

"Been keeping tabs on her father like you asked. Doesn't seem like he's actively involved in any major schemes anymore. Looks like he's content living off the family fortune," Zsasz reported, his tone matter-of-fact. "But I found something interesting while I was looking into him.  Belladonna is the only heir to the family estate, assuming her father doesn’t blow it all. And he doesn’t seem too keen on her having much of it to herself based on the stipulations required for her to get access to her inheritance." Roman's interest piqued at the mention of Belladonna's wealth.

"She's entitled to half the estate according to her grandfather's will. However, her share is currently tied up due to certain conditions she hasn't fulfilled yet."

"What conditions?" Roman inquired, intrigued by the complexity of the situation.

"There are two options. Either her father passes away under circumstances deemed non-suspicious, and the inheritance is released once the investigation is concluded," Zsasz explained. 

Roman smirked, that could certainly be arranged.

"Or she ties the knot." Zsasz's voice held a hint of amusement. "In that case, the money essentially falls under her husband's control, to be distributed at his discretion."

Roman's eyes narrowed with disdain. "So her fortune hinges on marriage. How... quaint."

“Tale as old as time.”

“Pathetic.” Roman shook his head at the man's manipulations. "I'll pay him a visit soon enough. What about her mother, what did you find?"

"Maria Lopez," Zsasz announced, handing Roman a medical file. 

Roman pulled a confused face, that wasn’t her mothers’ name. It was Caruso, not Lopez. 

“She's tucked away in a top-tier facility in Metropolis, specifically tailored for clients grappling with significant trauma." Zsasz made air quotes around the term 'significant trauma,' his tone dripping with skepticism. 

“Why Metropolis?” Zsasz shrugged.

“Probably because it's not in Gotham. Makes her harder to find, especially if Belladonna was trying to keep a low profile.” 

Roman nodded for Zsasz to continue as he looked through Maria’s file. He didn’t ask Zsasz how he got ahold of privileged medical records; some things were better left unsaid. But based on what Roman was looking at, it was all doctored up and as authentic as a spring breakers driver's license.

"The alias is completely disconnected from anyone in Belladonna's family,”

“Who pays for it?” Roman asked, his voice low and tense as he looked at Maria's photograph, fixated on the sorrowful expression in her gaze. 

She looked nothing like the woman he had imagined; she appeared exhausted, fragile, and hollow inside, though the resemblance was striking. Belladonna got her looks from her mother, no doubt. He suddenly understood how bad of a situation Maria must have found herself in as a young immigrant worker to a man like Benjamin Syrus Black. The predatory nature of it disgusted him, her mother was sixteen when she’d become pregnant with Belladonna, barely a woman. Not even a woman by his standards. 

“A numbered bank account. Easy enough to set up, probably had a lawyer do it."

"So, no paper trail leading back to her old man. Jesus. No wonder Belladonna couldn't track her down," 

Roman remarked with a hint of disdain. The records spoke of years of physical trauma as well as several psychiatric conditions ranging from bipolar disorder to schizophrenia. He threw the file onto the table, sending papers scattering across the surface. 

“This reads like a dossier of Arkham's most dangerous inmates; bi-polar disorder, paranoid schizophrenia, dementia, dissociative identity disorder, psychotic depression, PTSD,” 

Roman looked back and forth from several documents but he seemed to be studying their headers, logos and signatures as much as he was reading the diagnosis and treatment history. It was a chaotic mess. 

“These diagnoses contradict each other. Bet money no one was paying attention when she was admitted." 

"Even if she somehow found her mother now, there's no way she could get her released, probably wouldn’t even be allowed to visit her."

Zsasz nodded grimly in agreement. "But on the bright side, this gives us leverage over whoever is treating her. If they want to keep this quiet, they won’t involve the police." A sly smile spread across Roman's face.

Roman smirked at Zsasz, “Maybe they just need a good scare.”

“Pain is scary,” Zsasz said with a smile.

"We'll need to take a trip to Metropolis soon. But before we do, make sure you dig up every detail possible on the doctors in charge of her care and anyone involved in her admission. I want it all. I won't tolerate any more surprises." 

Zsasz nodded, “Got it.”

“I’m going to bed.” His voice dripped with deadly intent as he tossed the file back onto the desk and turned, stalking off toward his bedroom.

Roman crawled back into his bed and looked over to the side he usually slept on, Belladonna had her back to him, she had rolled over in her sleep and he found himself staring at a scar on her back. Long and jagged, one that had taken over thirty sutures to close, his lip curled up when he thought about how it got there. The tip of his finger had barely brushed against her skin when she turned over and curled closer to him, not close enough to nestle in his arms but close enough he could leisurely touch her, his hand slipped from her shoulder down the curve of her side before settling on her hip. She made a little noise of contentment and scooted a bit closer. Stans words to him played over in his head as sleepiness began to gently tug at him.

“She could be good for, Roman,”

Roman just smirked, shook his head then pulled his hand away and folded his pillow over, eventually drifting off to sleep.

—-

Belladonna slowly blinked awake, the cool space beside her a stark contrast to the warmth she craved. This time, when she woke up in Roman’s bed she felt no panic, in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so well. Sure, she wouldn’t have minded staying in bed, rolling over, and going back to sleep but the sunlight streaming in from the window made that hard. She sat up and stretched, disentangling the sheets that had twisted around her legs, searching the room for any trace of Roman.

The faint sound of running water drew her towards the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar. With careful steps, she approached, peeking inside to find Roman at the sink. He stood tall, only a black towel wrapped around his waist, traces of shaving cream on his jawline as he focused on his steam-framed reflection.

She held her breath, captivated by the oddly domestic sight of Roman. Despite their closeness, she had never seen him so undressed, always shrouded in mystery and tailored suits. His broad muscular back bore was a blank canvas, surprisingly devoid of tattoos, she hadn’t exactly expected any as they didn't seem like they fit his personality. She only saw maybe two faded scars, one looked like a knife wound and another maybe a bullet, he certainly wasn’t covered in them like Zsasz was. She couldn't help but let her gaze linger on the edge of the towel, if only he wasn’t so paranoid...

"Roman had me get some things for you for work," Zsasz's voice broke the moment as he entered with a garment bag. Startled, Belladonna jumped with a startled gasp and stepped back, feeling a flush of embarrassment. But it was too late, when she changed a glance over her shoulder Roman met her gaze with a smirk and a freshly shaven face. 

A knowing grin playing on his lips. Her heart quickened, realizing she had been caught off guard, a rarity she tried to avoid.

“Time for work angel,”

Fifteen

---

Little R&R Roman style? I know, I'm a tease... Sorry guys, stay tuned the spice is coming soon...!

@keffirinne @daenerys-skywalker @supernatural-lover

#fanfiction is life #i have too many stories #original character #alternate universe #roman sionis smut #roman sionis imagine #romansionis #roman sionis fan fiction #roman sionis x original female character #roman sionis #black mask #black mask imagine #romansionissmut #romansionisimagine #romansionisblackmask #romansionisfanfiction #blackmaskimagine #black mask fanfiction #belladonna fucking black #belladonna black #shadows of deception #blackmasksmut #blackmaskfanfiction #dc #dc fandom #dc birds of prey #dc comics #dc universe

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Thirteen

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

Chapter Thirteen

Make Hate to Me by Citizen Soldier

Like a captive panther, Roman paced the length of his expansive penthouse, prowling ceaselessly with the restless vigor of a predator confined to too tight a space. Coiled so tightly he could snap at the slightest hint of provocation. The resonant tapping of his shoes against the hardwood floor echoed like a metronome ticking away at his sanity with each stride. 

His mind became a swirling vortex of suspicion and paranoia in the aftermath of the encounter with Belladonna, morphing his thoughts into a Molotov cocktail of anger, mistrust, and apprehension. 

Who in their right mind gives a gun to a guy they’ve watched shoot three people; then challenges him to use it on her? Only a lunatic, that's who.

A woman with more fucking balls than half the men he employed. 

Belladonna-fucking-Black. 

She really hit a nerve, no. She didn’t just hit a nerve, she found it and went digging into it like she was searching for buried treasure, exposing the raw nerves she'd found. It was something he couldn't stand admitting, not even to himself. The fact that it was Craven who had got the ball rolling just made it all the more annoying; a stain on the polished and unaffected facade Roman prided himself on. 

Goddammit, she was right; Roman had swaggered into that place feeling like the King of Gotham, all confidence, the smell of sex still clinging to his clothes, but he stormed out like some kind of diva denied an encore. He fell right into Craven's trap, and he was fucking furious about it.

Every lap around the penthouse, room to room brought him no peace; it only coiled him tighter, his fists clenched and let go, like he was just itching for a fight. Ready to put holes in walls, which he had certainly done before. He had told Belladonna to trust him and she had. Trust. Hmm.

It should've been simple, but trust, especially when it came to dodging murder charges, was never so straightforward. Like trusting a rat bastard double agent, nothing was what it seemed. The straight-up move would've been to off her quick and dump her ass in Gotham Bay with Jimmy and his crew that fateful night, then find some stupid hot little something to bury his dick in until those dark eyes were barely a memory. But no, he got sucked in by her pretty face, long legs, and the fact she hadn't screamed or given him a reason to pull the trigger on her. So, dumbass that he was, he decided to trust her. And that made him a fucking idiot.

Trusting Belladonna—what a joke, right? But damn it all, he couldn't shake the nagging truth in her words. He'd listened to her interview tape, and Derrick was right; she walked in alongside Roman like she owned the place, like every single one of them was beneath her, and handled Ramirez like a goddamned queen, even when he practically called her a slut. His fists tightened at the memory, shaking with fury, and suddenly, he had a strong urge to introduce Ramirez's face to a sack of bricks. Over and over again.

Nobody talked about Belladonna like that, nobody disrespected his angel like that… That son of a bitch.

But then there was her admission to the detective; 

"Sooner or later, he'll move on, find someone more thrilling, someone willing to do things I won't. And when that day comes, I'll thank him for the good times and head my own way."

Did she really think he thought so little of her? Why did that piss him off so much? Because it couldn't have been further from the truth, damn it. Belladonna was sharp, she was sexy, and she had a backbone that most people lacked. She was probably the only woman unafraid of him, so much so that she dared to put a loaded gun into his hand. Ballsy move aside, it didn’t do anything to cushion the blow that had been her words to the detective.

They'd spun a tale of being deeply in love, he painted them as destined lovers, not star-crossed. She wasn't supposed to be so indifferent. But, she wasn't entirely off base. 

"Men like Roman don't fall in love," 

That's what she'd said. How the hell would she know? He scoffed mid-stride, like she fucking knew him? Roman never took kindly to being told who he was or what he could or couldn't do, no matter how absurd the assumption. Tell Roman Sionis not to do something? Fuck that, he’d do the thing, look good doing it all the while flipping you the bird.

 She should've told that bastard Ramirez that she and Roman were goddamn soulmates. That Roman would level the Gotham skyline for her, and she’d sooner walk over broken glass than leave him, because he was her whole world. 

Wasn't he?

It was a lie, their whole story was a lie, so there was no reason for him to be so pissy about the truth bomb she dropped, or was there? If there was one thing he could trust, it was that Belladonna didn't want to die; she wanted her life, she told him as such and people didn’t just lie about things like that. She wanted endless days where she slept in late, worried for nothing and had her mother. She wanted freedom.

Jesus, he'd completely forgotten about her mother, the one he was supposed to be tracking down. Damn it. That was a problem for another time. The point was, she had something to lose, and she wasn't dumb enough to rely on the cops to keep her safe from him. They couldn't even nab the bastard who almost killed her. Seemed like all he had these days were problems, and they all stemmed from a drop-dead gorgeous, black-haired, red-lipped angel, in a ridiculously short, red dress. Goddamn that dress...

It twisted his guts, this inability to either take her out or draw her in closer, and the frustration surged, hot and uncontrollable. What the hell was going on with him? 

He was Roman-Goddamn-Sionis.

Zsasz hovered by the doorway, a looming figure swallowed by the shadows he wore as naturally as Roman donned his suits. His stance exuded an unusual ease, yet his senses remained sharp, both were a byproduct of years working for Roman Sionis. He knew better than to disturb the heavy brooding with idle chit-chat; when Roman muttered to himself, he wasn’t looking for a response. It was simply a means for Roman to declutter his mind. Surviving as long as Zsasz had in Romans employment demanded an understanding of his boss's volatile state that often required him to take note of the tiniest details. As such, Zsasz only offered his thoughts when asked for them, always careful to maintain a neutral tone to soothe rather than aggravate Roman's inner mayhem. 

True Roman was his boss, but he knew better than anyone that just because the man paid you, didn't make you friends. He'd seen more than a few men make that mistake and pay with it in blood. 

Roman abruptly ceased his pacing, his stare fixating on a point in the distance, his fingers drumming against the polished mahogany desk. Trapped within his own thoughts, ensnared in his own skin, torn between a desire he didn't quite understand and the rigid creed he lived by. Yielding to emotion was tantamount to weakness, but he couldn't shake the sting of Belladonna’s words to his ego. 

"Zsasz," Roman grunted, finally acknowledging his lieutenant's presence without meeting his gaze. His voice carried a sharp edge, tinged with an unspoken plea for counsel. "What's your take?" 

Zsasz's response was measured, devoid of judgment or emotion. "If Belladonna's a threat, we take care of it. If not, we turn the situation to our advantage."

"Advantage… What the fuck does that even mean?" Roman muttered, the word dripping with a bitterness that left a foul taste in his mouth. The irony wasn't lost on him; Belladonna was both a potential threat and an unwitting pawn in his game, and as everyone knows; in chess you always protect the queen. 

But was she his queen or his pawn?

"Keep your friends close," Roman mused aloud.

"Keep your enemies closer," Zsasz added. 

But which category did Belladonna fall into?

Roman took a deep breath, attempting to push back the chatter threatening to overwhelm him. The silence hung heavy between them, pregnant with anticipation. He knew he had to make a choice, draw lines in the sand. Yet, for the first time in ages, Roman Sionis hesitated, caught up in the complexities of a business relationship he never anticipated.

The shrill ring of Roman's phone shattered the silence of the penthouse like a banshee's wail, its piercing tone cutting through the tense atmosphere. Despite its normal volume, the sound seemed ear-splitting to Roman's heightened senses, adding to the turmoil already swirling within him. His jaw clenched, a reflexive tic occasionally twitching along its line, as his mind spun with uncertainty. Ignoring the phone, he resumed his relentless pacing, the muted tapping of his footsteps lost amidst the tempest of his emotions.

"Who the hell does she think she is?" Roman growled to himself, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides, knuckles cracking every so often. 

"Should've tossed her out with Jimmy when I had the chance!" Zsazs reached for the phone, silencing its ring, Roman was in no mood to take phone calls.

He continued to grumble to himself, his steps growing more tense and chaotic, all pace and rhythm lost until he was all but stomping across the floor.

"Going goddamned soft over fucking pussy!" 

Pussy he hadn't even had yet, what the fuck was going on with him. He needed to fuck away his frustrations.

His phone violently vibrated against the glass tabletop, the incessant buzzing more piercing than a banshee's scream. It was an insistent reminder, a constant interruption to the chaos consuming his mind. Belladonna's name flashed across the screen with each call that went unanswered.

"Damn it, Belladonna," he growled under his breath, a dangerous brew of desire and disdain bubbling within him. He could have silenced it all—silenced her—with one swift move, yet here he was, tripping over an invisible thread he couldn't sever.

The buzzing paused briefly, giving a momentary break, but it was just a moment of calm before the storm resumed. Like clockwork, the phone buzzed again, its vibrations carrying an urgent, almost desperate tone.

"Can't even trust my own instincts anymore," Roman spat out, the admission tasting like venom on his tongue. 

"No! I just had to be a fucking gentleman and let the lady live!"

The phone buzzed once more. But Roman made no move towards it; instead, he let the sound saturate the room, a bitter accompaniment to his inner turmoil.

The incessant vibration of the phone served as a relentless backdrop, like the distant rumble of thunder signaling an approaching storm.

Zsasz stood by, silently, his eyes tracking Roman's restless movements, sensing the tension coiling tightly within his boss, ready to erupt at any moment. Zsasz knew better than to draw Roman's ire; he remained at a safe distance, a shadowy presence lingering at the edge of Roman's awareness.

Seven calls and counting. Constant vibrations that crawled beneath Roman’s skin, fraying his composure. On the eighth, something snapped inside him. He froze mid-stride, directing a sharp glare towards the source of the incessant noise.

"Enough!"  

His percussive fist slammed into a nearby wall denting the drywall, but there was plenty more where that came from “Zsasz,” Roman's voice rumbled low, barely containing the simmering fury. "What the hell is that racket?"

Without a flicker of emotion crossing his face, Zsasz stepped forward into the light, his presence unobtrusive yet undeniable. 

"It's Belladonna," 

Roman's jaw clenched, the muscles there working as if to grind down the reality of Zsasz's words into something more palatable. Belladonna. Her name was a trigger, an invocation that stirred a fury within him he couldn't quell.

Like a match to gasoline, igniting a firestorm in Roman's chest that blazed through his veins, incinerating any last remnants of self-control. His hand shot out, snatching the phone from where it lay passive and unassuming on the table. The device became an extension of his rage as it flew across the room, colliding with the wall. Plastic and metal burst apart in a chaotic symphony of destruction, pieces scattering like shrapnel, and the room fell into silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he caught sight of his reflection and staring back at him in the glass—a man barely containing the monster within.

~~~

Belladonna's grip tightened around her phone with each unanswered ring, the lifeline she hoped would connect her to Roman went unacknowledged. It had rang more times than she could count and before going to voicemail.

"You've reached the one and only, Roman Sionis. Your message should be as brief as my patience. Leave it, and I'll consider listening. Key word: consider. Good luck."

Even when she handed the phone to her unexpected visitor to leave a voicemail, her calls remained unanswered. With bated breath, she attempted a few more calls until finally, there was a response: 

“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”

Her face drained of color, and then the call abruptly ended. Belladonna's heart sank into the depths of her stomach, a feeling she had become all too familiar with lately and one she loathed. Roman wasn't going to pick up.

Her delicate fingers loosened their grip on the now-useless device, setting her phone down on the coffee table with a quiet resignation. It might as well have been an expensive paperweight now; there was no point in trying to make any more calls. Panic surged through her, a feeling she had never experienced before. This was the moment. He had done it—cut her off, left her to fend for herself. Maybe he had changed his number or just shut it off altogether. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her, leaving her feeling cold and abandoned.

She lifted her gaze to meet that of her guests; Oswald Cobblepot's. His presence loomed large in her living room, flanked by men whose hands rested near holstered weapons. With their unwanted intrusion into a space that was once a haven suddenly made the room seem so small and claustrophobic.

"Will Roman be joining us soon, my dear?" His voice was cordial as he lit up a cigarette, yet it held an undertone of something that couldn't quite be named—something predatory. Cobblepot leaned back in the armchair, steepling his fingers as he waited for an answer he seemed to know wouldn't come. The silence stretched between them, a taut wire ready to snap.

"Voicemail," she stated, her voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within. Whether it was the lie she spun or the certainty that awaited her on the other end, she couldn't decipher. Her words were matter-of-fact, belying none of the anxiety that skittered like frantic insects beneath her skin.

Cobblepot's eyes narrowed slightly, the edge of his mouth curled upward in what barely passed for a polite smile. It did nothing to soften the harsh lines of his face or the cold calculation that seemed to emanate from him. He shifted in his seat, the leather of the armchair creaking under his weight as he studied Belladonna. 

"My dear," he began, his seemingly gentle tone laced with a deceptive edge. “Are you quite certain, you’ve no way of reaching our lad, Roman? I really do need to speak directly with him. It's quite urgent." 

He stole a quick glance over his shoulder as he spoke, then gestured with a lazy flick of his hand, summoning a man in black to step forward. She hadn't paid much attention to his face before; in that moment, the guns aimed at her were her main concern. But now, her stomach lurched at the sight of the man's visage, a visceral reaction clawing at her insides. He had an imposing presence, his form seeming to swallow the light around him. But it was his face that truly unsettled her. It bore the cruel marks of recent violence, that sent the taste of bile churning from her stomach, she swallowed it down.

He was missing an ear. Just gone. It left a raw, ragged gap on the side of his head, the flesh around it angry and red. Blood seeped from the edges, staining his skin. The stitches, hastily done and looking like they were about to burst, pulled tight against his tender flesh, adding to the unsettling sight. She wanted to turn away, to look literally anywhere else, but her eyes remained fixed, unable to look away. A sharp intake of breath betrayed her shock, and her mouth hung open..

"There seems to have been a... misunderstanding regarding our business dealings," he continued, his words chosen with meticulous care. “Down at the docks.”

He fixated upon Belladonna, was a chilling abyss of malevolence. It bore into her with an intensity that made her blood run cold, a silent promise of the violence that lurked beneath the surface. In his eyes burned a primal fury, a seething resentment that threatened to consume everything in its path.

Her nails gouged into the flesh of her palms, leaving fiery crescents in their wake as she fought the urge to react. She shouldn’t have left. She should never have left Romans penthouse, and she was kicking herself for it now.

"I can't just let this sort of treatment of my lads go unanswered, you see. It's why it's rather crucial that Roman and I have a chat before someone else ends up hurt..."

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "He must be busy, right now. I’m sure he’ll check his messages soon." The words were a gamble, but they were all she had.

"Soon, eh?" Cobblepot repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue with a hint of amusement. "Business can be so messy when lines of communication are interrupted. Misunderstandings can lead to... unfortunate outcomes."

She fought to keep her composure, knowing that any sign of weakness could be her undoing. Her mind raced, searching for an out— but her thoughts kept turning back to that night when Roman got word from Zsasz about the docks.

"Oh! I know!” His sudden burst startled her and she jumped slightly in her seat, which only drew a grin from her guest. “Perhaps there's a more direct approach?" Cobblepot suggested, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and malice. "Such as that panic button, there in your bag. A rather dramatic solution I know, I know, but effective. It sends a clear message, don’t it? Maybe he'll find the time to break away, eh?"

Yes! The panic button, she'd nearly forgotten all about the damn thing. He'd come running—if he chose to come at all.

"Sometimes, directness is the only way to cut through the noise," Cobblepot continued, watching her closely. She looked to the beg she'd tossed on the counter in a rage, then back to Cobblepot, he waved to one of his men, "Gents, the ladies bag, if you will."

A harsh pair of hands, rough and impatient, snatched the bag from the counter, diving into its contents with little regard for delicacy or discretion. They rifled through the bag's contents with an almost frenzied urgency. However, their zealous rummaging was abruptly halted as Cobblepot intervened, his voice cutting through the frenetic energy like a blade.

"Stop," he commanded, his tone icy and commanding and for the first time his voice matched his demeanor. The hands froze mid-motion, reluctantly withdrawing from the bag as Cobblepot's piercing gaze bore into their owner with an intensity that brooked no argument.

"Now, now, lads, a ladies things deserve more respect than that. Apologies Miss Black, may I call you Belladonna, Miss Black seems so formal and I'd like us to be friends."

She gave a slow nod, "Sure."

He smiled and the harsh hand that was just rummaging through her bag suddenly thrust it in front of her, "If you would please, Belladonna, lets see that panic button eh?"

Her fingers twitched, the button was in her hand, the ability to summon Roman battled with the fear of what would follow; would he even come? Cobblepot's words were a chess move, pushing her toward action while reminding her of the stakes, Roman's response notwithstanding. She pushed the button.

~~~

Roman's forehead glistened with sweat, each droplet born of the force with which he hammered the heavy bag. In the soft glow of his penthouse gym, his movements were sharp and fierce, releasing his pent-up frustration with every punishing strike. With each blow, he couldn't shake the thoughts of Belladonna's unwanted intrusion into his carefully guarded sanctuary of self-control.

The echoing thud of leather meeting canvas filled the space, accompanied by the rhythmic rasp of his breath. His usually icy gaze burned with an intensity that betrayed the storm brewing inside him—a mixture of anger, frustration, and an insatiable thirst for dominance.

Despite the chaos of his assault, Roman's actions were precise and calculated, each strike a testament to his control. It was as if he were conducting a symphony of violence, every movement deliberate and purposeful, yet fueled by a primal energy that threatened to consume him.

This was Roman regaining control, not through restraint or diplomacy, but through sheer aggression.

In stark contrast to Romans controlled fury, Zsasz worked with quiet efficiency in the next room, where the remnants of the shattered phone lay scattered on the dining table like evidence of a minor explosion. With deft fingers, he assembled a new device, transferring the SIM card from the broken phone to its replacement. It was a task he performed without hesitation, because this wasn't the first phone to meet an unfortunate fate, knowing well the expectations of his volatile employer. Thus far, when it came to phones for the year, Roman had come in under budget.

As he powered on the new device, its screen lit up, revealing a cascade of missed calls—all from the same contact: Belladonna. 

Zsasz's lips pressed into a thin line, the only sign of his concern as he navigated through the notifications. The calls all spaced less than a minute apart. Roman's outbursts were never without consequence; missed communications during such episodes often meant trouble—trouble that had a way of escalating quickly. Roman might have been angry at Belladonna right now but Zsasz knew his employer well enough to know that his current anger would pale in comparison if something had actually happened to Belladonna. 

"Roman," Zsasz called out in a calm tone, purposely keeping a safe distance from his boss's volatile aura. He didn’t envy that punching bag and he sure as hell didn’t want to take its place. 

"There are fifteen missed calls from Belladonna."

The rhythmic thuds of Roman's fists against the heavy bag came to an abrupt stop. He stood there, fist coked, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, sweat glistening on his skin, his jaw clenched tight as he glared at the bag that had borne the brunt of his anger.

His cold gaze shot towards Zsasz, annoyance flaring in them like a match struck in darkness. But there was a brief pause as he glanced from the bag to Zsasz. "So?" he snarled, turning back to the bag and raising clenched fists once again.

"Bit much for her," 

"Probably calling to beg for forgiveness, I think she needs to learn about consequences of being a fucking drama queen." His fists shot out again, pounding furiously into the bag.

"Yeah,” He paused, sucking his teeth, “Thing is they're all less than a minute apart." Zsasz countered, his voice betraying none of the alarm coiling tight in his gut. "And there's one voicemail."

That caught Roman's attention long enough to pull him away from the leather-skinned adversary. His fists uncurled slightly, tension still riding high on his broad shoulders.

"Play it," 

Zsasz tapped the screen, and the room was filled with a voice that neither of them expected—a dry British voice laced with the dark honey of veiled threats and unwelcome familiarity.

"’Ello Roman, my dear fellow, you an’ I have gone and landed ourselves in a  bit of a pickle. Care to join us for a drink at your lovely lady’s abode? There’s matters to discuss, an’ don’t dawdle too long, she's looking a tad nervous, this lovely lady of yours, it’ don’t suit her. Cheers."

The name 'Oswald Cobblepot' didn't need to be spoken; its owner's presence was felt through the speakers, sending a jolt of electricity down Roman's spine. The blood pounding in his ears drowned out the sound of the bag's chain swinging idly, and for a moment, all was silent save for the taunting echo of Cobblepot's invitation. 

"Get the car," Roman snarled, his lip curling in a vicious sneer. No longer the captive prey, he was now the relentless predator, every sinew coiled with deadly purpose.

Zsasz snatched up keys while Roman hurriedly threw on a shirt and jacket. Their swift movements came to an abrupt halt as the phone emitted a sharp, piercing tone, different than any ordinary call or notification. It was an alert—a signal that pierced through the tension like a wailing siren. Roman's eyes narrowed as he seized the device, his thumb pressing firmly against the screen to reveal a pulsating red icon.

"Panic button." Roman growled, his voice dripping with a volatile mix of rage and apprehension.

"Move, now!" he barked at Zsasz, the urgency and gravity of the situation communicated in their exchanged glance. Without hesitation, Zsasz handed Roman a loaded gun, which he didn’t hesitate to accept, feeling an odd sensation about handling the gun once more. Especially since it was the same weapon Belladonna had thrust into his hand just a short time before.

~~~

The button, designed for emergencies, remained ominously quiet, devoid of any sound. Of course, it made sense; a panic button shouldn't give away the user's position. Still, a part of her wished for even a faint click, a subtle acknowledgment of her plea for help, some indication of its functionality. Yet, there was nothing but silence, exacerbating the sense of isolation and vulnerability.

She set it on the coffee table and her fingers clasped together in a futile attempt to steady herself amidst the escalating fear. Sitting across from her, Oswald Cobblepot's eyes flickered with a predatory amusement, reveling in the unease he instilled. 

"Ok," she said, her voice surprisingly steadier than she felt, but she still felt like throwing uo. She wondered if the lie tasted as bitter on her tongue as the truth of her desperation did. “He’s on his way.”

"Is that so?" He leaned back into the plush armchair, his fingers steepled before him, his gaze never wavering from her face. "I do hope he doesn't keep us waiting."

Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat a deafening drum reverberating through the room. The armed men stationed around her were like statues, and though it was irrational, she fought the urge to blink, because their unmoving presence reminded her of the weeping angels from Doctor Who. One blink, and they might spring to life. She opted for subtly crossing her fingers and toes for Roman's swift arrival. 

Her eyes first darted to the window, but that was no good. The ground below was too far to jump without risking injury, which made it useless as a means of escape. Living on the third floor didn’t offer her too many options. She could only go up to the roof which only put her in a more dangerous predicament, where would she go then? She’d be trading one trap for another. It wasn’t like she could sneak out the bathroom window either, it was tiny and not even a toddler could squeeze through it, besides, that also was under the assumption that she would be left alone in the first place. Judging by what she was seeing presently, it wouldn't surprise her if someone stood in the doorway and waited, not even giving her privacy if she actually had to pee. Despite her hands resting neatly in her lap, they were slick with perspiration.

"Well, while we’re twiddling our thumbs waiting for dear old Roman," Oswald started, tilting his head slightly, "Tell me, Belladonna, how are the lovebirds faring these days?" His voice oozed with faux interest, sharply contrasting the unspoken menace hanging heavy in the room's silence. 

“I must say, I was taken aback to see Roman parading around so publicly with a lady, but in a strange sort of way, it’s rather heartening. The poor lad's never been one for sticking to just one woman, especially not one so posh.”

Belladonna's throat tightened, constricting her breath. She bit down on her tongue, scrambling for a safe response, but she didn’t have one. This guy felt like a human lie detector, he definitely knew she was afraid, could she pass off a lie as fear? It was a hell of a gamble. The argument with Roman still stung, their harsh words lingering in her mind. Now, uncertainty clawed at her, making the idea of relying on him for rescue feel like nothing short of a pipe dream.

"Roman is... well, Roman," she hedged, her tone carefully neutral. 

But beneath the surface, panic surged as she continued to mentally map out escape routes and noting the positions of Oswald's men. Roman's absence left a void between her safety and the imminent danger. She had no choice but to prepare for the worst, to act as if she were truly alone. 

"I'm never bored."

A wave of dizziness washed over her, blurring her surroundings. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the fog that continued creeping in. The headache, a persistent throb since the police station that morning, pounded against her temples with renewed intensity. But maybe she would get lucky and it would turn out to be an aneurysm and she’d be dead before she hit the ground.

"Roman being Roman… Now that sounds spot on for the lad, doesn't it?" Oswald's amusement appeared genuine, his laughter almost convincing, but his narrowing eyes betrayed a deeper scrutiny. "You appear a tad off. Are you feeling quite yourself, my dear?”

"I'm fine, just a long day," she replied, mustering a forced smile that she knew wasn’t convincing anyone. Inside, her instincts screamed at her to move, to do anything other than sit there like a sitting duck. But she remained motionless, every muscle coiled for action but simultaneously frozen. 

"Of course," Oswald acknowledged, he looked almost sympathetic now, it really didn’t quit him. "Dealing with the police tends to ruffle feathers, doesn’t it? I do hope they maintained their decorum in your presence." She nodded with a soft ‘Mmhmm’, not remotely interested in hashing or drawing attention to their visit to the precinct or the circumstances as they left.

"You know, Belladonna, Roman is quite the peculiar individual." Oswald continued, prompting a genuine smile from her at the accurate portrayal of Roman. Wasn’t that the truth? "But that's his essence, isn't it? He's been that way since our school days." 

Cobblepot shook his head and pulled out a flask from his coat pocket, holding it out to her briefly. Normally, a drink would have been just the thing she needed, but at that moment, the sight of the flask turned her stomach for several reasons.

"Do you and Roman go way back?" 

Oswald chuckled deeply, looked like it. His reaction hinting that his sense of humor probably wasn’t on par with others. "Most certainly, all the way back to our days at Gotham Preparatory for Boys. Same year and all, me and Roman. Our families were close-knit for years until all that unpleasantness with his family. It's tough being the black sheep.” 

She had never been able to figure out what it was that had caused the clear rift between Roman and his family, but Oswald seemed to know. “Shame it was to find yourself on your own at such a young age. But that didn't stop him; look at him now! Building his own empire, a savvy businessman with a lovely lady by his side. Warms the heart. Gives the rest of us hope, eh?" Not enough hope for you, buddy. For a moment, he seemed lost in nostalgia, his gaze distant as if peering into the past. "Roman back then, what a force of nature…" 

"Never met a bloke more eager for a scrap than Roman. Always ready to throw fists, no matter the time or place. An’ he didn’t always win, but let me tell you, his opponents didn't walk away unscathed, that fella ‘as seen more blood than a turn of the century midwife.” He chuckled almost warmly but it was somehow wrong sounding. “A violent streak a mile wide, like a wild dog, really. By our senior year, Roman had men scurrying to the opposite side of the street just to steer clear of him, striking fear into everyone he encountered." His laughter resumed with a hearty slap on the knee, a memory amusing him while leaving the listener with the impression that most wouldn't share his amusement. 

"Once took a chunk out of a lad's ear. Oh yeah, blood runnin’ down his face, the other lad screamin’ in agony an’ not a one person stepped in to do anything, that’s the power Roman had. Should've seen him expelled and arrested, but you know how persuasive parents can be, can't they? Funny how things change; lately, I've never seen ‘im so calm and collected. Quite a departure from the Roman I've always known." His nonchalance in his recall of the memory, which by all means sounded horrific, seemed to completely tickle him and he slapped his knee again then wiped away a tear. 

He took a swig, the loud smacking of his lips likely to irk Roman—just as it did her. "Maybe it's all 'cause of havin' a lovely lady like yourself in his life. I reckon you've had quite the calming effect on our lad."

It was hard to wrap her head around the fact that Cobblepot and Roman were the same age. The difference between them was like night and day. Despite Roman being older than her, he still had that youthful spark about him. His smile could light up a room and make you feel like you were the most important person in the world with just a wink and a grin. He was charming and gorgeous.

On the other hand, Cobblepot looked like he had been through the wringer, more than once. He seemed aged beyond his years, with his face bearing the marks of countless battles lost. His smile wasn't exactly charming; it was a bit lopsided, his teeth slightly crooked and almost giving off a feral vibe. But that was what made him a bit scarier than Roman, at least at the moment. She never once thought Roman would sink his teeth into someone and rip out their throat, though he seemed to have a penchant for ear biting or slicing, and not in a fun kinky kind of way. Cobblepot looked as though he would go for the jugular and he didn’t care if it got messy.

"He's never been one to tolerate the paparazzi either, no siree. He's knocked out more than a few of 'em. Got himself quite the reputation, ain't that somethin'?"

None of that surprised Belladonna, not a bit. She kept up with the tabloids enough to know Roman Sionis was the last man whose face she’d shove a camera into. 

She squirmed on the plush couch under Oswalds uneven smile, feeling trapped in its luxury.

"Roman Sionis ain't got a bird on his arm like you, not a chance. Can't remember a time in all the bleedin' years I've known him when he's ever had more than a fleeting interest in a girl, that lasted longer than the time it took to get her into bed. Never seen him stickin' with the same tart twice; he's always been a 'use 'em and lose 'em' type, ain't he? Proper interesting, I tell ya," Oswald remarked in his typically casual tone, though there was a definite edge to his voice.

"With his fiery temper, most birds don't stick around too long, and I've never seen him being so lovey-dovey or payin' such close attention to a lady’s needs before. You must be a right gem, Miss Black. That's why, when I had trouble gettin' hold of him for a chat, I thought, maybe his new lady could help me track him down. So, I thought I'd pop by and pay you a visit. And here you are! Just as lovely as I imagined. Reckon you could be a good match for our bloke."

Belladonna wanted to scoff at that one. Special? If only he knew the mess Roman had made of her life. Or the further of that mess she’d made just an hour ago.

"Oh, he enjoys the chase, the thrill of something new and exciting. I'm just... the flavor of the month, you might say." She forced a dismissive wave of her hand, hoping it wasn’t shaking too noticeably.

Oswald leaned back, appraising her with a skeptic's eye. Whatever thoughts churned behind his calculating gaze, he kept them hidden for the moment. Belladonna held her breath, waiting for a response that didn't come. Instead, Oswald simply smiled, a knowing grin that told her he wasn't remotely convinced.

She was playing a dangerous game, but it was the only card she had left. And right now, her hand was all that stood between her and whatever plans Oswald Cobblepot harbored for Roman Sionis—and for her.

His thin lips curled into a smirk as he languidly reached into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket. Her pulse quickened, breath hitching slightly as she watched his deliberate movements, fearing a gun but what he pulled out was much worse. 

He withdrew a creased gossip magazine, flipping through pages with an air of nonchalance before stopping.

"Oh, come now, Belladonna. I think you're selling yourself quite short." 

He placed the glossy magazine on the table facing her, unveiling the stolen moment splashed across the tabloids.

The photo felt like it belonged to another lifetime, especially after the rollercoaster of a week they'd just been through. Frozen in that moment, it captured them mid-kiss: her hand resting lightly on his chest, the other tangled in the back of his hair. Roman's arm wrapped snugly around her waist, his hand cradling her cheek, the kiss filled with a passion that left no room for hesitation or doubt.

Multiple shots immortalized their intimacy, lips locked in a hungry dance, tongues entwined in a private tango. She had barely caught a glimpse of the camera lens before she leaned in for that impulsive kiss; she hadn't seen this specific photo yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time before it surfaced. Surprisingly, it took longer than she thought.

In the picture, they seemed like different people altogether, lost in a love that consumed them both. For a moment she initiated, Roman looked as though such affection came naturally to him, as if they'd been doing it for years. As opposed to what they were.

"But I think we both know you're more than a 'flavor of the month'." 

Belladonna's throat turned to sandpaper, her stomach churning with unease. She took a shaky breath, desperate to maintain her facade of indifference. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, attempting to form a response, but she found herself utterly speechless. Her silence spoke volumes.

"That's what I thought…" His eyes gleamed with malice. "See, this photo says two things to me. One: it means you've certainly got a hold of Roman's heartstrings, which makes you a very rare bird indeed. One I should like very much to be on good terms with," His smile twisted, revealing unusually sharp teeth. "Or, it means you really are just the flavor of the month, but damn, what a flavor it is. In that case, I'm wasting my time here, and you can't be of any real assistance. And that last one puts us all in a rough spot…"

She felt the room spin, her vision blurring at the edges, occasionally twinkling with fairy lights. Oswald wasn't here for small talk; he was a vulture circling his prey, ready to strike. Her body trembled as she fought back the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. This was more than a game of cat and mouse—her life hung in the balance, and she knew it.

"So, which is it, my dear, Belladonna?" Oswald purred, his gaze never leaving hers.

The room tilted, and Belladonna clutched at the armrest of the couch to steady herself. She could practically hear the trap snapping shut, the finality of her options dwindling to none. With every second that ticked by, her hope of walking away from this encounter unscathed slipped further out of reach.

Oswald's eyes narrowed, sensing the shift in Belladonna's demeanor as her body swayed ever so slightly. The steeliness that once laced her words now hung frayed and tattered. She seemed a porcelain figure on the verge of shattering, each breath drawn sharper than the last.

"He’s not coming, is he?" 

He let out a very heavy sigh that was full of what sounded like real disappointment, it was the only thing about his presence that she believed. "That's very unfortunate, isn't it?” His voice slithered through the air, but Belladonna's lips remained sealed, her thoughts ensnared in a tumultuous storm she couldn’t escape.  

Behind her, the cold muzzle of a gun pressed unceremoniously against the base of her skull, freezing her blood in her veins again.

“You must understand my dear, no one is more disappointed by the outcome of this little meeting than myself. I’d hoped for a far less messy conclusion, but it seems Roman has made that decision for us already, and I do hope there's no personal feelings. You must understand, it's just business." He patted her hand patronizingly, she nodded and closed her eyes taking a deep breath. "No, no, lads, let's do in the chest, this lovely lady deserves an open casket, don't she?"

Once more, Belladonna found herself staring down the barrel of a gun, the heavy weight of impending death pressing down on her. As the hand wielding the weapon leveled it directly at her heart, the world around her began to blur into a surreal haze. Clear sounds melted away into nothingness, replaced by a distant ringing akin to tinnitus, and the voices around her morphed into incomprehensible gibberish, like the muted chatter of adults in a Peanuts cartoon.

Despite the gravity of the unfolding situation, Belladonna felt herself drifting away from reality, slipping into a state of dissociation as if observing the scene from afar. Time seemed to stretch out endlessly amidst the chaos, the stale odor of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of gun oil emanating from the handgun aimed at her. Oswald's gestures appeared exaggerated, like some ringmaster orchestrating the final act of a grim circus performance.

Physical symptoms of discomfort began to ease—dizziness fading, headache receding, nausea subsiding, trembling abating, clammy palms cooling—she found herself suspended in an eerie calm.

The mundane sounds of shoes tapping on the floor, and the accompanying creak of floorboards beneath them, the whirr of her ceiling fan, with the loose bolt she'd intended to tighten to silence its occasional squeak all added to the surreal atmosphere.

She looked up the barrel of the gun to the indifferent stare of the man before her, and for a second she wondered if this was what a doctor facing a condemned convict before administering a lethal injection looked like. Silence stretched thick with anticipation until it was abruptly shattered by a forceful entry that brooked no subtlety, as the door to her apartment burst open.

Roman Sionis, a tempest of fury and resolve, stormed into the room like a cataclysmic force of nature, accompanied by Zsasz and a formidable cadre of a dozen armed men. Each figure exuded an aura of unyielding power and control, their weapons drawn with synchronized precision honed through countless deadly encounters, they moved as one, their steps echoing a deadly choreography perfected through the crucible of battle.

All of her senses swirled in a chaotic symphony, her pulse pounding like a drumbeat in her ears, drowning out the sounds of impending danger. Time continued to warp and stretch, as if caught in a surreal limbo, until her gaze finally lifted from the menacing barrel of the gun to meet Roman's intense stare.

In an instant, clarity pierced through the frenzy,  and the world snapped back into focus. Roman's presence enveloped her like a looming shadow, his aura pulsating with a barely restrained intensity that seethed beneath his calm exterior. As he stalked into the living room his every movement commanded silence and respect. Like he had clawed his way up from the bowels of hell, draped in darkness, emanating a raw power that left all who beheld him caught between awe and apprehension.

One thing was clear—Roman Sionis had arrived, a formidable force to be reckoned with, and he was fucking pissed.

The man holding the gun jerked suddenly and his hand landed heavily on Belladonna's shoulder, keeping her firmly trapped in place. He was quick to redirect the gun, pressing it menacingly against her temple. She took the motion, feeling it flow through her limbs but found herself still very detached from what was happening.

Oswald’s lips curved into a smile as he looked at Roman, almost as if he were greeting an old friend. But, while "old" fit, calling them friends was stretching it a bit.

"Ah, the man of the hour!" Oswald announced, his voice a mix of amusement and a hint of caution. "You've finally decided to grace us with your presence. Good thing too, Belladonna here was getting antsy, poor thing seemed to think she wasn't much of a priority at all." He reached for Belladonna's hand, giving it a reassuring pat, "See? I told you, you was something special, love."

Roman's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking like a warning sign of the eruption brewing within him. His eyes, black and hard, fixed on the cold steele still trained on Belladonna. 

"Put that gun down and take your hands off my angel," Roman growled, low and dangerous. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the leather of his black gloves creaking as his grip intensified.

Oswald was seemingly unperturbed by the lethal aura emanating from Roman, unlike his men who seemed more concerned with being in his vicinity, but a flicker in his gaze betrayed a hint of caution. He knew better than to mistake Roman's controlled fury for weakness, as he had told Belladonna, they went way back. 

"Temper, temper, Roman," he chided mockingly as if the whole thing was a prank or a joke that lacked a punchline. "We're all friends here, aren't we?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Cobblepot. If your man doesn't lower his piece, I can guarantee there won’t be enough of you and your crew left to fill a matchbox. Tell them to step back, or I might just conveniently forget our... 'history' altogether."

Oswald gestured with a tilt of his head and a flick of his hand, the henchman behind Belladonna lowered his weapon, releasing her shoulder and stepping back but never quite relaxing his stance. It was unnerving, it looked as though Cobblepot had the disadvantage, Roman had more men and more guns, so why was Cobblepot smiling?

Roman's steely gaze held firm even as the immediate threat of the gun subsided, a silent triumph in the precarious power play. The atmosphere in the room shifted, Oswald still stood between Roman and Belladonna.

Roman's face remained unreadable, giving away none of the gut-wrenching worry that consumed him. He had honed the ability to hide his feelings, knowing they were vulnerabilities he couldn't afford to show. Just his mere presence spoke volumes, revealing far more than Roman wanted to let on.

"Come here, Belladonna," 

Oswald glanced downward and extended his hand to assist her in rising to her feet. Roman gritted his teeth at the contact but remained still as a statue. With cautious movements, she stood up slowly, her gaze wary as she searched for any sign of movement from him. Yet, he remained motionless, his expression impassive as if it were just another Tuesday for this asshole. Oswald didn't press further, simply aiding her to stand before offering a reassuring pat on her hand.

With tentative steps, she moved forward, drawn inexorably by the gravitational pull of Roman's presence. Each step was tentative, and she swayed slightly, feeling off-balance. As she closed the distance between them, she reached out with a trembling hand and grasped onto Roman's outstretched arm. From there, he took over, pulling her securely behind him, shielding her from harm and providing a sense of stability with his unyielding frame.

"Well now look at that, such a fine looking couple. Now that we're all here, we need to have a bit of a chat. Seems like you've been busy at the docks, Roman," Oswald said, attempting to steer the conversation towards territories less fraught with personal entanglements. "Shipping lanes are getting crowded these days. I think we had a bit of a misunderstanding there recently, let's clear that up, shall we?" 

"Nothing to clear up. Stay out of my business, Cobblepot," Roman replied curtly, his focus divided between the veiled threats and the fragile figure clinging to him. "And keep your men on a shorter leash."

Oswald's smile thinned, a hint of steel entering his previously jovial tone. "Just trying to keep the waters smooth for everyone. You know how messy it can get when lines are crossed."

"Then don't cross them," Roman shot back, each word laced with an icy finality. "Or next time I won't be so nice."

"Roman, one of my boys here is missing an ear, you call that nice?" He said it so lightheartedly as if he were making a joke he expected people to chuckle at. The man missing an ear didn’t seem to find any humor in the observations nor Romans presence, he just glared at Belladonna but seemed to take a step back when Romans abyssal gaze fell on him.

"Yeah, I sent him back alive." 

Belladonna's fingers clenched around his arm, her complexion draining of color to resemble the stark paleness of alabaster. This transformation made her dark hair appear even more striking, akin to the sleekness of a raven's wing—a detail not unnoticed by Roman. Though he refrained from displaying any overt reaction, he offered her a subtle squeeze of reassurance. In this game of power, every gesture was scrutinized, every weakness potentially exploited.

"Watch yourself, Sionis,"

"Always do," Roman replied, his eyes never leaving Oswald's.

"Lads, I think we've taken up enough of Romans time for the moment,"

With a nod to his men, Oswald signaled the withdrawal, and one by one, they filed out of the apartment, leaving the space feeling more like an open wound than a place she once found comfort in. Roman's posture was rigid, an unspoken threat emanating from his every pore as he shielded Belladonna with his frame. His hand found the small of her back, protective and possessive all at once.

"Let's get one thing clear," Roman growled, his voice a low rumble of barely contained fury. "Your boys come sniffing around my territory or my woman again?" He leaned in closer to Oswald, his eyes narrowed into slits. "I send 'em back in pieces." Romans admission of Belladonna as 'his woman' didn't go unnoticed, drawing a few glances.

Oswald regarded him with a cold amusement, unfazed by the promise of violence. "Protection is a tricky business, Roman." He strolled casually towards the door, pausing to adjust his cufflinks with meticulous care. "Better not skip our next little chat, hm? It would be most unfortunate to misunderstand each other over such... delicate matters. We still have things to sort out, we'll talk again soon."

Turning on his heel, Oswald, with a flourish that matched the grandiosity of his reputation, addressed Belladonna once more "My dear," he intoned, his voice slick as oil, "your hospitality has been most enlightening, an’ it’s been a pleasure to meet you, hope our paths cross again soon! So glad this all worked out!" 

Belladonna held her breath as she watched Oswald's back recede towards the door. He seemed to glide rather than walk, his every move calculated for effect. All the world's a stage, and while before she had often thought of Roman as a showman performing for a crowd, it came effortlessly to him. Oswald seemed to think his audience was larger than it was. His men, a cadre of shadows in suits, filed out behind him in silence. The door clicked shut with an air of finality.

Once the threat had physically left the premises, Roman's men sprang into action. Led by Zsasz they communicated with terse hand signals, moving like a well-oiled machine, sweeping through Belladonna's apartment with precision. The intensity of their search was surreal; they checked under tables, behind curtains, and inside cupboards. Every potential hiding spot was scrutinized, every corner scanned for bugs or any other surprises. The tension slowly began to ebb away as they methodically cleared each room, nodding to one another to confirm the absence of danger. 

Whirling around, he reached out, gently cupping her face. His eyes scanned her form, searching for any signs of injury, before finally locking onto her with an intensity that seemed to tether him to reality. 

"Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?" his voice low and gruff, strained with the struggle to keep his composure, the anger was still there though, just bubbling beneath the surface.

She could feel the heat from his body beginning to chase away the chill of fear that had seized her just moments ago. She tried to muster a response, but her body betrayed her, leaving her words tangled in a throat tight with panic and exhaustion. The throbbing returned, nausea surged back up, dizziness asserting control over her and all she could manage was a deathgrip on the lapels of his jacket.

“Loft is clear,” Zsasz, ever observant, stepped closer, his eyes scanning Belladonna with an analytical precision that missed nothing. "She doesn't look good, Roman," his voice devoid of emotion yet tinged with an urgency that underscored the gravity of the situation. 

Roman's jaw clenched, the mask of indifference he so often wore crumbling as his eyes took in the pallor of Belladonna's skin, the tremble in her limbs. 

"Talk to me, Belladonna," Roman urged, his thumb brushing against the nape of her neck in a soothing motion that belied the steel in his tone. 

His gaze sharpened at the subtle shiver that coursed through Belladonna, her skin a ghostly shade of white that even the dim lighting couldn't soften. Her eyes, usually so piercing and alive, now seemed to flicker with a quiet distress that pulled at something primal within him.

"When did you last eat?" 

Her dark eyes darted towards the door where Cobblepot had made his exit moments ago. "He was already here when I—" Her words tumbled out in a rush, the coherence of her thoughts frayed by the events that had unfolded. "I couldn't get out, Roman, and the panel was—" Her breaths came in short, panicked bursts, “The had their guns on me– he–he knew about the panic button–" 

"Focus, Angel," Roman cut in, his hand cupping her chin, compelling her gaze back to his. There was no anger in his touch, only a commanding steadiness that sought to guide her away from panic. "When. Did. You. Eat?"

Her lips parted, but it took a moment for the words to follow, hesitant and laced with confusion. "I– I'm– not sure." 

Roman's eyes narrowed, the pieces falling into place—a puzzle he hadn't realized was scattered before him until now. She was far more than just shaken from the experience.

Roman maneuvered her towards the plush divan, with each step, her weight leaned more heavily against him, her strength waning like the last flickers of a dying candle.

"Sit," he murmured, voice low, a command wrapped in a plea. But as he eased her down, her knees buckled like broken reeds, and she collapsed into his arms with the gracelessness of a marionette whose strings had been cut.

"Belladonna!" Roman's voice cracked like a whip through the tension-thick air. 

Her name, usually a purr of possession on his lips, now a jagged shard of panic. He held her close, her body limp in his embrace, her face ghostly pale—a specter of the vibrant woman who'd challenged him at every turn.

"She’s crashing." Zsasz's voice was distant yet urgent, breaking through the tension with a sense of impending crisis. 

The words hit Roman like a bolt of lightning, sending a surge of adrenaline through his veins. In that moment, his determination solidified – she was his. His decision to spare her life that night wasn’t going to be undone by something as simple or stupid as a sugar crash, ice flooded his veins as he remembered Daisy’s cautionary warning about the consequences. He gritted his teeth, pulling Belladonna closer as if his mere presence could ward off danger.

"Damn it," Roman growled, pulling Belladonna tighter against him, as if his own strength could fortify her. "Get her bag! Daisy said she’s always got something in her bag!"

Without hesitation, Zsasz darted forward, snatching up the discarded bag and rifling through its contents. His fingers closed around a small bag of M&Ms, an inconsequential discovery under normal circumstances.

Roman barely glanced at him, his focus solely on Belladonna, her head resting against his shoulder, her breaths shallow. He nodded tersely, signaling Zsasz to approach with the makeshift remedy.

"Out. All of you," Roman commanded, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the room. Not needing to be told twice, they filed out.

With the room now empty, Roman carefully positioned Belladonna against the couch's armrest, her body limp like that of a rag doll. With an unusual tenderness, he ripped open the bag of brightly colored candy, handling it with more care than he had shown anything in years. He then extended a handful to her trembling hands. It was a strange contrast; instead of medical supplies like gauze, stitches, or alcohol, it was a simple ninety-nine cent bag of candy that seemed to be coming to their rescue.

"Open your mouth, angel," he said, his command softening into a gentle coaxing, his voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos.

Belladonna's eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion and confusion. With trembling hands, she reached for the offered morsels, but her grip faltered, spilling a few onto the fabric of the couch.

"Roman..." she murmured weakly, her voice barely audible above the turmoil.

"Take the damn candy, Belladonna," he commanded, crushing the red morsel before guiding it to her lips. His touch was both tender and possessive as his thumb brushed against her lower lip, slipping the piece into her mouth.

As she chewed slowly, the chocolate melted on her tongue, leaving behind a sweet trail on her lips. With each passing moment, the tension in Roman's jawline eased slightly, replaced by a sense of relief as he observed her. He watched every subtle movement, from the way her throat worked as she swallowed to the faint return of color to her cheeks.

But even as he fed her the candy piece by piece, his muscles remained tense with worry, minutes ticking by without solace.

"This never would have happened if you hadn't stormed off," he said, the words slipping out amidst the quiet concern, a hint of the anger that had not long ago consumed him. But even as he spoke them, there was no force behind the reproach, no venom.

The sweetness seeping into her bloodstream was a lifeline thrown across the chasm of her fatigue, she leaned forward slumping against Roman’s shoulder.

"You were being a dick," she murmured, the accusation slipping out with a weak breath. It was less of an attack and more of an exhausted confession, her words slurred by the effort it took to voice them.

In the hollow quiet that followed, Roman's silhouette loomed over her, his presence a dark canopy in the dimly lit room. His eyes remained locked onto hers, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling in their depths—anger, concern, something indefinable that tugged at the corner of his mouth, suppressing the reflex to argue.

"Maybe," he conceded, the word almost lost in the space between them. 

He could have retorted, could have unleashed the cold fury that so often defined him, but here, with Belladonna's life seeming to hang by a thread, such defenses seemed petty. 

As her head came to rest against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear was a grounding rhythm in the chaos. Belladonna's grip on Roman tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him like a lifeline. 

"Your heart’s going crazy," she muttered low and quietly. With every pulse, her sugar levels climbed, dragging her back from the brink, each beat whispering promises of safety, of possession.

Roman's arms adjusted around her, movements deliberate, ensuring her comfort as they supported her weakened frame. The dangerous dance continued, the lines of their relationship blurred and redrawn with every shared breath, every silent oath spoken through actions rather than words. And as her sugar stabilized, Roman's gaze searched Belladonna's face for any sign of improvement.  

“We should get out of here boss,” Roman nodded to Zsasz’s suggestion. “I’ll call the doc.”

He leaned in closer, steadying her with one arm while using the other to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. His voice was softer now, the hard edges worn down by worry. 

"Can you stand?" 

Belladonna’s eyes fluttered open, the fog of weakness still clouding her vision. She attempted to focus on Roman's face, the lines of anxiety etched deeply around his eyes. Her lips parted, but no clear words formed, just a breathy murmur that left her intentions as hazy as the room spinning gently around them.

"Alright." 

The word was a low rumble in Roman's chest, his decision made in the absence of a coherent response. In one fluid motion, he slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her back, lifting her from the couch as though she weighed nothing at all. His hands, those instruments of both violence and protection, cradled her gently, lifting her from the couch as though she were made of glass.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, the world tilting precariously as he carried her toward the door. Belladonna's hands clung weakly to the collar of his shirt, the fabric bunching under her tentative grasp. 

"Get the car," Roman commanded without breaking his gait, his voice devoid of any emotion but the steel of authority. 

Zsasz nodded and slipped away to execute the order, leaving Roman to face the remaining men. Their eyes followed him, curious and calculating, but none dared to step out of line. They recognized the silent fury that lurked beneath the surface of Roman's composure—a fury that promised retribution should anyone challenge his actions or question his motives. There was no protest, only the silent acquiescence to his unspoken command, but there was confusion and questions. 

Roman Sionis didn’t do this. He didn’t carry anyone, he didn’t bring down an ungodly show of force for a woman. But none of them were stupid enough to voice these questions.

Roman's stride was unwavering as he navigated through the sea of exchanged glances from his men. The weight of Belladonna in his arms did nothing to hinder his pace, his jaw set in a hard line, every muscle in his body tensed for action. He could feel their eyes on him, watching this rare glimpse of tenderness from a man known for his ironclad control and ruthlessness.

He felt it too, the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the unspoken questions hanging in the air. Why the sudden display of care? What had changed the game so drastically that Roman Sionis, a figure feared and respected in equal measure, would expose even a hint of weakness?

But there was no time for doubt, no space for hesitation. The urgency thrummed through his veins like a drumbeat, propelling him forward. His priority was clear: get Belladonna to safety, away from prying eyes and lurking dangers. His world, which he ruled with an iron fist, could crumble if he didn't act swiftly to protect what was now an extension of himself.

The corridors of the building blurred past them, the staccato tap of his shoes against the floor punctuating the silence. Roman could sense the tension rolling off his men, the unasked questions about loyalty, power and possession. But they knew better than to voice them. They understood the unspoken rule—the boss's business was his own until he deemed otherwise.

The cool air kissed their faces as they emerged into the street, he shifted Belladonna slightly, ensuring her head was sheltered against the chill. Her breath, shallow and fragile, brushed against his neck, a reminder of her current fragility, something he was very uncomfortable with.

As the sleek black vehicle pulled up along the curb, Roman lowered Belladonna into the backseat with a gentleness that contradicted the harsh lines of his face. Then he turned to address his crew, his gaze sweeping over them with a cold intensity.

"Secure the perimeter. No one gets in or out without my say-so, and sweep it from top to bottom." he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.

The men nodded, a chorus of murmured affirmatives filling the space between them as Roman slid into the car beside Belladonna. The door closed with a definitive thud, sealing them away from the outside world. As the engine roared to life, Roman allowed himself a brief moment to look down at the woman in his arms, her presence a quiet assertion of his priorities.

She was safe—for now. And as the car sped away, disappearing into the night, Roman Sionis knew that the game had changed irrevocably, and all because of the woman who had unwittingly become his everything.

Fourteen

~~~

Things are heating up!!! @supernatural-lover @keffirinne

#i have too many stories #fanfiction is life #original character #alternate universe #roman sionis smut #belladonna fucking black #belladonna black #shadows of deception #roman sions #roman sionis x original female character #roman sionis fan fiction #roman sionis imagine #dark romance #birds of prey #dc fandom #blackmasksmut #black mask fanfiction #black mask imagine #simping for the bad guy #WHo's the real bad guy #bop #ewanmcgregorcharacters

[thegreatwicked]

Hi fellow Black Mask enthusiast :)

First of all, I love your fic "shadows of deceptions". So, few questions, will you be posting more chapters? And do you plan to write something else about Roman as well?

I'm always happy to read 🖤

Thanks and wish you all the best

Thank you! I’m having a blast righting it and honestly it feels like this thing writes itself sometimes! The story is up to eight chapters and I’m working on the next one, so yes! There will be more! Roman and Belladonnas story is FAR from over!! And yes I will be writing more Roman/Black Mask stuff!! How can I not??? I have a BAD case of simping for the bad guy…

#romansionissmut #romansionisfanfiction #roman sionis x original female character #roman sionis is a brat #roman sionis is a tease #roman sionis fan fiction #roman sionis imagine #roman sionis smut #roman sionis #blackmaskimagine #blackmasksmut #blackmaskfanfiction #black mask fanfiction #black mask imagine #belladonna black #shadows of deception

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception Chapter Four

The Great Wicked

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

Final Note: This story is not meant for minors, you alone are responsible for what you consume on the internet. Minors DNI. I do not consent to having my work translated or posted elsewhere but please feel free to reblog.

Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

Wear the dress? 

What dress? She wondered to herself as she read the text message again, the elevator dinged on her floor and she shoved the phone into her back pocket. Shifting the brown paper bags in her arms she struggled with her keys just outside her apartment. She wasn’t sure how Roman got her phone number but then again, it didn’t really surprise her. Roman Sionis came from a very well connected family and there wasn’t a single doubt that he had the resources to get what he wanted and he was certainly used to it. 

What dress?

He hadn’t sent her anything at work in fact there had been virtually no communication since their tryst in her kitchen several days prior and although it seemed an odd gesture, it did sound like the kind of thing Roman would do; grand displays. He was definitely the type of man who would buy all the roses in a flower shop just to make a point, then again he was also the type of man to send a severed finger in the mail. She had no evidence to back that one up but she’d seen movies. No, if Roman had sent her anything at work he would have made sure she got it, he wouldn’t leave something like that to chance. It wasn’t his M.O.

The locks clicked and she entered her apartment, still wondering about the text message. She’d got it just as she stepped out of the car, for the last week whenever she got off work there had been a black car waiting to take her home each night. A courtesy of Roman. The driver had introduced himself as Lloyd and that he was to drive her to and from work and wherever else she needed to go. He seemed like a nice kid, and he definitely was a kid, couldn’t have been older than twenty one, clean cut, nice manners, friendly and professional. What was a kid like that doing working for Roman Sionis? It was a bit odd, but she was now fairly certain that Roman wasn’t going to kill her and she slept a little easier, though there were nights when she woke up in a cold sweat swearing she heard gunshots or smelled blood. 

Nightmares. Just bad dreams. It seemed so stupid to be a grown woman still waking up from bad dreams. She’d often wondered how many bad things had to happen to you before you stopped having nightmares. How awful would things have to be before nightmares were more like movie trailers in your sleep. 

Everyone had nightmares, she told herself. Everyone. Even Roman Sionis. Though his nightmares probably ran more like the upper 1% of wealthy first world problems. His favorite scotch was gone, or his suit clashed with his sunglasses. Really, what did scare men like Roman Sionis? Did anything? 

She shook the thought from her head and went about putting her groceries away all the while having forgotten about the text message, now locked onto a train of thought regarding what scared men like Roman. She genuinely couldn’t think of anything and it wasn’t until she finished putting everything away, hung up her coat and put her keys in the dish she kept them in and headed towards her bedroom that she remembered it.

There, on her bed was something that stopped her in her tracks, the red mini dress she’d worn to Romans club. The same black clutch and black heels next to it. 

That dress had been in the back of her small walk in closet, exactly where she’d wanted it to stay. In fact, she’d kinda thrown it back there the morning after the whole thing. There had been flecks of blood on it and it had a few popped seams from the physical altercation she’d been in. She honestly didn’t think she’d ever wear it again or ever look at it again. 

But as her eyes scanned the dress she noticed something, it looked brand new. She picked it up and looked hard at the red fabric, but she couldn’t find any hint of blood splatter. In fact it smelled great, it had been freshly laundered and the popped seams repaired. But it was certainly her dress, the tag on the inside had a small black heart drawn in with a permanent marker, it had been one of the first nice luxury items she’d bought herself with her own money. She loved that dress, so a little black heart went on the tag.

It would seem that Roman had paid her apartment another visit. The fact that he had now broken in twice, that she knew of, no longer really bothered her. But his motives were a mystery to her right now. She looked at the heels, the scuffing was gone and they too looked brand new, even her little black clutch looked a bit polished up.

She almost jumped when her phone buzzed with a message. 

Put it on. 

She knew she was alone but she looked around the room and out the windows, not sure why she did. 

She contemplated the dress and the events that had occurred the last time she’d worn it. She also contemplated what the consequences would be if she didn’t comply, but the request seemed harmless enough. And each day Lloyd picked her up in that fancy car she grew a little more confident that Roman didn’t want her dead, weirdly enough he was kind of growing on her. 

But she still paced around the room for fifteen minutes before deciding to do it. 

She’d fixed her hair up a bit and touched up her makeup opting for a slightly more smokey eye than her usual daytime look. He didn’t say anything about makeup or hair but she just assumed it came with the package. As her mentor had told her when she got into fashion photography; 

Don’t even bother with the dress if you’re not going to nail the part.

Standing in her room in a matching black satin set she took one last look at the dress before stepping into it. The fabric clung to her frame and fit her just as perfectly as it had the same night, it wasn’t anything scandalous but it had been a favorite of hers. 

Working in fashion she’d learned a few tips and tricks about clothes and a big one was that if you wanted to stand out, wear red. Red was a color most people were Instantly drawn to. It was a mini dress but not so short she looked like she was working a corner, a generous amount of thigh was visible. The neckline wasn’t salacious, it was a simple square neckline and offered no sneak peaks or excessive cleavage but it framed her bust nicely.

Red looked good on her and with her olive skin tone and black hair, it had often been the outfit she’d worn when she wanted to be the center of attention, which admittedly wasn’t very often. That night she’d wanted to be seen, she’d wanted attention. 

The black heels gave her an extra three inches, and completed the look. She’d barely had a minute to assess her reflection when a heavy fist hammered in her door. She didn’t jump this time as she was becoming used to the sudden and thundering sound but she did do a double take when she opened it. 

Zsasz stood outside her apartment, dressed up a little nicer than the last time she’d seen him. Black slacks a black jacket and a black t-shirt underneath it, he looked like a bodyguard. But she was fairly certain that was part of his job too. 

“Ready?”

She nodded slowly. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer her, but he just nodded down the hall to the elevator. He looked annoyed when she didn’t immediately follow him, rolling his eyes slightly when she locked her front door and slipped the keys into her clutch. 

“Club?”

He nodded as the elevator door closed, he didn’t seem quite as menacing as he had but he still didn't seem like he wanted to be there. His presence, however, was probably a direct order from Roman. 

Zsasz wasn’t the chatty type so she didn’t bother trying to make conversation, the car ride was quick and quiet. Zsasz seemed like a bare minimum type of guy, one who only spoke when absolutely necessary, and definitely not one for chit chat. 

It had been just as busy as the night she’d first stepped inside Masquerade Noir although this time she skipped the line and was ushered in through a VIP entrance. 

Once inside, Zsasz vanished and she was lost once more in a sea of people. No one seemed to watch her or follow her, she had no idea where Zsasz had gone and she couldn’t see Roman anywhere. She was, however, fairly certain he was watching her. 

No one was looking her way or paying any real attention to her, just another face in the crowd. 

The club looked different to her now, and as she walked towards the bar she watched the bartenders. They were ringing in sales and measuring alcohol properly, she could see a city license hanging up in plain sight along with a liquor license. 

The staff were friendly and courteous to the patrons, the bartenders didn’t seem to be over serving, no illicit deal looked like they were being struck for extra services or portions and the bouncers watched everything with a keen and professional eye. 

Roman was right, by all accounts, he ran a legitimate business. She wasn’t sure why it surprised her, he had told her as much and it seemed an odd thing to lie about. 

She reached into her clutch for her wallet, feeling the need for a drink when she came across a note written in a masculine yet elegant script. 

Deja vu, kitten?

The note caught her off guard, it was only a note but somehow finding it in her favorite clutch seemed an odd sort of invasion of privacy. 

“Anything to drink, miss?” One of the bartenders asked, a young and handsome guy dressed smartly in the club's uniform. 

She took a second to answer but he didn’t seem annoyed or bothered by her hesitancy. 

“Uh, bathrooms are?”

He gestured with his hand in the direction that was close to the same door she’d gone through.

“Just down the hall on your left, miss.”

She nodded her thanks and abandoned the bar, heading in the direction the bartender pointed out but moving past the hallway and instead opting for the employees only door. She cast a quick glance backward but saw no one watching, and she slipped behind the door. 

The hall was empty and she remembered her initial concern of being followed and how she slipped off her heels to avoid making a sound. It felt like overkill to mimic her actions down to taking her heels off but she did and walked quickly down the hall as she had before, glancing back over her shoulder. 

Did she honestly expect the same guy to poke his head in through the door and follow her? Of course not. 

But that wasn’t why her heart was hammering in her chest when she rounded the corner into the storage room. She half expected to see Jimmy and his two men when she stepped inside but there was nothing. 

No one. 

No sign of the drugs she had seen, no evidence of blood on the floor. She even looked up to the ceiling but there was no trace of the stray bullet she’d shot upwards when she’d stumbled into Roman. 

It had been less than three weeks since the whole thing had happened. She thought she’d be hearing the gunshots in her head or that she would smell the blood still but there was an absence of any sort or sensory information from the room. 

This was so stupid. 

She scoffed out a breath and shook her head, what was she even doing there? 

There was everything she needed in her fridge for margaritas and here she was, in Roman’s club playing some weird game with no idea as to why. 

She turned to leave, having had enough of Roman’s odd game and walked right into a hard chest, again. She didn’t shriek this time but she did jump, startled as hell. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

Wearing the same black suit with silver accents and rose tinted sunglasses as he had that night. Zsasz standing behind him. 

“The sign says employees only.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry!” Her immediate reaction was to apologize? She hadn’t planned that. Boy, Roman really did have her pegged right. 

His face was contorted in displeasure, nothing about his expression said he was the least bit happy to see her. There wasn’t a single hint of recognition anywhere in his eyes. She was confused. What was going on?

“Looking for someone, Angel?”

She stammered for a minute trying to figure out what he was doing, but then a thought came to her.

Deja vu. 

“No,” she replied slowly. “I, uh, I was looking for the exit.”

His expression softened slightly, but he still didn’t give any indication that he knew her. 

“The exit is in the front, this is the back of the house and I don’t allow customers back here.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I, uh, was trying to hide from someone then I was going to leave.”

“And who would you be hiding from?” He was wearing those black leather gloves again, they made that sound that leather on leather makes as he clasped his hands in front of him. 

“There was a guy out in the club, he was following me, getting a little too handsy for my taste. I just didn’t want him to follow me into a cab.” 

Romans posture softened considerably, he seemed less pissed off boss man and more concerned club owner looking after a guests needs. 

“What did he look like?”

“Um, white suit, black shirt under it. Black hair. My height.” She didn't actually remember his hair color or his height but she did remember the white suit, not many men could rock that look and he did not. 

“A white suit?” He sighed out an exasperated breath. “I think I know the man you’re talking about. He sticks out and several of my staff have brought concerning behavior to my attention. That isn’t welcome in my club.” He turned to Zsasz, “Zsasz, find this man and have security escort him out. Inform him that is now on the blacklist and make sure he understands what that means.”

Zsasz nodded and left the room, leaving the two of them alone, just as he had before. He looked back at Belladonna and he pulled off the sunglasses. Something about those gloves, she shook her head when he started speaking. 

“I’m very sorry to hear that your experience has been unpleasant but I hope it doesn’t put you off your appetite for a good time. Miss?”

“Belladonna Black.”

“Well, I take my guests' safety very seriously, Miss Black. Can I offer you some champagne by way of an apology?”

Jesus, he was convincing. She figured that by the way he’d dressed he’d had a flair for the dramatic, looked like that extended past his wardrobe. 

“That’s not necessary, I think I’m just going to grab a cab and head home.”

He glanced up and down at her, shaking his head slightly. “Miss Black, I have to say, it seems a shame to waste such a gorgeous dress on an early night. And I do hate to see a guest leave unsatisfied.” This whole time he’d been gradually inching her back towards a wall, one he knew had a slight blind spot from the camera nearby. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to make your evening more pleasurable?”

Jesus. Jesus Christ. Her eyes darted back from his face to his hands as he pulled off those gloves of his.

“Did he cheat on you?” He asked, catching her off guard with an odd tone of sincerity in his voice. 

Belladonna's face was etched in genuine confusion now, “How?” She didn’t tell him that, how did he know?

“You’re out, all dolled up, looking for attention, you just happen to have found it from the wrong man, and I’ve never seen you here before.”

She scoffed, that was for sure. “He left me. He’s getting married in a month.” Those words stung a little less than the last time she’d said them aloud.

Roman shook his head and raked his hungry gaze over her from head to toe. “Stupid man.”

Oh, hell with it. Fuck it all. She understood what was going on now and she couldn’t give a damn what anyone was going to say about her. She wanted to feel his hands on her again, wanted his mouth again. So she took it. 

She hooked an arm around his neck and pressed her lips to his. 

“Think you can look the police in the eye and lie to them? Say that you never saw Jimmy? That you let all your common sense go out the window and let a man like me touch you? Think you can pull off innocent?”

To hell with common sense. And to hell with the illusion of innocence, she may have been new to the whole shooting people thing but that didn’t mean she was innocent. The portrait he’d painted when they last spoke in her kitchen was too good to pass up. She could feel him smile against her lips and his hands on her hips smoothing her dress down before cupping her ass. The kiss was only a quick one and as he pulled back slightly she swept her tongue across his lips. 

“Oh, kitten.”

“Why do you call me that?” She asked, her voice soft and filled with lust. 

Roman smiled the type of smile that the devil himself wore when he was no doubt about to snatch a soul. He chuckled, pressing her into the wall, pushing his hips into hers before replying. 

“I know a sex kitten when I see one.”

His lips crashed back onto hers, hungry. Demanding. Dominating. Fucking perfect. 

Better than the other night in her kitchen, maybe it was the mini dress she was wearing or the fact that he was guiding one of her legs up and around his hip, grinding into her. 

The friction was amazing and she could already feel her panties growing incredibly wet. One of his hands gripped her thigh, holding it where he wanted and another clever hand began inching her dress upwards. Not obscenely high but just enough that the black satin panties she wore were within reach. 

A cool and surprisingly soft touch slipped between them and she moaned into his mouth when she felt his fingers caress over the dampening fabric. 

Anyone could have walked around the corner and into the room they were in, it was a fairly large room. And she would not have done anything at all, ignoring them as what Roman was doing to her just felt too good to interrupt. 

That hand of his stroking her panties painfully slowly, she didn’t care if she came off desperate so long as she came. Her hips bucked slightly and she jumped when she felt his fingers pulling the waistband of her panties down just enough for his hand to slip inside. 

Oh fuck. 

She’d watched this man kill three people in this room and he had her against the wall, tongue in her mouth and fingers stroking her pussy. Fuck, something was wrong with her.

Roman liked a verbal woman and while he was enjoying her mouth and those lips he wanted to hear every sound he could pull from her. He swept his tongue over her lips one more time before pulling back all together, and moving his mouth down her neck. 

And he wasn’t disappointed with what he heard. She jolted occasionally as he varied his touches in a maddening pace, and she rested her head against the wall practically panting as she didn’t have his mouth to focus on now. Her skin flushed hot and cold as he left a wet trail up and down her back, occasionally nipping at her ear, tongue licking the shell. 

Her chest heaved with the assault on her senses, and she was seeing fairy lights when she opened her eyes before they drifted shut again in ecstasy. 

She couldn’t help how her hips bucked against his hand every so often when his thumb would apply a sinful amount of pleasure to her clit, then he would stop or slow or move his touch elsewhere. 

“Fuck.” She groaned when he slipped a finger inside her stroking slowly, she now had a death grip on the collar of his suit jacket.

She audibly complained when he withdrew said finger but then drew in a sharp gasp when his thumb returned to tease her clit. After a few seconds she expected him to stop and was attempting to prepare herself for the torture it would bring, this was the type of man to edge a woman till she cried. But he didn’t, the sensations became more and more intense, he wasn’t stopping. He traced circles over and over breathing just as hard in her ear while he held her up as she was falling apart against the wall. 

“Oh, kitten. Be a good girl for me,” She didn’t know what he meant, and she didn’t care. He could have whatever he wanted. “Come for me.”

“Oh my god.” She moaned as she bit her lip, yeah, she could definitely do that. “Roman..” 

He smiled against her neck, he loved it when he heard women say his name like that. The sound of a woman desperate for release, they would do anything he asked. Power could be better than any narcotic. And sexual power was better than power itself. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

His ministrations grew faster, he’d have her coming apart within seconds, the moments just before an orgasm came crashing down and their bodies shook and moans tumbled from their lips were the most delicious. He could feel it in the air, their desire. Their lips trembled, mouth often hung shape as though waiting for a scream to finish loading, legs quivered and their bodies stiffened. The whole process, the whole series of gestures was a spectacular show and Roman loved it. He smiled into her neck, biting down softly while he felt her body go through the same series of gestures. 

And when it finally came, her body shook and clenched at his fingers. Her hands yanked harshly  at his hair, pulling him off her neck and forcing her tongue into his mouth making a feral sound that shot bolts of lightning to his already painfully hard cock. Roman couldn’t contain his own moan of approval as she devoured his mouth aggressively. 

He wasn’t sure that he expected her to be a whimpering mess if a woman but he hadn't quite expected that reaction. 

His hand slowed, carrying her through the aftershocks that coursed through her body and gradually he slowed to a stop. As the warmth of an orgasm faded, her lips slowed against his to a stop, Roman released her thigh and removed his hand bringing his fingers to his lips. 

His eyes were blown black, and the thread that held his composure was frayed but somehow he held back. He brought his thumb to his lips but swallowed hard when Belladonna instead sealed her lips over the digit, swirling her tongue while looking straight into his black eyes. 

His gaze narrowed and his chest rose and fell in a deep and measured breath. One that suggested she’d just pushed him a little further than he’d expected. He was about to jerk his hand back when she released his thumb from her lips. He was sure that if she hadn’t stopped he would have thrown her back against the wall and hiked up that ridiculously short dress to fuck her like he’d mentioned in her apartment. 

Roman shook his head and ran a hand through his hair while an internal battle raged. Roman ran trains on women but never in his club. He’d tie them up and make them beg for his cock. Relished in their cries as he withheld orgasms but none of that ever happened in his club. He was a stickler about that self imposed rule, but he had to be. 

He growled when he felt her hands pulling on his belt and hated what he was about to do. 

“Kitten,” he snarled as he held both her hands in his, pressing his erection against her. “Nothing would make me happier than to fuck you into oblivion against this wall while I make the whole club listen your screams as I wring orgasm after orgasm from you body till you can’t stand.” He punctuated the word orgasm each time with a not so subtle thrust of his hips. “But you’ll take what I give you, and you’ll like it.”

She huffed out an irritated and borderline andgry breath, nodding, and she stopped trying to touch him altogether. She didn’t bother trying to change his mind, even though she was certain she could talk her way into a rough and hard quickie against the wall, despite the fact that Roman had said he wasn’t a quickie type of man. All men had a breaking point and Belladonna was very adept in finding it. But while her mind was racing to find the combination of words, tone and gestures to get her what she wanted, the thought evaporated from her in an instant when he dropped down to his knees. 

“Be a good girl and behave.” 

Her dress was still bunched up to her hips and he tugged it back down, her breath hitched in her chest when she felt his hands slip under the fabric and his thumbs hook into the side of her panties. He seemed to know what she was thinking and he shook his head at her in the same way an admonishing teacher might if they knew an unruly student was about to mouth off. He slid them down her legs all the while maintaining a penetrating stare. 

When he tapped her heeled foot, she stepped out of the garment and he rose back up, her back satin panties clutched firmly in his fist. 

A wild look came over his face and he inhaled deeply before placing them into his jacket pocket. 

“I’ll have Zsasz take you home,” he licked his lips and slipped his gloves back on, giving her one last kiss. “Keep those legs crossed, kitten.”

~~~

Roman smiled as he watched the playback of the storage room camera. He’d lost count of how many times he’d played it back, the audio was the best part. It captured every sound clear as day that combined with the souvenir he’d taken had been enough material for his spank bank for a while. 

The camera didn’t quite catch them but enough that it was obvious what was happening. 

He’d downloaded the video to his phone and found himself watching it and listening to it throughout the day. He’d also considered sending it to Belladonna, he wondered if she could appreciate it like he had or if she would be angry with him, he’d never been slapped in the face by a woman but he was fairly certain she would if he made a fool of her in public. In private, however, he knew a sex kitten when he saw one.

Some secrets should be kept secret, he decided. And then he restarted the video. 

She’d choked out his name again when his office door opened and Zsasz stood looking down at him. Roman made no move to stop the video, Belladonna's moans filled the silence and after a moment he stopped the video. 

“Is this a bad time?”

“Depends on what you have in the folder.”

Zsasz held out a decently thick folder to Roman, who stared at it for a moment before taking it and flipping through its contents. 

“The last six months of Jimmys life in Gotham.” He waited for Roman to motion for him to sit down. Apparently he decided it was worth the interruption. 

“Six? What happened to the whole year?”

“He wasn’t in Gotham. Not sure where he was or what he was doing but he wasn’t here.”

“You sure about that?”

“I asked nicely.” His tone indicated that nicely meant not so nice tactics.

Roman heaved out an annoyed breath, “Maybe you should go back and ask not-so-nicely.”

Zsasz nodded, reading Roman loud and clear.

“The timelines work if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“Whatever could you mean, Zsasz?” Roman smirked, still looking at the file. Zsasz was pretty thorough, Jimmy had been arrested multiple times for petty crime, nothing too serious but serious enough that he spent some time in Blackgate. It looked as though in his most recent stint in Blackgate, he’d made some friends in high places. 

“No wonder Jimmy found the balls to push drugs in my club, someone was backing him.”

“Any idea who?”

“Hard to say. His last shipment had Cobblepots credentials all over it, but Cobbletpot wouldn’t trust a piece of shit like Jimmy with that much product right away.” Roman set the file down and rested his head against his thumb and forefinger. “Who was his cellmate?”

“He had two.” Zsasz replied. “A guy named Vega, and another guy, Pete Jordan who oddly enough had an accident a few weeks after Jimmy became his cellmate.”

“Tell me about Pete Jordan.”

“Works for Tony Zucco. He’s a made man and a favorite of Tony’s. Had a lot of inside support but he didn't seem to like Jimmy. In his first two months Jimmy visited the infirmary at least half a dozen times.”

Roman nodded along, finding several medical and incident reports where Jimmy “fell” out of his bunk multiple times. Fell onto a fist, maybe. 

Not that Roman cared about Jimmy's well being. 

“What changed?”

“Sounds like Jimmy made friends with some of Cobblepots crew.  Most of Zuccos crew was being released and Cobblepots men went in, seems like a power shift in Blackgate left a leadership role open.”

“And Jimmy made a new friend.” Zsasz nodded. “When was Pete Jordan released?”

“He wasn’t. Pete Jordan had an accident in the library, one that left him comatose. He’s medicated but the state can’t decide what to do with him since he doesn’t have any family and no medical facility will take him in.”

“Not even Arkham?”

“Not even Arkham.” Now that was something of an achievement. God knew Hugo Strange was always itching for new patients to ‘treat’. “A week later Jimmy gets a new cellmate and all visits to the infirmary stop at least for Jimmy.”

“Looks like Jimmy got a favor done for him and made some friends.”

“Could explain why he was pushing Cobblepots product in the club. He didn’t have a choice.”

Roman nodded. 

“Still want those other six months?”

“No, new plan. Talk to his cellmate and find out what you can about what happened in Blackgate. I want to know everything that went on in there. Don’t be polite.”

Zsasz nodded again, and the office went quiet as Roman was somewhat deep in thought. Zsasz looked at the forgotten phone in his desk but quickly looked away when Roman noticed his stare. 

“She’s different from your usual types.”

Roman smiled and chuckled, “Still worried?”

“It’s kind of my job.” 

“Still think she’s a threat?” Roman asked as he played the audio and the sound of her moans and heavy breathing filled the room. He gradually pushed the volume louder.  Zsasz shifted in his chair, he didn’t bother replying, he knew Roman was trying to make a point. The point being he would do whatever he damn well pleased. 

“You’ve got something on her, she’s got something on you. Seems like you’ve both got a lot to lose.”

“But I don’t lose. People who bet on me to lose, lose.” Roman nodded with a smirk. He paused and looked back to the growing file he was accumulating on Belladonna Black. “Close the door when you leave.” Punctuating the request with the sound of his zipper. 

Chapter Five

#fanfiction is life #romansionisfanfiction #roman sionis smut #original character #i have too many stories #roman sionis #birdsofprey #ewanmcgregorcharacters #ewan mcgregor #simpingforthebadguy #yesiknowthisistoxic #black mask #blackmaskfanfiction #blackmasksmut #romansionissmut #romansionisblackmask #bop #blackmaskimagine #romansionisimagine #shadows of deception

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception Chapter Three

The Great Wicked

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

Final Note: This story is not meant for minors, you alone are responsible for what you consume on the internet. Minors DNI. I do not consent to having my work translated or posted elsewhere but please feel free to reblog.

Amen by Hailstorm

“She’s a liability, you know?”

Zsasz didn’t usually offer an opinion unless prompted for one, so sharing his thoughts so freely was a little out of character.

Roman was unphased by Zsasz's professional concern, and it wasn’t because he didn’t think Zsasz knew what he was talking about. He knew he did, Roman just didn’t care. He leaned back in his chair and cut the end of his cigar off before lighting it; he gave no acknowledgement of Zsasz' concerns. He had mostly made up his mind on what to do with Belladonna but he wasn’t so stupid as to make an ill advised decision because of a pair of long legs.

“What’s the matter Zsasz? Worried a woman could come between our bromance?”

“I’m just saying; it’s a risk.” Smoke began to curl its tendrils through the air surrounding Roman.

“Yes, it is. But it’s a fun risk.” He stared at a fixed point in the ceiling with his feet kicked up on the desk, lounging about. “Did you get the formation?”

Zsasz slid a file across the desk's surface and Roman glanced at it then back to Zsasz. He wasn’t in the mood to read. “What do we know?”

“Her name really is Belladonna Black, no middle name. Mother is Gloria Dubois, father is Benjamin Cyrus Black.” Roman gave no response, none of those names meant anything to him. He gave a questioning gesture with his cigar.

“That name supposed to mean something?”

“He’s a financier, old money. Rubs elbows with some pretty well known names, probably knows your folks.” Displeasure colored Roman’s face at the mention of his parents. “Not sure if there’s dirt there yet though.”

Roman had everything from medical records, birth certificate, school records, college and employment.

And it was all very average. She had been a quiet child and even mentioned in the newspaper a few times, a few pictures clipped from articles about her family but nothing about her. Just old pictures of a very bored looking Belladonna at black tie affairs. She’d been an A student at Gotham Preparatory School, but not valedictorian. Her records were nearly perfect aside for a few notes regarding a series of altercations between Belladonna and another girl, Olivia Danvers.

His kitten had been in a few fistfights it had seemed, he was surprised to say the least.

The report read that she’d gotten into an all out brawl and given the girl a black eye, split lip and a broken nose. He smirked at the pictures of the two of them in the file.

A sixteen year old Belladonna giving off hardcore Wednesday Addams vibes and one hell of a resting bitch face. She had scratches on her face and her hair had been clearly pulled but the other girl looked far worse. He chuckled at the idea of one girl slapping and pulling hair while Belladonna went in swinging.

“What else?”

Zsasz sucked his teeth and in a rare show of hesitancy, he didn’t answer Roman’s question right away. Zsasz had done a thorough job of compiling her life into a file, what was left was unspoken, off the record.

“What’re you gonna do with her?” Roman didn’t acknowledge that Zsasz answered his question with another. Something he didn’t like.

“She’s a plaything right now.” He replied, tapping his cigar, glancing back at the photos “A plaything with one hell of a right hook by the looks of it.” He looked down at a significantly smaller file from the GCPD. She didn’t seem like the type to have a criminal record. “What’s this?” He pulled the file out so that Zsasz could see it.

“Police report.” Roman raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “She was the victim of an unsolved assault right outside her job. Guy did a number on her. Broken bones, stab wounds with thirty odd stitches, they had to put her into a medically induced coma for six weeks. When she came out of it, she went to the cops a few times but looks like they weren’t too concerned with her case.”

The file was pitiful, a copy of the report, no witness statements, a few photos spaced every seven seconds apart from an atm across the street. A medical report from the hospital detailing the injuries from the attack and the last few pages were photos from the hospital. His stomach turned. She looked like a complete stranger from the last photo he’d seen. Face purple with bruises, bandages and several casts. A tube was breathing for her, and several photos of a large stab wound on her shoulder and the accompanying stitches, it was awful. He winced and looked away for the briefest of moments. Zsasz looked at the ground, he’d already seen the photos and while Zsasz was a monster even he didn’t want to look at them again.

“Looks like they couldn’t even be bothered to investigate.” Roman glanced at the report and his lips curled into a frown, the most basic information from the report was missing, or had never been filled out in the first place. He’d lost count of how many typos he’d seen in the ”report”. Then there were the atm photos, pretty much all atms only take photos every few seconds and almost none of them capture video. The photos were of decent quality in that they weren’t grainy as hell, but they were still from across the street and so any real detail was almost impossible to make out. They showed Belladonna leaving her office, then someone following her, then the attack, arms swinging wildly, her trying to run, and the man who attacked her with his arm raised, no doubt wielding a knife. The next series of photos showed her headed down an alley between buildings, after that nothing except the man fleeing the scene.

Roman was now sneering, and he crumpled the edge of the photo in his grip. “A piece of shit like Jimmy gets all the stops pulled out, they have goddamned footage of her attack in broad fucking daylight and nothing.” He dropped the photo onto his desk and put his cigar out on the photo of her attacker, burning a hole in it. “That’s Justice for you.” Something about this just rubbed him the wrong way, Jimmy was scum. Belladonna was, as far as he could tell, just a woman. Just an average woman, living her life. The scales of Justice were heavily weighted.

“Biggest joke in Gotham city.” Roman looked at the file and Zsasz could see the gears were turning in his head, he waited a few minutes and watched Roman. Studying him. “What is it, boss?”

“I’m thinking, we can use this to our advantage.” Zsasz wasn’t sure how but he waited for Roman to explain further. “Zsasz,” he sat up in his chair a bit. “I want you to find out everything there is to know about Jimmy from last year.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.” He looked at Zsasz with that look that said he wouldn’t drop it. “Where he lived, what he did, who he fucked, where his family and friends were, how he spent his time, all of it. Talk to whoever you have to, pull his phone records, credit cards, criminal records, talk to his associates. I want everything.”

Zsasz blew out a breath but nodded knowing better than to tell Roman what he was asking was a lot. What Roman Sionis wanted, Roman Sionis got. “I’ll make some calls. You got a deadline for this?”

“As soon as possible. Be thorough, keep it quiet.” Zsasz nodded. “But do what you have to.” Loud and clear. Roman didn’t care how he got the information. “Go.”

Zsasz got up and left Roman’s office, and silence fell over the room. Roman remained sitting in the fading light, with two very different photos. One an angsty teen looking like she’d kick your ass and the other a comatose beaten stranger that vaguely resembled Belladonna Black.

~~~

“Look, I’m not saying he’s not worth the effort but it just rubs me the wrong way. You know?” Daisy was clearly expecting an answer but Belladonna hadn’t even heard her question.

When she finally looked up from her daze, Daisy was standing there looking at her expectantly. “Huh?” Daisys deadpan expression wasn’t one that Belladonna saw often as she was usually a much better listener. “Sorry, Daisy say that again, I didn’t catch it the first time.”

“Or the second.” Daisy said irritation tugging on the ends of her words.

“Sorry.”

“Ok, what’s with you today? You’ve been in a weird funk for two weeks now.” She didn’t say anything and instead hoped a few minutes of silence would put Daisy off, but it didn’t. “I am just going to stand here until you tell me.”

True to her word, Daisy stood at the counter in Belladonna's kitchen. “We’ve got work to do.” She gestured to the planner on the counter and the calendar as well as the open laptop with emails to answer but Daisy didn’t move.

She knew it wasn’t smart to lie, lies were tough to keep track of and with the police investigating her and Roman the fewer lies, the better. She opted for the truth, or a version of it.

“It’s a guy.” Daisy's mouth fell open, not in a dramatic way but she clearly hadn't been expecting Belladonna to say that.

“What guy?”

“I’d like to keep it vague for now, I’m not sure what is happening with him just yet.”

Daisy looked confused, “You mean you’re deciding if a one night stand is enough or not?”

“Something like that.”

“Who is this guy?” Belladonna gave her a knowing look. “Oh, right, keeping it vague, ok how about some initials? Is he someone I know?”

“I doubt it.” She tried to decide if giving initials would be a dangerous move or not, she didn’t see the harm. “R. S.”

“R. S… Ok,” She could see the wheels in Daisy's head turning as she tried to crack the code. If R. S. Was someone she knew, but after a few moments of contemplation she came up empty handed. “No one I know?”

She shook her head. “You might know of him but I doubt you know him personally.”

“Ok, identity aside, what’s the deal? Was it good? Was he good?”

Belladonna cracked a sideways smile. “We didn’t have sex.” She glanced at the counter Daisy was propped up against and thought about what happened there with Roman. “Just sort of got to know each other.”

Again, not a lie. Not really. Daisy wore a look of genuine confusion on her face, and Belladonna didn’t blame her. What did you call it when you shoved your tongue down a man’s throat while he felt you up because you were trying to prove a point? The point being that you were willing to lie to the police about a relationship? She could be somewhat air headed at times but Daisy wasn’t stupid like a lot of people assumed she was. She could see the gears in her head come to a halt and half expected smoke to come from her ears.

“So, you guys, what? Just fooled around?”

Belladonna tilted her and thought about it for a second, deciding that the middle school expression fit the situation quite well. “We sort of got interrupted.” But Daisy still didn’t look like her questions were answered. “He’s a busy guy.”

“Ok,” Daisy did not sound convinced. ��Well, was whatever you guys did do any good?” She gave a vague gesture when she asked her question as though the motion was all encompassing whatever wasn’t put into words.

She couldn’t help but look at the counter and think about Roman’s demanding mouth and his bold hands. How he snarled into his phone when it rang and the general air of legitimate anger that radiated from him when he answered it. He had been pissed. It made her wonder just what they would have done had the phone not rung.

“He certainly seemed to know what he was doing.” She smirked slightly as she said it, staring at the counter. Her far off look wasn’t lost on Daisy and it seemed to satisfy Daisys curiosity.

“What’s he do for work?” Daisy went to Belladonna's wine fridge and pulled out a bottle as though they were gossipy college girls about to play fifty questions.

“Can’t really say, but it’s high powered type work.”

“Like Wall Street?”

“Not quite but it’s up there with demand and risk.”

“Where’d you meet him?”

She accepted the glass Daisy offered her, not paying attention to what she was drinking. “At a club last Friday.”

“You went out? I thought you went home.”

“I was upset about Jackson. So, I wanted to try and forget about him for a night, you know?” She wasn’t at all ashamed with what her plan had been, she didn’t shy away from sexuality and had a general lack of concern for what most people thought of as loose behavior. So then why was she acting like she was embarrassed by what she had gone out to do?

Whatever the reason, Daisy picked up on it right away. “Belladonna, you don’t have to explain anything to me or feel weird about it. So, you went out, who cares? Just wish you’d have told me, I would have gone with you.”

An awful thought occurred to Belladonna just then, what would have happened if Daisy had been with her? Would Roman have killed them both? Would she even have gone into the back of the club? Would the creep even have pursued her if she hadn’t been alone? There were too many scenarios to imagine and no one had any more validity than the last. An endless realm of possibilities and none of them mattered because none of them were reality. The reality was that Belladonna was now very involved with Roman Sionis and despite how at times it had scared her, she couldn’t bring herself to hate her interactions with him.

“Well, if you had I might not have met him.”

“Fair enough.” Daisy held out her glass to Belladonna’s, she clinked their glasses together. “So, is he gorgeous? He must be a catch if he caught your eye.”

First thing she thought of were those leather gloves he’d worn, then the suit, the glasses and those cold steely eyes. “Yeah, he’s pretty gorgeous.” No lie on her part there.

“Does he have any hot friends?”

Zsasz? She was fairly certain they weren’t friends, but honestly she had no idea what their working relationship was. Zsasz with all his scars and menacing came into mind, he was most definitely not Belladonna’s type but he just might have been Daisy’s. Despite her petite and sometimes demure personality Daisy had just as few fucks to give as Belladonna and she liked to walk on the wild side when it came to men and sex. It reminded her of how Daisy had been talking earlier and she hadn’t been paying attention but she suddenly found a means of shifting the conversation away from her relationship with Roman.

“He’s not my cup of coffee but he might be yours. Wasn’t that what you were talking about?”

“So you were listening?”

“Suppose I absorbed a few things in my stupor. Same shit, different day?”

It was a stab but fortunately it ended up being correct. It was Daisy's chief complaint about her dating life. But Daisy didn’t really date, she was a fan of casual and open relationships. Relief flooded her expression as she felt she could now properly vent knowing she would be heard. And yes, it would be the same type of problem, most men treating her like she was breakable and a bit put off by what she wanted and what she liked.

“God! Like is it so hard to find a guy who will be respectful and treat me like a human being but then behind closed doors politely but very disrespectfully rail me?” Belladonna choked on her wine sputtering slightly, not bothered at all by how Daisy barely paid her any mind. She’d merely been caught off guard. “It wasn’t like I was asking for anything wild, just a bit of wax play, is that weird? That’s not weird, is it?”

Belladonna stared at her glass and blinked, her expression saying that their definitions of weird were probably very different. “On the first date? It might be a little weird.”

“What’s weird about that? Most men want sex right?” She nodded, universal truth. “And most men want it right away, right?” Another nod. “So, what’s wrong with saying on a first date what you like or what your boundaries are?”

It shouldn’t have been weird by that logic. Daisy wasn’t looking for a husband, or even a boyfriend, just someone to have some fun with. “That’s a good point.”

“Right? Like, Jesus, I’m tired of the guys I meet treating me like a goddamned China doll. Spank me, tie me up, that’s what safe words are for!”

She chuckled and nodded along, Daisy was 100% right. What was the point in being in a relationship if the sex was subpar at best? She wanted good sex first and if a relationship worked too then cool, all the better.

Belladonna finally looked over to the bottle of wine Daisy had opened. It was one of her pricier bottles, the kind that really should be enjoyed in its entirety. Daisy shrugged but grinned in victory as Belladonna reached over to close her laptop.

Chapter Four

#fanfiction is life #i have too many stories #original character #roman sionis smut #romansionisfanfiction #18+ content #black mask #blackmaskimagine #roman sionis imagine #obessiveromansionis #yandare #romansionis #birdsofprey #bop #blackmasksmut #blackmaskfanfiction #alternate universe #dc comics #dc universe #original female character #romansionisblackmask #workingthroughmydaddyissueswithkinkysexwithdangerousmen #daddyissues #shadows of deception