#roman sionis x original female character

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Fifteen

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.

She Knows It by Steven Rodriguez

Roman sat back in a plush chair outside the glass-walled conference room, his dark eyes fixed on the meeting taking place inside. Ever stare at something for too long before your mind just takes it and runs with it? Or you say a word too many times until it loses all meaning? That was how Roman was feeling.

With each passing moment he sat in that chair ‘people watching’ his mind wandered further. The conference room began to look less like a conference room and more like a giant fish tank with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls and bland artwork that was supposed to be thought-provoking but only induced boredom. And let's not forget the generic, mass-produced paintings that were meant to add some color but ended up blending into the beige office walls perfectly. So stimulating.

The ergonomic design of the chairs in the room was reminiscent of strange coral furniture one might find in a fish tank. The potted plants in the corners probably aimed to add some vitality to the sterile environment, which likely saw many long hours and late nights without exposure to any natural stimuli.

Yes, the longer he looked the more it looked like a fish tank. 

The men in their suits became a school of angelfish, drifting aimlessly. The women with their bright colored high fashion frocks like Discus fish effortlessly floating through the water. 

And there, in the center of it all, perched on the table leafing through papers and glancing back at her laptop was Belladonna. Her inky-black hair flowing loosely, cascading down her shoulders like the elegant fins of a betta fish. Dressed in the black jacket, and silver jewelry that Roman had delivered for her that morning made for a striking contrast against that only solidified his odd comparison. Beautiful and elegant. And just like a female beta fish, she seemed to furrow her brow when approached by her male colleagues - he was well acquainted with the difference between her ‘resting bitch face’ and her ‘are you that fucking stupid’ expressions to know that her colegues were not impressing her with theri smart deas. 

Why was he comparing the woman he wanted to fuck to a fish? He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Goddamn it, Cobblepot.” He muttered under his breath, refocusing his attention on the conference room and trying to shake off his annoyance.

Fuck he hated fish.

Roman couldn't understand why people would choose to have fish as pets. 

Fish were about the most ridiculous idea for a pet Roman could think of, but people loved them. Maybe because they were cheap and easy to dispose of when they inevitably died - just a quick flush down the toilet. Some people went for the more exotic options like lionfish, piranhas and even electric eels. But at least those were interesting, lionfish were venomous, electric eels looked scary as fuck and he could certainly see the benefits of having something like piranhas floating nearby. Perfect for getting rid of unwanted guests...or bodies.

Roman didn’t personally like fish. In fact he thought they made horrifically boring bets and he had little interest in pets in the first place. He didn’t even have any as a kid. Though that might have been due to his parents not having any faith in Roman not using them as target practice or something. 

Bit extreme. He didn’t hate animals, he just found them like he found most living things; clingy and annoying. 

He looked back to Belladonna adjusting her glasses and combing a hand through her hair. He liked those glasses on her, he’d have to see if he could convince her to wear a sexy little pencil skirt, then he could live out the sexy librarian thing again, the first time it was for the novelty of it. Not because he particularly liked the woman but hey, a fantasy was a fantasy.

Betafish weren’t boring. 

Hell, females could be so aggressive that they would attack males, nip at them to establish dominance and it could result in injury and even death.

God, he loved a woman who wasn’t afraid to take a bite out of him. It was what he found fascinating about Belladonna, she was afraid of him, no doubt, but she didn’t act like it. Hell, she’d put a gun in his hand and all but dared him to shoot her. Fuck the woman had some balls, her temper flaring like the vibrant fins of a betta.

They were some of the most common fish in aquariums, but commonality didn’t mean less interesting. Hell, diamonds were as common as taxis but that didn’t stop everyone from falling all over themselves saving two months salary for one. Bettas in particular were well liked for their beauty, intelligence and their spunky personalities.

The problem was that most people didn't know how to properly care for them or keep them happy. Instead, they would see these stunning creatures and impulsively buy them, only to place them in tiny fish bowls that were unfit for their needs. Her shabby loft came to mind, a place far below her worth. She'd chosen to keep a low profile, to avoid the limelight that should have been hers. 

Eventually the shimmer in their scales would fade and they’d more than likely be forgotten about. Not Belladonna, she shimmered in a dark room.

Roman blinked, suddenly aware that his mind had been drifting into an almost absurd fantasy about fish. He scowled at the thought, silently cursing Oswald Cobblepot again for filling his head with such useless information. The man had a penchant for talking endlessly about his various collections and interests, and naturally, in his years of knowing Oswald Cobblepot he’d been forced to absorb information about things he didn’t care about whenever they spoke. 

Cobblepot had a thing for penguins and naturally with his collections of oddities at the Cyrus Pinkney Natural History Museum. He also collected seemingly useless information, which he then forced upon Roman in their younger years.

Roman knew far too much about fish for his own personal liking: including tips on how to care for betta fish.

He shook his head, his thoughts went to some strange places when his mind was stagnant like it was currently. 

His fingers tapped impatiently against his leg, the urge to barge into the meeting growing stronger by the second. But he knew she would bear the brunt of those consequences and then he’d be subject to hers. And while Roman was sure he could turn that frustration into something a little more fun with most people, Belladonna wasn’t most people. He sighed, forcing himself to remain seated.

He needed to get a gameboy or something, watching the meeting Belladonna was stuck in wasn’t good for his IQ, he could feel it dropping by the second. And by this point it had to have dropped at least by thirty points, because he’d been waiting for thirty minutes. 

Once he’d focused on their moving lips it had gotten a little bit better, he couldn’t quite read lips but he could make out some words:

"Emergency... Urgent... Expensive… Client… Fired…" Roman whispered under his breath, catching a few words. Roman's eyes flicked to Zsasz, who stood beside him with an air of stoic indifference. "You picking up anything useful?" he asked in a low voice.

“Nope.”

Zsasz shook his head, but Roman wasn’t surprised, he noticed that the man's gaze seemed to be following Belladonna's assistant, Daisy, as she moved around the room. Fair enough, he was Zsasz’s boss, not his goddamned babysitter, it he wanted to eye fuck Daisy; let him. Someone should.

She was too tiny for Romans taste anyway, he liked curves, hips, breasts. Daisy was just too petite for his taste. But judging by the way Zsasz was watching her, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Back to the meeting, it didn’t seem to be wrapping up or getting any better. He knew from the way her brow furrowed and the tenseness in her shoulders that whatever was the topic of discussion wasn’t a very pleasant one. It didn’t look like she was bearing the brunt of anyone's wrath but rather she was trying to untangle a mess. She hadn’t even noticed him there on the chair in the small waiting area and he hadn’t really said or done anything because at first watching her had been somewhat fascinating. Then he made the comparison of the conference room looking like an aquarium and then… Shit. He needed to stop this.

Roman checked his watch again, scowling. Thirty-five minutes now with no sign of the meeting ending. Roman's fingers went back to tapping impatiently on the arm of his chair as he watched Belladonna continue her heated conversation with her boss. 

She threw up her hands, clearly exasperated. His fingers tightened on the armrests of his chair. 

Maybe she finally felt his gaze on her but he seemed to catch Belladonna's attention and she looked at him, he winked at her and she at least smirked at his little flirtatious charm, but she was still clearly strained by the weight of the conversation she was having. 

He knew that look well, it was the look of someone who was surrounded by incompetence or someone who was forced to fix something that wasn’t their problem to begin with. Roman gestured with a nod of his head, urging her to join him outside the conference room. But she only shook her head softly, her expression remaining serious, before turning her attention back to her boss. 

Pulling out his phone, Roman quickly typed a message. 

'Problem, angel?' 

As he hit send, his eyes flicked to Daisy, who often had Belladonna’s cell in her possession, glanced at the notification. She offered Roman a little wave hand, held up a finger then showed the text to Belladonna, and after a brief pause, Belladonna texted back, as her eyes darted back and forth from the phone to whomever was talking 

'Can't talk.'

"Damn it," Roman muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. 

Well, he couldn’t necessarily be angry, it wasn’t like she was ignoring him. But he still wasn’t wild about being sidelined. He wanted her undivided attention, not this nonsense with clients and deadlines. Frustrated but simply too stubborn to quit, he decided to try another approach and texted Daisy instead. 

‘Everything alright, Daisy? Your latte is getting warm.’

She was sitting at the conference table looking up from a laptop then looking at her phone, her eyes met his as she read the message, and she offered Roman and Zsasz an appreciative smile. They could see the tension in her shoulders begin to ease, if only slightly.

She seemed in a far better mood than Belladonna and offered a smile and twirled her finger around her temple to convey the insanity of what was currently happening. Roman chuckled.

‘Everything alright Daisy?’

She looked like she was struggling to put her thoughts into words and after a minute she got up, whispered something to Belladonna, who looked back and forth between Daisy, Roman, and her boss before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"Finally," Roman murmured, as Daisy excused herself from the conference room. 

The moment the door swung open, a cacophony of raised voices spilled out into the waiting room, as predicted, it wasn’t good.

Daisy emerged looking utterly relieved to be free from the chaos within. As she approached Roman, he got to his feet and held out her iced green tea latte, from the way she was looking at the cold drink one might be tempted to think that Roman was holding out a winning lotto ticket. She gratefully accepted the drink and a quick sip seemed to energize her a bit.

​​"Thank you," Daisy said gratefully, wrapping her hands around the cold cup and taking a long sip. Her expression softened, and she let out a frazzled breath, trying to shake off the tension that clung to her like a second skin.

Zsasz watched the exchange with an amused glint in his eyes, leaning casually against the wall. He gave Daisy a playful wink, which elicited a small smile from her before Roman's deep voice cut through the lingering tension.

“Daisy, Daisy… What’s got my girls so worked up?” She smiled at Romans' endearing ‘his girls’ note. “Bad day?”

She shook her head, “It’s one for the books, that’s for sure.” She took another sip, “Falls into the category of ‘its not our fault but it is our problem’ kind of thing.”

"What's going on?" Roman asked, charming concern coloring his voice.

"It's been absolute chaos since this morning," She began, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Long story short, we had a huge post-fashion week photo shoot scheduled with the Gotham Literary Society, but there was some sort of paperwork snafu with the permits. Now we're out of a location and scrambling to find one to accommodate the client."

“Yes, I read about that, the site’s just been restored after a two year long renovation.” Roman added casually. Daisy nodded and emphatically gestured with her hand in confirmation as she took another sip of her coffee.

“Exactly! We need to find another location by tomorrow or we might lose the client, Lauren is pissed and well, everyone is scrambling to figure something out." She explained, frustration creasing her brow. "Her bosses are breathing down her neck, which means she’s breathing down our necks. There's talk that if we lose this client, several people might lose their jobs. It’s literally no one’s fault but someone’s gotta pay, right?" She glanced back at the conference room, worry etched in her features. "We're trying to find a place for the shoot, but it's practically impossible because most popular locations are booked already and have been for months. It's the week after fashion week, after all."

“Big client?” 

“Huge,” She looked around and lowered her voice, “Adrian Blackwood.” Romans face lit up in recognition. “He just debuted his entire collection and lets just say he had other offers for people to work with, we need to figure this thing out but we’re running out of time. He’s expecting the details to be confirmed by the end of the day which is officially in,” She paused and looked at her watch, “Six hours. Any place worth booking is booked out and any place available isn’t worth the trouble.”

"Are you or Belladonna's jobs at risk?" Roman's concern for their well-being was palpable, his fingers tapping against the side of his leg as he awaited Daisy's response.

She hesitated, biting her lip. "I'm not sure. Belladonna might be okay, but I can't say the same for myself. Assistants get fired all the time, we’re a dime a dozen but I’m pretty sure Belladonna would march out with me while giving them all the stiffest middle finger ever.”

Roman scoffed, of that, he had no doubts. Despite Belladonna’s claims of not having any friends, she was loyal, he’d only recently seen just how loyal.

"We can't have that," He said, shaking his head. He looked back at the chaotic conference room, his gaze finding Belladonna's once more. Roman furrowed his brow in thought before an idea struck him. "Daisy, I think I can help," He declared. "Tell her to come speak with me."

Daisy seemed uncertain, glancing between Roman and the ongoing chaos inside the meeting room. She took a deep breath, seemingly weighing the potential consequences, briefly opening her mouth to try and argue but Roman insisted and his tone of confidence seemed to convince Daisy it was worth the interruption. Finally, she shrugged, an air of ‘fuck it’ in her demeanor. 

"What's the worst that could happen?" With that, she turned on her heel and made her way back into the lion's den to relay Roman's message to Belladonna.

Again when the doors opened the tense tone of their words floated out, she whispered to Belladonna who looked between Roman and Daisy, confusion evident on her face. He was pretty sure she was telling Daisy she wasn’t going anywhere but Daisy appeared insistent. And she must have convinced her because Belladonna let out a sigh, rolled her shoulders and reluctantly approached her boss. 

They talked for a minute and her boss didn’t look very happy, clearly unimpressed by Roman's presence, waved her hand dismissively. But after a minute and some vague gesturing with her hands she conceded and Belladonna strode out of the conference room, back rigid and heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Roman watched her approach, noting the tension in her shoulders and the tight set of her jaw. She wasn’t happy by any means, though she was doing her best to conceal it but the irritation was simply radiating off her.

"Ok, Daisy said you needed to talk to me. Make it quick, Roman, I’m kind of in the middle of something." She snapped, her patience wearing thin.

“I can see that,” He wore something of a smug smile and after a silence long enough to start to get on her nerves, he spoke again before she could bite back with something smart. "Daisy was just telling me about your little predicament. It seems you're in need of a new location for your photoshoot, and quickly.”

"Yes," she replied tersely, impatience and exasperation seeping through her words. "But can we please get to the point? My boss is already in a pissy mood and I’m pretty sure I’m next on the chopping block if I don’t get my ass back in there."

"Question?" He said, clearly not bothered by her eagerness to wrap up their conversation.

"Fine, what's your question?" His leisurely questioning was starting to grate on her nerves, and she couldn't help but glance back to her boss, who seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on their conversation.

"Am I a joke to you?" Roman tilted his head looking both disappointed and confused. Sort of reminded her of a puppy with its ears half up and half down trying to suss out a high-pitched sound.

Belladonna stared at him, confused. "What?”

"Use my club," 

Belladonna stared at Roman, her dark eyes wide in surprise. "Use your club?" Momentarily thrown off balance by his unexpected offer.

"Yes," he said, his voice low and smooth. "It's mine to do with as I see fit, it’s empty during the day, and should have more than enough space to accommodate your shoot. You can use the space however you need.” Roman smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “and you can vouch for its legitimacy since it's up-to-date with all the necessary permits and licenses."

"Would that help?" he asked, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice.

"Yes, it would," Belladonna admittedly a bit lost for words

She hesitated, shifting on her feet. The offer would solve all her problems for the shoot and might even put her in a better spot for work. She’d obviously need to run it by her boss.

As if reading her mind, Roman gestured towards the conference room.

"Go. Run it by your boss." Roman said with a playful flick of his wrist, shooing her away as if she were a mischievous cat lingering too long by the cream. His dark eyes twinkled with amusement at her hesitation, a side of him few got to witness. "Do you need a slap on that gorgeous ass to get you moving?"

Her eyes flashed with something sharp, but she bit back a retort and turned on her heel, striding back toward the conference room before Roman could follow through with what she hoped was only a joke. As she spoke to her boss, he could see the shock register on her boss’s face. She glanced at Roman, then back to Belladonna then back to Roman, who allowed himself a triumphant smile, knowing he was about to be the hero.

Belladonna motioned for Roman to join them, trying not to let her surprise – or her gratitude – show too openly. As he stepped through the door, the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. All eyes were on him, but this time, he was not the source of any problems. In fact, he was the solution – a role that felt surprisingly gratifying. With his charming smile and easy manner, he greeted Belladonna's boss.

“Ms. Preston, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His smooth tone eased the tension in the room as effectively as a tranquilizer. 

"Mr. Sionis, this is a pleasant surprise," Laura said, her demeanor considerably improved as she reached out to shake Romans’ outstretched hand. 

“Oh, please, Roman is fine.” 

"Belladonna here, tells me you're interested in leasing out your club for our shoot." She crossed her arms over her chest, head tilted as though she wasn’t sure she bought it. 

Surely there had to be more to it, right? 

“Leasing? Oh, not at all. Can’t have a face this gorgeous wearing anything other than a smile.” Roman's gaze drifted to Belladonna before turning back to Laura. "I'm more than willing to assist, by providing my space free of charge," He responded smoothly. "It won't be a problem."

Laura was one of the most assertive people Belladonna knew, never one to be told what to do, never one to let a man swoop in and save the day… Yet, here they were… Either the situation was worse than Belladonna had initially thought and Laura couldn’t afford to lose this client, or her boss too, was drawn in by Romans’ charm, she wouldn’t be the first or the last. Hell, it happened to Belladonna more times than she could count.

Laura eyed Roman skeptically, her expression guarded "So let me get this straight, Mr. Sionis. You're offering us the use of your club; one of the most exclusive night spots in Gotham for our shoot, free of charge?"

Roman nodded, a nonchalant smile playing on his lips. "That's correct, Laura. Consider it my contribution to the arts."

Laura shook her head incredulously. "Well, I'm afraid I can't accept your offer without some form of compensation. Your club is a prime location, and we can't just take advantage of it for free." Laura stood clicking her pen several times as she contemplated her next move. "But, you know, Roman," She began, "I think we could generate some fantastic publicity for your club through the shoot. If you’re unwilling to accept monetary compensation, maybe some good publicity in the fashion industry might suffice."

"Oh? How so?" 

A smirk played on his lips as if he didn’t understand what Laura was proposing, he knew damn well. But he was at least smart enough to know that he had to let her feel like she had a say in this whole thing.

"Well, I have it on good authority that the designer behind the collection is a huge fan of your club. Since your club would be the backdrop it seems wholly inappropriate if we don’t see the man of the hour. And I happen to know for a fact that the designer has a fantastic piece that only a man like yourself could do justice to.” Roman's ego swelled at the thought of being part of a fashion shoot. “It would be great exposure for both the club and the collection."

"I like the sound of that," he replied, nodding thoughtfully. "But one condition."

Laura raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what's that?"

"Belladonna does the shoot," Roman declared, his gaze drifting to where Belladonna stood, sorting through fabric samples. "She's got the skill, the eye. She'll be perfect."

Belladonna's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden turn of events. She opened her mouth to object, but before she could speak, Laura cut in.

"I think that's a fantastic idea," Laura said, flashing a quick smile at Belladonna. "It would add a personal touch to the campaign. We all know Belladonna has quite the eye for male beauty,"

Belladonna hesitated for a moment, then nodded, reluctantly agreeing. She knew she didn't have much choice in the matter.

"Great," Roman said, extending his hand. "It's settled then."

"On behalf of the entire team, thank you, Roman. And I look forward to the proofs,” She turned to Belladonna, “Don’t let me down, Belladonna. This goes well and I think you’ll have earned that bonus we talked about.”

“You got it, Laura,” She replied coolly.

“Alright, then let’s go make the client happy, I'll let him know about the change of venue, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” Roman offered her a card from his jacket pocket.

Roman extended his hand, sealing the agreement with a firm handshake. "My pleasure, Laura. I hope you’ll find time to stop by, and if your client has any questions, don't hesitate to give them my card. I'm always happy to accommodate."

As the bubble of stress burst open like a fragile balloon, the aquarium fish seemed to have taken a cue swimming away. Daisy wrapped Roman in a hug that could rival the strength of an ant and crowned him a lifesaver, before following the other fish out of the conference room. Belladonna collapsed onto the table, hands rubbing her temples in relief… or maybe just exhaustion at the fact that it was only noon. Roman playfully nudged her with his foot, 

“Look at me on my white horse, saving the day!” He mused so proudly, “Seems it got you a bit of cred with your boss, didn’t it? And what was that, something about a bonus too?”

“And now I have an entire shoot to direct.” She replied with a tired smirk and a nod. “And yeah, she’s been dangling that bonus since the beginning of the year.”

He shrugged, prowling closer, caging her in with his arms as he braced them on the table behind her. The scent of his cologne enveloped her, dark and sensual. 

“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.” He paused, “You’re welcome by the way.”

She tilted her head at his playful remark, giving his belt a tug, pulling him into a kiss. Her lips brushed his several times, by now they were both used to the stares and quick little instances of phones being pulled out during his lunchtime visits. 

“Thank you.”

“You know angel, I have to say, I think these conference room meetings are starting to grow on me, I’m finding them very stimulating…”

“Keep it in your pants, Sionis, mama’s working.” His eyebrows shot up at that one, and his chest inhaled a deep controlling breath.

“Easy kitten, don’t forget who holds the cards here.”

“Let's see them.” Her mood had considerably improved but Roman found that was usually the case after he kissed her, “Full house beats a flush.”

Roman shook his head, a half-smile playing on his lips as he held out her coffee. Today, it was different - her usual rose-infused mocha, but iced. The cool container melted against her skin as she took it from him, the condensation leaving small droplets on her fingertips. 

"The girl at the shop insisted you try it iced with the warming weather," Roman explained, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"And you actually took her suggestion? Shocking," She replied, taking a whiff of the sweet aroma before taking a tentative sip. 

"Jokes on her, if you don't like it I'm burning that little cafe to the ground..." Despite his playful threat, she could tell Roman was only half serious. But the drink was surprisingly delicious, and she couldn't help but wear a pleasantly surprised expression as she took another sip. 

“Good?” He asked with a smug look, she held the drink out to him but he shook his head, so she took another sip and leaned forward to give him a kiss, slipping her tongue past his lips for a rose-infused mocha-flavored kiss. He seemed a little more interested in tasting the coffee now.

"And so the little coffee shop that could, lives another day... Have you eaten?" His concern might have been slightly pandering but it was still kind of cute.

Roman looked hard at her searching for any signs of deceit, Belladonna seemed very unamused at now having two people inquiring as to her dietary needs. “Been too busy.”

Roman reached into the small brown bag that had gone unnoticed until now, revealing a box of french macarons that were almost too beautiful to devour. After careful consideration, he chose a bright pink one adorned with delicate swirls and a sprinkle of glitter. The aroma of rich chocolate mousse wafted through the air as he playfully commanded:

"Open up." 

Belladonna licked her lips in anticipation before parting them to accept the treat. She nipped at his fingers, savoring the velvety texture of the macaron and the warmth of his skin against her lips. As she chewed, Roman chuckled and shook his head.

 "What am I going to do with you, kitten? Tie you down and force you to eat?" Belladonna shrugged nonchalantly, enjoying the banter between them as well as how Romans eyes did that thing again; where they flared up and there was a little surge of something dark trying to get out.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to drag him into the nearest closet.

Professionalism be damned.

“Kitten, don’t test daddy’s patience…” He warned her with a growl, his voice low and dangerous.

Belladonna wasn’t quite sure what came over her but she couldn’t stop the words that slipped past her lips. 

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

He jerked her forward into a hard kiss, and she was pretty sure she could feel that last little strand of his self-control pulled taut ready to snap as his tongue delved into her mouth and his hands slipped over her ass, lifting her onto the table. Standing between her legs, he pressed himself against her, feeling the heat of their bodies meld together. A guttural groan escaped his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tickling the nape of his neck.

Oh, this naughty little kitten of his…

“You like to tease me, don’t you, Kitten?” His voice was gravelly and strained in between kisses, panting heavily before finally breaking away just long enough to speak a few words.

“I’m about five seconds from dragging you into an empty office and bending that sweet ass over a desk, Belladonna, and I don’t care who hears." He kissed her again, harder this time, “You wanna play like that? Call me daddy?” He grinned a wolfish lear against her lips, “I’ll make you fucking scream it.”

A knock at the glass window pulled them both from the edge of the abyss they were standing on, looking over to the windows, Zsasz stood with his back to them, he had knocked on the glass, and several people in passing were hurrying away. No doubt they must have snapped a few pictures that would be splashed over the tabloids and gossip rags tomorrow, hell, maybe even today, it was still early.

“Kitten,” His deep voice rumbled through the air, causing her heart to skip a beat. He paused and straightened his perfectly-tailored jacket, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room before landing on her. 

“One of these days I’m not gonna care how many people are around, and if you get fired, I’ll just get you another job somewhere else.”

“My office is down the hall.” She tried to maintain a professional demeanor but felt her cheeks flush under his intense gaze.

“Temping as that is, Angel,” He used her nickname with a hint of amusement in his voice, “I did come for more than just your afternoon coffee and to check to make sure you’ve eaten.”

“Has something happened with the cops?” Her curiosity was piqued by his serious tone.

“No,” His expression turned grave, “Does the name Maria Lopez mean anything to you?”

She furrowed her brow, trying to recall any information about the name. After a minute of concentration, she shook her head. 

“No,” she answered honestly.

“No one? Not a teacher, a maid, a friend, nobody?”

“No, I didn’t get along with most of my teachers. Our maids were mostly Italian or Greek, and after what happened with Olivia, I didn’t have many friends. Plus, my father wouldn’t allow anyone with even a hint of Hispanic heritage near me,” 

Roman looked confused by this revelation. 

“His best friend was Spanish,” she continued, “They had some kind of falling out between their families a long time ago. My father saw anyone with Hispanic blood as someone not to be trusted.” Roman nodded in understanding; he knew the type of person her father was. “Why do you ask?”

Roman hesitated before offering up what he knew, “If I tell you this, you do nothing. Do you understand me?” 

His voice took on that hard quality again, the one that readied her fight or flight instinct, he was serious. She nodded slowly, but he looked expectantly.

"Okay, I promise. What's going on? Who is Maria Lopez?" She asked.

He lowered his voice, “I think that’s the alias your mother has been using.”

Her jaw dropped. “You found her?”

He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm still verifying some things, but I needed to know if that name meant anything to you."

"If it's an alias my father chose for her, I never would've known to look for it." Understanding dawned on Roman's face as he nodded. "Where is she?" She demanded, feeling a surge of hope mixed with fear.

"I can't say for sure," He admitted.

“I don’t believe you.” His eyes sharpened. "You wouldn't ask me something like this if you didn't have reason to believe she was out there."

He was amused by her straight talk and she was right, fact was he had a lot more than he let on. 

“Maybe I do have something. But,” She visibly deflated, “Nothing happens until I can verify what I’m looking at.” He seized her chin, “You do nothing. You don’t even so much as Google that name, do you hear me, Belladonna Black?”

She hadn’t been called by her full name in years and the way Roman said it… Well, it had her wondering if she could change his mind about the whole office rendezvous.

“You’re really gonna find her?” He was trying to be serious and maybe a bit intimidating but she didn’t see it, she saw him assembling pieces to a puzzle she hadn’t even been able to find pieces to in four years. 

“I said I would. Anyone jumping the gun could result in more blood spilled. Do you remember what we talked about the other night after Stan left?” She nodded and gave a feint, ‘Yeah’ It was easy in the span of an evening with Thai takeout and sleeping in the safety of his cozy bed to forget just how real the game they were playing was. 

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” She took hold of his hand that gripped her chin and kissed it. 

“Alright. You’re going to finish out your day and I’m picking you up at eight, not a moment later. Any other work you have to do will have to be done remotely, understand me?” 

“You kidding, I’m a hero by association today, it won’t be hard to leave by eight.”

“Be ready.” She nodded, “Now, I need to be going, Angel. I have some errands to run and before you ask; don’t.”

Roman pulled her in for one more kiss, his hands settling on her hips, maybe a little lower than might have been appropriate for a goodbye kiss but she didn’t seem to mind. It was slow and leisurely, a gentle exploration of her mouth and she could feel the warmth of his wet tongue teasing the seam of her lips. With a satisfied 'Mmm' and a heavy restrained sigh, Roman pulled back, leaving her wanting more. But before she could protest, in Roman fashion he kissed the palm of her hand, his lips lingering for a moment before he left the box of macarons on the conference table, a gesture of sweetness in contrast to his confident and seductive demeanor.

“Eat up kitten, but not too much. We’re going out tonight.”

The hands of the clock on the wall had inched closer to six pm, casting long shadows across the nearly deserted office. Belladonna, now left to her own devices after sending Daisy home with Lloyd, focused intently on her task at hand: finalizing preparations for tomorrow's shoot. The responsibility of running it all loomed over her, a weight she now bore thanks to Roman's influence.

Belladonna adjusted her glasses and diligently worked through the shot list, making necessary adjustments and confirming equipment availability. She double-checked every detail, ensuring that everything would be in working order for the big day. Somehow knowing Roman would be there not only watching but participating made her a bit anxious.

Her gaze momentarily drifted to the corner of her desk where the mostly empty box of macarons caught her eye. A small smile played on her lips as she recalled Roman's 'doting boyfriend' act earlier that day. She reached for the box, taking out the last one; a chocolate and pistachio macaron, and lifted it to her nose, inhaling its sweet aroma.

She’d never say it outloud but the Roman made one hell of a fake boyfriend when he tried, almost fooled her, before taking a satisfying bite.

As she chewed, her mind wandered back to Roman—his enigmatic presence and the powerful connections he held. She was putting a lot of trust in him, the feminist in her didn’t like how dependant on him she was and she felt a pang of unease. But at this point Roman had had multipl opportunities to either cut her loose or let her die and each time he did neither. 

The clock continued to tick away, marking the passage of time as she worked tirelessly to ensure tomorrow's shoot would go off without a hitch. And all the while, Roman Sionis' presence continued to linger in the back of her mind.

She redirected her attention to the list of garments for tomorrow's shoot, pulling out the photo of the piece Roman would be modeling, an intricately detailed, dark and alluring outfit that seemed to perfectly match his enigmatic persona.

"Damn, he is going to look incredible in this," Belladonna whispered under her breath, feeling a sudden surge of excitement at the prospect of capturing him on camera. 

The past week had been a whirlwind, and despite the chaos and danger, but oddly enough she felt perfectly safe. And the notion of Roman being close by while she worked, working in his club was oddly comforting.

She still knew practically nothing about him, and their entire relationship seemed to be built on a foundation of dependency and manipulation. 

Slumping into her chair she stared at the open search engine on her laptop thinking back to the last time she Googled him and how she didn't find much. At the time it had been disheartening but now she had more information on him, especially after her conversation with Cobblepot. She has a better idea of what to look for. She decided to try again, beginning her search at Gotham Preparatory School for Boys. 

As she browsed through the website, with some quick math she found the graduating classes section and quickly calculated which year Roman would have graduated. Once she located his year, her eyes were immediately drawn to his graduation picture – stone-faced, serious, and undeniably gorgeous. 

She studied the class photo, she noticed the space that people seemed to give Roman, as though he was a shark among a school of fish. It only confirmed Cobblepot's description of him – magnetic yet unnerving. People were afraid of him even at only eighteen. 

"Roman Sionis, man of mystery…”

Roman wasn’t Valedictorian and hadn't received any special awards or honors. However, his grades must have been decent enough for him to participate in extracurricular activities, and he was a busy boy. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she read the list – debate team, high-ranking chess competitor, social clubs, polo, squash, fencing, boxing, equestrianism, and swimming. 

None of those sounded like Roman but given the prestigious nature of the school, she suspected his parents likely had something to do with Roman’s busy schedule; something she could relate to. The thing that surprised her the most was the chess thing, she didn’t see Roman as having the patience for that sort of thing but by all accounts, he was very good.

"Of course, they'd want their son involved in everything," she mused, thinking of how similar Roman's upbringing seemed to her own.

Though she knew she should focus on the upcoming photo shoot, the enigma of Roman Sionis proved too enticing to resist. 

She clicked further into the archives next, finding a treasure trove of photos featuring Roman in his school uniform. The crisp white shirt and sharp black blazer and his immaculately styled hair seemed to be precursors to his current love for suits. Even as a teenager, he exuded an air of confidence and danger that was undeniably attractive. His stern expression, reminiscent of a young James Dean or Clint Eastwood, gave him a "resting bastard face" that somehow only served to heighten his appeal.

"Damn," she whispered to herself, unable to look away from the smoldering intensity in his eyes. Many of his photos possessed the quality to them that his eyes seemed to follow you wherever you went.

There was an alumni section dedicated to post-high school achievements like colleges, civic honors, and prominent family legacies where Roman was mentioned as a successful club owner, nothing more. There was no mention of any continuing connection with the school, but it did lead her to a page dedicated to significant contributors – including Roman's father, Richard Sionis.

Richard's gray hair betrayed his age, though there was still a strong resemblance between him and his son. Unlike Roman, Richard wore a smile in his pictures – but it appeared rehearsed and artificial, reminding Belladonna of the way her own father would grin for the cameras. It was clear that Roman had inherited his father's good looks, but there was something more genuine in his features, less tired and fake than the elder Sionis.

Belladonna continued to read about Richard's long-standing support of the school, noting his service on the board of trustees and involvement in numerous fundraisers. It seemed that the Sionis family had a history of influence and power, making her wonder what role Roman's upbringing played in shaping the man he had become.

Who was Roman Sionis before he became Roman Sionis?

She stared at the screen, not ready to pack it in just yet.

She didn’t know if he went to college or where to look and she really had no idea what happened to him after he graduated, only that at some point his family had severed all ties with him and Roman had begun a criminal life. He had mentioned he’d done time in Blackgate, but she wasn’t sure of the reason. The criminal stuff didn’t bother her at this point, she mostly wanted to know about his family drama. Because personal family drama was irritating, someone else’s family drama was entertainment.

"Alright then," She muttered under her breath, typing in the keywords ‘Roman Sionis’ and ‘Blackgate’ then hitting enter.

Over a dozen arrest records appeared on the screen, and Belladonna felt her heart tighten in her chest. Most of the records showed Roman posting bail up until he was twenty-one, but then the pattern changed. The bail postings stopped, and he started doing more time in jail. She suspected this may have been when his parents severed ties with him, but she couldn't find anything concrete to prove it. 

Not surprising, a family like his was likely to have as many skeletons in their closets as hers did and like hers; they stayed locked up tight away from prying eyes.

She clicked on the last arrest record, dating back to when Roman was twenty-three. Her stomach churned as the mugshot revealed several injuries to his face – a black and slightly swelling eye, bloodied cheeks, and a split lip. He looked like he had been beaten very badly, yet his smug expression remained intact, as if daring the world to knock him down further.

"God, Roman..." 

Despite his injuries, there was something about his defiant gaze that made her feel a flicker of admiration. It was clear that Roman refused to be broken, even when the odds were against him. She could practically hear him boasting ‘You should see the other guy.’

Aggravated assault, property damage, trespassing, criminal menacing, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of illegal weapons, resisting arrest, and battery – it was an extensive rap sheet that painted a portrait of a man prone to violence and chaos. 

"Roman, you really don't make things easy, do you?" Belladonna muttered under her breath, feeling a strange mix of concern and fascination. 

As she researched further into the dates of his arrests, Belladonna stumbled upon the court case where Roman was tried for these numerous charges. Limited to a mid-tier lawyer, she expected him to suffer the consequences of his actions, yet one by one, he managed to beat most of the charges. It seemed as though evidence had conveniently disappeared or witnesses had mysteriously chosen not to step forward.

"Interesting," She mused, intrigued by the power Roman appeared to wield even in his darkest moments. "How did you manage all of this?"

Her search eventually led her to the final charge that stuck: tax evasion. The out-of-place accusation left her puzzled, as it seemed far removed from the violent nature of the other crimes.

"Tax evasion? That's what they got you on, Roman?" Belladonna shook her head, disbelief etched across her face. Frustration gnawed at her as she tried to find more information on the bizarre charge but came up empty-handed. “Well, the permits make a little more sense now…”

The courtroom photos were grainy, like a lower quality paparazzi shot. His expression was one of pure disgust and irritation as he stood before the judge, his dark eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. The gavel came down, sealing his fate: three years in Blackgate Penitentiary.

She couldn't find anything on Roman's prison stint without hiring a private investigator or formally requesting court documents and that required the Freedom of Information Act which was time consuming and could be expensive and it wasn’t exactly subtle. And for some reason, she didn't want Roman to know she was digging into his past.

Her eyes narrowed as she typed in a new search query – this time focusing on Roman's initial arrest that had landed him in Blackgate Penitentiary. As she skimmed the articles, she discovered it was tied to an assault case against a local criminal named Tony Zucco.

"Tony Zucco?" 

A feeling of déjà vu washed over her. She knew the name sounded familiar but couldn't quite place it. Frustrated, she opened a new tab and quickly Googled the man.

As the search results loaded, Belladonna found herself staring at a squeaky clean image of Tony Zucco – a self-made man from Old Gotham with a very old school mafia gangster look to him. He looked like the type of man her father surrounded himself with. 

The more she searched, the less information she seemed to find about the altercation between Roman and Tony. It was as if their conflict had been purposefully scrubbed from the internet. However, one detail remained consistent throughout the scarce information available – Roman had lost the fight, but not without causing some serious damage.

"Damn," Belladonna breathed out.

What did Tony Zucco do to earn Roman’s wrath? What could have possibly ignited such a violent confrontation between the two? Her instincts told her it wasn’t exactly a fight over a seat at the bar.

The case was open and shut. As far as she could tell, he’d done his three years and he was released on the date, not a day more or less. There were a few pictures from paparazzi’s of Roman after his release and he looked harder, features darker and sharper, grittier. But she couldn’t imagine that three years of prison was easy on a man like Roman who had known luxury his whole life.

Gotham was almost pretty at sunset, if you didn’t think about all the scum that came out at night, the fading sunlight doused the area in hues of orange and gold. Roman lounged against the hood of his sleek black Maserati, scrolling through his tablet. A smirk played on his lips as if he were watching a thrilling episode of his favorite show, waiting to see what would unfold next. 

Zsasz, Roman's loyal assistant, stood beside him, taking a drag from a cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. For once not wearing his jacket in a departure of his professional look, he wore a shoulder holster but it didn’t hold a gun. No, where a small firearm usually sat tucked against a mans side instead was the scabbard of a very large knife. Scars on his arms on full display since no one was around to be scared by them, besides when it came to nightfall in Gotham, the scarier you looked, the less likely people were to fuck with you and there weren’t many men who looked scarier than Zsasz. 

"Tell me she's asking better questions this time," Zsasz asked in a monotone voice with a hint of reservation. 

“She started with my old prep school this time." Roman said, his eyes never leaving the tablet. "Nobody ever thinks keyloggers are useful until they are," 

“I prefer a more hands on approach.”

Roman chuckled, nodding in agreement. "You think she’ll find my list of extracurriculars impressive?"

“Hell no. Squash is dumb, and polo is for spoiled rich pussies," Zsasz countered, blowing out another puff of smoke. Zsasz scoffed. 

A bark of laughter escaped Roman. "You do remember I played Polo, right?." Zsasz shot him a sideways glance, the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “

Zsasz's lips quirked. "Wasn't calling you a pussy." 

"Damn right I’m not." 

Roman's attention returned to the tablet, watching in real time as Belladonna uncovered more and more of his sordid past. Part of him relished the thought of her reaction. The rest rankled at her audacity to dig into his business but he had done just that too her so he couldn’t blame her much. Still, pretty stupid to think she could dig into him and he not know. He knew about her previous day of Googling after his little adventure at the docks with Cobblepots men and he’s watched as she searched up his old school.

He had to give it to her, she’d gone right back to work after he’d left and he was pleased to see that she didn’t Google the name Maria Lopez, just as she’s promised not to. Nope. But she did take a second shot at Googling him. Her first attempt at digging into Romans past hadn’t yielded much, turns out when you write in the name ‘Roman Sionis’ into Google it’s mostly just papparazzi pictures and a few articles on his club. Roman had paid good money to make sure those articles on his arrest and his younger years were at least seven pages back in the search results. You couldn’t erase a criminal past but you could make it harder to find. 

He admired Belladonna's tenacity. She was resourceful, stubborn, and unafraid to dig into his past. Those traits only served to make her more attractive to him.

"Let's see what else she has up her sleeve," Roman murmured, his finger swiping across the tablet screen. 

A wicked grin spreading across his face as he noticed Belladonna had uncovered his criminal record. 

"Ah, there it is. She's finally found my rap sheet," He said, his voice low and amused.

"Should've been her first step," Zsasz commented, looking over Roman's shoulder at the screen. 

"Oh come on now, give the kid a break. She's new at this."

"True," Zsasz chuckled, leaning back against the car hood. "I’ll give her this, she’s has handled everything so far like an old-school mafia woman. Haven’t seen tears from her once."

“Thank God for that, I can’t stand seeing women cry.” Roman agreed, his admiration for Belladonna growing with each passing moment "Indeed, she's been a champ,"

Flicking through the rest of the information she'd gathered, he spotted something that caught his attention. 

"Look here, she's found Tony Zucco's name."

"Tony Zucco?" Zsasz mused, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "She won't find much. He's been out of the game since you shut him down.”

"Ah, yes. Good ol' Tony," Roman sighed nostalgically, a distant look in his eyes as if recalling a fond memory. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Not the least of which was the scar on his shoulder,courtsey of Zsasz's loyalty. Roman met his gaze. 

"Good shot, by the way. The ladies seem to like the scars." 

Zsasz's lips quirked again. "Following orders.” Zsasz reminded him with a sly grin as he flicked the ashes off his cigarette. “What else has she dug up?" 

Roman scrolled through the contents of the laptop. "She found the shooting at the club." His mouth twisted. "Hard to believe that lazy bastard was in business for so long, Tony never seemed to understand the value of paying your people what they’re worth..."

Zsasz chimed in. "You had a better employee retention program." 

"I did at that." Roman said smugly. They both chuckled, enjoying the memory that many would probably find deeply suspicious or deeply unsettling.

"Yeah, poor Tony never saw it coming. Shame you didn't kill him," Zsasz said casually. "Could've gotten the club for cheap if there had been a death on the property." 

"True," Roman mused, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at the thought. “A little restraint goes a long way Zsasz…”

His laugh died and Roman's eyes narrowed to slits as he zoomed in on an article that Belladonna was currently browsing. It was a piece the Gotham Times had published shortly after the shooting—one he'd somehow overlooked until now. The street lights flickered above, casting eerie shadows across his face as he scrutinized the text.

"Zsasz," Roman said, his voice low and dangerous. "Take a look at this and tell me what you see."

Zsasz took the tablet from Roman, his pale eyes scanning the screen with a growing sense of unease. He glanced back at Roman, his voice tense with anticipation. "Two very irritating names.”

"This makes it two times now," Roman muttered, a note of irritation lacing his voice.

"Two?"

"First, we miss Belladonna's hypoglycemia diagnosis," Roman said, tossing the tablet aside where it landed with a soft thud on the leather couch. “Now this.”

"Ah," Zsasz nodded slowly, his lips twitching into an almost-smile. "A determined woman does better research than the FBI. Maybe you should take Belladonna out for a nice dinner, thank her properly for her detective skills."

Roman's expression softened at the mention of dinner. The thought of her resourcefulness brought a rare sense of warmth to his chest. 

"Dinner?" he echoed, considering the idea. His hand instinctively reached up to adjust the cuff of his immaculately tailored suit.

Roman considered it. 

"Taking a half-Italian woman to an Italian restaurant... is that too cliché?" Roman inquired, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a semblance of amusement.

"Boss," Zsasz replied with a deadpan delivery, "clichés are clichés for a reason. But if you want something different, I know a place. Turkish."

"That little hole in the wall joint in the Bowery?" Roman's tone shifted with intrigue.

Zsasz gave a single nod. "That's the one."

"Karnıyarık," Roman mused aloud, a hint of hunger creeping into his voice as he remembered the savor of well-spiced eggplant and minced meat. "That does sound good."

"And don't get me started on the büyükanne's baklava." Zsasz's eyes gleamed with a rare spark of enthusiasm. "Better than any of those fancy restaurants, hands down."

Dinner was a good next step but there was a new loose end to tie up. Roman's amusement faded as he glared at the article again, picking out the names that had drawn his ire—Ramirez and Craven. The detectives first on scene after he'd been shot. 

Roman sneered at the article, muttering under his breath, "So that's why you've got it out for me..." 

His mind raced with thoughts of revenge and calculated moves, feeling the weight of their names pressing down on him. 

"This changes things," Roman said, the gears turning in his head. He looked at Zsasz with a new sense of urgency. 

"What do you want to do about it?" Zsasz asked calmly. 

"Call up the lawyers and our inside man. I want everything on Ramirez and Craven by Monday." 

"Got it, boss," Zsasz replied, nodding in agreement. His fingers were already reaching for his phone, ready to make contact and set things into motion. “You wanna wait on Metropolis? Left that doctor in pretty rough shape, he might talk, might not.”

“No, I think we’ve properly motivated the good doctor to keep his mouth shut. But let’s not take any chances, keep our travel plans as scheduled. And look into that other thing, I want that sorted by the time we leave, make sure she has everything she needs.”

"Now what?" he asked, curious about Roman's next move.

Roman's mind buzzed with plans and contingencies, the dark machinery of his intellect churning relentlessly. Craven and Ramirez had been the proverbial annoying thorn in his side since this whole damn thing started. He’d have figured out exactly what their beef with him was sooner or later but thanks to his little detective, it was sooner and he’d have to make sure he thanked her properly, wouldn’t he?

But he’d also have to tell her he’d been spying on her at work as well as her home, which really shouldn’t surprise her at this point. Well, she’d get over it.

The neon glow of the city reflected in Roman's dark eyes as he glanced at his watch, the ticking seconds a reminder that time was always moving. 

"Time to go pick up my angel from work." 

He pocketed the tablet and slid off the hood of the Maserati with predatory grace. Zsasz looked up from his phone call, nodding in understanding. Neither spoke of the growing reality, which was that Belladonna was quickly becoming a more central influence in Romans life, which made her dangerous.

Her beauty and courage had captivated him from their first meeting, and he found himself craving her presence more and more each day. 

"Boss, everything's set," Zsasz said, interrupting Roman's thoughts as he hung up the phone. "Our guys will get us what we need."

"Good," Roman replied, his voice low and intense. "We'll find out exactly what those bastards are playing at, and put an end to it. But for now… let's focus on something far more pleasant." He smirked, enjoying the idea of spending time with Belladonna, even if only for a brief reprieve from the darkness that consumed his world. “I’m hungry.”

When faced with virtually no information about Tony Zucco aside from his sterling reputation within the community and the many mentionings of his hand in local businesses, Bealladonna’s bullshit detector started going off. Jaded or not, a wise man once said if something seemed too good to be true then it was.

When one word didn’t work, she opted to cross reference the name of Tony Zucco with Roman Sionis and then she found it.

The words "shooting" and "Masquerade Noir" had caught her attention, and as she read, she began to piece together a story that had unfolded just months after Roman's release from prison.

The article detailed an incendent that had unfolded at the location that would later become Roman’s club, he had been looking at the building with a leasing agent when Tony Zucco and his men showed up.

The statement of the leasing agent told of how Roman instructed her to flee and call the police and when she ran Tony’s men persued her. She imagined Roman's tall, dark frame acting as a barrier between the fleeing woman and Zucco's thugs. Roman then inteviened and tackled one fo the men by throwing punches but was qickly overwhelmed when he second man attacked Roman from behind. The witness report stated she saw Roman taking a severe beating on his knees before she went for help.

Roman out-numbered two to one, those seemed like his kind of odds. The image of his strong, muscular body entangled in a vicious fight made her shiver with both fear and admiration. It was compelling but something about it just wasn’t right. Where was Zsasz? She hadn’t bothered to look up anything about Zsasz, that one she had been a little afraid to look into.

The article continued stating by the time the police had arraived the two men were dead from gunshot wounds, Tony Zucco was shot in the chest but still alive and Roman was shot in the shoulder. She could almost hear the gunshots echoing through the empty building as Roman and Zucco traded fire.

Her breath caught in her throat as she envisioned Roman wounded and bleeding. She thought back to earlier that morning when she’d caught sight of him with that towel draped around his waist. She’d seen a few scars, one in particular on his shoulder, it had looked like a bullet but she couldn't tell from where she was.

As she absorbed the information, she could almost see the scene play out in her mind: Roman, bloodied but unbowed, bringing down the older man before collapsing into unconsciousness. It wasn't long after this brutal exchange that the police arrived, taking both men to Gotham General Hospital for treatment.

"Both men were treated and held in medical hold with armed police officers until they cold be taken to the GCPD." She read further. 

While there was push from Zucco’s attourney to have Roman thrown back into Blackgate for the shooting and there was a potential civil lawsuit against him, the judge had ruled that Roman was out numbered, out gunned and he acted in reasonable self defense. 

"Tony Zucco was sentenced to ten years for conspiracy to commit murder, assault with a deadly weapon, criminal conspiracy, and criminal solicitation. " 

It had been, as far as she could tell, a slam dunk case mostly thanks to the severity of Romans injuries and the leasing agent who had witnessed the whole ordeal. She had stepped forward offering testimony, ultimately clearing Roman Sionis of any wrongdoing.

She moved from one article to another that talked about Tony Zucco’s release several years ago and he hadn’t been mentioned that much since, choosing to keep a quiet profile until almost all mention of him stopped. And a price reduction of several hundred thousand dollars had left the building vacant, which Roman swooped in to purchase it months later.

"Masquerade Noir opens its doors... quickly becoming Gotham's hottest night spot," She read aloud, her voice tinged with disbelief. The club had been born from violence, yet now thrived with people fighting to get in.

"Roman Sionis: Behind the Mystery" – another article title caught her eye, and she clicked on it eagerly. Scrolling through the text, she absorbed every detail there were interviews with staff, patrons, all speaking very highly of Roman as an employer who ran an immaculate ship. Didn’t tolerate any shady activity and overall, all who set foot inside his doors reported they loved the experience and felt safe and eager to return even if a martini cost almost twenty five dollars.

"From violence to prospering into an icon of the city; one thing is certain – he has built an empire from nothing, and many are drawn to the allure of his power and charm."

The sudden buzz of the intercom jolted Belladonna from her thoughts, her heart pounding in her chest. 

"Miss Black, Mr. Sionis is in the lobby to pick you up," The security guards voice came through the speaker.

"Thank you, tell him I’ll be right down." She managed to reply, quickly shutting down her laptop and packing her bag. 

As she stepped out of her office and made her way to the lobby, she considered what she might say to him, or even if she’d say anything at all. He’d never forbade her from looking into his past, never warned her not to go digging and what kind of idiot would she be if she didn’t at least do some light Googling into a man that she was growing more intimately connected with? Hell, she was all but sleeping with him at this point, she was living with him. 

Her steps slowed as she entered the elevator and waited for it to carry her to the first floor. He did, however, tell her to ask fewer questions or learn to look the other way. 

"Angel," 

Roman's deep voice called as he saw her, his eyes alight with a mix of desire and possessiveness and he wore a smile that could charm the devil himself. He crossed the distance between them in a few swift strides, pulling her into an unusually passionate kiss that caught her off guard. There was no one here aside from the security guard who wasn’t even watching, why the show? Something put him in a good mood. 

"Hi.” She said a little breathlessly.

He ushered her toward his black Maserati parked outside, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. "Hungry?"

"Actually, yeah." She replied, her previous queries now pushed to the back burner after that kiss and the prospect of dinner. She wondered what he had in mind but before she could ask he answered that with a question of his own.

"Ever had Turkish?" Roman asked, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

She wasn’t sure what it was but something had put him in a very good mood, it was hard to find any hint of those little tendrils of darkness that usually clung to him. It was then that she registered his question and her lips curled in distaste, the memory of her father's rants about 'those damned Turks' still fresh even after all these years. 

"No, of course not." She said it with an almost laugh, as if it was the dumbest question she’d been asked.

Roman's gaze sharpened, and she could almost hear the unspoken reprimand. “Excuse me?’ Who's never had Turkish in this cultural melting pot of a city? It’s almost offensive.”

“Sorry?” She shrugged. "Did you forget I'm half Greek and my father is something of a xenophobe?" She replied, unable to keep the slightly defensive note from her voice.

"What's that got to do with food?" He asked perplexed as the car pulled away from the curb.

Belladonna bit her lip. Did Roman really need her to explain her father's deep seeded, outdated, cultural hatred? She thought it was pretty self explanatory. On the other hand it was just as plausible for Roman to harbor no real hate for anyone unless they crossed him in which case that was most certainly a ‘case by case’ basis. He also seemed like an ‘I hate everybody equally’ type of man. He was a total social butterfly, floating between different groups without a care in the world. Old grudges and racial tensions didn't seem to faze him at all, personal grudges? Well, that was likely different.

"Turkish food," She finally said. "Greece and Turkey have been enemies for centuries,” She managed. "Ever since the Ottoman Empire conquered Constantinople in 1453, there's been bad blood between the nations. Even now they're still not exactly friends-"

"Despite both being NATO allies..." Roman interjected, one dark brow arched knowingly. 

His mention of something so political surprised her, Roman was smart but she didn’t really think of him as ‘politics smart.’ She had never thought of him as someone who paid attention to politics, let alone casually mention it. But in a way, it did make a certain kind of sense, the politics of crime.

"Just because someone is an ally, doesn't make them friends." 

She froze, hearing the echo of their own intricate affiliation in those words. The playful atmosphere evaporated, replaced by an awkward tension. 

Without warning, Roman's hand reached out to cup her chin and he silenced any concerns she had with a deep, passionate kiss. His lips moved slowly over hers, lulling her into a relaxed state, slow, smoldering, possessive and hungry. When he pulled away, she was left breathless, her mind pleasantly unfocused. 

"Trust me, you're gonna love it," He purred, low and seductive, his thumb stroking over her lower lip. 

He didn't acknowledge her earlier words or the uneasy parallel she had drawn between them. If her comment bothered him, he didn't let it show. 

“Was your father that much of a bigot to keep you from trying some of the most delicious food known to man?” Roman's disbelief was evident in his tone, and it surprised her. She had never thought of him as a foodie but he seemed all riled up over it.

“Roman, what do you think?” She asked dryly.

"Come on," he said. "Time you tried some Turkish delight."

“That jello thing that little prick Edmund liked from the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe?”

Roman rolled his eyes, and scoffed. “You know classic children's fantasy literature but you’ve never had Turkish?”

“You mean, ‘I know classic Christian biblical propaganda?’ Then yes, I do. I went to an all girls Catholic school, remember?”

A sly smile crossed Roman's face. “Oh, Angel, trust me. That’s a detail I’ve never forgotten.”

Just an hour ago she’d read through as much of Romans criminal history as she could find, she was still no closer to discovering what it was that happened between his family and him. She didn’t for one second buy the fact that he’d done three years for tax evasion or that there was no validity to any of the other charges against him. 

He did it. She was sure. 

And she knew for a fact that the shooting that took place in his club couldn’t have been as simple as the article had made it out to be. 

Roman protecting a curiously present leasing agent when someone he had a sketchy past with had just happen to show up? Not for a second.

She couldn't explain it, but somehow Roman had found a way to get away with murder and attempted murder. And now, he was doing it again with Jimmy. Even more unsettling, she was helping him - at times, even enjoying it. She could hardly believe how comfortable she had become in his presence, especially since learning to read him better. As they drove through the streets of Gotham, for what was sounding more and more like a real date, Roman wore something that hovered between a smile and a smirk. His hand rested possessively on her thigh, thumb gently grazing her leg through the fabric of her jeans. Electric sparks shooting between their bodies like lightning bolts. She couldn't deny the thrill she felt being by his side, despite the danger and moral ambiguity of their actions together.

Roman was a man of many qualities, but at the forefront of it all was his ability to survive. She couldn't imagine how much blood he must have shed to get to where he was. Despite knowing he was dangerous and having witnessed his quick fire temper firsthand, and even being mildly on the receiving end a few times. She was drawn to him. 

Everything about this man should have sent her running and screaming.

But it didn’t. 

First he’d spared her life, then he’d saved her life more than once, called down an armed assault when she’d been in danger and nearly declared war with another criminal over her. Yet, here he was, sitting beside her, taking her to dinner after a long workday, to try something new. She wasn’t bothered by his touch, in fact, she craved it. Despite the red flags every Cosmo had ever told her to look for and run from there was a warmth emanating from those flags, like a bullet-proof, blood red blanket. 

Roman Sionis was a pit bull. An angry dog with a penchant for biting and slicing off ears. Dropping bodies where it pleased him and something about that knowledge set every nerve of hers on fire. 

He was a criminal. A killer with blood on his hands. And a psychopath with violence in his heart. And if there was a God in heaven, let him help her because she was falling for him.

I woke up a little early so here's a happy surprise for you guys! So, we got a little more insight into Roman's past, eh? Anyone else get the impression we're missing some information???? Belladonna does. Hope you guys liked this chapter, I know I'm teasing you guys mercilessly but stick with me I PROMISE YOU the smut is coming in the next chapter or two, it just depends on pacing but it will be worth it! Y'all have stuck with me this far just hang on a little longer. I need to work on a few one-shots but I have the next chapter mostly planned out so it shouldn't take quite as long. I also had some family in town so writing was put on the back burner for a little bit.

I'm really loving how this story is coming together and I really appreciate everyone's support, especially my mysterious anonymous questioner who checks in on me, I don't know who you are but I appreciate you! Comments and interaction comes from such a small group so the feedback and check-ins really do keep me motivated!

How do you guys like the new look fo the story??? I finally got Canva Premium so I think I'll be playing around with some more fun stuff like the bars and dividers. You guys know what to do, reblog with those crazy tags, comment and like! Reblogs are the best way to circulate work on Tumblr so we can reach more Toxic Fangirls! And speaking of which a big welcome to a new potential member of the Roman Sionis Toxic Love Fangirl Club who is actually a pretty damn good writer her/their damnself! Looking at you @gilverrwrites and my other toxic fangirls too! @hereticpriest @daenerys-skywalker @tarrenterror25 @supernatural-lover and @keffirinneYou guys are my cheer squad!

Have a great day, let me know what you all think, and stay toxic.

#roman sionis smut #fake relationship #fanfiction is life #original character #close proximity #slightly toxic #slight power imbalance #medium burn romance #shadows of deception #belladonna black #belladonna fucking black #i have too many fanfictions #roman sionis toxic love fangirl club #black mask smut #black mask #black mask fanfiction #roman sionis #roman sionis x original female character #simping for the bad guy #dc #dc fandom #dc birds of prey #there will be smut #romansionisfanfiction #romansionissmut #dark romance #ewan mcgregor characters #alternate universe #yandere #roman sionis has anger issues

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

A Lifetime and Beyond

by CriFree_FTW

She used to think she had the answers to everything. Her life changed when she lost the boy she loved - until one night when a shocking intruder entered her life, throwing her back into a world of memories. (Jason Todd x OC)

Words: 4142, Chapters: 1/17, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Batman: The Animated Series, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Jason Todd, Original Female Character(s), Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jonathan Crane, Roman Sionis, Rebecca Langstrom, Original Male Character(s), Talia al Ghul, Original Child(ren) of Jonathan Crane, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), past Jonathan Crane/Harleen Quinzel, eventual Jonathan Crane/Pamela Isley, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Roman Sionis & Jason Todd

Additional Tags: Resurrected Jason Todd, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Grief/Mourning, First Love, Second Chances, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Good Older Sibling Dick Grayson, scheherazade references, Public Nudity, Do NOT copy to another website, Human Trafficking, Unethical Experimentation, Pubic Hair, Blackmail, Inspired by Fanfiction and Music, Swan Princess (1994) References, Jonathan Crane is a Good Parent, Protective Jonathan Crane, Teen Crush, Eventual Happy Ending, Slow Romance, Complicated Relationships, Shaving, Past Rape/Non-con, no reposting, Protective Jason Todd, BAMF OFC, Non-Consensual Drug Use

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/42935007

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the cape crusader #gotham #dc universe #ao3 #ao3feed

[consumedkings-archive]

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part i.

word count: 6k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he's a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. for this chapter in specific, roman likes to take things to the Extreme (i.e., "i'm going to fucking kms if you say this word one more time") but if you're here i imagine you know exactly what he's about.

notes: it's here! i know that most of my followers and friends on here are my friends through my far cry 5 content, but my return to the fic-writing world was inspired by my first longfic in a decade after watching birds of prey. you could say, perhaps, that i have a Type(TM), given that roman sionis lives rent free in my head forever and always. this is the sequel to my work carry your throne, though i like to think it's fairy user-friendly, especially once we really get into the thick of it.

special thank you goes to my beta and the loml, @starcrier; the first person to ever truly recognize varya for the wretched little beast that she is and love her anyway. thank you for being my beta and for loving my girl!

and, of course, another special thanks goes to @shallow-gravy, @vasiktomis, @faithchel, @tomexraider, and @belorage for being so supportive of my foray out of the far cry fandom and back into one that, in a way, brought me here in the first place!

summary: —by dread things, compelled.

roman sionis is the closest he has ever been to having everything that he wants; a perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect international black-market arms dealing business signed over to him in its entirety. unfortunately for him, there are people in the world who would prefer to see him without, and that has never been a thing that roman has accepted for himself: being without.

(or: a fic wherein the devil spends his time rebuking sin.)

“If one more person says the word ‘chandelier’ in my presence,” Roman announced, drawing all eyes to him, “I'm going to blow my fucking brains out. Got it?”

There was a brief moment of silence that lapsed before the murmured acquiescence of the workers marked their return to their work. Blowing hot air from his mouth, Roman raked his fingers through his hair and turned back around to where Zsasz was watching him expectantly.

“What?” He demanded. “It’s my wife’s birthday.” Emphasis on the my, not the wife; it was not a favor Roman was doing for Varya, it was something he was doing for himself.

“V told them she wanted it.” Zsasz gestured to the offensive piece of lighting, which continued to haunt Roman’s waking and dreaming hours with its garish crystalline drippings and expensive bulbs. Ever since Varya had found out his fluctuating approval of the chandelier, it had been in and out of the Black Mask Club more times than he could count. Not that he needed to; he could very well put in or rip out a stupid fucking light fixture as many times as he wanted.

“Well.” Roman pulled a glass out from behind the bar, setting it on the top and dropping an ice cube into it. “She does so love to torture me.”

“It's just a—”

“Do you want my fucking guts on the floor, Zsasz? I mean it. Say the word and I’ll do it.”

The blonde regarded him drily. “No, boss.”

“Blood and guts everywhere.” Roman gestured widely with his free hand. “All over the floor. The bar top. You’ll have to clean it up. Maybe wipe down some of the bottles.”

“I won’t say it.”

“I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to get blood out of the carpet.”

Zsasz’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It said, without saying anything at all, no, you don’t. More agreeably, and with the flash of pearly whites and the capped tooth: “Sure.”

Roman poured well over what would have been considered the polite amount of expensive scotch into his glass, capping the bottle and setting it aside. It had been exactly twenty-four hours of making sure the club was perfectly polished and styled for Varya's birthday; though she was shrewd, she was so preoccupied with the twins and the lawyers and overseas business associates that she barely seemed to notice whatever was coming in and out of the Black Mask Club. He didn’t think she’d had a baby nor a phone out of her hands in over two days, and truthfully, it was starting to become tedious. Now that the twins were a little over a year old, they were supposed to be scheduling their honeymoon.

The delay of it hadn’t been a big deal, at the start. But everyday with you feels like my honeymoon, Varya had demurred months before the twins’ arrival, fluttering her lashes and gliding her fingers along the lapel of his jacket—and not even an hour after she’d curtly informed him that any more chatter, while she was nursing a headache, would be met with a swift and efficient extraction of his vocal cords by her own hands. Motherhood was supposed to have domesticated her, Roman thought, and had done the exact opposite; now, she was more assured of her status and power than ever.

So, yes; Varya had been busy, and he was almost certain she’d forgotten her own birthday. Never mind that everything had to be perfect. Never mind that it had to be immaculate. Never mind that Varya had deigned to order a brand new fucking chandelier from the same place they’d gotten one last time, knowing full well that he had made the executive decision to gut the fucking thing and get it out of his club.

“Tell you what, Zsasz,” Roman muttered, taking a swallow of the amber liquid in his glass, “don’t ever get fucking married. You want someone knowing all the shit that pushes your buttons all the time?”

“Maybe you just got a button pusher for a wife.”

Roman grimaced and took another swallow. It was true. “Fuck off.”

The blonde opened his mouth to say something else—and hadn’t he gotten confident in himself too, since Varya had become such a permanent fixture in their life, constantly goading and coercing him to voice his opinion on things, things that normally he would just defer to Roman on—when the doors to the stairwell and the elevator opened.

Eclipsing the doorway was Armazd, Varya’s hand-picked-from-the-batch-of-Russians-left-over-guard. Armazd had to be easily cresting six-foot-five, his dark beard neatly trimmed and peppered with silver, a scar breaking the color of his top lip. Roman had only ever seen the man swathed in dark clothes, like a fucking mourner on parade. His wife had been the one picked to be the twins' nanny, despite the fact that Roman felt like she barely did anything.

Also hand-picked. Thoroughly vetted. Interrogated for hours. No stone left unturned, when it came to Yuli and Ro.

“What are you doing down here?” Roman barked, coming around the side of the bar to make his way across the room. “You’re supposed to be going up and keeping—”

“She is coming down,” Armazd clarified. “In the elevator. Irina called to tell me.”

“Instead of stopping her?”

“She was—”

The elevator dinged in the hallway, and Roman quickly ducked around Armazd and closed the door into the club behind him. As soon as the doors slid open, he planted a smile on his face and closed the distance between himself and his wife.

Nobody would know, looking at Varya, that she not only barely utilized the nanny that they had furiously vetted and now paid handsomely, but that on top of juggling their twins she was actively in the process of getting a massive, international gun-running business signed over in his name. There was not a single hair out of place, not a single crease or rumple in the sapphire-blue silk of her blouse or skirt; the scent of her preferred jasmine perfume followed her like a cloud. She looked as put-together as the day he’d first seen her standing in his club.

And now, he desperately needed her to stay out of it.

“Kitten,” he greeted warmly, his hands—though gloved—immediately scratching the itch by reaching for her; they captured hers to carefully still her procession to the club’s main room. “What are you doing down here? I thought you’d be busy for hours.”

“Yuliana has been fussing nonstop,” Varya replied, her voice light despite what could only have been an expression of frustration quickly following, “all while I listen to grown men fussing nonstop at me on the phone.”

Roman feigned a sympathetic noise, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss them. “We have a nanny, V.”

“You know better than anyone else,” the brunette murmured, brushing her nose against his as their hands dropped, “that she is inconsolable without you.”

He tried not to look too pleased. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Don’t be modest, Romy.”

“Well, I’ll come up, of course.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And console our princess.” Another kiss, to the other corner. “So that you can continue letting grown men fuss at you.”

She beamed at him prettily, and finally they met in the middle for a real kiss—nothing coy, nothing demure, but lingering warm and just between the two of them.

“I love you,” she purred. “Go on, then.”

And then Varya pulled away, as though to go around him and into the club, and Roman blinked rapidly. He had only just caught her around the waist before she could walk in and pulled her in a full one-eighty until she was facing the elevator again.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I was just going to make myself a drink.”

“Encouraging productivity,” Roman replied, hitting the button for the elevator doors to open again. “Ready for all this paperwork to be done, aren’t you? It’s been over a year.”

A year of wading through mafia-esque bureaucracy. A year of listening to Varya say, these things take time. A busy year, to be sure, jam-packed full of things—the biggest wedding in Gotham since its founding, the twins.

A funeral.

Roman tried more and more every day not to think about his (now) brother-in-law’s funeral, the double burial of the only man that might have stood a chance at being loved by Varya more than Roman himself and the only man who had ever been anything like a father figure to her. Family is tedious, he’d wanted to say, brothers and fathers and mothers, the whole lot of them, cut them loose why don’t you? Why should anyone matter to you outside of the twins and I?

Varya glanced at him over her shoulder. “These things take time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Not to mention, we were a little busy,” she added, eyes narrowing playfully as he nudged her into the elevator, “you know—having children.”

“And what beautiful children they are.” Roman hit the button without looking, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“Well, how am I supposed to suffer through those phone calls without a stiff drink?”

He quirked a brow upward. “I’ll make you a stiff drink, Mrs. Sionis.”

The brunette propped herself up against the back rail of the elevator as it whirred into motion. The corner of her mouth, painted ruby, curved and her head tilted inquisitively. “Oh?”

“Of course,” he demurred, sidling forward and boxing her in against the wall. “I’ll make you a stiff drink—”

He dropped his head to the slope of her jaw to plant a kiss there.

“—you’ll finish up with the lawyers, and put on the dress I bought you—”

Varya hummed and sighed sweetly.

“—we’ll go out to dinner for your birthday—”

He dropped his hands to her hips, planting a kiss on her temple so that he could rumble, “And we can get to work on baby number three, hm?”

A sweet laugh billowed out of her just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to bring to Roman the oh-so-sweet sounds of a caterwauling infant. Over the distressed crying was Irina’s voice, shushing and cooing dulcet words in Russian; he could see her swaying to and fro with a swathe of fabric bundled in her arms.

“I almost forgot about my birthday,” Varya said thoughtfully, completely unrattled by the sound of their daughter’s distress. She stepped out from between him and the elevator wall; Roman fell into step beside her easily, the sound of her heels clipping against the floor enough to draw Irina’s eyes to them.

Roman said, “I know you did,” and did not bother to hide his smugness as he held out his arms for the shrieking baby in Irina’s arms. The redhead regarded him with a sort of weary amusement before she acquiesced; with Yuliana safely in his arms, he watched Varya cross the room to turn the automatic rocker that held their son back on to a slow, lulling pace. The freckled infant babbled happily—ever the quieter of the twins—and as Varya said something to Irina in Russian that inspired the woman to depart to the kitchen, she absently picked up a baby blanket from the couch and wandered over to him.

“Yuli,” she murmured, waving her finger at the already-content infant, tucking the blanket around her “is that all you wanted, hm? Just for your papa to hold you?”

“What else could she want for?” he replied confidently. Soothing Yuliana’s fury had become old-hat for him at this point. And, certainly, it pleased him to know that sometimes, the only thing that would make his daughter stop screaming was being held by him. Not even Varya—who had taken to motherhood like a fish to water—bothered when she was in a fit.

Still, the brunette sighed dreamily, her finger captured by their daughter’s tiny hand before she said, “What a perfect little gem.”

Roman hummed his agreement. “Finishing that call with the lawyers?”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Varya replied. “They’re in a mood today.”

“They’re in a mood every day.” Russians, he thought venomously.

“Yes.” She smiled, flashing pearly teeth at him. “But only today is my birthday.”

She had him there. Still, he was itching for the whole thing to be done—Ilarion had dragged his feet through the process of even drawing up the original contract, which had only been a spit in his face (“You are the only person who gets to fuck Varya Astakhova, that is as exclusive as it gets”) and by the time all of that nasty business had been wrapped up, Ilarion was dead.

Ilarion, and Nikita—leaving only a single living soul to be in charge of the Astakhov empire: Varya herself.

Which, she had expressed time and time again, she had no desire for; not in the public way that her father had done it, and Ilarion after them. She much preferred the clerical work of it all. Paperwork and public relations. Let the men do men’s work, she’d demurred one night, tangled up in their sheets, when he’d asked her what she was going to do with it. I don’t mind. They like me better as their madonna, anyway.

“You know,” she continued, breaking him out of his thoughts as she made her way to the bar cart, pouring herself a drink, “they will like you more if it’s you they’re talking to.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me or not,” Roman replied, lifting Yuliana with both of his hands so that he could look at her. “Isn’t that right, princess? Mommy gets to do all the paperwork so that your papa can spend all of his time with you, instead of listening to some dumbfucks bitch and moan on the phone.” He glanced at her. “Well, anyway, since it’s your birthday we can let it slide.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Get dressed, won’t you?” he prompted, depositing his now-content daughter in the mobile swing with her brother. “The table’s been ready for us since noon.”

Varya watched him, dark eyes glittering amusedly. “And why, my darling, did you make the reservation for noon? It’s nearly six now.”

“Because,” he replied, “I wanted to make sure they held it, regardless of how long it took us to get there.”

“Ah.” She lifted her chin a little, lashes fluttering with contentment when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face. “Or else?”

Roman flashed her a grin.

“Or else.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They held the table.

“Good for them,” Roman said as they followed the server out onto the balcony. The table had clearly been refreshed—a new candle, a new vase, a new bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. He’d heard the waitstaff whispering furiously among themselves as they idled in the lobby to be taken to their table; now, settled across from the birthday girl, Roman was content with the way they had squirmed.

“Quicker than the two-hour wait last time,” Varya noted by way of agreement, smoothing her hand along the edge of the tablecloth.

He scoffed. The only reason they had waited in the lobby for two hours was because Varya had asked him to stay for the table she wanted. If it had been his way, they would have left with a bloody warning and gone somewhere else. “I can’t believe I finally convinced you to leave the twins home for a night and we got stuck sitting in that fucking lobby because they gave our table away.”

“In my defense, they are good babies, Romy. Hardly ever cry. Certainly not too much trouble.”

“But there’s two of them,” he replied, “and toting two babies around is a lot of work. All I’m saying is, what’s the point of paying her that much fucking money if we’re just going to—”

The waiter came by the table, clearly a little stressed; the lines of concern on his face were clear as he cleared his throat and said, “Should I come back?”

Varya, perusing the menu: “No, my darling, you may stay. You were saying, Romy?”

“I just don’t know why we’re shoveling money into her bank account for her to be a glorified accent chair in our house rather than a nanny.” Roman gestured to the champagne bottle expectantly. “Open it.”

The waiter did as he asked, having been standing there uncomfortably for a moment during their exchange. As he worked to carefully open the champagne bottle, Roman turned his attention back to Varya; her eyes remained on the menu, absently twisting the engagement and wedding band on her finger back and forth.

There was no way, he thought, that she was putting off getting the business signed over to him on purpose. Surely, there was no way; even when Ilarion was alive, even when she had anticipated no further problems, it had always been, if you’re going to be my romantic partner, it seems only right you’d be my partner in business too, don’t you think? And yet—

And yet, Roman could not push down the strange, hazy doubt that occasionally flickered through his mind. He had always wanted Varya, had always found himself wanting and wanting and wanting more and more often, and Varya had always seemed content to indulge him. There was, it seemed, nothing she enjoyed more than indulging him. One more kiss, one more minute in bed, one more lingering glance across the room. She was the absolute pinacle of his hedonism, in every sense of the word, and had proven time and time again that she would give him anything that he wanted.

The business had always been for her and Ilarion. He wanted it, and told her he did, and she said, you can have it, if you like, but like in all things, there was a slyness about his wife—a cruelty—that he found endearing and dangerous. Dangerous, because it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been on the other end of her cruel nature, playfully poking and unwinding and tugging the thread loose until she had pushed him to the limit.

Something echoed in his head, and he realized that the waiter was asking him what he wanted to eat. Varya had handed the menu over and steepled her fingers, watching him with dark, curious eyes and red painted lips, sooty lashes fluttering. A pretty, painted little snake.

“I’ll take whatever she’s having,” Roman said after a moment, setting his menu aside and returning his attention to the brunette across from him. “Something interesting, kitten?”

“Can I not just appreciate my husband?” Varya demurred. “You’re wearing the suit I like best, after all.”

“It is your birthday. What greater gift is there than me?”

She laughed, delighted by him—as she always was—and took a sip of her champagne. “You were away from me, for a moment.”

He watched her, gauging her carefully. Even I know not to drop my pants when a viper opens its mouth, Bianchi had said, just before Varya had unloaded six rounds into his face and chest less than two feet away from him.

“Just thinking,” is what Roman said finally.

“Hm. A dangerous past time.”

His expression flattened, deadpan. “It’s taken a significant chunk of time to secure your father’s business in my name.”

Something flickered across Varya’s expression. at the word father. “To secure my business,” Varya replied, her voice abrupt and cutting, her eyes narrowed, “in your name.” Absently, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked to be composing herself, like she’d spoken on a knee-jerk reaction rather than with thinking.

Then, glossy and silken again: “You know your patience means the world to me, Romy.”

There was nothing that he loved more than watching her pull back her venom for him. Drumming his fingers against the top of the table, Roman bridled his own irritation to say, mildly, “I’d do anything for you. Even wait...” He made a thoughtful noise. “Over a year to finally take on the responsiblities you wanted handed over to me.”

“Of course.” Varya smiled prettily, absently straightening out her silverware. “And we will speak no more of my father on my birthday, or any day after this.”

He knew what that meant. She phrased it pretty, wrapped it up in silk and velvet and presented it to him as unassuming as a doe, but he knew what that meant. There is my button, she was saying, there is my trip wire. Don’t push it, Roman. The name Nikita had all but been banned in their household, even when funeral arrangements were being made; any time he’d heard one of the lawyers mention her father’s name, there had been a sharp rebuke. Not in my presence, she would tell him later, I do not want to hear that fucking name in my presence.

“At any rate, there is nothing that I want more than for this whole process to be done,” she continued lightly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It was always what I wanted, you know. Ilya was better suited to be a functional piece of the business; he was the face because he had to be, not because he wanted to be, and I am better suited for the nitpicking and the details. Being the overseer is much more in your circle of talents, Romy.”

Her words assauged something unsettled and prickly in him, the sweep of the pad of her thumb across the back of his hand returning that doubtful monster in his mind back to its slumber. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced after a moment, “it is more in my circle of talents.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I always got the impression Ilarion wasn’t happy with it,” he added. “Though you two certainly enjoyed making work of me that first night, didn’t you?”

Varya smiled demurely. “It was never meant to make work of you, only to make a good impression.”

“Hm,” he replied, eyes narrowing playfully, “but you enjoy pushing me, V.”

She looked pleased. She always did, when he remarked on something that felt like he was really seeing her, beneath the glossy veneer. His girl did so love being seen.

“Only,” V demurred, “because you so enjoy reining me in.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Roman brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before relinquishing it and glancing around. He would just have to exercise patience, of which he had the most; patience, modesty, and humility, all excellent qualities that he could participate in at will, at any given time. Without any restraint.

“Did the men get the chandelier installed?” Varya idled, snapping his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes.

“I told you I didn’t want a chandelier anymore.”

She looked at him across the table, dark doe eyes wide and innocent. “I thought you liked how polished they make the club.”

“No, you little viper,” Roman replied, clicking his tongue, “Paolo has a chandelier in his club, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to have people comparing it.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “the drama of the chandelier goes on.”

“And while we’re at it, might as well gut that one from the estate, too.”

“There’s more than one chandelier in there.”

“Then the men will be busy, won’t they?” He tsked his tongue. “I know you dream about watching me blow my top, V, but I’m making an executive decision on gaudy light fixtures.”

A smile flashed across her expression, pearly teeth and delighted eyes. She sighed, almost dreamily, like there was nothing more that she liked than to be doing this exact thing, and with him.

“Oh, Romy,” the brunette said sweetly, “you are the only thing I dream about.” And then, almost as an after thought: “Gaudy light fixture terrorism included.” She waved her hand to dismiss any protest or rebuttal he might have given her and said, “Now, since it’s my birthday, tell me all of the things you love the most about me.”

Roman sucked his teeth, eyeing her for a moment as he leaned back in the chair. Wicked little thing, waiting to preen and glow under his attention, a feline seeking him out. Her little bout of cruelty before was already forgiven. He said, “We’re going to be here for a while, if I do that.”

“They held the table for over six hours,” Varya demurred, “I’m sure they’ll hold it for as many more as you need.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time they got to the club, Varya was acting as though nothing had happened.

Truthfully, Roman preferred it that way. It just also left a lot of room to wonder—his wife was a talented actress, adept at smoothing his ruffled feathers out and not divulging her own feelings on the matter. And he wouldn’t ask, of course. If Varya wanted to express herself, she would, and had, quite openly in the past.

“I am so happy to be home,” she announced, gliding past the door to the club once Roman had opened it for her. “Do you think the babies are asleep, yet? I always miss putting them...”

Her voice trailed off, pausing a little as she seemed to realize that the club was cloaked in inky darkness, freezing just a few steps past the threshold. Roman let the door swing shut behind him, nudging her forward with a hand at the small of her back. He was met with some resistance; she steeled, stiffening against his insistence, before taking a few steps forward.

He said, barely keeping the delight out of his voice, “You’re holding up the line, V.”

“Roman,” Varya said, her voice pitched oddly soft and tight, “why—?”

The lights flashed on to a loud, unified cheer of Happy Birthday!; the club had been packed with vases of flowers, the tables donned with food and drink, and everyone worth their salt within a fifty-mile radius had made their way there. Not a single thing was out of place—everything exactly where he had instructed it be placed, and not a fucking chandelier in sight.

Roman came around in front of the brunette, grinning. “Happy—”

He stopped. Varya’s expression was not happy, or even surprised; it was something else, something that he couldn’t read, the pupils of her hot-whiskey eyes blown wide and the normally Renaissance-soft lines of her face sharpened and hardened into an expression that was more vicious.

“V?” he asked. Her eyes snapped to him, and for a second she looked the same way she had that night in the loft, her hands drenched in blood and the kitchen knife clutched in her fist with bodies at her feet: like she didn’t recognize him.

It took a heartbeat, but her expression smoothed out and she smiled, almost sheepish—like she’d been caught doing something naughty, instead of being caught being somewhere else. Someone else, more the wolf than the girl.

“The lights,” she explained, hands resting on his chest, “they startled me, is all.”

A frown creased his expression. He brought his hands up to hold her wrists, thumb pressed against her pulse point. It fluttered unsteadily. Unconvinced, Roman pressed, “The lights?”

“Just the lights,” Varya assured him. She tilted her head up and kissed him, one hand departing his jacket to go to the back of his neck—and when she kissed him, he could feel that strange little flicker of energy, like she’d been stamping something out before it could catch, but it still vibrated under her skin.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she disentangled from him and swept around to the crowd of people waiting, beaming prettily and playing at bashfulness, as though she did not enjoy their eyes on her and did not soak their attention up like a flower did sunlight. Whatever had been plaguing her in that moment was now gone, and she was awash with attention and love, thanking people profusely and accepting each hug and cheek-kiss directed her way.

Roman brushed off the odd feeling that she wasn’t being as forthcoming with him as he would have preferred—no secrets anymore, isn’t that what they’d agreed on?—and instead waded into the crowd. Music kicked on overhead; chatter picked up to a warm humming around them; there was nothing else to think about except letting his girl enjoy her birthday celebration.

By the time Varya had made a suitable number of rounds (which tended to verge much higher than one, much to Roman’s chagrin—what tedious work, to share her with everyone else), she had barely sipped the glass of champagne someone had planted in her hand. She circled back to him eventually; like always, there was that pinprick tugging in the cavity of his chest, like they were bound by a single thread that kept them from parting too much and too quickly, and when she drew closer to him again it oozed relief, warm and vibrant, through his ribs.

“Sufficiently loved on?” he asked as she neared, hand reaching up to slide around her waist.

“By them? Certainly.” The brunette’s hand smoothed along his shoulder, the pad of her thumb gliding across the velvet of his jacket. “By you, though, not hardly. Not ever.”

“You are insatiable,” Roman agreed in a rumble. He splayed his fingers against the small of her back, tugging her in closer and brushing their noses together.

“Just for you,” Varya murmured, and the words brushed their lips together just a little—but everything with Varya, like this, felt like almost-kissing, enough to push him to some kind of edge where his stomach twisted and wrenched with want when she added, “And only for you.”

“You know I can’t resist you when you talk like that.”

She laughed, leaning in to set her glass to the side and curl her fingers into his shirt for a kiss; everything for a second felt normal, and good, and right again, the strange way she’d gone-away back in the doorway having disappeared, the dark cloud over her having cleared, her wretchedness from dinner dissipated.

And Roman kissed her, with the sound of the party chatter ringing in his ears, and kissed her with the faint taste of champagne flooding his senses when she parted her lips against his, and kissed her while his hand fisted the fabric of her dress and he managed out in a voice rough with want, “So you’re trying to rile me up.”

“I always,” Varya murmured against his mouth silkily, “want you riled, Romy.”

“Varya?”

A stranger’s voice filtered through the haze—the rose-colored one that usually accompanied Varya saying anything like she wanted him riled up—and Roman felt the irritation spike straight through it. He turned to look at the interruption at the same time that Varya did, only to find a young, handsome blonde standing just a foot away.

Varya said, sounding faint, “Maxim?”

“It has been a while,” the blonde said, and he sounded sheepish. “I called Armazd, asking after you—”

“Sorry,” Roman interjected briskly, fingers still curled—now possessively—into the fabric of Varya’s dress against the dip of her spine, “but who are you?”

His wife started to say, “Romy, this is—” at the same time that the man began, “I am sorry, my name—” and they both stopped at the same time, a strange little silence stretching between them.

“Maxim,” Varya said after a second, turning to look at Roman now. “This is Maxim. He is Artyem’s son.”

Roman stared at her, more to buy himself time than anything; she said the name like he was supposed to know who that was. Artyem, but it didn’t sound familiar. Almost any Russian name sounded like gibberish to him, and if Varya had said it to him, it had been in passing, an afterthought, nothing but a whisper of information passed between them before it was gone again.

Until it did. Until he remembered that the person Varya had thought was her father had actually been Artyem, that she’d poisoned him, let him bleed to death on the carpet while she had mentally checked out of the moment. That she had watched him die, but she had been somewhere else—someplace else, the way Ilarion had described it, very far away where she couldn’t even enjoy what she’d done fully.

And Maxim—golden, and polished, and clean-shaven—looked awfully pleasant for someone whose farther had choked to death on his own blood because of Varya.

“I see,” Roman said, even though he didn’t. His gaze turned to Maxim. “And you’ve—shown up without calling ahead?”

“I have been in Turkey,” Maxim explained, “finishing up some business, and I did not know how to get in touch—”

“Well, you spoke with Armazd, didn’t you?” Roman’s head tilted. “The man practically sleeps in our bed, I imagine he would have been happy to get you in contact with us.”

“Admittedly,” Maxim said, “I wanted it to be a surprise—”

No, Roman thought absently, venomously, that won’t do at all.

“—Varya’s birthday—”

“So you slunk in,” Roman elaborated tartly, “like a little street dog, hm?”

“Maxi,” Varya interjected, fingers absently tracing the stitching on Roman’s jacket, “why don’t you go get a drink and acquaint yourself with our friends? Armazd is just there—you see?”

Maxim’s eyes darted between her and Roman for a minute. He shifted on his feet, tilting and giving a little smile that might have liked abashed if Roman didn’t think he saw a little squirm of self-satisfaction in his gaze. Fucker.

“Of course,” the blonde replied after a moment. “C dnyom razhdyenyem, Varushka.” He took a step forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Varya’s thumbnail dug into the lapel of Roman’s jacket. “Thank you, Maxi.”

Once the blonde had departed, linking up with Armazd in the crowd to get introduced, Roman straightened up from the bar. It was impossible not to stare at this newcomer—he glowed with an easy charisma, flashed bright smiles that were all teeth. Roman hated him already.

“Maxi?” he asked her, eyes narrowed, and Varya sighed. He waited for her to elaborate. Perhaps she’d say they had dated once, perhaps they were literally nothing. That would be ideal, after all. Ships passing in the night.

She said, “We grew up together.”

Even worse. Roman twisted a loose, dark curl of hers around his finger. “And you killed his father.”

“Well—” She paused, mouth pressing into a thin line. “He does not know.”

“He doesn’t—” The notion that she was keeping secrets, and not from him, coiled high and happy in his throat. He tried not to sound too delighted when he said, “V, surely he knows.”

“Surely he does not, that I did it. Only that it happened. And I will keep it that way,” she added firmly, picking up her champagne glass from the bar top. “Maxim was incredibly loyal to my father because Artyem was, but more than that—he was mine and Ilya’s friend. I’m sure he is missing Ilya almost as much as I am.”

“As we all are,” Roman agreed sagely, planting a kiss on her temple in spite of the dry look she gave him. It was hard to tell, to get a read on this Maxim. What was it he’d dragged himself out of the trenches for? Just to fly halfway across the world to wish Varya a happy birthday? Above all things, Roman understood that his wife was a desirable thing, and knowing that he kept her out of the reach of others was part of her appeal—but that much? Could someone who was just a friend want that much?

He continued, “So what is it that Maxim offers to the business, hm?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Varya demurred, which didn’t sound at all like the truth. “Artyem was the one who sent him out on jobs. My father kept things tight around the top, you know. If anyone would know what it was Maxim was up to in Turkey who wasn’t my father or Artyem, it would have been Ilarion.”

“I find it hard to believe you have no idea what your father was using someone for.”

The sound of delighted commentary drew both of their eyes away; Irina had come down, both dark-haired infants in her arms, and was walking them toward Varya and Roman. Murmured remarks on what could only be their cuteness passed throughout the crowd of party-goers.

“I am putting them down for bed,” Irina announced as she approached, “and I know you like to say goodnight.”

“Oh, you are an angel,” Varya murmured, glass set aside once again. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to baby Ro’s cheek. Yuliana babbled, and she sighed dreamily, “Have you ever seen more perfect babies, Roman?”

Perfect babies, a perfect wife; soon, he would even have the perfect grip on Gotham’s neck, throttling it until it was nothing but dust and ash. Soon, but not soon enough; he’d be content when it was just done and settled, when there was nothing else standing between him and everything that he wanted. Varya, and the guns—what an odd thing, to know that a year ago he’d set out for this and it was just falling into his lap.

“Romy?”

“Never,” Roman replied, smiling and glancing back at his wife, reaching and cradling the back of Yuli’s head. “I’ve never seen more perfect babies, V.”

Across the room, Maxim watched them. There was something about it that Roman didn’t like—the way his eyes flickered, the way he looked between the children and Varya, the way their eyes met and he didn’t deflect away. Like he didn’t mind getting caught. Where had he come from? What little shithole had he crawled out of, over a year after Nikita’s death and Ilarion’s death—longer, still, since his father’s death? Hadn’t he wondered what had happened to his father?

What are you doing here, he thought venomously, that you think you can just come in here like nothing? Like I won’t root you out like the little rat you are?

Maxim smiled. It was a polite smile, unassuming kind of smile.

Roman picked up his drink from the counter, taking a heavy swallow. Suddenly, the evening seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of him, no finish line in sight.

Nothing else standing between me and everything I want.

And he was going to keep it that way.

#birds of prey #birds of prey fic #roman sionis x original female character #ch: varya astakhova #ch: roman sionis #ch: victor zsasz #roman sionis/original female character #my writing #fic: the land of gods & devils #me sweating profusely posting this #i am really excited about this though and i want to really really thank everyone who has been supportive of me pursuing this!!!! #creeping up on varya's birthday and also the one year anniversary of CYT making me super emo #<3 <3 <3

[honeysidesarchived]

A ROMAN SIONIS x ORIGINAL FEMALE CHARACTER FIC

—predecessor: carry your throne

—read on ao3

rating: m for now, will change to e for later. borders on explicit rating inherently, and purely for roman’s disgusting mouth.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he’s a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family.

summary: —by dread things, compelled.

roman sionis is the closest he has ever been to having everything that he wants; a perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect international black-market arms dealing business signed over to him in its entirety. unfortunately for him, there are people in the world who would prefer to see him without, and that has never been a thing that roman has accepted for himself: being without.

(or: a fic wherein the devil spends his time rebuking sin.)

complete list under the cut! explicit chapters will be denoted with a *. thank you for reading!

—part i. part ii.

#archive q #roman sionis x original female character #black mask x original female character #spilled ink #roman sionis #black mask #c: varya astakhova #realizing i have to fresh post my masterlists because i can't update the old ones : ))))) #really cool and fun : )))))) #f: the land of gods & devils #x: this smile is a loaded gun

[what-the--curtains]

Chapter 2: Betrayal

TW: Violence, abuse, blood, swearing

Author's Note: Yes the baddie is Roman from Birds of Prey. SUE ME! Also sorry the formatting is Wild, I can’t get into my account via my laptop so im posting all these on mobile RIP.

Songs inspiring the Chapter

After making his way off the ice path of doom and safely removing Peter's arm from the branch confining it, the three Avengers make their way back to the Tower.

“Wanda who was that?” Peter asks, but before she can respond Tony storms into the room.

“I cannot believe you let her get away, seriously three versus one?” he quips.

“First off,” Steve begins “she wasn’t alone, secondly she has powers, and thirdly she knows Wanda.”

“We went to school together at Xaviers.” Wanda responds calmly

“So she’s like you then?” Peter asks “A mutant?”

“Ya, she has elemental control.”

“Sick!” Peter whispers

“Someone call Nat, get her look into…” Tony pauses “Wait. What was her name?”

“She went by (Y/N) back at school, but the guy in the back of the van called her Eve.” Wanda explained

“Alright let’s see what we can find on her, oh and one last thing Wanda, is she dangerous? how worried should we be?”

“I honestly don’t know” Wanda replies

You roll up to the front of your headquarters, also known as Roman Enterprises. Roman was one of the city’s most notorious business men, or mobsters, if you believe what the papers were saying. He was rich, smart and narcissistic which, all in all, is a really good combination for creating a terrible person with a god complex. He thought he owned the city and honestly he kind of did. Everyone either owed him a favour or money. He was also the one who broke you out of prison, so you signed on to work with him because you felt you owed him that much. It wasn’t honest work, but it sure was lucrative and you liked nice things, so you stuck around. Maybe it was just a bad case of Stockholm syndrome, but you liked working for him. You strolled into his office exclaiming happily,

“Hey Romy baby look what I got for ya! A nice little box and a lil something ...”

You’re cut off when the palm of his hand strikes you hard across your face. Your head swings to the side. Dropping the box you turn your head back to face Roman whose eyes are filled with rage.

“HEY! What the fuck was that for? I did exactly what you wanted!” you shout dabbing your lip which had split open. Roman had roughed you up before, but he’s never hit you, not like this at least.

“Really? You did EXACTLY what I asked?” he shouts, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“I don’t recall asking you to steal money, or asking you to remove your headset, or to square off with the goddamn avengers in the middle of the city without a MASK!” he spat.

“Jesus Romy I thought you loved money so I took some for you. I figured you wouldn’t mind, and Calvin was being incessantly annoying. As for the Avengers, well they were asking for..” you were once again cut off by Roman. He grabbed you by the throat and slammed you into the wall. His face inches away from yours.

“From now on any deviation, any misstep will be seen as an act of defiance against me” he whispers, removing his hand from your throat. You drop to the floor gasping for air. “And it only takes one phone call for me to send you back into that prison to rot!” he exclaims cheerfully. Suddenly, his body relaxes and his tone becomes almost endearing “Remember I saved you, from that terrible place and that’s why I own you and why you must do exactly what I tell you too.

You sputter out a laugh “You don’t own me, no one does.”

“ Well according to this legally binding contract, I do in fact, own you.” He states throwing a paper folder onto the table now separating the two of you and sitting down.

“The what?” you ask feeling your inner rage boil over into your voice

“Oh don’t you remember? After I saved you, you signed over your; body, soul and mind to me and my company as an act of gratitude.”

“There’s no way I signed this” you mutter reading through the document on the table you had managed to stagger to.

“Well here’s the video” a tape played of you half out of your mind signing a contract.

“Oh fuck off Roman I was so drugged up after you got me out there’s no way I knew what I was signing, so there’s no way it’ll hold up in court.” you scoff, throwing the contract into his lap and turning to leave.

“Well considering I own most courts I’d say you’re basically fucked.” He says

“Don’t forget,” he says, walking up to your back “You were nothing more than a feral mutt rotting away in a cell when I got you. You should be more thankful.” Turning you to face him he wipes a few droplets of blood off your cheek tenderly “Now go clean up no one wants to see you like this.”

He kisses your forehead before pulling out a wad of the stolen cash and throwing it at you “Buy yourself something pretty.” he says turning to go back to his desk

You walk out slowly, millions of thoughts racing through your head, but only one thing was truly clear in that moment. You had to get the fuck out of dodge.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #avengers #x-men #bucky x oc #original female character #roman sionis

[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]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @pickleprickle!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Currently seven but there will be more oe shots soon...

2. What's your total A03 word count? 149,505

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently Star Wars and the DC verse are my top two, but I also write for Assassins Creed, the Walking Dead, Once Upon a Time, Supernatural, and some Marvel.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Bet You Wish You Had Me Back (Shane Walsh x FOC) SMUT one shot

Unbreakable Bonds (Obi-Wan x FOC) Slow burn, eventual smut/romance

Shadows of Deception (Roman Sionis x FOC) SMUT. SMUT. SMUT.

After the Storm (Hux x FOC) One shot; smut, sex polle troupe... kinda.

1001 Lonely Nights (Dean Winchester x FOC) Smut, one shot

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes! I love talking to you guys, your comments make my day and make me want to write more!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I suppose it would have to be 1001 Lonely Nights, I don't currently have much angsty stuff right now but trust me thats about to change very soon as i'm dipping my toes into the murky Sith Obi-wan waters...

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I think it would have to be Bet You Wish You Had Me Back, and only because as of right now that story is complete.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I haven't but I'm sure theres someone out there with something shitty to say...

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? YES. All the smut. All the time. Give me more of that sweet and spicy capsaicin.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I haven't but there cold be a good one out there I haven't gottent o or discoveed. Truthfully I'm not a huge fan and I much prefer leaving fandom easter eggs for you guys to find.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but that could be fun!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Oooh... Thats tough, I love my OCs... But If i had to choose I'd say Bruce Wayne/Batman x Selina Kyle/Catwoman. The Bat and the Cat.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I don't really know, I have lots of WIPs and I think I'm doing an ok job on all of them writing fairly frequently, for me its simple matter of 'It''ll be done when it's done' but lovely comments do tend to speed up the process. ;)

16. What are your writing strengths? I've been told my smut is very poetic and emotionally evocative and you can get a sense of more than just the physical interactions between the characters adn you have a feel for what they're going through and thinking. I've also been told I write very good first person. I like to write first person POV from established canon characters like Jason Todd, Obi-wan Kenobi, Darth Maul, etc because we don't often get a look into their minds and it's fun to wear their boots.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I really don't know, I know I tend to bite off more than I can chew...

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? It depends, I have a story I'm writing from the POV of a British character and thats similar, but I feel like, if I can't do it right and believably then best not to do it at all.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Probably Lord of the Rings. MANY moons ago.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? It's a tie between Unbreakable Bonds and Shadows of Deception. I love them both because both OCs are different and both male leads; Obi-wan Kenobi and Roman Sionis are VERY different, despite being played by the same actor. That wasn't planed, I swear...

No pressure tags! @heyhawtdawgs, @split-spectrum. @firstofficerwiggles, @ladyinwriting18. @blueeyedheizer, @thenightmarketofdathomir @acciotwinz, @221bshrlocked. @littleredwing89. @murdockussy. @kittyofalltrades. @jedianjakenobi. @eloquentmoon. @amhrosina. @rebelbluerobin @anatee, @wickedscribbles on AO3 @thefamilybruno (you too, you fantastic writer you!)

If I tagged you then I've read your stuff and its amazing, have a lovely day you fantastic people you!

#20 questions for fic writers #fic writer asks #obiwan x original female character #roman sionis x original female character #original character #fanfiction is life #star wars au #fic writer problems #wips for days #shane walsh x oc #i need more smut in my life

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Touch by Steven Rodriguez

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.

Amid the swirling chaos that often accompanied Roman Sionis and his seemingly impulsive actions, there was a quality he held in high regard: an unyielding dedication to his word. Be it a menacing threat or a resolute commitment to arrive at a precise moment, you could rely on him like clockwork, knowing he would make a stylish entrance without fail.

This was why, when Belladonna outlined the terms of their arrangement, which included defined, timely visits rather than erratic ones, her expectations weren't high. However, she was pleasantly surprised when Roman appeared right on time at 11 a.m., bearing a to-go cup of her coffee and a tasteful box of French macarons tucked beneath his arm. He donned the role of the adoring boyfriend with such finesse that his true identity remained a secret, a master of disguise to rival any spy or vigilante. Cameras discreetly captured snapshots of his apparent devotion to Belladonna, and whispers that once contained scandalous gossip now hummed with admiration and envy.

The fashion house was a whirlwind of madness, even more so than his previous visit. Models donning the latest designs flitted about like exotic birds of paradise, and flustered assistants scurried to keep pace with the tempestuous nature of fashion week. Roman dismissed it as the customary bedlam of the industry.

As he weaved through the labyrinth of fabrics, colors, and hushed murmurs, completely aware of all the eyes following him. Veils of curiosity hung delicately over their expressions, and Roman, a charismatic showman to his core, basked in their intrigue.

Accompanied by Zsasz, he effortlessly navigated through Belladonna's workplace as though he had always belonged there, and in a way, these were his people; young, professional, beautiful, glamorous, for hire. He radiated charm and charisma, extending a hand to designers, photographers, stylists, and even Belladonna's boss. His friendly disposition won over her colleagues effortlessly, leaving them with a positive impression of the man who had once been vilified by tabloids. Finally, he located Belladonna and Daisy in the heart of the organized chaos. With Zsasz in tow, Roman approached them, his steps exuding a graceful confidence. The mask of the devoted boyfriend naturally settled on his handsome features as he leaned in to kiss Belladonna, his lips brushing against hers with genuine affection.

"Hello, ladies," he greeted them warmly. Belladonna had barely let his name slip from her lips in a surprised whisper when Roman greeted her with another surprisingly tender and affectionate kiss on the lips. "Hello, angel," he breathed in a warm, adoring tone. Maintaining eye contact for a fleeting moment, Roman then presented Belladonna with her coffee. "A grande rose-infused white mocha," he announced. Her astonishment was evident as she blinked in surprise before graciously accepting the drink. 

She managed a soft, "Thanks, baby."

He quickly realized how he liked hearing her call him ‘baby’ with such warmth and affection like he was hers, but not in a way that would mean he belonged to her, no, definitely not, but more like he belonged. He didn’t linger for too long on how her lips curled into a half smile or how she seemed genuinely happy to see him, he quickly shifted his attention to Daisy, extending a beverage to her.

 "And for you, Daisy, a matcha green tea latte." 

Daisy was taken aback, both by Roman's presence and the fact that he'd brought her tea as well. Her disbelief was tangible as she asked, "How did you even know my order?"

Roman's chuckle held a playful glint in his eye. "A smart man pays attention to things ladies like," he quipped, his response accompanied by a charming wink. 

Daisy turned to Belladonna and in absolute bewilderment she couldn't help but express her amazement, tinged with a hint of envy. "How is it you bag such a solid ten, and you don't even try?" she asked, shaking her head.

Belladonna replied with a shrug and a subtle grin, "Just lucky, I guess."

Roman audibly scoffed, his voice laced with playful arrogance. "As if she could have resisted my charm." A sly smile danced on his lips as he continued, "Angel, I know you’re busy but, I'm afraid I need to borrow you for a moment for a private conversation." His emphasis on the word 'private' wasn’t lost on Belladonna and she nodded understanding its meaning. On the other hand, Daisy assumed it was just an excuse to have some time alone with Belladonna.

"You really can't keep your hands off her, can you?" Daisy teased. 

Roman replied with a mischievous grin, pulling Belladonna into his arms. "Can you blame me? Who could control themselves around this absolute goddess?" His flattery caused Daisy to nod in agreement and nearby hearts flutter, and swoon.

“Well, you definitely traded up from Jackson.” Daisy added. “Better make it a quickie, you’ve got a meeting in an hour, and don’t forget to eat something,”

“Not to worry Daisy, I’ll have her back to you in one piece,” With another wink and a charming promise, Roman led Belladonna away to a quieter nearby office, where they could have a moment of privacy for their conversation.

In the quiet seclusion of the obliging office, Roman wasted no time and began with an urgent inquiry. "Who the hell is Jackson?" His tone bore traces of annoyance. 

"He's my ex. Now, what's going on?" Belladonna swiftly attempted to steer the conversation elsewhere taking a sip of her mocha. 

"With a name like Jackson, it's no wonder he's an ex. What’s he have a room temperature IQ too?” He was prodding for a reaction but Belladonna wasn’t interested in entertaining his teenager-like antics. “This’s the guy who's engaged, right?" Her expression and tone conveyed a deep yearning to shift topics, but Roman, once engaged, was difficult to divert, like a Doberman chewing on a bone or a squeaky toy. 

"Yeah, can we move on?" she responded, striving to maintain the flow of the conversation.

"I mean, such a boring, vanilla name... Jackson..." She tried to change the subject, yet he remained unimpressed. 

"Roman!" she called, snapping her fingers in an effort to regain his attention. "Focus. You said we needed to talk. What's going on?" After a brief muttering about how her ex must have been a dull individual compared to him, Roman finally re-engaged. 

"I'm far more interesting," he muttered absentmindedly, silently looking for confirmation, when it became apparent that he wasn’t interested in the conversation until his ego was sufficiently stroked, she conceded,

"Yes, Roman, your presence is the remedy for boredom," she remarked with a pandering expression, she perched herself on the nearby desk, her posture poised in the sparsely decorated room, with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, facing Roman. She opened the box of macarons, hearing their sweet call, her well-manicured fingers selecting one, its lightly tanned hue hinting at a coffee flavor. As she bit into it, savoring the delicate and chewy texture that danced tantalizingly on her taste buds, she tried again to redirect Roman’s limited attention span. "Now, what's so important?"

Upon receiving the confirmation he sought, Roman adopted a serious demeanor. "We need to go to the precinct next week, I’ve held them off as long as I can but any more delays and we’ll start to look more like prime suspects than we already do innocent bystanders." he stated in a flat tone akin to how someone would discuss the weather. Belladonna's eyes widened, and her complexion paled, but Roman didn’t seem phased. "Relax, kitten. We're meeting with those idiot detectives with our lawyers. We need to give formal, informed statements. It's all part of the plan." However, this did little to ease Belladonna's anxiety, this much was obvious by how she sat frozen with the macaron just at her lips. Oddly enough it seemed to amuse Roman, he stood in front of her, plucking the macaron from her and popping it in his mouth. A look of indignance registered over the stolen treat but it quickly faded when she remembered what he said. “Don’t look so worried.” He said with a mouthful of macaron, not bothered at all, but then again Roman had had previous brushes with the law. He’d been locked up in Blackgate, after all. It probably was no big deal to him. “Just tell them what happened, kitten. Nothing to worry about," Roman reassured her. 

Confused and shocked, she hopped off the desk and took a few steps to disperse the nervous energy she had in her before she retorted, "You want me to tell the police what happened the last time we were in your club?" She couldn't fathom what he was suggesting, surely he couldn’t mean what he was saying.

A look of contentment crossed his face, and Roman appeared to be harboring a secret as if he had a plan she was unaware of. In the same predatory manner she had witnessed from him in the past, he smoothly lowered the window blinds and then stalked to her, nudging her crossed legs apart and pulling her as close to him as he could. His grin bore a devilish charm as he confirmed, "That's right, kitten. I want you to look those idiot detectives in the eye and vividly recount EVERY detail from your LAST visit to my club." He briefly halted and kissed her with fervor, continuing, "Every juicy, scandalous, and provocative detail."

Each word was accentuated by a subtle rhythm of his hips pressing against hers, and his hands explored her body, while his lips engaged in a passionate, voracious kiss. "Seriously, delve into the specifics, because we do have our reputations to uphold, don't we? And certainly, we don't have anything to hide, do we?"

Belladonna began to speak, intending to seek clarification, however, she only managed the word “But–” before Roman's finger gently silenced her words his thumb stroking her lips. 

"Trust me, kitten. You'll have your lawyer and me right there with you. Those inept detectives won't dare lay a finger on you, not this time. But we can certainly revisit the handcuffs later if you'd like." The memory of her prior experience at the precinct had nearly slipped her mind amidst the whirlwind of recent events. As much as she desired more information, she decided to place her trust in Roman, nodding with a hint of bewilderment. 

"Anything else?" she inquired.

Roman gave her a quick peck on the lips, seemingly unable to resist as Daisy had said, then took a step back and, in an abrupt shift, pulled out his phone, becoming all business once more. "Yes, I need to plan out some things, and I need to know what your work events look like. So, what's going on this week, angel?" His demeanor seemed more like that of a personal assistant than a formidable criminal. 

As Belladonna reviewed her schedule in her head, she had a rough idea of what her engagements were like but truthfully she was lost without Daisy, though one did spring to mind that existed outside working hours.  "There's a public event I'm expected to attend. It's a formal affair, essentially a high-fashion party, almost like a red carpet event," she explained. Pausing for a moment, she continued, "It's the kind of thing where couples usually make an appearance together. I don't typically bring anyone; I just make a brief appearance, take a few pictures, and leave as soon as I can." Her implications were rather clear: she was hinting at Roman to accompany her. However, Roman, ever the smug bastard, maintained his silence, wearing an infuriatingly knowing grin.

Nodding in response, Roman began typing on his phone while maintaining that sly grin. "I see," he replied, clearly enjoying the playful tension, letting the moment linger without rushing to grant her request. She gave him an expectant look but he returned only an amused stare.

"Angel, if you want something from me, you're going to have to use your words," he insisted, savoring her mild frustration.

She let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes rolling in response. "Do you want to come with me?" Her words carried a distinct note of annoyance. Roman, playing the smug character he often did, putting on a performance as if he hadn't already decided to make a fuss. With an air of uncertainty about his response, he preserved a laid-back posture, waiting for her to refine her question. "Roman, will you be my date?" Her modified query appeared to satisfy him, and he drew her into his arms, sealing the moment with a passionate kiss. 

"It's a date, angel," he declared with a sly grin. "When is this little get-together?"

“Friday, they want to end the week with a bang, the cocktail hour begins around seven. Before that, I'm obliged to engage in handshakes and discussions with people in the industry, generally dealing with individuals I'd much rather avoid. It’ll be easier to sidestep those interactions if I have a date pulling me away constantly." Roman grinned at the implication and was more than eager to play his part in this scenario.

“Well, I assume you've got something fashionable to wear,” he suggested, well aware of her preference for a more understated wardrobe.

“Memo for you; Roman, I work in a fashion house. Yes, I'll have something smart to wear."

Roman smirked, his curiosity piqued about what attire Belladonna might choose. “And what label will you be donning, Angel?"

“Ask Daisy, she's in charge of my wardrobe for these occasions.” Roman nodded, pondering whether Daisy would consider any of his style recommendations. For all the judgments people might pass about Roman, he certainly knew his way around fashion.

He chuckled, "Angel, this is a golden opportunity," Roman reflected, noting the hint of confusion on Belladonna's face. In her view, these events were nothing but a nuisance, and she generally loathed attending them. Nonetheless, she patiently awaited his explanation. "It's the perfect chance to solidify our relationship, to make it official and public. Think of it as a grand launch party."

"You make it sound like we're a ship," she quipped.

Roman responded with a grin, his words bearing the weight of truth. "More like an intercontinental ballistic missile." Belladonna stifled a laugh; it was the most accurate thing she'd heard all day. "This is perfect timing, angel, all about making a grand entrance, just before our visit to the precinct." 

She didn't seem entirely convinced, so Roman, ever the showman, drew her into his embrace. "Picture it, Angel," he continued with enthusiasm, "a grand fabulous event, abundant photographs, people discussing us. They'll talk about how incredible we look together, how I can't take my eyes off you, and how you can't seem to keep your hands off me." He said the last part with a playful grin, and it was all part of his grand scheme to influence public opinion, a crucial element in his plan to confront her father. It made sense, and Belladonna relished the thought of opposing her father in this way.

"That's all well and good, Roman, but I hope you’re not expecting me to play the role of a docile girlfriend," she pointed out.

Roman's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh no, angel, even better. You're the high-powered, intelligent, sexy girlfriend who's making me a better man. The tabloids will eat it up."

Roman certainly possessed a way with words, capable of deftly navigating any situation. Maybe this party would ultimately be worth it, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it would inevitably stir up her father's ire. He wasn't the type to take disobedience lightly, bitter memories lingering in the recesses of her mind as a constant reminder.

"Roman," she began, her tone now tinged with timidity as she hesitated to voice her concerns. Roman swiftly pivoted her in his arms, ensuring she was facing him securely in his embrace. 

"Angel?"

"My father, he... He'll be pissed," she confessed, her apprehension palpable. Roman's expression suggested he wasn't particularly impressed or concerned. "He'll do something, if he hasn’t already." she continued, unable to articulate the depth of her fear of him.

Fortunately, Roman was already aware of what she was reluctant to say. He gently tilted her chin up, guiding her gaze to meet his unwavering eyes, not allowing her to look away. "Angel, no one's laying a finger on you, you understand me?" Her lips parted, ready to bring up her mother, but Roman intercepted before she could speak. "And don't worry about your mother, angel. Your father is a businessman, a stupid one, but he understands the value of a hostage, which is what your mother is to him."

He continued to explain, "The issue for him is that he can't always use her to manipulate you. He has bargaining power over her life, but he has a quantity of one and only one. What's he going to do? Take away the only leverage he has over you?" Roman's perspective shed light on the matter, providing a rational view of the situation. Despite the clarity he offered, it also raised additional questions about his expertise and knowledge on the topic. Belladonna decided not to press further at that moment.

It was astonishing how Roman, a man known for his wild, chaotic, and impulsive nature, had a way of looking at things that could unexpectedly alleviate her concerns. His logic, although somewhat macabre, was undeniably sound, and it continually caught her off guard just when she believed she had him all figured out. Being safe and secure in the arms of a criminal was something she shouldn't be comfortable with, and she certainly shouldn't have such an intense desire to kiss him.

Choosing to remain silent, she opted for a nod. Her surprise deepened as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Their lunchtime rendezvous was drawing to a close when a knock on the door interrupted them, along with a playful reminder from Daisy that Belladonna had a meeting scheduled and they needed to "wrap up their little make-out session." Belladonna nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and they left the office.

Roman couldn't resist adding while still within the view of curious onlookers,  "But I haven't had my dessert yet." As they were about to enter the studio, Roman had one more important piece of news to share. He revealed, "One more thing, Angel, I've got Zsasz and my associates looking into your mother’s last known location but I’ll need some more information from you about her later." Belladonna was visibly shocked that he was actually taking steps to search for her mother.

He offered his customary goodbye by placing a kiss on her palm. However, her response caught him off guard as she pulled him into a passionate, very public kiss that sent whispers and speculations racing through the surrounding crowd. Licking at the taste of the French macaron off his lips in a way that was far more suited for the bedroom than the workplace, leaving Roman a bit stunned. "Angel, what brought that on? Not that I'm complaining," he inquired with amusement.

Her response was simply, "Dessert, remember?" Before leaving, he made sure she knew that Lloyd would be available to pick her up when her workday ended and would ensure she got home safely. 

A final stolen kiss sealed their parting, Roman whispered adoringly, "Goodbye, Angel," leaving her yearning for the next encounter, he then called to Zsasz, announcing their departure. As they exited, there was a collective swoon from the onlookers, a mixture of admiration and envy as Roman and Zsasz left the scene.

~~~

Amidst the glowing praise and the mingling of fake smiles and genuine gestures, Belladonna found herself swept up in the allure of it all. She started to anticipate Daisy's notifications of Roman's communications, a subtle indication of her growing connection to him. Each visit concluded in the same manner, a delicate kiss to her palm that ignited a longing for his touch, followed by a passionate kiss to her lips. 

The line between reality and the façade they presented to the world began to blur for Belladonna. She questioned the authenticity of the smiles she received and even her own emotions. Yet, she found solace and excitement in the moments they shared, their private connection shielded from the prying eyes of the world. 

Roman found himself effortlessly slipping into the role of a doting boyfriend, surprising himself with how naturally it came to him. The revelation of Belladonna's predicament had intensified his possessiveness over her, but it also awakened a deep sense of protectiveness within him. He rearranged his club responsibilities and other activities to revolve around his visits to her studio, relishing the opportunity to observe her work and witness her confidence when she was unaware of his presence.

The salacious whispers that followed his entrance and the way her eyes locked onto him filled him with a sense of satisfaction. He delighted in the eagerness with which she approached him, greeting him with a kiss, a playful "Hey baby," and a hand gently caressing against his face. The attention they received as a couple was intoxicating, and he seamlessly integrated himself into her life, relishing in the attention that was centered on them, for the first time Roman was making tabloid news for a good reason.

Roman eagerly looked forward to Belladonna's smile and her touch, constantly seeking excuses to steal kisses from her or to touch her. He recognized that his behavior deviated from his usual approach with women, but as long as it garnered him the attention and admiration he desired, he brushed off any concerns. However, a conversation with Zsasz as they were about to leave for Belladonna’s studio for the party brought an unexpected realization to the forefront of his mind.

"So, you ever gonna sleep with her?" Zsasz's question caught Roman off guard, prompting him to reflect on the intimate aspect of their relationship. 

As Roman Sionis finished buttoning up his impeccably tailored suit and checked his reflection in the mirror, the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. Despite the two months of their intense and complex relationship, he and Belladonna had yet to engage in a sexual encounter. It was a shocking revelation, especially for a man known for his appetites and desires. The memory of their last intimate rendezvous against the wall in the back of his club came to mind, reminding him of their passionate connection.

For a moment, Roman's thoughts wavered as he considered the significance of this omission. He was used to a life filled with intense, hedonistic pleasures, and this deviation from his usual pattern was intriguing and unexpected. The question of why they hadn't been intimate loomed over him, and he couldn't shake it off.

However, Roman was quick to regain his composure. He had a knack for steering conversations and controlling situations, and this was no exception. With a deflection wrapped in a wry retort, "You ever gonna fuck that hot little assistant of hers?" he redirected the focus of the conversation toward Victor Zsasz, one of his closest associates. The mention of Zsasz's romantic pursuits effectively shifted the attention away from Roman's own experiences.

Still, the question lingered in the back of his mind, and he realized that he needed to have a candid discussion with Belladonna. He understood the importance of addressing this issue, especially given the depth of their connection. A sly smile crossed his face as he contemplated how he might bring it up during his upcoming visit to her art studio. Roman had a knack for theatrics, and perhaps he would slyly allude to their lack of intimacy in front of the cameras, leaving Belladonna with a private moment amid the public eye.

The sudden interruption of Victor Zsasz's announcement that the car was ready jolted Roman back to the present. He gave himself one last appraising look in the mirror, adjusting his tie and smoothing out his suit. The reflection staring back at him oozed charisma and confidence.

With a theatrical clap of his hands, Roman expressed his readiness. "Let's go make some headlines." The words were a testament to his flair for showmanship, and with that, he was ready to embark on another adventure, ready to face whatever surprises Belladonna and Gotham had in store for him.

~~~

When Roman made his promise to enhance Belladonna's security, he didn't cut any corners. In fact, there were a couple of close calls when she nearly triggered the new alarm system just by forgetting about it. However, the panic button installed near her bed did provide some solace. It offered her a sense of comfort, knowing that with a simple press of that button, Roman would be there in an instant, assuring her with the words, "I'm only a press of a button away, angel."

Oddly enough, her sleep improved, likely due to the reassurance the panic button offered. Yet, the persistent concern that lingered was her father's presence in her life, which had diminished considerably since their initial meeting. However, she had little time to dwell on these thoughts, particularly not tonight. Her workday raced on in its typical whirlwind fashion, bouncing from one meeting to the next, from one photoshoot to another.

As the day's work-related activities reached their conclusion, Daisy took the reins, and the more glamorous aspect of Belladonna's day began. It was the night when she and Roman were set to officially unveil their relationship to the public. While not much had been publicly stated about them, the rumor mill had been working in overdrive. Following Roman's advice, she deliberately avoided social media, although it wasn't much of a challenge, given that her online presence was minimal, restricted mainly to her work's website with only the essential information.

Belladonna had always preferred blending into the background rather than standing in the spotlight. She was more comfortable orchestrating fashion shows behind the scenes, ensuring that every detail was perfect. However, tonight was different, and she couldn't escape the bright lights of the red carpet. It was a high fashion event attended by industry elites, and she was stepping out with Roman Sionis, a man whose presence alone was like a magnet for attention.

Her nerves fluttered as she put on the outfit chosen by Daisy. She had initially requested a professional, sleek, and classy look, the kind that would blend in at a work event. But the equation had changed the moment Roman became part of the picture. She knew that the press and paparazzi would swarm over them, dissecting every detail of her appearance. It didn't matter what she wore; they would find something to talk about.

The black pantsuit Daisy had selected was a subtle compromise. It was something that allowed her to work if needed, and she wasn't a model by trade. Yet, it was also a conscious choice to present herself in a particular way. Black was timeless and classy, fitting for an event like this. The nude lace top, almost resembling lingerie, added an element of sensuality to her outfit. In the world of high fashion, it wouldn't be seen as out of place.

Belladonna didn't consider herself vain, but tonight, she was making a statement. She wanted to look good, both for the event and for Roman. There was something about him that made her want to be her best self, even if it meant embracing the spotlight, if only for a night. The outfit Daisy had chosen, though a little more Roman's style than hers, was a calculated choice to ensure she looked impeccable and drew the right kind of attention. She knew she had to step up and own the red carpet.

The echo of Roman's arrival seemed to reverberate through the loft as Belladonna made her way to the door. The anticipation of his reaction to her outfit had kept her on edge, and the range of emotions that crossed his face upon seeing her attire was a sight to behold. Curiosity and intrigue played on his features, while a hint of indifference lingered in his gaze, leaving her to wonder if he truly approved.

"You could have just texted me, and I would have met you downstairs," she quipped, attempting to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them. Roman remained silent for a moment, still assessing her ensemble. Finally, he responded, "Lazy men let ladies come to them." It was a comment that mixed chivalry with Roman's signature swagger.

Her attempt to alleviate the tension with a slightly snappy question of “What?” was met with a moment of silence, during which Roman seemed to be sizing her up. The quiet stretched on for what felt like an eternity until, finally, he approached her, his hands reaching for her face. The gentle caress of his lips meeting hers in a slow and sensual kiss was unexpected, yet entirely welcomed. There was something oddly tender about the way he kissed her, a softness that contradicted his typically assertive demeanor. Belladonna found herself reveling in this side of Roman, the one that hinted at a deeper connection, making their facade feel momentarily genuine.

"You look stunning, angel," Roman murmured after their kiss.

His words of admiration caught her off guard, relieving the tension that had built within her. "Glad you approve," she quipped, referring to her choice of attire.

 Roman's response was laced with a hint of playfulness, "Well, I have to admit, I was hoping for a slinky sexy dress," he teased, leaning into the banter. "Suits are kind of a man's thing," he added, the corner of his lips tugging into a mischievous smile.

Belladonna met his playful demeanor with a coy yet confident expression of her own. "If suits are for men, why are women sexier when they wear them?" Her voice oozed confidence, nearly rivaling Roman's own level of cockiness. His eyes widened, darkening with a smoldering intensity that sent a jolt of excitement through her. With a decisive motion, he kicked the door closed, silently conveying his intentions.

"Is there something special underneath?" he inquired, his tone suggestive and charged with desire, as though he fully expected to get his way. Belladonna didn't quite trust herself or Roman to indulge in the passionate kiss he had initiated, knowing how quickly it could escalate. With a restrained resolve, she reached for her clutch, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "No." she whispered, her voice betraying a hint of longing and restraint.

She walked past him, leaving him sulking with his hands in his pockets like a petulant child. "You're no fun, Belladonna," he called out before catching up with her.

Chapter Nine

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[thegreatwicked]

Shoutout to @keffirinne for being such a badass and blinging my Roman Sionis story Shadows of Deception and leaving me such nice reblogs! You make my morning every time I see them! And if you guys are a fan of Roman Sionis stories head to her profile and checkout her stuff! It is… MMM chefs kiss!

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[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception- Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Drive You Insane by Daniel Di Angelo

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.

"What does your zodiac say about you?" 

Roman scoffed at the very idea ‘Give me a break’. To him, it was just grown-up fairy tales, a celestial tooth fairy for women to get all starry-eyed about. The alignment of stars and planets predicting one's personality seemed preposterous, an amusement he dismissed with a dismissive roll of his eyes.

"What your favorite drink says about your personality?" 

Attempting to distill the complexities of human character into a mere sip, at least that one had some merit. Bourbon, no nonsense. The older, the better, aged in a barrel with minimal exposure to oxygen. Sometimes these quizzes were amusing, 

"What Greek god do you embody?" 

Roman paused finding that particular magazine article headline kind of interesting, his folklore and mythology were a bit rusty but he gave it a thought since he had one to spare while he waited for the barista to finish up his order. Jesus, it had been years since he’d thought of something as useless as mythology and the only one he was really familiar with was Greek.

In his head, a damn parade of names was competing for the title of "Roman of the Day." Aries took the main stage, especially after the tango with Cobblepot's goons at the docks. Yeah, God of War was the flavor, temper and all. But there were others in the running, especially with Belladonna thrown into the mix for the past couple of months. Starting to think he and Hades might share more than a taste for a dark underworld and a brooding vibe, even if he wasn't exactly kidnapping Belladonna. Coerced, well, that depended on who you asked, didn't it? The plot thickened, and the emotional rollercoaster kept on rolling.

Leaning casually against the coffee shop counter, Roman's eyes locked onto the reflection staring back at him. The sharp lines of his black suit accentuated his powerful frame, every detail meticulously chosen. His hair, perfectly styled, added a touch of rebellion to the sophisticated ensemble. The Armani shades perched on his nose completed the look, casting an air of mystery.

A smirk played on his lips as he soaked in the image. Damn good, he thought. It wasn't arrogance; it was an acknowledgment of the effort he put into presenting himself. His appearance wasn't just a reflection; it was a statement, a silent proclamation of power, control, and, yes, undeniable charm. Why the hell not revel in it?

His meticulous attention to detail was more than just a morning routine, he never left his place looking anything less than immaculate but lately, he’d taken this routine to an obsessive degree. His customary lunchtime visit to Belladonna's workplace was an opportunity to see and be seen, and today he expected a bit more of a spectacle.

He was practically salivating at what today's reception would be like – the coffee delivery to Belladonna and Daisy. The excited whispers and jealous stares, that were sure to follow were like sweet music to his ears, especially with the little surprise he had orchestrated that morning: a delivery of the most extravagant roses money could buy.

In his mind, he painted a vivid picture of the grand entrance; strutting in like he owned the place, a flash of that infamous charm that captivated everyone around. And then there she’d be– Belladonna, hard at work, looking like a vision of effortless beauty, maybe even playing with one of the rare roses he had sent. She always knew when he was staring at her so of course she'd notice him, abandon whatever she was doing, and greet him with that adorable 'Hey baby.' The public display that followed, a couple of nice, lingering kisses – it was all part of the show. 

But it wasn't just the show he was looking forward to. Belladonna's kisses were something else. Nothing like the coy games or aggressive maneuvers some women played. Hers had the perfect mix of teasing and desire, leaving him hungry for more. His mind, always wandering to steamier scenarios, now danced with ideas of clandestine encounters in her office – quick, intense, and hidden away in secluded corners. 

Christ. His damn libido was on the rise, and the thought of breaking his self-imposed celibacy was growing more tempting by the minute. Being around Belladonna was pure agony, especially when she flaunted those curves in those sexy-fitting work outfits. The woman looked spectacular, and sure, he could make a few calls and have a willing girl on his lap in no time, ready to fulfill his every desire. But he didn't want them. Forced abstinence was nothing new; Blackgate had been a temporary home more than once. But this... this was different. He was doing it to himself, willingly enduring the torment, all in the hope that when he finally got her in bed, it would be worth the damn trouble. And from everything he'd seen so far, disappointment wasn't on the horizon. His grin grew wider.

Now that their coupledom had been plastered across social media and tabloids, the public perception of him had taken a rather favorable turn, it was night and day. It was a refreshing change to see himself painted in a mostly positive light, his every action was still scrutinized and analyzed. From the way he followed Belladonna to how he held and touched her throughout the night, even down to his lack of usual engagement with the press – the media was having a field day. 

Could it be that the infamous playboy, Roman Sionis, was finally tamed? 

Of course not, but playing the part was undeniably enjoyable, Jesus, he should have been an actor. The public lapped it up. Sure, there were a few unsavory remarks from notorious paparazzi, insisting that he was just using Belladonna and would toss her aside once the novelty wore off. If he were fair, that had been his pattern in the past. But it wasn’t like it was his fault; most women were just goddamned boring. 

Not Belladonna, though.

Oh, yeah, today was going to be one for the books.

He didn’t let the lack of texts or calls thanking him for the roses get to him. No surprise there. Belladonna did mention drowning in post-fashion week chaos, and he could imagine her buried in whatever it was she did at work. Come to think of it, he wasn't entirely clear on what that was. Photographer, yes, but beyond snapping pictures, the details were fuzzy. Ah well, he'd find out soon enough. He couldn't wait to see how she'd shower him with affection for his sweet gesture. Chicks love roses.

Despite the weekend's radio silence, Roman's confidence sailed high. He was certain his charm would effortlessly iron out any unspoken tensions between them. A twinge of surprise lingered that she hadn't reached out, but oddly enough, he welcomed the change from the typical clingy inquiries he'd grown accustomed to. All weekend his phone remained silent. Not a beep or a buzz. 

'Work'—that had been the pretext he used to keep himself occupied during the weekend. The truth was, it wasn't until Sunday afternoon that it hit him – oh yeah, he had a bit of making up to do. Sure, he mulled over a spontaneous visit that night, but Roman, ever the showman, decided to save the grand entrance for Monday.

~~~

Yet things didn’t quite go how he imagined them, starting from when he strolled into the fashion house. It was bustling with activity, reminiscent of the previous week and while a few heads turned, there were more indifferent glances rather than the usual acknowledgment of his presence. He tried to brush it off as Belladonna had explained to him previously that the week after fashion week was just as busy, if not busier, now that they had to meet demands after new collections had been shown. But still, not a single smile, no acknowledgment of any kind? He might as well have no teven been there. He frowned, these people knew him, right? It wasn't his first time at the fashion house but he was less than amused but still, he was feeling generous, willing to settle for a less-than-glamorous reception. He was sure that would all change when he found Belladonna, she’d give him the welcome he deserved.

He shook off the strange reception, maintaining his charming smile as he made his way to the corner of the third floor where Belladonna usually worked. But to his irritation, it too was empty, devoid of Belladonna's usual charismatic allure. Now, annoyance crept further into his mood. He scanned the area but saw no real signs that anyone had even been there at all, he reached into his pocket to check his phone, expecting a message that might explain the absence– maybe a meeting, a phone call, or an impromptu photoshoot outside the studio. But the screen remained stubbornly blank.

“Maybe you should call her,” Zsasz's voice cut through the quiet, and Roman shot him a look. 

Roman scoffed, muttering more to himself than to Zsasz, "Don't be stupid." The knee-jerk response was clear - why bother? She hadn't bothered to mention she wasn't at work; why assume she'd answer if he called? Yet, an unsettling unease nagged at him, urging him to rcheck his phone again. Not to make a call or send a text, but to check, as if the information might have miraculously changed in the sixty seconds– predictably, still no messages.

Roman shot Zsasz a look that said, *Seriously?* Sometimes, as sharp as Zsasz could be with certain unsavory tasks, his solutions were disappointingly simplistic. His jaw tightened.

"Roman?"

He swiveled at the voice that unmistakably wasn't his elusive angel and there stood Daisy, burdened with papers, a laptop, and files, looking somewhat taken aback by his unexpected presence, as if him being there was the last thing she expected. Always the adept performer, Roman effortlessly flipped his mood, turning a potential snarl into a charming smile as if following a script, erasing any hint of irritation before Daisy could catch wind of it.

"Daisy, sweetheart, let us take some of that." 

Roman quickly placed the coffees on a the desk, playing both the useful and chivalrous cards by snagging a few files about to cascade onto the floor. Zsasz efficiently managed the rest, arranging them neatly on the desk and liberating Daisy's hands. Roman then promptly pivoted, swapping Daisy's now-empty hand for the green tea latte. She appeared both grateful for the well-timed drink and somewhat surprised by it. 

At least someone seemed pleased to see him.

"What are you doing here?" The sincerity in her voice was all the confirmation he needed that Belladonna wasn't in the building. If she were, Daisy wouldn't be so astonished by his appearance.

"Looking for an angel, of course." Roman drawled, his voice a concoction of charm and confidence. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he adopted a casual stance, masking the underlying irritation with an air of nonchalance. Shooting Daisy an inquisitive look, channeling an irresistable lost puppy vibe, that would make any heart melt.

"She's not here." Roman could see for himself that Belladonna was absent, but Daisy might have some insider knowledge.

"I can see that.” The nature of his forced chuckle made him want to bite his tongue till it bled, but he needed to charm Daisy and snapping at her wouldn’t get him the answers he wanted. “Where else would she be?" Roman cringed internally at the banality of the question and the necessity to maintain a charming front.

"Yeah, obviously," Daisy chuckled in return, shaking her head as if acknowledging the simplicity of her response. "I mean, she was here this morning at her usual time but left around nine, said she wasn't feeling well." 

Not feeling well? What happened? Why hadn't his driver informed him? He thought he was clear about his requirements to the driver regarding Belladonna’s whereabouts.

"Is that right?" Roman's curiosity had shifted to genuine concern.

"Yeah, she didn’t look very good; like she hadn’t slept at all. But honestly, it makes sense. Fashion week tends to drain us all; some just bounce back easier than others." Daisy pondered, staring at the ground, lost in thought. "You know, come to think of it, I don't think I saw her eat anything this morning. If that's the case, no wonder she felt like crap," Daisy remarked between sips of her latte.

"What do you mean? What does food have to do with it?"

With a nonchalant attitude, Daisy enlightened him. "Belladonna’s hypoglycemic. She can get pretty sick if she doesn’t eat. She didn't tell you?"

"Must have slipped her mind. Does she do that often? Forget to eat?" Roman inquired, his tone carrying a hint of indifference.

Daisy's eyes rolled, and she scoffed before nodding, clearly no stranger to the issue. "Well, not since you've started making your lunchtime visits, but yeah, when she's stressed, she's bad about it. Last year she passed out and cracked her head on the desk, had to call an ambulance, huge drama. She’s got a scar on her hairline from it; it was pretty nasty, two other people fainted from the blood."

"Hypoglycemic, huh?" Roman echoed, the revelation settling heavily in his mind. Leaning against the desk, he wore a subtle frown that betrayed the deeper concern beneath his exterior. "How’d we miss that?" he mumbled to himself, contemplating the extensive research Zsasz had conducted on Belladonna. If it had been a year ago, it would have been around the time of her attack, he supposed itmioght have been an easy thing to miss.

Daisy, seemingly indifferent to the weight of the information, nodded. "It's one of those things she doesn't talk about much. But it's not a huge deal; she manages it, mostly," she shrugged, hinting at a degree of skepticism. "Belladonna's not the type to play the victim, you know. Not even when she is the victim." Daisy's words lingered, encapsulating a truth that cut deeper than it appeared.

Roman absorbed this new information about Belladonna, a facet of her life he hadn't considered before. "So, what's the deal with hypoglycemia? She passes out if she doesn't eat, is that it?" he inquired, casually folding his arms across his chest. “Is this a ‘she needs insulin’ type thing?”

Daisy, shook her head, "Oh no, not insulin. It's a blood sugar thing. When she doesn't eat regularly, her blood sugar drops too low, and that can lead to all sorts of problems. The passing out is one of the extreme reactions, but it's not the worst." Roman's expression shifted, a mixture of concern and curiosity playing on his features. "If she drinks when her sugar is low, she can have a seizure. It's crazy."

The intricacies of Belladonna's health hadn't been on Roman's radar, and this revelation exposed a vulnerable side he hadn't seen before. 

Daisy, now feeling fine with sharing Belladonna's personal medical history to her boyfriend of all people, continued, "It's why she keeps snacks stashed everywhere – in her desk, her bag, Seriously check her beag one of these days, she’s always got something quick to snack on– when she remembers. French macarons are her favorite. She's got this fear of passing out again, especially in public. Understandable after what happened last time, right?"

Roman nodded, the weight of the situation sinking in. The usually nonchalant demeanor he wore took a back seat, replaced by a more serious tone. "Yeah, I get it. Anything else I should know?”

Daisy hesitated, her eyes assessing how much information she should reveal. "No, she just has to check her sugar periodically throughout the day, with this little thing that pricks her finger.” She shuddered, clearly not a fan of hte prospect f finger pricking multiple times a day. “And stress makes it worse, but only because if she's stressed out, that’s when she forgets to eat. Fashion week is always a nightmare because of the crazy hours and running around from one show to the next. Belladonna is a workaholic and comes in clutch almost all the time but she tends to push herself harder than she should; I’ve literally found her asleep at her desk before, even on the floor."

She looked so... normal. But what did he expect? A neon sign saying hypoglycemic? "I had no idea. Thanks for letting me know." His thoughts shifted to the next mystery, and he couldn't help but address it, "Did my driver pick her up?"

"Oh, that kid that picks her up and drops her off, sweet guy." Yes, that one. "No, She had me call her a cab home, said didn’t want to bother him in the middle of the day,” She misinterpreted Romans irritation for concern and reassuringly touched his arm, “I wouldn’t worry too much about her, I bet she got home and just passed right out. You’ll probably get a phone call or a text anytime now."

"I’m sure I will." He paused, knowing full well that wasn’t the case, but he wore his best fake smile anyway. "Well, you enjoy that tea, and it sounds like I’ll just go and surprise my angel at home."

"Oh, I bet she’ll love that! Tell her I hope she feels better! Make sure she eats something, if she crashes it can take a while before she’s up and running again, she’s always so tired afterwards."

Roman flashed Daisy a charming smile, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of confidence and intrigue. As he and Zsasz prepared to leave the fashion house, Roman halted, turning back with an air of casual authority.

"Oh, Daisy, could I trouble you for one more thing?" he called out, a sly grin playing on his lips.

Daisy turned, responsive and willing. "Sure."

"What was the name of the cab company that picked her up?" Daisy swiftly retrieved her phone, navigating to the recent contacts menu.

"Uh, Lightning Cabs. The driver picked her up around nine fifteen in the lobby."

"Perfect. Oh, and if you hear from her, could you let me know?" Roman extended his phone toward Daisy, a silent request for her contact information. She nodded emphatically, typing her details into his phone as if it were the most ordinary exchange, yet she was providing her number to one of the most prominent men in Gotham. "Let's keep this between us, huh? I want to surprise her and all that." A playful wink punctuated his sentence, and Daisy nodded in agreement.

"Sure, I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything." The subtle dance of charm and secrecy had played out effortlessly, leaving Roman with the information he sought while maintaining the air of pleasant camaraderie with Daisy.

"And if she feels under the weather again, let me know. I don’t want her taking a cab back home; you never know what you’re getting with some of those drivers, you know?" Roman nodded with a calculated show of concern, mirroring Daisy's exaggerated gesture, before she darted back into the bustling studio. "Goodbye, Daisy."

"Bye, Roman. Bye, Zsasz." Daisy’s parting glance lingered on Zsasz, who, Roman noticed, returned the attention with an intensity that wasn't entirely professional as she disappeared into the busy studio.

As soon as Daisy vanished from sight and they found themselves back in the car, Roman's charismatic facade faded, replaced by a scowl.

“I checked the feed at her place; she’s not there, unless she’s the invisible woman.”

“Of course, she’s not. Well, Zsasz, let's go on a scavenger hunt.” Roman initiated the search by dialing the cab company. “Yes, hello? I'm Detective Ramirez with the GCPD, and I need some information about a cab pick-up today in Park Row at 5324 Park Lane, suite 32, around nine fifteen? … Yes, I’ll hold.”

~~~

Roman pondered their destination — a storage unit. In his world, those spaces held a smorgasbord of secrets, ranging from illicit gains, to ill-gotten cash, to cold, lifeless bodies in deep freezers. The possibilities intrigued him as they accelerated towards the storage facility but he had a hunch any storage unit of Belladonna’s was more likely to contain yearbooks and stuffed animals, or whatever women held onto.

The storage facility, though utilitarian, boasted an unexpected level of sophistication. Locks, gates, keypads, and even barbed wire atop the metal gatessurrounding the premises, but what captured Roman's attention were the myriad security cameras. Not a blind spot in sight — a detail that would have impressed him if he weren't preoccupied with the mystery unfolding before him. He’d have to remember to come back and check this place for future reference, a good storage facility was like a plumber or a mechanic; people in his world were always looking for a good one.

"What are you hiding, angel?" Roman's thoughts churned with a blend of irritation and curiosity. Their conversation about transparency echoed in his mind, and the fact that Belladonna seemed to be veering off that course irked him.

The transaction of a wad of cash, a nonchalant greasing of the wheels of discretion, granted him access to the facility's surveillance footage. It was a nice place but looked like it didn’t pay as wella s he did, money talks and everyone listens. 

The surveillance footage unfolded like a noir thriller, revealing Belladonna's covert maneuvers. Her discreet exit from the cab then waiting for it to leave and then vanishing act into a smaller unit escalated into a fascinating revelation as she emerged. Her high fashion work outfit replaced buy dark jeans, a jacket, boots and gloves, cutting quite the mysterious figure astride a high-performance motorcycle. The black machine, crafted for speed, agility, and precision, hinted at a taste for the adrenaline of the open road. It was a revelation that caught both Roman and Zsasz off guard, prompting a rare exchange of surprised glances between them.

"You find any record of a bike in her name?" Roman inquired, keeping his eyes fixed on the monitor. 

Zsasz, never one for lengthy conversations, replied with a succinct, "Nope."

Zsasz was meticulous in his work. The fact that Belladonna had slipped this detail past both of them added an unexpected layer to the enigma she presented.

Roman's lips curved into a sly smirk as his gaze landed on the helmet crowned with two triangular cat ears. "Well, that gives a whole new flavor to the name Kitten, doesn't it?" he chuckled, reveling in the subtle, cute, girlish touch that adorned her all-black riding ensemble.

The growl of the motorcycle reverberated within the storage unit, transforming the sterile space into a symphony of mechanical vigor. As the engine's low purr vibrated through the air, Roman's irritation, initially sparked by the clandestine escapade, brewed further into a sense of fascination.

The sleek and potent wildcard of a motorcycle in Belladonna's arsenal had Roman caught off guard. It unveiled a facet of his angel that transcended the realms of high fashion and artistic allure, presenting her as more than just a mystery shrouded in elegance. As it turned out, she was a speed demon, reveling in the visceral thrill of the ride.

“Seems my angel has wings,”

~~~

Chloe, her first sort of girlfriend, and she used the term girlfriend very loosely; Chloe had been the girl she’d skipped school with to explore sexuality and smoke cigarettes with, who threw her into the world of motorcycles and the wild thrill of racing faster than reason. The graceful dance of tight turns, almost brushing the ground, and the defy-gravity physics that kept the bike upright became an addictive obsession.

In the shadow of those attack scars and the chaos that followed plus the new chaos taht was her current life, riding became more than a thrill for Belladonna. It was a way to outrun all the crap that clung like caked on mascara. The city blurred into streaks of light as she maneuvered the streets, totally absorbed in the dance of speed.

She'd dodged more than she could count of those flashing blue and red lights more times than she could count, a dance where luck and skill wove together to keep her free. The city streets, especially in places like the Bowery where the police didn't interfere much, allowed her to let loose after dark. But with Roman in her life and his rule,s a midnight ride was out of the question, she’d have to burn rubber during the daylight. Despite the restrictions, the ride was her escape, liberating. In the sunlit hustle of the day, her mind was far from the haunting past. Roman, that mystery in her life, faded away, just a fleeting image in the mirrors.

Lost in her thoughts, the unmarked GCPD SUV she zipped past hardly registered until those familiar blue and red lights blazed in her mirrors. Roman's presence, though physically distant, rushed right back into her mind. There was no dodging this cop; space and time didn't allow it.

Why was this guy pullingher over? She didn’t do anything. It wasn't like she was tearing through the streets like a maniac, just pushing it a bit, like everyone else did. But cops, especially with motorcyclists, always seemed to have a bone to pick. Beyond the speeding issue, a deeper worry nagged at her — the realization that she couldn't afford any extra attention from the police. With a reluctant sigh, she pulled over, bracing herself for what looked like the least enjoyable part of her day.

~~~

Cops never appreciated sarcasm. Not on good days, and certainly not on bad ones. This particular officer wouldn't have tolerated her smart mouth even if she'd had a chance to use it; he had real hardass vibes, the type of guy who peaked in high school. The whole exchange played out like a bizarre scene, breaking all the usual protocols she'd come to expect. He didn't bother with the usual spiel, no request for the key to her bike, just a bold move—taking it. Now, that was a definite no-no. No standard procedure: no demand for a driver's license, insurance, or registration. She had this nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, but it wasn't until she found herself halfway from her bike to the unmarked GCPD vehicle, ordered off her ride, that it hit her like a sucker punch.

She hadn't checked the guy's badge, hadn't asked for any form of ID, and she was about to step into an unmarked police car. Blind obedience. In the grand scheme of things, Roman was going to be pissed. Not a great move on her part, and she'd feel the repercussions soon enough.

First, she'd need to figure out how the hell to explain ditching work without telling anyone where she was, plus she also kinda lied, which she knew Roman wasn’t af an of, but it wasn’t like she lied ot him… Going against Roman's strict orders not to venture out alone and not calling for his driver. Then, there was the bike and storage unit bombshell, which, to be fair, he never bothered asking about, but she’d also never volunteered it, that wasn’t going to do her any favors. And now, as the icing on the cake, getting pulled over by a cop right smack in the middle of a murder investigation, just a day before they were set to give their formal statements at the precinct. 

Yeah, he was gonna be pissed.

He swung the car door open, playing chauffeur like she was some damn VIP, at least sans the cuffs this time. But seriously, what the hell was she getting pulled over for? Not a clue, and of course, that lawyer's card? Yeah, it was probably catching a breeze on its way to becoming litter. Roman might just decide she's due for a one-way cruise to Gotham Bay after this shitshow. Really, how much worse can this whole crapfest get?

"Well, hello, kitten..."

"Shit."

Here was how much worse.

~~~

His annoying smirk made her nervous, like, truly nervous. He just lounged in the seat like it was his throne, all smug and comfortable, like he'd done this police car routine a million times before, which he probably had. With a blink of disbelief, she hesitated before the door slammed shut on her giving her the final push into the vehicle, locking her in a confined space with Roman. The air in this cramped space hung heavy, like waiting for a judgment day or, in the darkest corners of her imagination, an impending execution.

Roman, though, smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was that kind that you put on when you're know something everyone else doesn’t know or the kind where you smile because screaming in public isn't an option.

The term 'shit-eating grin' was a perfect fit for the look he was giving. She couldn't quite figure out why he was so damn pleased or how they ended up in this mess, but at least the pressure of confessing her joyride was off her shoulders, hard to hide it when you’re caught red-handed.

A thick silence settled in, intentional discomfort left for her to stew in for his own twisted enjoyment. Just as irritation started to simmer and she was ready to snap, Roman ended the quiet with a tone full of casual amusement.

"You know, kitten, if you're in the market for something powerful between your legs, I’m only ever a phone call away."

Her expression twisted, a mix of annoyance and displeasure. For someone who was so vocal about sex, Roman sure acted like a prude when it came down to it, lots of teasing, ltos of talk but not much else to back it up. Bringing up their last encounter in the back seat of his car would probably just lead to more trouble, and her pride had already taken a hit. Reliving that memory wasn't high on her agenda, so she decided to let it slide.

"Do I even want to know how you found me?"

The smirk disappeared from his face, replaced by a bit of a scowl, not the expression seemed more fitting. "Doesn't matter, angel. I'm the one throwing out the questions here. So, lets start with this one: any clue how my day went?" Irritation played on his features, turning that once-amused smile into a disappearing act. He arched an eyebrow, silently demanding a response.

"Oh, I'm sure it was a hoot."

His grin took a wicked turn, and he beckoned with a finger for her to come closer, the gesture was very snakelike. Confusion washed over her — they were stuck in the back of a squad car, for crying out loud, how much closer wa she supposed to get? But that devious smirk of his persisted, and he pointed to his lap. Oh, goody, It was clear he hadn't forgotten their last rendezvous, and the look in his eye said that he had no plans of settling for a 'no.' 

She shrugged off her riding jacket, giving in to his unspoken request. It was more than just a comfort thing; there was a power play going on, a subtle move to establish control in the cramped space.

This time, it wasn't the playful, sexy dynamic that they’d enjoyed before. Crawling into his lap felt tense, especially with his silence and the intensity of his gaze. He wasn't content with her perched on the edge, as she had initially tried. His disapproving 'tsk, tsk, tsk' and the shake of his head made that clear, and the firm hand on her back, along with a sharp pull, brought her completely against him, hip against hips. It was all about control.

“Angel, angel, angel… ” He paused, his fingers splayed on her lower back, thumb brushing her skin, “Tell me, do you know the significance of the Juliet Rose?” 

What the hell was a Juliet Rose? She looked at him confused, not really understanding his question—significance? What was that supposed to mean? Roses were popular kiss-ass gifts, but she decided to keep that particular personal insight to herself; the ice that was Roman’s patience felt thin, and she didn’t feel like testing it further than she already had.

“Is it a death threat?” To go with the traditional answer of ‘love’ seemed like a stretch, and by this point, it was clear that Roman rarely did things without some depth of deep consideration. He shook his head so leisurely that it was hard to tell there was anything wrong, but she knew Roman was exceptional at donning masks. “Ok, I don’t know, significance?”

"Really, didn’t that fancy private school teach you anything?" Roman let out an exaggerated sigh and gave a small shake of his head. "Every flower has a meaning, angel. The Rose, it was Shakespeare's go-to bloom, you know? Especially in a little known play called Romeo and Juliet, maybe you’ve herd of it?” Everybody in the english speaking language knew that play. “Come on now, you know the line, don’t you?"

Roman's easy charm worked like, well, a charm, and smooth as the aged bourbon he drank and suddenly, any hint of dread in the back of the squad car melted away. It felt as if they were back to last Friday before the whole dock mess. Damn, those lips of his had a certain charm even when they were throwing questions around. Or was it just the effect of those late-night thoughts creeping in? Whatever it was, it worked. Oh, wait, he did ask her something, didn't he?

"Um," Belladonna thought back to her high school English class. Sure, she'd read the play like everyone else, but it wasn't exactly a favorite, she gave up. "Yeah, I don't remember much. I hated Romeo and Juliet."

Roman's expression of surprise appeared almost genuine, and if it wasn't, it was a compelling act. "You don’t like one of the greatest tragic love stories ever?" Belladonna wrinkled her nose at the notion that Romeo and Juliet could be anything more than a dramatic mess. He got the tragic part right.

"Romeo and Juliet is about a hormonal seventeen-year-old and a stupid love-struck thirteen-year-old. And over the span of three days, six people die. That's not a love story, it’s an episode of Jerry Springer. Anyone who's actually read the play would know that."

"You don’t think the notion of star-crossed lovers romantic?"

“No, I don't. It’s a tired and overused trope, horny teenagers use to justify screwing around and making poor decisions, as if it makes them immune to consequences. If two people really want each other that bad, they can get together without involving a murder-suicide.” Belladonna chose not to delve further into the irony of her words, especially concerning her and Romans own history. “Frankly, I'd rather read Twilight.”

“What in the hell is Twilight?”

“You’re better off not knowing.” Roman paused, considering it as if he were debating in his head. She wasn’t sure if he had ever read either play or if he was just going off pop culture.

Luckily, he let that topic slide, saving her from having to dive into the absurdity of Edward Cullen and Bella Swan's twisted, borderline abusive romance. Honestly, the whole murderous love thing was a train wreck. Opting to ignore the eerie parallels between their saga and the fictional nonsense, she steered the conversation back to the question he'd left hanging.

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” 

Oh, that quote. Sure, she knew it; everyone did, but still didn’t understand where it was going. It sounded a hell of a lot better when he said it. Roman looked away, reaching onto the seat next to him, picking up a rose, specifically a Juliet Rose. When she saw it, confusion and fascination played across her features as he held it out to her. She’d never seen such a peculiar-looking flower before.

Unlike other flowers, its petals flared out at the ends, forming an opulent, cup-shaped bloom with cascading waves. What made it truly captivating were the innermost petals, tightly packed in the center and gradually loosening as they radiated outward. The color transitioned from a bright yellow on the outside to an almost burnt orange at the center. She marveled at its intricacies, then lifted it to her nose, inhaling the sweet floral scent.

“Shakespeare used the rose to convey the painful side of love and the passing of time. In Juliet's lament on love, the rose is a metaphor for the darker aspect of love.” 

Roman sounded like a literary professor or something, talking as if it were common knowledge. Belladonna just blinked, it wasn’t the first time she thought she’d had him all figured out and he’d turned around and shocked her, she did not peg him for a shakespeare fan anymore than she would have thought it possible for him to know the intricacies of the language of flowers or their meanings, she didn't even know that. Yet here they were. 

“It’s one of the most expensive roses in the world and one of the rarest.” The charm instantly fell away and his displeased look returned grinding the breaks on his charm train to a halt. “And had you stuck around work instead of playing hooky, you would have seen the ones I had sent to you this morning.” 

Shit.

His grin made a reappearance—the kind of grin that seemed to conceal something unpleasant, like the expression someone wears just before labeling you an idiot.

“You sent me roses?” she asked, and he confirmed with a nod.

“I sent you fifteen roses.”

Fifteen? What an odd number? Her confused look prompted Roman to dip his hand into the back pocket of her jeans. His touch rested casually on the curve of her ass as he fished out her phone. With a smirk, he handed it back to her, making the situation feel more like a playful game than a mere retrieval.

“Why don’t you Google it?” The fact that he whispered the suggestion didn’t bode well.

She swiped up and typed into Google as he suggested, ‘significance of fifteen roses.’ The result left her stunned:

15 Roses – If you've done something to upset someone and wish for forgiveness, opt for 15 roses.

Her head snapped up to him. Roman Sionis apologizing? Belladonna stood there, mouth agape, struggling to find words. His usually suave expression shifted into seriousness. If Roman Sionis was apologizing, her gut told her to just accept it, as it wasn't a gesture he tossed around lightly, if at all.

“Um, I uh, forgive you.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter if you forgive me now. Now you’re the one who owes me an apology, and fifteen roses aren’t going to cut it.” The idea of being indebted to Roman Sionis wasn't appealing. It was never straightforward with him. Still, she couldn't help but ask:

"What do fifteen Juliet Roses run?"

"More than you can afford." She didn’t like how he said that.

"So," he began, and Belladonna felt a mixture of apprehension and curiosity as Roman didn't delve into details about the expensive roses. "Imagine my confusion when I stroll into your studio with your rose-infused white mocha only to find… nothing. No one says a word to me, and Daisy informs me that not only are you not at work, but you claimed to have gone home..."

His head shook, the tsks sounding almost predatory, and he continued, "But you didn’t go home, did you angel? Not only that, you didn’t call my driver, and you took a cab across town to a storage unit you didn’t tell me about, and you’ve been joyriding all over the city. I’m very disappointed in you, angel." The tone suggested either a deliberate exaggeration or a level of anger that hindered proper articulation.

"I had to impersonate a police officer to the cab company to find where you’d gone, and its a good thing their standards aren’t high because I’m a shit cop. Then I had to bribe the security guard at the unit to see the footage, and it’s a good thing he was cheap because I only had a few hundred on me, there goes my snack money. Finally, I get to see the footage, and surprise, surprise, my angel likes strong things between her legs, and off she goes to parts unknown. That left me leaning on a contact inside the GCPD to trace your bike, which isn’t under your legal name. It’s under your mother's name, and I spent the last four hours scouring this whole damned city looking for you, all the while the police are investigating us for a triple homicide." The sheer dedication to track her down was either annoying or oddly impressive, and she couldn't quite decide which.

"Can you see how that’s problematic?"

Belladonna knew she was in a bit of a bind. It sounded bad because it was bad. His hand, initially gripping her hair, tightened, and she tensed. However, he swiftly softened his grip, running his fingers through her hair to draw her closer.

“Angel, what part of ‘you don’t go anywhere alone anymore’ didn’t you understand?” His stern gaze bore into her, a mix of parental concern and disapproval, like she’d been caught breaking curfew and any moment he was about to tell her ‘she could do better’. He awaited an answer, and she hesitated before attempting to respond.

"Look, Roman, I—" Her words were abruptly swallowed as he yanked her into a kiss. It wasn't gentle or tender; it was hungry, almost demanding. Pleasure danced at the fringes, but the dominant force was control. It wasn't painful, but it carried a weight, a reminder that in his world, his rules were the only ones that mattered. As he eased back, he held her in that space where the air crackled with tension, close enough to feel the heat of a potential kiss but withholding any further touch. His voice dipped into a growl, a low, demanding tone that made it clear – the simmering anger, once concealed, was now seeping out.

"Belladonna, we have the goddamned GCPD on our tails, just itching to poke holes in our story. And we both know it's far from bulletproof because they know a few things: one, I’m not a good man, I’m a damn criminal and I like being a criminal. And two, I’m not a one-woman man. Two days before we met in the back of my club, I had six women in my bed, all begging to suck my cock and milk it dry, begging me to fuck every hole they had, offering to do the most degrading things if it made me happy, and I let them." He tilted his head curiously. 

"Why on earth would a man turn that down for just one woman? I mean, you're gorgeous, and you're entertaining, but... It means a few things. Either you’re somehow the love of my life, and I’d do anything for you, thus making you a weakness to be used against me, or we’re both liars…” The coolness of his gaze was disturbing, and his detached nature, when any other criminal might be radiating unbridled fury, was just something else entirely. “Do you see my point?”

Yeah, she did.

"What happened to no more secrets, angel?" His tone was deceptively softer now.

"Jesus, Roman. Do you want me to lay out every detail of my life? Down the magazines I'm subscribed to?"

"No, I don't need to know about your Cosmo guilty pleasure, or your six-year devotion to Urban Photography Monthly. I don't care about your Motorcyclist Mechanic collection or the notes you scribble inside the margins. But I do need to know about this secret storage unit under the name Maribella Caruso on the other side of town and the fact that you own a twenty-thousand-dollar performance motorcycle for joyrides." He paused, eyeing her. "You don't street race, do you?"

"No, I just like to go fast," she responded defensively. Why did she feel the need to cover her ass all of a sudden? She hadn't done anything wrong—maybe a bit stupid and shortsighted. "And I wasn't hiding it from you. I haven't been on a ride in a few months. I don’t ride much in the rainy season, and I just go when I need to blow off some steam."

"And what were you trying to blow off steam from, angel?"

She exhaled sharply. Well, it wasn't like she could hurt his feelings, so what was the point in beating around the bush? "You."

"Me? What did I do?" His surprise seemed either genuine or a well-played act to make her feel guilty. "Oh, is this about last Friday night?"

"Is that why you sent me the roses?" Belladonna's tone carried a mix of curiosity and challenge, a hint of defiance in her eyes. 

Roman's dissatisfaction surfaced, breaking through his nonchalant demeanor. In response, he seized her hair again, a flicker of irritation in his touch. "Angel, I get it, rejection isn't your usual flavor, but when daddy says no, it means no. When duty calls, you take your hands out of my pants, hop off my lap, and be a good girl and wait for daddy to finish his work."

Her wince betrayed genuine fear and pain, something Roman hadn't seen from her before. "Please let go," she requested, a subtle tremor in her voice. He released his grip instantly, an uncommon emotion stirring within him – regret.

"I thought you liked when I did that," he remarked, uncertainty creeping into his voice. His hand, now soothing the spot on her scalp, felt oddly out of character.

Belladonna wasn't having any of it. "No, I don’t like this," she asserted, frustration evident as she grabbed a firstfull of his hair at the crown of his head, yanking and jerking his head backward, full of fire and aggression. A rage filled snarl escaped him, his lips contorting into a snarl, teeth baring, and a flash of molten anger sparked in his eyes. Her power play took him off guard, like tugging at the scruff of a dog's neck; his hackles were raised in rage, all directed at her unless she took further action.

"I like this," 

As quickly as she’d ensared him, her fingers relaxed their grip, threading through his hair, massaging his scalp while still maintaining her hold. The aggression replaced by control, confidence and sensuality, mussing his meticulously styled hair. 

Leaning down, Belladonna pressed her lips to his, sensing the gradual release of tension in his curled lip. Her tongue delicately licked his lips, an instinctive move to ease the lingering anger. The other hand cupped his jaw, moving down to caress his neck as their mouths slanted together. The dynamics shifted, and his anger seemed to vanish, like soothing a feral dog by scratching behind its ear.

Eagerly, he kissed her back, indulging in the talents of her lips. Unbothered by the slow, lazy pace she set, the power play held no significance; he simply craved more of that mouth, those lips.

Each pass of her lips and stroke of her tongue mingled with the pleasurable pull on his hair, and the rage that simmered between them faded. The car was heating up, with that in mind, she gently started withdrawing from him, before things got too out of control a series of soft, parting kisses leaving him yearning for more of his aggressive angel. When she finally let go of his hair, now in total disarray, her fingers massaged his neck, addressing the kink from looking up at her.

"Okay?" 

His chest rose and fell all traces of agitation were gone, replaced by a wild look in his eye. Yet, through the fog of desire, he seemed to understad, and in a tone as unfamiliar to her asi t was to him, he uttered, "It'll never happen again, angel." Odd as it sounded, she found herself believing him.

"Thanks for the rose," she murmured, her tone seemingly calming any remnants of Roman's anger, more effectively than the kiss had.

"My pleasure, angel. Now, we need to head back. We have some things to talk about regarding tomorrows visit to the precinct."

His ability to maintain control in the heated moment surprised her, and she had anticipated more resistance when she ended the kissing session. "I’ll follow you."

"No, you’re riding with me."

"Roman, I get it, twenty-five thousand dollars might be pocket change for you, but that bike out there is the most expensive thing I own. Until some jerk puts a ring on it, it's my baby. I'm not leaving it here or trusting your goons with it." Leaning in, she kissed him, a strategic move to secure his compliance. "I’ll follow you."

In a rare turn of events, Roman didn’t resist. His chest rumbled with a growl, but he didn’t intervene as she put her jacket back on, pulled on her gloves, and zipped up. He chuckled to himself as she climbed off his lap and hopped out of the car without further arguments. In fact, he found it amusing when she reclaimed her key from the man who had pulled her over.

“Next time you take my key from my bike, you’re gonna eat it.”

He believed her.

~~~

Belladonna's leg bounced uncontrollably in the car from the moment she sat down. It didn't take five minutes into the ride from her loft for Roman to place a firm hand on her knee, attempting to stop the nervous action. Instead, her other knee took over the jittery motion. Roman let out a frustrated breath, slipping his phone into his pocket before turning to face her.

"Angel, if you don’t stop that, I’m going to take you over my knee," he warned, half teasing, half serious. The unexpected response halted her jittery motion in sheer shock instantly. Roman frowned, "Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t be able to stop. Oh well."

As they drove to the police station, he maintained his usual nonchalance, seemingly unbothered by the impending statements they were about to make. Belladonna, on the other hand, had never felt so on edge.

"How are you so calm?" she blurted out, genuinely surprised at his level of nonresponsiveness.

He casually shrugged, glancing up at her from his phone which he’d retrieved. "Not my first time." Was he playing angry birds?

"When was your first time?"

A sly grin crossed his face, "I was fourteen. What was her name? Alice? Anne? Eh, one of the women who helped around the house. I’m not sure, but hey, gotta pop that cherry sometime, right?"

"That's not what I meant." If he was serious, that explained a lot. 

"I’m well aware of what you meant, angel. I’m not worried because I’ve spent more time in furry handcuffs than real ones. Trust me, in either scenario, the novelty of it all wears off after a while."

She shook her head, pressing further, "What if they want to do a lie detector test?"

"Polygraphs are inadmissible in court," he responded with a dull and measured tone that bordered on boredom. "Even if they did, it wouldn’t prove or disprove anything."

“But–”

“Angel, you could bomb every question they give you, and the polygraph chart could look like a bad sketch of the Rocky Mountains, and it wouldn’t change anything. The science behind them is flimsy, used to intimidate people into confessions, and it's been proven more times than anyone can count, that a polygraph is less reliable than the weatherman. Don’t worry about it. You’ll have your lawyer by your side; Derrick is a smart kid and knows what's what. You’re his top client. Just remember what we talked about last night, and you’ll be fine.”

Ah, last night at Roman's place—a fun trip down memory lane it had been, but in a way it had been helpful. Like making a gameplan, going over how the whole process would work and surprisingly Roman’s council had been helpful but then again, of course the man who had been to prison would know more than his fair share about how these things worked.  

She nodded, “Wish I didn’t feel so nervous.”

“So don’t be nervous; be something else.” Mad, he had told her to be mad. In times like these it paid immensely to feed into stereotypes, like how women were hyper emotional for no reason. She had a reason she was under investigation for accessory to murder, she wasn’t being emotiona for no reasonl, she was scared shitless. But not as scared as she had been at the thought of what might happen if she were to turn on Roman.

“Belladonna, they’re going to try and put a wedge in between us, scare you and rile you up so let me be very clear about this. If you turn on me, I will make sure you live a long life while all the people you love live just as hideously long under the most agonizing circumstances possible. There won’t be a safe place for you to hide from me, and I’ll stop at nothing to see you suffer for it…”

“Like what? I’m not a light switch.” He chuckled darkly, and his hand slowly slid up from her knee to her thigh.

“Oh? Pretty sure I could give you a flick or two, and you’d turn on for me.” She didn’t have a comeback for that one because, well, it was a good one, but ignoring it didn’t change anything, nor did it determ him. “That’s not a no.” He gripped her thigh a little tighter.

The car hummed along the road, the tension palpable as they neared the police station for their statements. Belladonna shifted in her seat, her nerves evident but whether it was from their impending visit or the effect Roman had on her was hard to say.

“It’s not a yes, either.”

Roman grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Belladonna.”

A skeptical look crossed her face, anticipating his usual antics. ��You’ll have to excuse me; I don’t wanna walk into the precinct smelling like sex.”

Roman scoffed. “Who said anything about sex? I wasn’t going to fuck you.” His hand slid up further, and he continued, “No, I was just gonna make you come once or twice. Does wonders for the nerves. Besides, whats wrong with smelling like sex?”

Her eyes searched his face for the punchline, but it never came. His self-assured expression remained, and realization dawned on her that he was dead serious. It wouldnt be the first time he’d coaxed an orgasm out of her, but there was a difference between what they did behind closed doors and what they did in a moving car on their way to the freaking police station. 

“We’re ten minutes from the station; you’re good, Roman, but you’re not that good.”

His smugness transformed into a different expression, a blend of satisfaction and a touch of shock. It was as if he was contemplating a challenge that hadn't been issued. Right? That wasn’t a challenge. 

“People get stuck in traffic every day, angel. It’s a hell of a way to pass the time.” His gaze traveled up from his hand along the length of her legs to her face, relishing the uncertainty he found there. “You know, you do still owe me for those roses.”

“Never gonna let that slide are you?”

He shook his head, “I can’t allow debts to go unchecked, angel, not even from you.Iit’s bad for business. People hear I’ve gone soft then it’ll be nothing but work, work all the time.” He removed his hand and turned to face her in the seat placing a hand to his temple the other on his knee tapping as he thought, “How should I collect…?” It was possible he was teasing but it was also possible he didn’t know how to let something as simple as a bouquet of roses go and he’d outlive god trying to have the last word. “Any ideas, angel?”

“Does it matter what I think?”

“No, but I’m still curious what you think might satisfy me.”

The concept of satisfaction and Roman seemed like they would always be at odds with one another, how could someone like Roman ever truly be satisfied? Was it even possible? 

“I have no idea what even makes you tick, Roman, I’m pretty sure the usual stuff wouldn’t work,”

“And what is ‘the usual stuff’?” The air quotes were unnecessary, but it probably made perfect sense to him as he lived anything but an ordinary life.

“What motivates any man, blowjobs and cash.” She avoided his gaze opting for a glance out the window instead, but she could feel him staring and she swore she could feel the grin on his face.

Roman chuckled at her response, a low sound that reverberated through the car. "Blowjobs and cash, huh? Well, you certainly know how to speak my language, angel." His eyes gleamed with a playful spark as he leaned closer, a conspiratorial air about him.

Belladonna couldn't help but smile despite herself as if that was a language any woman couldn’t figure out, but his playful banter did momentarily distracting her from the nerves about their impending visit to the police station. She sighed, shaking her head. "You're impossible, Roman."

He winked. "And that, my angel, is precisely why you can't resist me."

"But, in any case, you're spot-on about the money part, but as for the blowjobs? Well, you might be onto something there. What man doesn’t love a pretty pair of lips wrapped around his cock?"

She chuckled, "Very funny. You telling me you want fifteen blow jobs?" When he responded with silence, his expression as unyielding as stone, she couldn't help but press further, "Don't tell me you don't have a little black book to take care of that."

"I have several. Organized by city. And they're probably wondering why I haven't called any of them in two months." She froze and looked back to his smug face. What did he say? "But then again, I'm off the market, so it doesn't paint a very good portrait of a boyfriend if I'm out fucking my waythrough a briar patch of daddy issues, does it?"

"Are you saying you haven't been laid since we met?" His unamused expression was all the answer she needed. Her lips started to form the words 'what?' or 'why?' but she couldn't complete the thought. Suddenly, the notion of the car being stuck in traffic wasn't so far-fetched. "You haven’t—"

"Fucked anything but my hand? Why no, kitten, and trust me, I thought those days were long over.” She recoiled slightly from him uncertain what he was about to say, but what was remaining unsaid was giving her pause, she didn’t think he was that kind of man... “Oh, kitten, relax, I don't force anyone into anything, not my style, but I've got an appetite, and we've got a few minutes before the station. It seems my skills are in question," he smoothly removed his jacket and began rolling up his sleeves. The certainty in his movements left no room for doubt—something was about to unfold in the confines of the car. "And while having my dick sucked is lovely, it’s not hte only thing that gets me off." His actions conveyed a sense of inevitability. “You wanna know what gets me off? Control.”

His arm coiled around her waist, pulling her onto his lap, a position she found both thrilling and unnerving. “Fact is, you do owe me something—fifteen somethings, to be exact, His breath, warm on her neck, sent shivers down her spine as his hands rested on her back, drawing her body against his, a familiar position from the previous day in his car.

“Fifteen what?”

"Orgasms. Let's start with one."

~~~

Chapter Twelve

I swear I will be working on my Star Wars stuff next! When you get into a writing groove, you just gotta ride that wave! If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters give me a reblog and a unique tag! Thanks for reading!

#fanfiction is life #i have too many stories #original character #alternate universe #roman sionis smut #roman sionis imagine #roman sionis x original female character #roman sionis fan fiction #roman sions #roman sionis is a tease #roman sionis #belladonna fucking black #belladonna black #shadows of deception #i now have a hair pulling kink

[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 Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Goddess by Xana

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.

“You seem flustered Miss Black, you’re not nervous are you?” The Detective’s feigned concern was almost insulting, but she guessed he was back to playing the role of ‘Good cop’ . She looked over her shoulder behind her at the door that led to the interrogation room Roman had been ushered into. Guess that made Craven the bad cop.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the room that smelled of antiseptic and old coffee. A glance down at the table saw it was still covered in graffiti, though it looked like it had been freshly scrubbed. The chair still wobbled when you shifted your weight and the room was freezing. A more uncomfortable portrait couldn’t have been painted for an interview.

“Nope.” She replied quickly.  

Not anymore. She replayed the heated moments between her and Roman in the car just prior to arriving at the station, finding herself anchored somewhere between the Detective Ramerez’s patronizing fake concern and her and Romans reckless intimacy. It was hard to care about anything with the post orgasm high still that still had her feeling like she was walking on air.

~~~

"You wanna know what gets me off? Control."

The echo of Roman's voice reverberated in the confined space of his car, a low purr against her neck, like a content cat but with a much more provocative agenda—his version of 'kitty biscuits' involved his hands asserting their grip on her ass.

"Let's start with one..."

The air in the car was charged with a blend of their passion, and if she didn't smell like sex, she'd undoubtedly be saturated in Roman's cologne by the time they left.

"Angel, you're so tense. Can't have you walking into that police station like you have something to hide, can we?"

She didn’t know what he wanted to say, or even if he wanted her to say anything, more than once Roman gave her the distinct impression that when he spoke, he didn't always want a response, sometimes he just wanted an audience. 

~~~

The interview room intimidated her far less now with Derick by her side in his three piece suit that cost more than her loft. She hadn’t seen him since their first meeting, in fact she hadn’t really spoken to him since they got there, other than his advice to not volunteer anything unnecessary and to stop talking if he told her to. The police were not their friends. 

They sat with their backs to the two way window, which was a little unsettling and only because she knew people were watching them from the otherside; talking about her. Picking apart every little thing she did, said or implied. Despite Dericks presence, the odds still felt a bit stacked, she found herself wishing Roman was with her instead.

All things considered she was fairly calm this time around but it was hard to tell if it was from Roman’s gentlemanly kiss before they went into separate rooms, or the orgasm he’d given her not fifteen minutes before. She felt that paranoia that comes with the feeling that people know your dirty secrets, like they knew what she’d let Roman do to her in the car, but it was stupid, they’d only know if she told them. 

“People only know what you tell them and you can say more with your body than your words.”

Another Roman’s surprising pearls of wisdom and it turned out it came from a fortune cookie then she couldn’t hold it against him. With that in mind, she sat up a little straighter and looked straight ahead, not down at the table like she was ashamed or scared, was she both of those things? To some degree maybe. 

~~~

She could've resisted, said no, maybe moved to the other side of the car. Despite the occasional fear Roman could evoke, his good moods were undeniably, well, good. Nearly impossible to resist. One arm securely around her waist, the other slipping beneath her panties—it was a potent combo.

Even his cocky smirk, though mildly irritating, couldn't overshadow the intensity of the moment. Arousal outweighed any irritation. It might have been more manageable if she'd kept her cool, but Roman had a knack for coaxing sounds and reactions from her that seldom surfaced.

"Still stressed, angel?" His fingers played a delicate dance, a sensation more tortuous than the absence of touch, "What can daddy do to make his kitten feel better? Hmm?" The words hung in the air, his tone a sinful mix of amusement and desire.

~~~

The red light of the recording device burned into the periphery of Belladonna Black's vision as she watched Detective Ramierez settle into the chair opposite her. It all looked so different this time around, the first time she was here it had been scary, she'd felt sick, like she'd puke. She was a bit glad she skipped breakfast, nothing to throw up this time, right? 

Now she just felt bored like she was watching a late-night tv run. It was like a choreographed routine of someone who had done this too many times to count. He placed down his notepad, the files fanned out like a hand of cards, and finally, with a decisive click, he turned on the recorder.

“Well, Miss Black,” His smile was thin, like a salesman’s grin that promised good deals but also, like salesman, she knew not to trust a word of what he said. “I think we got off to a rocky start last time, so let's start fresh. Set the record straight,” His pen poised in his hand as if he was actually going to have anything useful to write. “Afterall, we all want the same thing; the truth.”

Sure.

Before she could unleash a barbed reply, Derrick's hand rested lightly on her arm and he gave a subtle nod, a silent reminder to stay focused. 

“Detective, let's stick to the pertinent inquiries. My client is graciously dedicating her time to assist in your investigation, but it's important to note that she's already sacrificing precious work hours for this interview.”

She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself against the onslaught she knew was coming.

With a curt nod, Ramierez clicked his pen several times. “Fair enough. Let’s go back to the night you were at Masquerade Noir when our victim disappeared, can you walk me through it again?” 

She felt a shift and that cold feeling in her stomach for a second and heaved out a sigh, she hadn’t given it much more thought since it had happened. Life had been a whirlwind of chaos since Roman came into her world, and she was just trying to hold onto something stable. Jimmy had been the last thing on her mind.

“I needed to blow off some steam so after I left work-”

“--About what time was that?” His reply came so quick it was like he was looking for an opening to interrupt, she had a hunch most of the interview would follow a similar pattern.

“Seven, I think.” He nodded for her to continue, “I went home, got changed, and went out the club–”

‘Masquarade Noir?” 

Yeah, it was a pattern. Probably meant to put her on edge. Her lawyer had told her as much, but it had been Romans advice that had stuck in her mind,

‘They wanna waste your time, angel? Waste it right back.’

She stared blankly for a minute and nodded with a shrug. “Yeah, seemed as good a place as any. I’d been meaning to check it out but just never really had the motivation to go until then, you know how it is. You get off work and all you want to do is curl up on the couch-” Ramierez cleared his throat, giving her a disinterested look, then he nodded for her to continue. “I got there around ten and I headed for the bar–”

“--Did you see or talk to anybody?” She looked at him blankly, allowing several seconds to pass like she was thinking about her answer before she answered.

“Not really, ID check at the door but there was no conversation.” He nodded again. “I headed to the bar for a drink,” Ramierez returned the nod, his pen hovering above the notepad in anticipation.

“Did you see the victim, James Angeloff at any point?” Before she could answer, he reached into the file and pulled out an autopsy photo of Jimmy, splayed out cold and lifeless. Belladonna flinched involuntarily, her features twisting into an expression of revulsion.  “Problem?”

The metallic taste of bile threatened at the back of Belladonna's throat as she shoved the autopsy photo away with a flick of her wrist. The image skidded across the table, Detective Ramierez’s trick had turned her insides cold, but she wouldn't let him see her squirm. Her voice came out steady, albeit dry.

“Yeah, I haven’t eaten yet.” Something about knowing Jimmy was either in a morgue or beginning to rot underground turned her stomach, but at least it wasn’t that cold weighted feeling like she was about to puke.

He made a show of feigning surprise and a bit of remorse, “Oh, sorry, wrong photo.” 

Sure it was. 

Ramierez observed her for a second longer before the photo disappeared back into the file, his movements precise and controlled. He replaced it with Jimmy’s mugshot, as if that did anything to help Jimmy become a more sympathetic character. Jimmy would have killed her. That was what she had to remember.

Be cold, Belladonna. 

He awaited her response, pen poised over notepad, ready to document every word she uttered. She looked at the picture again, and shook her head.

“No. Even if I did, he’s not my type.”

“And what is your type?” His tone was casual, too casual, as if they were discussing preferences in coffee rather than delving into the intricacies of her personal life.

Not here to make friends, she reminded herself, Roman's words echoing in her mind like a lifeline. 

"Detective, let's remain focused on the incident. Her personal life isn't subject to interrogation." Derrick's voice was smooth, a calm counterpoint to the undercurrent of accusation in the room. His tone was even, but there was a steel edge to it that suggested he wouldn't tolerate further digression.

~~~

Her labored breaths created a rhythmic echo in the confined space of Roman's car, each desperate pant building into a crescendo as his skilled touch played with her, unraveling her in the dimly lit atmosphere.

"Nothing to worry about, right, kitten?" His fingers danced between pleasure and restraint, teasingly slow, prompting a pouty protest moan from Belladonna. "Or is there?"

"N-No." Her voice, breathy and desperate, clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck, fingers entangled in his hair, her hips moving in rhythm with his hand.

"You're gonna tell those detectives exactly what we did in the back of my club, won't you?" He licked her neck, then pressed a firm kiss on her pulse point, lips lingering before licking the spot with his tongue obscenely. "Nothing wrong with what we did, is there? Just two consenting adults, right?"

"Yeah." Her voice quivered, lips brushing against his warm skin, sending shivers through her.

"And what did we do?" His voice remained mostly calm, but a subtle undercurrent of desire hinted at his internal struggle with impulse control, she gasped when he stopped his gentle touches and returned to a move firm petting.

"--Fuck! This! W- We did this..." Expressing the words proved more challenging than expected; Roman's presence overwhelmed her, short-circuiting her brain.

"What's this?" She could feel his grin against her neck.

~~~

"Hey, I'm just making conversation here," Ramierez retorted, the superficial smile still plastered across his face. But everyone in the room could sense the undercurrent of frustration threading through his words, his tactic had been noticed and countered. “So you head to the bar, then what? Did you order a drink?”

“No,” Belladonna finally replied, her voice level, “Someone offered to buy me one before I could.”

“That was nice.” She grimaced, from his perspective she was certain he really thought that. Spoken like someone who’s never had a drink bought for them used as ammunition against them.

“I wasn’t interested.”

"Wasn't interested?" Ramierez tapped the pen against his notepad, a slow rhythm that seemed designed to unsettle.

“No.”

Ramierez's eyebrow arched, the question hanging in the air like a challenge. “And why not?”

“Because I don’t accept drinks from men I don’t know, especially when I didn’t see them made.”

“Bit paranoid, don't you think?” Was it paranoia if she was right? But he didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Let me guess--He wasn’t your type either?”

“No he wasn’t.” Ramierez jotted down some notes but his writing was so scratchy she couldn’t make it out. “I turned him down and tried to refuse the drink, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I eventually got fed up and decided to go to the other end of the bar and he followed me.”

“Sounds dedicated.”

She tilted her head slightly, dark strands of hair slipping over her shoulder. "If ‘dedicated’ is another word for ‘annoying’ then he was certainly the lord and master." The corners of Derrick's mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly and she could practically hear Roman’s deep chuckle in the back of her mind. She knew he’d appreciate that one.

“That's not very nice,” 

If the next words out of his mouth were anything related to how she should have just given him a chance, she was going to end up behind bars for slapping that smug look off his face. Derrick seemed to sense this and nudged her foot with his,

“Nice girls end up roofied in the ER with rape kits being done.” She replied coldly.

Ramierez paused, the hint of irritation flashing across his features before he masked it with another practiced smile. He made a show of consulting his notes, probably realizing that this particular line of questioning was leading nowhere fast.

“So, he doesn’t leave you alone, then what?” 

"Told him no on the dancefloor," She continued, the words tasting like stale air. "Even outside the bathroom," She finished, a hint of exasperation seeping through. The image of the man's unrelenting gaze as she emerged into the relative quiet of the corridor was still vivid in her mind, an unwanted shadow in the neon-lit escape she had sought that night.

“Ok, I get it,” He said a little too harshly. She afforded herself a tiny smirk ‘Waste it right back’ she’d have to kiss Roman for that particular gem as it was now her new favorite toy.

Her lawyer stifled a yawn behind his hand, a clear signal of his opinion on the current line of questioning.

“At what point did you decide to leave?” 

“I’m not sure, I had been there a while, maybe it was around midnight, I wasn’t wearing a watch and clubs don’t exactly have clocks.” He jotted down more notes, her lawyer looked bored, but weren’t they all? “Anyway, I was tired and the evening had been a bit of a bust–”

Ramierez leaned forward, a hint of provocation in his eyes as he tapped the pen against his notepad. 

"Meaning you couldn't find someone to have sex with?"

A sharp intake of breath filled the otherwise silent room. Belladonna's fingers curled into her palm, nails pressing half-moons into her skin, as she fought the surge of indignation. 

"Detective." Derrick's voice sliced through the tension, smooth and unyielding like tempered steel. He adjusted his cufflinks, an understated display of control. "I’d advise you to refrain from such offensive questions. My client's sex life isn’t up for discussion."

~~~

In a frenzy of desire, she trembled in his arms as his fingers tapped an agonizing rhythm against the thin fabric of her panties, sending shivers of anticipation through her body. Like he was playing a damn instrument.

"God! Please, Roman," she begged, her voice raw and desperate as she said his name but Roman showed no mercy. 

"What is it that you want, angel?" He whispered, his breath hot against her neck. 

"Please...stop teasing." Her teeth gritted, she fought to focus on speaking, knowing that giving him anything less than complete submission would only fuel his hunger. 

"Am I teasing you?" He taunted, his grip tightening on her body, leaving her with no escape from the intense but infrequent pleasure coursing through her. She whimpered helplessly, unable to contain the building pressure within her. It seemed to only please him more. "Oh, kitten," he purred, his lips brushing against her skin. "The sounds you make when you're ready to come for me..." 

Desperate for release, she tried to roll her hips in a futile attempt to find consistent friction. But he held her firmly in place, denying her any relief. "You want it, don’t you?" His voice was dark and possessive now, dripping with lust and dominance. 

"Yes!" She cried out, nearly sobbing with need. 

His fingers stilled their maddening dance and settled into a firm and steady rhythm. "Is that what you want? You want to come for me." 

"Yes!"

"Oh, kitten, let me hear you say it." His voice dripped with possessiveness and dominance.

"I want to come for you!" She moaned loudly, not caring how pathetic she sounded.

"You’re mine aren’t you, kitten?" His words were like fire on her skin, igniting every nerve ending with longing and craving. "You my good girl?"

"I'm yours! I promise! Please!" Her words spilled out of her in a desperate plea for him to push her over the edge. With a growl of satisfaction, he continued his relentless assault, finally done teasing.

~~~

Ramierez's fingers riffled through the stack of notes before him, “But that was why you went out, right? You said last time you were–” He stopped at a single sheet of paper. “Looking for someone to help you forget your ex, isn’t that right?” She nodded, “So then you were unsuccessful?”

“Obviously.” The word fell from her lips, dry and devoid of inflection. “I wasn't having fun, my feet were killing me and I decided to go home.”

“You left through the front door?”

“No, I didn’t want my stalker to follow me home or try to nose his way into a cab, so I ducked into the back hoping for a rear exit.”

“Then what?”

"I thought he might've caught me sneaking off, and I didn't want him getting any ideas about me looking for a quiet spot for a hookup. So, I slipped down the hall for a quick hideout, just to see if he'd follow through the door."

“Did he?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“The door never opened and when I turned to leave, I ran into Roman.” Her stomach tightened slightly; this was where the lies began. Up until now, she had told the truth.

Ramierez's scrutiny didn't falter, his gaze now sharpened, dissecting her statement. "Ran into him? Literally?" he leaned back in his seat, the chair creaking under his weight.

"Figuratively," She corrected quickly, a flash of annoyance flickering across her face before she smoothed it away. "He was just there, suddenly. In the hallway." 

"Interesting timing," Ramierez murmured, more to himself than to her, as he scribbled another note.

"Happy coincidence," she replied, her tone neutral, though a pulse throbbed in her temple—a telltale sign of stress she hoped went unnoticed.

"Coincidences can be convenient," Ramierez said, locking eyes with her once more. "Especially in stories."

"Life is full of them," Belladonna countered, matching his stare with a defiance that bubbled up from deep within. She refused to look away, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch under his probing.

~~~

In the adjacent room, an undercurrent of tension mixed with pure ‘Do I look like I give a fuck’ energy gripped the air as Roman engaged in a standoff with Detective Craven. The detective's patience, much shorter than Ramirez's, wore thin in the face of Roman's nonchalant demeanor. Seated across from Craven in the interrogation room, Roman lit up a cigarette, displaying a level of comfort one might expect in the waiting area of a doctor's office or the DMV.

Craven's gaze bore into him, a look of disdain that suggested Roman was nothing more than the scum of the earth, and the detective would jump at the opportunity to toss him into a trash compactor and push the button until he heard squishy noises. Roman, seemingly unperturbed by his surroundings, glanced at his lawyer and nonchalantly blew out a plume of smoke, his demeanor more like someone suffering from analysis paralysis than facing an interrogation.

After a prolonged stare from Craven, Roman finally acknowledged the intensity with an amused chuckle. He turned to his lawyer with a shrug, continuing to maintain an air of indifference.

“Keep looking at me like that, detective, and you’re going to make my girlfriend jealous,” Roman quipped, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed Craven's stern expression. His lawyer shared a smirk and shook his head like he was completely at ease working with a man like Roman, but Craven, far from amused, refused to crack a smile.

“Cut the crap, Sionis. We both know she’s not your girlfriend.”

“Guess that makes what we just did in my car a bit awkward,” Roman retorted, seemingly unfazed by Craven's harsh tone. "Oh, come on detective, that’s funny!” Roman laughed at his joke, “If you’re jealous then that's all you had to say." He chuckled again, “I’d be jealous of her too, I’m a solid ten.”

Craven reclined in his chair, attempting to mirror the facade of calm Roman effortlessly projected, but instead, he only appeared more scrunched and uneasy. "So, what'd you do? Threaten to kill her cat? Dump her parents in Gotham Bay?"

Roman scoffed, "That's a little harsh, don't you think?" He cast a glance at his lawyer incredulously, who seemed either accustomed to or immune to Roman's theatrical behavior. “Isn’t it, Nathan?”

"Stick with the case at hand, detective. Questions like that are inappropriate," Romans lawyer, Nathan, didn’t miss a beat, offering a quick warning which didn’t seem to phase Craven.

"That's right!” Roman emphatically placed a hand on the table in agreement, delivering a mild slap. “I love kittens."

Craven slapped a morgue photo onto the table, triggering Roman's annoyance as his smile disappeared. "What happened to James Angeloff?"

"Who?" Roman feigned ignorance, raising an eyebrow.

Craven slammed his fist on the table, intending to rattle Roman, but it had the opposite effect—he just smiled. "James. Angeloff. Your employee. What happened to him?"

"My apologies, detective. I'm good with faces, not names." Roman picked up the picture, sucked his teeth, and shook his head. He made a face. "Looks like he had a rough night." Craven glared, and Roman responded with a smile. "Afraid I don't know. He stopped showing up for work, and I consider it a no-call, no-show when that happens. I allow for two before I consider the employee terminated. Whatever happened to him, I couldn't say." He let the picture slip from his grip, it slid across the table back to Craven.

"I bet you couldn't." 

Craven and Roman were like two storm fronts colliding, both known for their tempers, yet the contrast was apparent. Roman had the ability to charm effortlessly, while Craven relied on intimidation. However, it became evident that Roman was unimpressed and unintimidated by Craven's presence.

"We have him on your cameras entering your club and then going into the back. What was he doing?"

"He wasn't scheduled to work, so I couldn't say."

"You know his work schedule but you couldn't remember his name?"

Roman leaned back in his chair, taking another puff of his cigarette. "I have over sixty people working for me; sometimes, it takes a minute."

"What was his job?"

"Mr Angeloff was a bartender, three nights a week." Roman passed a sheet of paper across the table to Craven– Jimmy's job application, complete with his background check and a very spotty ‘resume’ with only two other jobs listed.

"You hire criminals, aren’t you a saint?"

"Everyone deserves a second chance." Roman's voice carried a touch of sympathy delivered with a smile, a sentiment that visibly grated on Craven.

"Security footage also has you going into the back of your club with your… assistant, Victor Zsasz." Roman nodded, waiting for the detective's next move. "Why?"

Roman leaned back in his chair, eyeing Craven. "I noticed a customer going through an employee-only door; the back of the house isn't for guests."

"Belladonna Black?" Roman nodded, Craven’s gaze remained sharp. "What were your intentions with Miss Black?"

"I had every intention of removing her from the premises and maybe issuing a ban, if not a warning."

"Had?" 

Roman sighed, his smile widened, a hint of mischief playing in his eyes. "What can I say, detective? A face as pretty as hers had me changing my mind."

Roman raised an eyebrow. "And what did you do when you found her?"

The corners of Craven's mouth twitched. "Well, after I picked my jaw up off the floor, I asked what she was doing in the back of my club, and she explained to me she was trying to evade a persistent customer who was bothering her."

"And then?"

A sly grin played on Craven's lips. "Well, I'm not one to kiss and tell, I'm a gentleman like that." His statement hung in the air, and in response, Roman's amused smile grew, while Craven let out a loud scoff and sneered.

~~~

Belladonna's breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling with anticipation as Roman's skilled fingers danced over her clothed pussy. Each touch sent electric shocks through her veins, like a symphony of pleasure pulsing through her entire being. She was so close, on the edge of oblivion, and he still had time to spare, hell he just might give her another one.

"That's right, kitten, you're mine. Go on Belladonna, come for me." Roman growled possessively, his voice thick with lust as he zeroed in on the damp spot on her panties. He increased the pressure and speed of his movements, determined to make her unravel for him. "Feels good, what I do to you, doesn't it?" His voice, determined now, as if getting her off was as good for him as it was for her. 

"Oh, fuck--Yes!" Her voice grew higher pitched and she continued rocking her hips into his hand, desperately seeking his promised orgasm. She cried out his name and crushed her lips to his, moaning into his mouth when her orgasm hit her. Her nails dug into his skin and she pulled at his clothes and hair, making him look like he was mauled by a tiger.

~~~

“Did Mr. Sionis threaten you in any way?" Ramierez inquired, his tone probing for signs of distress. 

She half wanted to laugh but she wasn’t sure if that would help or hurt the case, so she opted to be detached. Roman could be intense, and he had managed to scare her on a few occasions, but was she genuinely afraid of him? Not anymore. Her mind raced back to the heated kiss in the car and the low rumble of his voice, coaxing pleasure effortlessly just before they arrived.

“No,” she replied with a cool composure, her voice unwavering.

“He wasn’t angry when he found you in the back of his club?”

“He didn’t look happy, until we started talking.”

“And what did you discuss?”

In that moment, the surprising brilliance of Roman Sionis unfolded in her mind like a blooming flower. At first, when he casually told her to 'wear the dress' and invited her to his exclusive club, she had brushed it off as a mere ploy to further their story as a couple, an opportunity to see and be seen. But as the detective carefully probed further, she realized she had underestimated Roman's strategic mind. Memories of their second meeting flooded back, each detail revealing the calculated nature of his actions.

She realized how masterfully calculated Roman's actions were. Remembering their second meeting at the club, she could now see the intricate web of manipulation he had spun around them. The circumstances were carefully crafted to mimic their initial encounter, from the location to the outfit she was wearing.

It was clear now why he insisted she ‘wear the dress’ - it allowed her to seamlessly straddle the line between truth and deception, just as he intended. She couldn’t help but smile.

"He asked what I was doing back there, and I explained about the guy who'd been following me." Despite her best effort, a smirk played on her lips, revealing a hint of satisfaction.

"And?" Ramierez tapped his pen against the notepad, his impatience evident.

"Asked me to describe the guy, and when I did, he told me he'd received a few complaints about him. He asked Zsasz–"

"Victor Zsasz?" Ramierez interrupted, seeking clarification.

"... Yeah, he asked him to show the guy out and told him he was banned."

"Then what?"

~~~

"I don’t allow for the men in my club to mistreat the ladies. It’s bad for business. I want women to feel safe and enjoy themselves. Can’t do that if the men are scaring them off. So I had Zsasz escort the man out after Belladonna described him to me, there’d been a few other complaints about his behavior and I issued him a ban on the spot.”

Craven's face suggested he was waiting for Roman to proceed but Roman smugly waited for him to ask Roman to continue. “Continue.”

“I asked Miss Black if I could do anything to revitalize her night and she said she might just go home, that it was effectively ruined, poor thing. I just couldn’t let that stand.”

Craven leaned forward, his curiosity palpable. "What did you do, Sionis?" Roman just smiled, savoring the anticipation in Craven's eyes, relishing the control he had over the narrative.

~~~

As her breathing began to calm and she started coming down from her orgasmic high, Roman smiled into her neck, "Oh, angel, I don't think I could ever get tired of seeing you like this, it's a thing of beauty." He was cocky and full of himself but as he laid kisses on her neck and flexed his hand against her damp panties she jolted and he chucked in amusement. "So sensitive, I think I'll have some fun with that later."

He looked up at her with a dark and lazy but satisfied grin. "Angel, don't let it go to your head but you look positively gorgeous after you've had an orgasm." She wasn't sure what to say, she licked her lips unconsciously, "Felt good, didn't it?" His expression suggested he fully expected an answer and after a moment she decided he wasn't mocking her, this was an odd sensual part of his life he was sharing with her. Gathering her courage, she leaned in and kissed him fully on the lips; Roman was like a pitbull – he might protect you or take your hand off, but the man knew how to kiss.

"Yeah," she admitted breathlessly when their lips parted. His lazy smile only grew as their lips brushed against each other once more. "What about you?" Her fingers trailed down his shirt to his belt.

He carefully removed his hand from her pants and brought it up to her lips, she could smell her arousal on his hand and in a post-orgasm boldness slipped his finger past her lips. His eyes widened and a primal look overtook his features. Tongue swirling provocatively over the digit, it looked like the act was testing his resolve. When she let his finger slip from her lips he just smiled. "Oh, angel, seeing you come undone like that for me was more than enough." A knock on the window partition told them they had arrived at the station. "We'll pick this up later, angel. Feeling a little more relaxed?"

She scoffed, "Yeah," but couldn't resist diving in for another lingering kiss. After all, it wasn't her fault that the man had such irresistible lips.

~~~

"Miss Black, if Mr. Sionis coerced or forced you into anything in the back of his club, we can help you."

Belladonna couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head at the detective's misguided attempt. "Detective, Roman didn't force me into anything. What happened between us was purely consensual."

As the words left her lips, she was hit with a barrage of memories from their staged encounter in the club - the fiery heat of Roman's mouth on her skin, the unrelenting pressure of his body pressed against hers as they were pinned to the wall. The vivid recollection of how she had shamelessly allowed him to hike up her dress, and dive into her panties, eagerly giving in to his touch and practically pleading for more, sent a wave of intense desire crashing over her.

"And what was that?"

"The only crime Roman Sionis committed was giving me an unforgettable orgasm in the back of his club." Ramierez looked at her like she was a slut, but she didn’t care. Fuck him. When was the last time he got laid, or better yet, when was the last time he pleased a woman like Roman could?

Her lawyer coughed, looking a bit shocked at such a bold admission, seemed she had shattered his expectations of her. Ramirez, however, sat back in his seat, staring at her as though he were disappointed.

"Belladonna, may I call you Belladonna?"

"Let's stick with Miss Black."

"Fine, Miss Black, doesn't it scare you, the kind of man you're involved with? He's a monster?" Ramirez tried a new angle, his voice now laced with a hint of warning.

"We're all monsters, detective. At least Roman is a well-dressed monster." The words were delivered with a confidence that mirrored a protective shield around Roman, a subtle declaration that she knew what she was getting into and was unafraid of the darker aspects of his nature. As far as she could tell, Roman hadn’t lied to her once. She bit back the urge to point out how Roman was also a monster who knew how to please a woman. Maybe that was a bit too much for the moment.

~~~

Craven's accusation hung heavy in the room, an unspoken challenge that fueled the escalating tension between him and Roman.

"We know you're lying, Sionis," Craven asserted with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

Roman, ever the master of a composed façade, glanced at his lawyer with feigned shock, a subtle play at innocence. "Whatever could you mean?" he retorted, his tone laced with a challenging edge.

Craven, undeterred, plunged deeper. "We know you did Jimmy. We know you're stringing that girl along, and we both know what you do when people stop being useful to you." He let his tone linger with the weight of unspoken truths.

For the first time, the confident smile that usually adorned Roman's face wavered. A subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at a more serious undercurrent. 

"Wanna know what I think?" 

“Indulge me, detective.” Roman countered, gesturing vaguely. “I love a good story.”

"I think you threatened that girl, maybe got her under some surveillance. I think she saw what you did to Jimmy, and she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Nathan attempted to interject with another warning, but was cut off, and Roman, rather than showing irritation, seemed invigorated by the challenge. Leaning forward in his seat, he met Craven's gaze, and the air in the room crackled with the electric charge of two formidable forces locking horns.

The atmosphere grew denser as the conversation between Craven and Roman escalated, each word a deliberate attempt to pierce the other's defenses.

“You’ve got all of Gotham thinking you’re a lovestruck puppy, trailing after that girl but I see past it. It’s all a lie, it’s just a game to you. And hey, I get it, may as well have some fun with her while you can, right, Sionis?”

“Careful now detective,” Roman, not one to back down, retorted with confidence, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about my angel. What Belladonna and I have is special; I think she could be the one for me.” His voice was icy and full of implied warning.

Craven scoffed dismissively, a sneer etching across his face. “I bet you really do believe that, don’t you? Bet you got it in your head she’s crazy about you, that she would never leave you, don’t you?”

“No one leaves me.”

“Until they do,” Craven snarled back. “See, women like that? They don’t love men like you, and she’s putting on a good show, I’ll give her that. But at the end of the day, Sionis, you’re a monster, and it won’t be long before your mask slips, and she sees the real you, and she runs away. Who do you think she’ll run to for protection?” Craven smiled a twisted grin.

Roman's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin, for all his bravado Craven was having an impact in undermining Belladonna’s loyalty to him. 

“I’m genuinely amused that you think you can protect anyone in this city. Tell me, how's her unsolved assault case going?” The words hung in the air but went unacknowledged, a palpable tension swirling between the two men, each word a calculated blow aimed at undermining the other's composure.

Craven's words were like poison, sharp and venomous as they pierced through the thick air in the room. Each sentence felt like a blade digging deeper into Roman's composure. 

"Don't underestimate her loyalty, Roman. She'll eventually turn on you, and when she does, we'll have all the evidence we need to bury you right alongside Jimmy. They’ll toss away the keys this time, I hear Arkham has some new security features.." 

A devious grin spread across Craven's face, and Roman's expression remained stoic, but his eyes flashed with anger. 

"Save your threats, detective. I've been to that hellhole you call Arkham, and I can handle anything they throw at me." The detective's response was a wicked laugh, confident in his ability to break down Roman's resolve with his psychological warfare tactics.

“Just remember, Sionis, she won’t stay scared of you forever. She’s a sweet thing but she’s not like you. Whatever she knows will weigh on her, pull her down until it’s all she can think about, then she’ll crack. Bet you’ll be sorry you let a pretty face be your downfall then, huh?”

Roman's knuckles turned white as he gripped the table, his eyes burning with rage. His lawyer tried to intervene, recognizing the dangerous territory they were treading but Roman was already on his feet, ready to pounce.

“Detective! This interview is over. Roman, come on! We’re done here.” 

Nathan struggled to hold onto Roman, but the man was a wild animal. He towered over the table, his lawyer urging him to calm down but Roman was beyond reason.

The air crackled with tension, Roman's composure slipping away into a seething anger. Craven's grin grew wider, relishing in the chaos he had caused. Every muscle in Roman's body emanated tense energy, ready to strike. 

"Just you wait, Sionis," 

Zsasz and another officer rushed into the room, creating a physical barrier between the two volatile men. Craven leaned back, tapping his watch, relishing the revelation that Roman's carefully constructed mask had indeed slipped, just as he had predicted.

~~~

Ramierez's accusatory words hung in the air, an attempt to fracture the facade of composure that Belladonna wore like armor. The dimly lit room became a battleground of words, each sentence laced with tension and veiled animosity.

“You're nothing to him, you know? Roman Sionis doesn't fall in love, and he sure as hell doesn't stay in love. He just uses people,” Ramierez declared, his fingers idly playing with his pen, his writing momentarily forgotten.

Belladonna met his gaze with a steely calmness, unfazed by the attempt to unravel her. “Like you're trying to use me against him?” she countered, her voice even.

“I think he's got you so afraid of him that you're blind to the truth.”

“And what's the truth, exactly?”

Ramierez leaned back, gesturing around the room. "Look around you, Miss Black. The odds aren’t even remotely in your favor. This fancy lawyer, paid for by Roman. He’s not interested in what's best for you; he’s interested in what's best for him. Roman only cares about himself. You’re nothing to him.”

Her response was measured, almost indifferent. “I know.” 

Both men stared at her, caught off guard by the unexpected bluntness of her reply. Belladonna, however, stayed cool as a cucumber amidst the escalating tension in the room.

"I keep up with the tabloids and I can read a room," she continued, her tone firm. "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."

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

She tilted her head and shrugged, almost challenging them to dispute her words. Her gaze stayed strong, detached, her attitude unyielding. "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."

A heavy silence filled the room, everyone tacitly acknowledging the weight of her words.

"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."

The room hung in silence, no one daring to challenge her testimony.

"Any more burning questions detective detective?" she asked calmly.

Seizing the moment, her lawyer stood. "My client's been more than cooperative, detective. If you need more, slap her with a subpoena. We're finished here."

Outside, all hell broke loose. A thunderous crash and the unmistakable sounds of a brawl reverberated through the corridor, grabbing everyone's attention. Belladonna, her lawyer and Ramirez, dashed towards the door, stumbling upon a wild scene where officers were desperately trying to separate a furious Roman from a seething Craven, both men looking like they were going to kill each other. The air crackled with palpable animosity, a volatile energy threatening to explode.

In the midst of the chaos, Zsasz had stepped in, playing the role of a human barrier to pull Roman away and having far more success than Nathan had. Craven was calmed far quicker as Ramirez engaged in a whispered exchange, the contents of which sparked a smug smile from Craven. 

Roman's lawyer, already expressing discontent with the detective's antics, doubled down on his objection and issued a stern ultimatum: any further communication with Roman should go through the lawyer's office.

Belladonna quickly rushed to Roman's side, her hand gripping his hip tightly squaring his body to align with hers, but she met resistance. She turned his face towards hers, forcing him to make eye contact. 

"Roman, baby, look at me," she spoke sternly but sweetly. He hesitated, glancing back and forth between her and the chaos unfolding before them. "Don't look at them, look at me."

As he focused on her intense gaze, his initial anger began to dissipate. Taking a deep breath, he let go of his resistance for a moment. Belladonna adjusted his jacket and collar with gentle touches, planting soft kisses on his cheek. With a satisfied smile, he put on his metaphorical mask.

"Let's get out of here," Her words were like a calming melody, easing the fire burning within Roman. 

"Yeah, we're done here. Zsasz, bring the car around." His voice held a hint of restrained anger as they made their way out of the precinct under the disapproving stares of those around them.

The atmosphere bristled with tension as they left, Roman's arm wrapped firmly around Belladonna, his grip slightly too tight, his jaw clenched intermittently. The precinct, still simmering with hostility, followed their exit with dirty glares. Belladonna recognized the storm brewing within him and knew that getting him out of there, back to the penthouse, was the priority. Once away from prying eyes, perhaps they could untangle the knots of the recent events and decide on the next course of action.

~~~

The elevator ride up to the penthouse was quiet, Roman's usual charisma and charm seemed to have disappeared. He was quiet and tense, his jaw clenched tightly. When they arrived at the penthouse, it felt as if the walls were closing in. Zsasz, usually unshakable, also appeared on edge. As Roman and his lawyers entered his office, slamming the door behind them, Belladonna was left alone on the couch. She tried to distract herself with work, pulling out her phone to check emails and messages from her colleague Daisy. But she couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled over the penthouse. The brooding and dangerous side of Roman that she had seen glimpses of before now seemed to be fully present.

At around two in the afternoon, realizing that most of her remaining tasks could be handled remotely, she sent a quick text to her boss. The silence emanating from Roman's office felt eerie, especially given the strained atmosphere. Half-expecting a burst of voices or some dramatic confrontation, the room stayed unnaturally quiet.

~~~

Derrick's heart pounded in his chest as he glanced uneasily at his partner. The once tense atmosphere in Roman's office had reached a boiling point, the energy crackling with an unmistakable sense of danger. Roman's question hung heavy in the air, a demand for answers that they both knew could have severe consequences.

"She said what?" Despite Roman's calm tone, Derrick could feel the simmering anger bubbling just beneath the surface. 

"She handled herself well, considering how the guy was practically attacking her- all but called her a slut–" 

Derrick stammered out, handing over the recording of Belladonna's interview. As soon as it touched Roman's hand, he snarled and gripped it so tightly that it seemed like the tape recorder might shatter into pieces. Derrick shot a furtive glance at his partner, both of them sensing that their boss was dangerously close to losing control. 

As the recording played, every word from Belladonna's mouth hung in the air like a dense fog. Roman's face contorted with fury as he listened to her: 

"Roman only cares about himself. You're nothing to him." 

"I know." 

The nonchalant way she spoke struck a nerve deep within Roman. It wasn't just wounded pride, but a growing sense of distrust that swirled in his mind like dark clouds. Craven's insidious words had taken root in his paranoid psyche, and they were now blossoming into full-blown doubt and suspicion.

The atmosphere crackled with tension as Roman absorbed Belladonna's dismissive words about their connection. Derrick exchanged another glance with his partner, a silent acknowledgement passing between them that they were navigating a situation with a man rapidly losing control.

As the recording played, the room, once airy, now felt suffocating as every word pierced through his pride. Brows furrowed, his gaze turned intense, as if seeking answers in the very fabric of the walls. Derrick, caught in the tempest of Roman's emotions, opted for silence, while his partner, seemingly uninterested, checked the time, eager to escape the mounting tension.

"Get out," 

The lawyers wasted no time, grabbing their briefcases and making a swift exit, leaving Roman and Zsasz in the room's charged silence.

Roman's eyes stayed fixed on an arbitrary spot on the wall, as if it held the solutions to unspoken questions. The room absorbed the weight of disappointment and the simmering anger. Sensing the gravity of the situation, Zsasz placed a drink on Roman's desk, a small offering in the midst of the storm.

Without a word, Roman's gaze shifted from the indifferent wall to the glass before him. After a moment of contemplation that hung heavy with unspoken thoughts, he took the glass and downed its contents in a single, determined gulp. The fiery liquid mirrored the seething anger that radiated from him.

The bitterness of betrayal, not only from Belladonna's admission but also from Craven's insidious words, lingered in the air. The next move weighed heavily on Roman's shoulders as he navigated the treacherous waters of pride, distrust, and the gnawing fear that the carefully constructed world he'd built was beginning to crumble.

~~~

Belladonna, acutely aware of Roman's simmering anger, tiptoed into the room, a spectator to the brewing tempest. Roman, seated at his desk, absentmindedly swirled the remnants of his second drink, his gaze fixed on the swirling liquid mirroring the chaos in his mind.

Belladonna's heart was racing as she tentatively approached Roman's office, unsure of how he would react to her presence. She took a deep breath and asked in a soft voice, as if trying not to startle a cornered animal.

"So, what happens next?" 

The room seemed to hold its breath as Roman remained silent, his jaw clenched and eyes distant. Growing frustrated with the heavy tension, she repeated her question with more force. Suddenly, he slammed his glass onto the desk, causing her to jump and the liquid to spill.

In response, she defiantly slammed shut the door behind her. Their eyes locked in a battle of irritation and challenge, the silence between them almost tangible. Belladonna struggled to keep her composure, but couldn't contain herself any longer. 

"I can slam things too," she added coldly, "What's your problem? Your whole brooding mob boss act is getting old." 

The question just hung there, heavy and insistent, waiting for an answer Roman seemed unwilling to give. His annoyance at Belladonna's confession about the shallowness of their connection fueled his frustration, hitting a nerve that had been simmering beneath the surface. Meanwhile, Craven's insinuations had planted seeds of doubt, making Roman question the depth of Belladonna's loyalty.

"You know, you're replaceable to me, right?" 

Roman's tone oozed with contempt as he spoke, his eyes revealing a mix of annoyance and rage. Under his breath, he mumbled something sharp and caustic, adding to the growing tension in the room.

Growing tired of Roman's brooding silence and moody atmosphere, Belladonna decided to address the looming storm. 

"I could easily get fifteen people to provide me with an ironclad alibi. Even if there was a video of me turning Jimmy into a lead-filled human piñata, cops and top-notch lawyers wouldn't be able to find any holes in it. You know that, right?"

A touch of sarcasm colored her words, a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. "No, Roman, and here I've been doodling your name all over my notebook. Why don't you tell me again?"

Roman's reply held a chilly warning. "I don't mind the odd smart-ass remark, angel. They can be quite entertaining. But you need to remember who you're dealing with here. I let you live that night, and though it might require a bit more finesse, trust me, I can undo that decision just as easily." The threat hung in the air, a stark reminder of the precarious balance in their tumultuous relationship.

“Well, sounds like you should quit being lazy.”

“I’m serious, angel. I’ve got a fleet of women waiting, and they’re–”

“--All filled with more plastic than a damn Barbie doll. They’re boring, Roman. Believe it or not, I wasn’t so taken in by your charm to have not heard what you said. Your threats get less scary the more I hear them. If your shiny new toy is losing its luster, then maybe you should quit being a spoiled little prince and actually follow through with what you’re saying.”

Roman, his pride stinging and fueled by the seeds of mistrust planted by Craven, couldn't handle the confrontation. Fed up with his silence and moodiness, Belladonna turned on her heel and headed for the door, grabbing her coat.

Roman, unable to contain his fury, stormed after her. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, his tone harsh.

She shot him a steely glance, but continued. "If I wanted kids, Roman, I’d have let some guy knock me up. When you feel like acting like a big boy, then you know where to find me. Until then, you can man up or shut up." Leaving Roman fuming in her wake.

"BELLADONNA!" The name was a violent eruption from his lips, barely containing the intense emotions roiling within him.

Roman's accusation hung in the air like a brewing storm, thickening the already tense atmosphere between them. Belladonna was growing weary of Roman's silent treatment and moodiness. The two were now entangled in an argument where Roman's wounded pride collided with the seeds of mistrust planted by Craven's insidious influence. The room crackled with their heated exchange.

"You think you’re safe with those fucking cops?!" Roman snarled, his words dripping with venom and hatred. Belladonna momentarily froze, caught in the gravity of his ominous declaration. His following promise held a sinister edge, "You think they can protect you from me? There isn’t a cell secure enough to keep me from getting to you!"

But instead of cowering or retreating, a burning anger ignited in Belladonna's eyes. Defiantly, she threw her bag back on the couch and stepped forward, unafraid. "Am I a rat?" she demanded, her voice laced with fury. "Is that what you think of me?"

Her response wasn't one of fear; it was a genuine rage that caught even Roman off guard. "I don't know what that detective said to you to get under your skin so badly," she continued, her words sharp as knives. "But he deserves a raise for it, doesn't he? After all that bullshit about 'they're going to try and drive a wedge between us, angel'? You turn right around and play into his hands? How is it that I come out of that feeling fine and safer, but you come out acting like a spoiled teenager who just lost access to daddy's trust fund?"

Roman remained silent, his expression unyielding, challenging but the rage boiled over. A tense stillness hung in the room as he waited for her to say something incriminating, to confirm his suspicions. In return, she met his burning anger with an icy glare, a resolve that hinted at an unwillingness to be easily shaken.

The exchange reached a boiling point, the words slashing through the already tense air like knives. Roman's anger, fueled by Craven's insinuations, simmered beneath the surface. Belladonna, sick of his silent treatment and moody disposition, decided to confront the building frustration and distrust between them.

With a bold and determined stride, she marched towards the counter, her hands reaching for the metallic glint of a handgun. The reflection of the weapon caught Roman's eye, and Zsasz, ever vigilant, instinctively reached for his own gun, ready to shoot at any perceived threat. But before he could take action, Belladonna swiftly slapped the gun into Roman's hand.

"Do it!" she challenged, her voice slicing through the charged atmosphere. "If letting me live made you soft, then please, allow me to help you out! If you think I'm stupid enough to turn my back on the only person keeping me alive, there's no point in dragging this out. Just put me out of my misery."

Her words hung in the air, a mix of defiance and desperation. "And if you're actually the gentleman you claim to be, then you'd better not miss! Because I am sick and tired of waiting around to die!"

In the deafening silence that followed, Roman stood frozen in place, his internal battle evident in his conflicted gaze. Belladonna's fierce determination began to falter as she backed down, the weight of their confrontation settling over them.

"I'm going home," she declared, her voice quieter but no less resolute. "You wanna shoot me? Shoot me there."

With that final challenge thrown at Roman's feet, Belladonna turned on her heel and made her way to the door, slamming it so hard the wall rattled, leaving behind a room that was filled with shocked stillness, both men equally stunned by the unexpected turn of events. 

~~~

Her front door slammed loudly as she stormed into the loft, throwing her bag and coat onto the counter in a fit of anger. Just hours ago, Roman had been charming and confident, but now he was acting like an immature teenager who had heard gossip about his middle school girlfriend. But she couldn't say she hadn't been warned - he had always been possessive and warned her that he could drive her to madness and thus far he was on track.

The sudden shift from his smooth persona to simmering rage left her feeling like she had walked into a storm. As she stood in her loft, exhaustion and frustration tangled together. Roman's warning echoed in her mind, a reminder of how unpredictable he could be. It was all too much for her to handle. At this moment, all she wanted was a drink and maybe a nap to escape the chaos of emotions. Her head was pounding and she felt like crap, tired and shaky. Jesus. She hadn’t been this mad in a long time.

She reflected on how her day had started with a steamy orgasm in the back of Roman’s car and ended with threatening a man to shoot her. Life sure was funny sometimes. But right now, what she craved was relief from the overwhelming feelings of frustration and uncertainty that had consumed her day.

First things first though, setting her alarm, a task that had been slipping her mind lately, she wasn’t used to having any form of security. As she reached for the security panel, a sudden sinking feeling hit her. Her heart raced as she noticed the exposed wires and the loose panel face. She could feel cold dread washing over her, a bucket of icy water and she instinctively turned to reach for her bag which was thrown on the counter for her phone. 

Roman. She needed to get back to Roman.

Facing the living room which once used to be her sanctuary, instead, it now confronted her with a group of armed men, their weapons all pointed at her. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she felt a strange sense of faintness creeping in.

Suddenly, a voice pierced through the silence, echoing from the shadows in the living room. It sent chills down her spine as it delivered an unsettling introduction. 

"Well, well, it's nice to finally meet the woman behind Roman Sionis..."

Thirteen

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[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception

Chapter Ten

The Devil is Gentleman by Merci Raines

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.

In the usual quiet of the warehouse, where only the distant sounds of Gotham Bay and occasional cargo truck disruptions would pierce the air, the night had transformed the docks into a perilous symphony. Amidst the darkness, there now resonated the haunting notes of muffled whimpering, the clinking of chains, and the pained groans that heralded violence. The atmosphere crackled with controlled chaos, every drop of blood on the concrete floor falling like a precisely timed beat.

Zsasz, Roman's macabre virtuoso, stood amidst this gruesome performance with an eerie calmness. His sleeves rolled up, revealing a canvas of scars, his long-discarded suit jacket a silent witness to the brutal ballet that had unfolded over the past two hours.

Seated in ominous repose, Roman, brooding and focused, had already tamed the initial fury that had driven him here. His icy demeanor contrasted sharply with the Zsasz’s brutality. The warehouse, a clandestine stage, seemed to act as a theatre in intermission amidst the macabre performance unveiled by Zsasz, the conductor of carnage.

Perched in ominous stillness, Roman exuded a brooding intensity that had transitioned from an initial storm of anger to a composed detachment. For the first hour, he maintained a resolute silence, allowing Zsasz to conduct his brutal orchestration. In this clandestine stage of the warehouse, a brief intermission unfurled amid the macabre performance directed by Zsasz, the maestro of carnage.

Seated luxuriously, Roman indulged in the slow puffs of a Cuban cigar, his silhouette largely veiled, revealed only by the glowing ember at its tip. Meanwhile, Zsasz, methodical and precise, weaved among the waiting men. They had entered battered but unyielding, yet now, after an hour under Zsasz's skillful ministrations, they bore the marks of a darker fate.

In the dimly lit warehouse, the air thick with the acrid scent of the Cuban cigar's smoke, Roman and Zsasz reveled in the quiet brutality of the moment. Roman's nod to Zsasz was met with a sinister grin, and as the cigar exchanged hands, the clipped end glowed to life, casting shadows on the cold, metal walls. The suspended forms of the captives swayed ominously in the background, helpless in their predicament.

With an air of nonchalance, Roman initiated the macabre dialogue. The smoke curled around him, an ethereal dance accompanying the impending conversation. "So, fellas, now that we've all had some time to get acquainted, I think it's time we talked." His words carried the weight of impending doom, yet his tone echoed the casualness of mundane banter.

Gesturing lazily, Roman indicated one of the dangling figures, prompting Zsasz to act. With a deft movement, Zsasz pulled the man forward, chains clinking ominously against the metal tracks. The captive, now mere inches from Roman, dangled with a mixture of terror and pain etched on his face. Roman's usual handsomeness twisted into a visage of displeasure, his eyes, once vibrant, now abyssal and devoid of any trace of humanity.

"I'm Roman Sionis," he announced, the words accompanied by the rhythmic puffing of his cigar. A wry smile played on his lips as he continued, "My associate here is Victor Zsasz, and he's a man of many talents, but you all know that now." The corners of his mouth twisted upward, a chilling expression that matched the grim proceedings. "Now, Zsasz here had the pleasure of saying hello, and he's not one for chit-chat until he warms up. So, let me be crystal clear before we move on."

As he spoke, Roman leaned in, seizing a handful of the man's hair, eliciting a muffled groan of pain. The duct tape strained against the sound, creating a haunting symphony of suffering in the warehouse's eerie silence.

His sardonic grin fell away and a more sinister look came over him, his grip tightened ont he mans hair and his lip curled like an angry dog, the glow of his cigar illuminating the subtle malice in his eyes. His gaze, cold and calculating, bore into the man hanging upside down across from him, the only sound was the occasional creaking of the chair under Roman's weight.

The metallic scrape added an unsettling undertone to the atmosphere. Roman took a deliberate puff from his cigar, the smoke swirling around his face like a serpent ready to strike.

"Now, I'd happily let him strip your bones with a potato peeler, just for the thrill of it, or if it tickles my fancy for answers," Roman declared, his voice a sinister melody that slithered through the air like a coiled serpent. His words, drenched in a calm that magnified their ominous weight, hung over the room, an impending doom waiting to descend. With a subtle gesture, Zsasz's eyes sparked with the unspoken commitment to violence.

"Here's the deal," Roman continued, his tone dropping into a menacing register, a subsonic growl beneath his words. "I'll throw questions at you, and you better have answers. But if you decide to be uncooperative or, God forbid, feed me answers I don't savor, I'll let Zsasz here croche a nice little pattern with your intestines while I enjoy the show."

Roman's pause stretched, an oppressive silence that allowed the weight of his words to sink in. He leaned in, reducing the distance between his face and the man's to mere inches, the cigar hanging nonchalantly between his fingers. "If you're sweatin' over what your boss, good ol’ Cobblepot might think," he muttered, "do me a favor, look around. Tell me if you see him 'cause, I sure as hell don't."

The man's eyes flitted nervously, tracing the obscure corners of the warehouse. Roman's gaze, devoid of empathy, bore into him. A deft flick of Roman's wrist sent another swirling plume of smoke into the air, an eerie punctuation to the unsettling calmness that surrounded him. He diverted his attention briefly to the glowing tip of the cigar, then languidly returned his gaze to his captive. There, a hint of darkness seemed to flicker across his expression, suggesting that, while any sadistic desires were currently concealed, Roman was already contemplating what came next.

"I'm sittin' pretty calm now, but an hour back? Whole different story, ain't it, Zsasz?" Roman's words, more a statement of fact than a query, acknowledged the turbulent storm that had preceded this eerie calm.

"Yup," Zsasz replied with casual yet straightforward candor.

Roman lounged back in his chair, the ember of his cigar glowing as he cast his mind back to the night's events. "Let me paint you a picture of the evening you gents so graciously decided to ruin," he drawled, a cloud of cigar smoke swirling around him like a phantom.

"There I am, in the back of my sleek Benz, just stepped out of a killer party, well, the attendees were as exciting as watching linoleum curl but— open bar, mind you. Cruising off for a joyride, there she is; 5'8", long black hair that could compete with Gotham's skyline, legs that go on for days, curves that make you question your existence, and tits that defy description. She's practically trying to set a new record for the longest tongue dive down my throat, all while trying to claw her way into my pants," Roman reminisced, a blend of nostalgia and lingering irritation in his tone. "Life was golden, my friends, until Zsasz here," he nodded casually toward Zsasz, "decided to play the harbinger of bad news. Ruined the entire vibe. I had to practically toss that exquisite creature off my lap. Probably spooked her a bit."

Zsasz interjected, "She did seem a bit nervous."

"Right? Admittedly, that was rude of me, in hindsight. Do you think flowers will cut it for this one?" Roman mused, his voice carrying a touch of irony.

"Women like flowers," Zsasz concurred with a knowing nod.

Roman tapped his cigar, the ashes falling like ominous snowflakes to the ground. "Might need something stronger than flowers, though. She's probably pretty pissed," he remarked, the casualness in his tone holding an undertone of impending storm. Zsasz, ever the agreeable companion, shrugged his accord. "What do women like, Zsasz? I get the feeling Belladonna's going to be a tricky one to calm."

Roman's gaze casually drifted back to his captive, contemplating women like a conundrum to be solved. "Women, am I right?" A shared chuckle, almost friendly, echoed between him and Zsasz, creating a deceptive lightness in the gloom. Their laughter seemed to fill the room with camaraderie, briefly dispelling the tension.

But as Roman turned his crinkled gaze back to his captive, the atmosphere shifted. His eyes glinted with a different, more sinister amusement. The captive, perhaps misjudging the moment, dared to join in the laughter, a desperate bid for mercy.

Without warning, Roman lunged forward, dropping the cigar carelessly. He seized the man's ears, a vise-like grip that elicited desperate wails. "What's so damn funny, huh? You find it amusing that you wrecked our night? Laughing at her, my woman? Well, let's see how amusing it is when I rip that tongue out of your sorry mouth!"

Muffled sobs punctuated the air as Roman twisted the man's ears with a casual brutality. Just as quickly, he let go and reached for the nearest object — the fallen cigar. Holding it close to the man's face, close enough to feel the heat, Roman watched with a predatory intensity as the captive's eyes fixated on the smoldering tip.

A snarl played on Roman's lips, an ominous twitch as he held the cigar poised, a moment stretching into painful uncertainty. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked between the cigar and the man in a calculated dance, as though he were evaluating the delicate balance of risk and reward. Then, with a swift motion, he ripped the tape off the man's face. The captive gasped for breath, frozen in place, as if any sudden movement might trigger Roman Sionis into an unrestrained assault.

But as swiftly as his fury had surged, it morphed into a more controlled rage. Roman's tone became flat, cold, and void of any emotion. "So, question one."

~~~

Two days. Just two damn days since Roman-fucking-Sionis tossed her aside like yesterday's garbage and vanished into the night. It was surreal, the lack of emotion she felt in that very moment. No tears, no panic. She just slipped into this detached state, where everything happened around her, but nothing touched her.

Sure, the sudden shift in his demeanor had rattled her a bit. Did she honestly believe he'd hurt her? It was a shaky uncertainty. The way he got so nasty, so quick—it was like a switch flipping, and he went from zero to a hundred in an instant. She realizes now how naive she was to think she could avoid such a reaction, as if she were somehow immune to Roman's anger. She wasn't his wife, not even his girlfriend. She was a complication, a witness. She should be thanking her lucky stars that he had the decency to stop the car before tossing her out. Sometimes, it's like she forgets exactly who she's dealing with.

Roman—a criminal. A murderer.

Belladonna should've crumbled, door closed, huddled in a trembling heap on the floor, lost in the terror. But she didn't, and the perplexity of her own reaction haunted her thoughts.

It wasn't as if anger towards Roman didn't exist. It did, but not for the conventional reasons most women might experience. The bitter truth was, sexual rejection was a territory Belladonna rarely traversed. Yet, that's exactly what had unfolded. The evening was a whirlwind of confusion, met with an oddly serene demeanor. A glass of wine, a soothing shower, and she resigned herself to sleep.

Around five in the morning, it hit her, the reason for her detached state. She jolted awake mid-scream, entangled in a bed thrash induced by an unseen assailant — or rather, an assailant from the past.

Like the morning after Jimmy's murder, she hurled herself out of bed, regurgitating into the trashcan. Panic gripped her; the sharp pull on her hair proved a catalyst, a jolt that yanked her back to reality. Few grasped the reality that when confronted with danger, there were three primary responses: fight, flight, and the most prevalent — freeze. And that's what she did. Frozen, just like the night before, just like a year ago when she was ambushed from behind.

This explained her aversion to ponytails nowadays; her nightmare replayed — her hair grabbed, her dragged down. Flashes of the horrific episode flooded her waking moments, and her conscious mind struggled to seize them before they dissipated. Even if the dream faded, the memory of the attack remained vivid.

After losing consciousness, nada. The next thing she recollected was opening her eyes in a hospital bed, a ventilator doing the breathing for her, surrounded by a maze of pumps, tubes, and heart monitors. The sensation? Like being buried alive in an ocean of medical contraptions. When she dared to yank that tube out of her throat and her heart rate skyrocketed, and she choked on it, that's when the horde of nurses and doctors stormed in, needles ready for sedation.

With the stench of bile lingering and the taste still on her tongue, and having slept only a few hours, the day was already plunging into the depths of crap. The worst part? She usually enjoyed having her hair played with, even pulled a bit. Roman had done it before, and he wasn't wrong when he said she liked it. But there was a world of difference between the way Roman tugged on her hair in the conference room, winding it around his hand like some kinky leash, and the sensation of someone using it to trap her.

That wine the night before? Stupid move. No hangover, but she felt like garbage. Headache, panic comedown, queasy stomach. As for what happened with Roman, she had no clue—nor did she care, right? Screw him.

Normal people, they'd be calling up friends, heading to their places for company and a comforting shoulder to cry on. But Belladonna? Well, she didn't exactly roll with the friend crowd. What she had were coworkers, acquaintances, and not much else. Thinking back, the last time she had something resembling a friend was back in grammar school, and even that turned out to be a charade. Olivia Danvers, the so-called friend, was more of a paid companion.

The thought of Olivia now didn't sit so well; in fact, the bitterness seemed to sweeten the bile rising in her throat.

If there was anything close to resembling a friend in Belladonna's world, it would be Daisy—her trusty assistant. Professionalism marked the boundaries of their connection, but Daisy had the potential for friendship, the kind where takeout and wine became solace at the first hint of distress.

Yet, Belladonna wasn't one for companionship, never had been. Friendship had proven to be as transient as a wisp of smoke, and she had mastered the art of severing those ties. Occasionally, a wish for a friend would surface, especially in moments like these, but that ship had sailed.

The thought of a cat, despite her general disdain for the species, flitted across her mind. Cats, with their aloof grace, seemed like ideal companions—silent, sophisticated, content to linger with the occasional stroke, and, of course, delightfully spiteful, a trait she could relate to. Still, the notion didn't quite resonate.

On the flip side, the image of a dog stirred her interest. Something substantial, warm, and covered in fur that could pull double duty as protection. Maybe she should get a dog—a loyal companion she could train to be her guardian. After all, dogs were known for their loyalty, right? A sizable, intimidating one. Yes, perhaps she'd get a dog.

After another indulgent hour beneath a steaming shower, a toothbrush's valiant battle against the wine-and-puke aftertaste, and a switch into comfy clothes, Belladonna was on the upswing.

Now, a fresh challenge loomed over her Saturday morning. With last night's chaos washed away, she faced the weekend's uncertainty. She was fairly certain Roman wouldn't grace her with his presence, and truth be told, she wasn't in the mood for it. Considering she almost had sex with him right there in the car, it was probably for the best that she'd opted for a suit instead of a dress.

Gotham's spring didn't deviate much from its perpetual gloom. A bit less rain, an occasional flash of sunlight, almost pretty, if you squinted. Some parts even pretended to be like New York, LA, Chicago — any 'normal' city, which, let's face it, Gotham wasn't. It had its unique brand of craziness.

Belladonna ruminated on her weekend plans she had thought she’d be spending it with Roman to further solidify their image but well– plans changed. Now she was in her loft alone with the city's chaotic ambiance mirroring the tangled mess in her head.

The city sprawled with its tempting markets — Chinatown's chaos, the delights of Little Italy — places where one could get lost in a maze of flavors and colors. Yet, the idea felt more like wishful thinking than a plausible plan. Once, Belladonna would've thrown on her boots, grabbed a light jacket, slung a reusable shopping bag over her shoulder, and hit the pavement, exploring Gotham's vibrant chaos. But those carefree days were shadowed by complications and darkness. She just didn’t feel safe anymore, not entirely. Truth was the only time she felt truly untouchable was when she was with Roman.

Her life had taken a grim turn. No more aimless city wandering, not since the attack. And after Jimmy's murder, she doubted if she'd ever muster the courage to step out again. Zsasz's ominous advice to stay indoors didn't help either. Whatever happened at the docks, her gut screamed it wasn't anything good. So, another weekend marked by the four walls of her apartment beckoned.

Fine, she could entertain herself. Work awaited, there were streaming services to devour, a stash of black and white films to develop, and of course, the vast universe of the internet to keep her company. Another weekend in, she thought wryly, at least she was good at keeping herself occupied.

Coffee mug in hand, Belladonna planted herself at the table, finally braving the storm that was her phone. A sip, a glance, and nothing. No calls, no texts, no emails. The screen mocked her with its emptiness for a few long minutes before she decided to spruce things up a bit. Her wallpaper needed an update. The Ferris wheel by the pier during Gotham's fall, a bit outdated now.

A casual scroll through her phone's gallery brought her to a snapshot she liked more — Gotham Bay in the fog. Spooky, ethereal, downright unnerving — just her style.

Switching to her professional social media, she was greeted by an unexpected barrage — 200+ notifications on her work email, Instagram, and LinkedIn. Last night's aftermath had caught up with her. Almost forgot about the part where she and Roman became the town's favorite gossip topic. Work stuff, however, didn't warrant a peek. She had her weekends rule, and unless sanctioned by Lorraine, her boss, work could wait.

Time to check the news, and there it was — the top story on every media website: Roman Sionis and his mystery woman. The photos weren't bad, truth be told. Chic, classy, professional. But the sheer volume of them screamed "celebrity scandal.”

"Gotham's Dark Prince, Roman Sionis, Steps Out with Mystery Woman; Keeps the City Guessing!"

"Dark Fashion Duo: Roman Sionis Unveils His Mysterious Muse, Sparks Social Media Frenzy"

"Gotham's Intriguing Power Couple: Unraveling the Mystery Behind Roman Sionis and His Captivating Companion"

"Roman Sionis' Mysterious Date: Has Gotham's Most Eligible Bachelor Finally Been Tamed?"

"Passionate Affair or Just Another Chapter? Roman Sionis Spark’s Controversy in Gotham"

She raised an eyebrow at the articles cluttering the search results. All this buzz about Roman and hardly a nod to who she was. A classic case of Gotham's obsession with the Dark Prince, and maybe a bit of journalistic laziness. A quick check of the time stamps confirmed her suspicion — these write-ups popped up right after they strolled into the party. Fast workers, or maybe they had the entire front row at the event penning pre-written pieces, who knows?

Twelve hours had ticked away since the soirée, and Belladonna decided it was time to venture into the updates. As expected, her mysterious aura had been unraveled in no time. Time for the internet to take the plunge into Belladonna's deep waters.

"Gotham's Dark Prince, Roman Sionis, Steps Out with Mystery Woman; Mafia Princess Belladonna Black, Stirring City Speculation!"

   Details emerge about Belladonna Black, Mafia Princess with ties to one of Gotham's oldest founding family and their ties to violent crime.

"Dark Fashion Duo: Roman Sionis Unveils His Mysterious Mafia Muse, Belladonna Black, Sparks Social Media Frenzy"

   Gotham's newest power couple? Roman Sionis and fashion photographer Belladonna Black turn heads at exclusive fashion event.

"Gotham's Intriguing Power Couple: Roman Sionis and Belladonna Black - Unraveling the Mystery Behind Their Shared Old Money Ties"

   Unlikely Pairing: Old Money Meets in Gotham as Roman Sionis and Belladonna Black Emerge as Power Players – Can Their Stable Relationship Bridge the Sionis Family Legacy?"

"Roman Sionis' Mysterious Date: Is Belladonna Black the One to Tame Gotham's Most Eligible Bachelor?"

   Gotham's playboy no more? Roman Sionis and Mafia Princess Belladonna Black ignite controversy with debut of their passionate affair.

"Passionate Affair or Power Couple? Black Sheep Roman Sionis and Mafia Princess Belladonna Spark Controversy in Gotham"

   Meet Belladonna Black: Heiress to the Illustrious Black Family Fortune, Unveiling Gotham's Smuggling Past Roots

Well, the headlines were at least somewhat generous, if not a tad cringy. If Belladonna had a dollar for every time someone called her a 'mafia princess,' she'd probably have her own fortune by now. The annoying moniker had haunted her for years, a relic from her father's favorite repertoire. His little Maria Princess... He had a knack for the dramatic, romanticizing their family's underworld roots as if it was something special. In reality, most of Gotham's 'old money' had sketchy beginnings. If the stories held water, her father's family slinked into Gotham back in its backwater days, digging their mob claws in deep, taking advantage of those who couldn't fend for themselves. As more influential families rolled into town, hers snagged a seat at the shady table of the elite while the rest of the city suffered. Not exactly a legacy to be proud of. Although, if she were being fair, she much preferred the family folklore of their history of piracy. Legit rum smuggling, debloon-stealing pirates — yeah, her roots were as dark as her black hair, but at least they weren't boring.

Unfortunately, all that wealth the media was yakking about, her 'inheritance,' well, she knew she had a snowball's chance in hell of ever seeing a penny of it. Any hope of getting her hands on the family fortune was as good as gone since it required her father's approval, something that was tightly bundled with the condition of her marriage. And let's be real, her father had been orchestrating that deal since she was at least fourteen, maybe younger. Creep.

Over her dead body.

The pictures turned out great — no awkward angles or unflattering shots. They radiated class, capturing them poised and chic, a runway show in the high stakes of Gotham's gossip mill. A plethora of snapshots cluttered her phone, quick captures from the car to the lavish event. Then came the higher quality photos inside, revealing a couple that oozed love and intimacy. Roman, looking almost lovesick, his touch warm and affectionate, while a starstruck Belladonna leaned into him, basking in his charm. Admittedly, they looked good together. Belladonna scrolled down to an article from Gotham Vogue.

Gotham Couture Unveiled: Roman Sionis and Belladonna Black's Arrival at the Fashion Gala Shakes Up More Than Trends

In the glamorous realm of Gotham's haute couture, where each stitch vies for the spotlight, Roman Sionis 37, and his dazzling companion, Belladonna Black, effortlessly stole the scene. Recently gracing an exclusive fashion soiree covered by Gotham Vogue, the appearance of the notorious playboy alongside local high fashion photographer Belladonna Black sent ripples through the city's social tapestry. The 29-year-old scion of Benjamin Cyrus Black, a well-established figure in the industry, radiated sophistication in a tailored Desmond Marx suit and lace top, effortlessly giving Sionis a run for his self-made money. Throughout the evening, Sionis seemed positively smitten, sparking rumors among insiders that this liaison might be the real deal. The chic and intimate allure of this unexpected duo has left attendees pondering a newfound chapter in Roman Sionis' very public life. Join us as we unravel the intricacies of this surprising pair and contemplate the potential metamorphosis of Gotham's most sensational playboy.

Thirty-seven. He was just shy of forty, not exactly scandalous, but Roman Sionis reveled in the knowledge. A man teetering on the edge of middle age, yet damn, did he wear it well. The problem wasn't the age; it was that he knew it. Oh boy, did he know it.

As Belladonna perused the article, it unfolded precisely as Roman had foreseen. He played the part of the enamored beau, and she, under his spell. Social media chimed in with its chorus of kindness, punctuated by flattering images. Yet, Belladonna knew what she was looking for, and there it was — a close-up of them, lips locked in a passionate kiss just outside his car. A stroke of luck that she caught the glint of light on the camera lens. The shot was perfect, capturing them at their best, and it wasn't a half-bad kiss either. The expression on Roman's face had been priceless — she'd managed to surprise Gotham's most unflappable man. Then, as luck would have it, things took a darker turn.

Her thoughts circled back to their car conversation, a mere scratch on the surface of who Roman Sionis really was. Intrigued, she opened her laptop, typing in the first three letters of his name. Autofill offered several suggestions, none of them particularly complimentary.

"Roman Sionis Scandal"

"Roman Sionis Acquitted in High-Profile Trial"

"Roman Sionis Disowned"

"Roman Sionis Dark Secrets

"Roman Sionis Affair"

Belladonna, not one to shy away from the darker corners of the internet, decided to play detective. She typed in "Roman Sionis Criminal History," her finger hovering over the enter key like it was debating the wisdom of its impending decision. The results flowed in, unveiling a juicy tidbit from several years back. Roman, the city's dashing dark prince, had a stint in Blackgate thanks to some fancy footwork with tax fraud. A stint that came with a two-year all-inclusive stay after a not-so-pleasant chat with an Arkham shrink. So, that's where he picked up his mental health tips.

The sentence seemed like an oddball in Gotham's justice system. The initial charges were a buffet of wrongdoing, ranging from witness intimidation to manslaughter. The prosecutors seemed to throw everything at him, hoping something would stick. Yet, in the end, tax evasion was the lone survivor. Not that Roman looked bothered by it, judging by the smug grin in the courtroom photo — a grin she'd come to recognize. His mugshot, though, that was another story. Still smug, perhaps a hint of irritation, but undeniably dangerous, and damn it, kind of sexy. What was wrong with her?

Digging into the murky waters of Roman's criminal history, Belladonna realized getting any substantial information would cost more than she was willing to pay. Those subscription walls and dubious third-party sites were more like booby traps than credible sources. She rolled her eyes and shut the window, opting for a different search angle. She'd glimpsed fragments of Roman's status as the black sheep of the Sionis family, but the details remained a mystery.

Her fingers danced across the keyboard, uncovering that he was the solitary spawn of Richard and Karen Sionis. The name 'Karen' elicited an internal cringe. Seriously? Shaking off the momentary judgment, she delved into articles spanning Roman's late teens, tracing a path that went cold when he hit nineteen. Did they kick him to the curb at nineteen? Seemed a bit harsh, but hey, nineteen wasn't exactly the tender age of innocence. It was around this time that his more public criminal exploits took a front-row seat in the city's gossip.

Belladonna delved into the sordid tale of Roman Sionis, the playboy extraordinaire. The guy had more school expulsions than a teenage rebellion handbook, and not just confined to Gotham. They shipped him off to boarding school overseas, probably hoping Europe could instill some manners, but guess what? It didn't.

Military academy had its shot at whipping him into shape, but that ended about as well as one could expect. Fired from family businesses, well, that's a Sionis family tradition, it seems. The teenage years were notably wild, with a beatdown incident that somehow vanished into thin air — the perks of a powerful last name. It all read like a rap sheet longer than a CVS receipt

A glance at the Sionis family portraits was a window into Roman's genetic inheritance. Papa Sionis had that classic hardass look, the kind you'd expect from a man who probably measured his daily protein intake in raw eggs.The man looked like he could crush dreams for fun, and she couldn't help but imagine her dad and his sharing a drink and a laugh, dysufnctional bestie dad-bros. Karen, the typical trophy wife in the family photo ops, looked like a poster girl for 'pretty but not too sharp.' Also looking like she hadn’t been laid in years, she seemed like the type of woman who ha dto convince herself that orgasms were overrated. And there was Roman's younger self, the guy who probably thought the world was his playground — suave, handsome, sharply dressed, and sporting a grin that practically screamed, "I own this place."

The kind of guy you'd probably hate to love.

She'd been nose-deep in Roman Sionis' life for hours. Time, a slippery entity, vanished as she navigated the labyrinth that was his existence. His parents, alive and well, chose the shadowy corners of high society. They made cameo appearances at galas, charity gigs, and the socialite circus—a game she was accustomed to, thanks to her own family's shenanigans.

Roman, on the other hand, flaunted the family name like a bedazzled crown. His antics were public, a stark contrast to his discreet lineage. As the saying goes, "If it ain't on Wikipedia, it's not real." And, indeed, there was little public trace of the Sionis family rift. What went down behind the velvet curtains of their luxurious existence? She pondered on the nature of the schism that led them to cast their own son into the abyss. With no other heirs apparent, she wondered about the fate of their wealth—money, investments, and assets—all dancing on the edge of an enigmatic precipice.

In her digital spelunking, she collected more pieces of the Roman Sionis puzzle, yet the answers remained elusive, playing a perpetual game of hide-and-seek in the recesses of internet lore.

The Sionis family fortune was like this nebulous behemoth, lurking in the shadows, with Sionis Steel, Sionis Investments, and Janus Cosmetics playing the parts of its three elusive heads. Pinning down the actual figures was a Wall Street detective story, a puzzle where not all the pieces were visible. The ballpark estimate swung between a cool thirty to a jaw-dropping sixty billion dollars. Chump change, right?

Roman, however, wasn't exactly suffering in the financial department. His investments were more secretive than a cat in the night, but if the pulsating crowds at his club were any indication, the man was making a killing. The club earned its fair share of limelight, with the media and social platforms showering it with praise — the drinks, the bartenders, the vibe. All of it was a hit.

But here was the mystery that kept Belladonna's mind whirring: If Roman was indeed cut off from the family fortune, where did the startup cash come from? The realm of desperate measures? Well, Roman did have that ruthless streak. It was kind of admirable, a self-made man rising from the grit, especially considering the gaps in his formal education. Smart enough to hire the right brains, or maybe just brutal enough to fight for it — the city didn't really care, as long as the party kept rolling.

She brought her coffee cup to her lips, only to realize it was empty. Noon had stealthily crept in, nudging her toward the realization that sustenance was a good idea before nausea made an unwelcome entrance. fresh coffee beckoned from the French press, its aroma weaving through her loft. As she brewed her cup the way she liked it with notes of hazelnut and carame, a sudden curiosity about Roman's whereabouts crept in. A quick phone check revealed work notifications but no word from Roman. The absence was almost disappointing.

Belladonna raided her fridge, pulling out the essentials for a quick bruschetta fix. It was a staple, the kind of thing that could turn into a gourmet meal with minimal effort. She absentmindedly went through the motions of washing and chopping tomatoes and basil, channeling her nona. The old woman would probably shoot her a proud smile from wherever she was, but it had been a good ten years since she'd joined the ranks of the dearly departed.

In a culinary trance, she added garlic and olive oil, a dash of salt, and a splash of balsamic vinegar. The whispers of her ancestors urged her on, a culinary séance of sorts. Satisfied that she'd done justice to both the living and the dead, she moved on to toasting slices of bread. The subtle scent of garlic-infused olive oil filled her kitchen, but her mind lingered at the docks.

No point diving into the murky world of Gotham's docks. Paper trails there were about as real as a three-dollar bill. The Moroni crime family had claimed those shores for decades, but as their grip slipped, it turned into a battleground. Every shady outfit tried to snatch a piece. The docks earned a rep for smuggling everything under the moon — guns, drugs, knockoffs, people. Even her own family, once upon a time, had danced in the smuggling ring, a piece of Black family history she'd rather ignore. If Nonna's tales were to be believed, they had roots in piracy. She couldn't help but scoff — her and Roman, a pair of misfits with a dash of family scandal. What a duo.

Back at her laptop, armed with some grub and a fresh coffee, she decided to tumble down a rabbit hole with the potential for answers. She keyed in a name into her browser — Cobblepot.

Oswald Cobblepot criminal empire

Cobblepot illegal enterprises

Cobblepot’s underground activities

Oswald Cobblepot racketeering charges

Cobblepot money laundering operations

The first thing that popped up was his mugshot, and holy hell, the guy looked like a walking nightmare. Older than Roman, from the same elite socialite circle, but Roman had the distinct advantage of a face that wouldn't make babies cry. She silently thanked the stars she ended up at Roman's club instead of the Iceberg Lounge. Imagining facing down Cobblepot, attempting to fend off his advances... well, she'd have probably offered to take a nosedive off the nearest building just to save them both the trouble.

Cobblepot, a longstanding player in Gotham's game, had his hands in more pies than a bakery. No one seemed to sing his praises, but, let's be honest, Roman didn't exactly top everyone's favorite person list either. Blackgate knew Cobblepot well, practically a second home for him, with a couple of breakout sessions thrown in for good measure.

This was the guy who kicked off the whole mess, that night at Roman's club. She recalled hearing the name Cobblepot, whispered in the hazy ambiance fueled by whatever drugs Jimmy was indulging in at the time. Zsasz had pointed out the product matching Cobblepot's branding, and she vaguely remembered a monocle on the packaging when Roman showcased it. Just another charming figure in Gotham's rogues' gallery.

Jimmy, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to dip his toes into Cobblepot's drug dealings right under Roman's roof. If only he'd stuck to what he knew, like mixing drinks or doing whatever it was he did. But no, now chaos had descended upon her life. She pondered the alternate reality where Jimmy stuck to his usual gig. Would she still be stuck in her mundane existence, searching for her elusive mother, whom Roman had apparently taken an interest in?

Taking a bite of her toasted bruschetta, she closed her laptop, attempting to stave off the 'what if?' thoughts that circled like persistent vultures. Her life felt like a game of chess, and she was stuck in a checkmate position. Gotham's grip on her was unyielding; she couldn't leave without finding her mother, and now, with her father on the scene, the stakes had risen.

The explosion of flavors from the tomatoes, basil, garlic, salt, and balsamic on her tongue marked a slow return of her appetite. Roman had assured her he'd locate her mother, but could she truly put her trust in that promise? Conventional wisdom screamed 'no.' Trusting Roman Sionis was akin to trusting a cat with a canary. Too late for that, she mused, chewing on the uncertainties along with her meal.

Restlessness clawing at her, Belladonna needed an escape from the chaos in her head. Mindless TV wasn't going to cut it. She knew exactly what she needed.

Gathering a few essentials, she made her way to a particular locked door in her loft — the entrance to her darkroom. Seventeen rolls of neglected film, covered in a layer of dust, awaited her attention. With plenty of photosensitive paper and the impending ordeal of test strips that seemed to stretch for ages, it was the perfect antidote. When life got too complex, too dramatic, and solitude became a craving, her darkroom offered solace.

The rest of her night unfolded in the red glow of the safelight, the tangled mess of Roman Sionis and the predicament she'd stumbled into lingering in her thoughts.

~~~

The water twirled down the drain, carrying a tinge of pink with it as steam filled the obscenely large master bathroom, enveloping Roman in the spray of his dual showerheads. He'd fired off a barrage of questions, some utterly pointless. Like asking about the starting quarterback for the Gotham Rogues two years back, the SuperBowl almost-year. He didn't care about the answer, but he did love keeping his foes bewildered. 

Then, with the precision of a surgeon, he cut back to the heart of the matter. Those lackeys were barely a notch above street thugs, dense as a lead brick. Big and meaty, sure, enough to bulldoze their way into almost any setup, until they collided with Roman's security. Their lack of detailed intel was infuriating, but Roman wasn't in it for the answers; he was in it for the message. And dead men weren't the best messengers. There was a certain joy in seeing hulking brutes cower in fear, even if, in a fair fight, he'd be at a disadvantage. The smallest of them probably had fifty pounds and a few inches on him. But as Mark Twain wisely put it, "it's not about the size of the dog in the fight, it's about the size of the fight in the dog." And Roman had plenty of fight, not to mention his slightly unhinged right-hand man, good ol' Zsasz.

Roman had been unusually generous this time, letting Cobblepot's men go back alive, mostly intact. They wouldn't be eager to snoop around Roman Sionis anytime soon. And if they somehow grew the balls to try again, well, Roman promised to be far less gentle. His suit, ruined beyond redemption, had to go at Zsasz's insistence. A damn shame, considering it was the same suit he'd worn when stepping out with Belladonna. The suit he almost got laid in. Then again, the memory had soured given how the evening played out. Oh well, suits were a dime a dozen, and Roman planned to cheer himself up by getting a few new ones.

Roman mused over damage control. Flowers? Maybe. Diamonds? Definitely not. Diamonds put ideas into heads, and marriage wasn't his thing. Roses and chocolates, then. Women loved those. Sure, he hadn't exactly shown Belladonna the door; instead, he tossed her aside like a rag doll. There might have been a more delicate approach, but red had been the only color he saw at the time, and she was in the way.

Note to self: work on the temper. In reality, he admired Belladonna. Entertaining, gorgeous, smart, took no shit, and didn't fit the typical Gotham girl mold. Most women around him were either too intimidated or too eager to please, lacking substance. Been there, done that in his twenties. The barking-and-biting dynamic with Belladonna? That was refreshing. The more he pondered, the more he felt he might've, just a tad, overreacted.

He had her eager in the car, ready for anything, and what did he do? Tossed her aside. Maybe a quickie before work would've been smarter, but he wasn't a fan of quickies. Still, it might have spared her the shellshocked look.

Belladonna had looked fantastic in that suit, especially the top, nude fabric with sweet lace bits, just enough to keep scandal at bay. He never thought he'd find someone looking as good in a suit as he did. Next time, though, she'd wear a dress for easy access. Telling her that? She'd probably tell him to go fuck himself, and the thought made him chuckle.

Under the cascade of hot water, Roman's mind stubbornly lingered on Belladonna. Damn Cobblepot's lackeys for ruining what could've been a heated encounter in the back of the car. He was sure she had something enticing under that suit, and if not for those meddling thugs, he'd have discovered exactly what.

She had wanted him, enough to resist when he pushed back. Regret soured his thoughts as he recalled the pitiful handjob that followed. It was far from satisfying, lacking the intensity he desired, and, to add insult to injury, he didn't even have any lube on hand.

Scrubbing at his scalp in a futile attempt to replicate the sensation of Belladonna's hands in his hair, he found himself momentarily put off by the failed endeavor. Yet, Roman Sionis was nothing if not a stubborn son of a bitch. He'd been cockblocked once, had to settle for a rushed jerk-off session — he was too damn nice.  He mused about what he should've done, what he should have done was make one of Cobblepot's lackeys suck him off. That would have sent one hell of a message, though probably wouldn’t have been a very good blowjob and there was always the chance the guy might have bit him or god forbid, he’d have spit instead of swallowed. The absurdity of the idea brought forth a chuckle, acknowledging once again that he was, indeed, a bastard.

The mere thought of Belladonna's lips, imagining how damn pretty they'd look wrapped around his cock, had Roman on the verge of arousal again. But, let's be honest, he was already heading that way. A few easy strokes and he stood fully hardened once more. This time, he needed to get off properly, well, as properly as a man could without any assistance.

Without much ado, he reached for the bottle of conditioner, squirting a generous amount into his hand. Stepping out of the direct line of the shower spray against the cold tile wall, the dual sensations — the residual spray on his body and the conditioner as makeshift lube with a chill at his back — did something for him. Roman reveled in the extreme temperature shift, at least for a few minutes. Besides, standing under the water risked losing his lube, and jerking off to water was just a painful notion.

He let out a low, guttural sound, the kind that reverberates in the stillness of the room as his hand wrapped around himself. It glided at a leisurely pace, each deliberate stroke etching the memory of Belladonna's touch into his mind. Her fingers, slender and smooth, barely wrapping around him—either her hands were too small or his ego too big, he mused, and a smirk curled on his lips at the thought. It was a satisfying feeling.

With each unhurried stroke, he released a slow, controlled breath. Rushed endeavors left a bitter aftertaste, and Roman Sionis had no intention of cutting corners with this. He was in for the long haul.

His hand moved leisurely, a familiar rhythm he'd mastered long ago. Eyes shut, and there she was — in the car, on his bed, on her knees. It didn't matter. No trace of anger or fear in those eyes, just that insatiable, hungry gaze fixed on him.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" he mumbled to the empty room, exerting a bit more pressure. A smirk crept across his face as he recalled her eagerness, how she practically begged for his touch. "Would've let me have you right there in the car, with Zsasz as our voyeur," he chuckled at the audacity of the mental picture. The Belladonna in his mind was a different creature, sweet and submissive, looking at him with hunger and longing. Sure, he knew she wasn't the type to play the docile maiden in reality, but this was his fantasy, and right now, he craved the vision of a compliant angel, watching him like he was the main act. The rush of being observed in his most intimate moments was a high like no other, and he reveled in it.

The slick feel of conditoner on his skin simulated the real thing, though it couldn't compare. Yet, in that moment of self-indulgence, it felt damn near phenomenal.

"Good girl," he drawled, the words sliding off his tongue with a detached satisfaction. The mental imagery played out like a private movie, and he couldn't help but groan as the fantasy unfolded. Her descent to her knees, hands exploring, eyes closing in bliss — it all fueled his pleasure.

Despite the playboy facade he wore for the world, Roman wasn't one to take just anyone to bed. And he had rules, one of which was a strict 'no fucking in the club' policy — a personal decree. His tastes were specific, demanding a level of control that extended to every detail. How he touched them, how they touched themselves — nothing escaped his meticulous design.

His chest heaved, breaths shallow and labored. Close to the edge, Roman indulged in the pleasure-pain of denial. A bit of a masochist, that was him. A quick release was an option, but rage, that familiar companion, surged through him, binding him to the moment. If he didn't care about Belladonna, he'd have opted for a solitary release and headed to bed. But no, he craved more than a quick fix. He wanted the intensity that bordered on agony, the kind that made him ready to scream. That's what set Belladonna apart. She held the power to keep his fantasies alive longer than he'd allowed in months.

Roman, a man of extremes — molten hot, arctic freezing, explosive as a volcanic eruption. Regular sex lost its allure ages ago; he'd been there, done that. Erotic texts read like a mundane shopping list. Hell, he'd even leafed through the pages of Cosmo more than once; women had some wild ideas.

He'd been through it all — tied up, teased, denied, pleasured, spoiled, watched, recorded. He even tried his hand, both literally and figuratively, at that erotic asphyxiation trend the younger generation was into these days. The whole shebang. Memories of those escapades mingled with the phantom sensations of Belladonna, a concoction he willed into existence in his mind.

As he slowed his painful strokes, denying himself the release he craved, memories and fantasies played a twisted duet in his mind. His breathing hitched, coming in shallower gasps. He was on the edge, tantalizingly close, and then he deliberately pulled back. The frustration mingled with desire created a dangerous cocktail.

A low growl rumbled in his chest. Sure, talking to himself while getting off might be considered weird by some, but in that moment, Roman didn't give a damn. There was something cathartic about vocalizing those dark thoughts that usually rattled around in his head. It was a perverse kind of therapy that only he seemed to understand.

In the tangled mess of his desires, Roman yearned for instant gratification, an escape into pleasure. The impulse was strong, undeniable. The denial, thrice over, left him teetering on the edge of a precipice. Anyone daring to interrupt him at this moment would face a wrath fueled by a cocktail of anger, arousal, and an almost feral possessiveness. Pity the soul Zsasz might have to report to him about. Loyalty, like Zsasz's, deserved respect, but those who tested Roman's patience might find themselves at the mercy of a storm.

Roman had no qualms about being heard. In this state, he operated with no filter, no volume control. Raw and rabid, he was a force to be reckoned with. His hand clenched around himself, pushing almost to the point of pain. His snarls mixed with the growing intensity as he hurtled towards the blinding release he craved.

The tiles at his back had absorbed his body heat, the game of hot and cold now a melded blur, devoid of its previous dichotomy. Shoving off the wall and back into the scalding cascade, Roman's mind embarked on a carousel of scenarios — a twisted carnival of dirty thoughts, the kind that would earn him an express ticket to hell, not that he wasn't already driving the damn train. All these twisted musings revolved around one person — Belladonna. Thoughts of what he could do to her, the sensations he could awaken, the pleasures he could unleash or withhold.

His reflections swirled around the concept of possession, the idea that even after tossing her off, she still bore that look in her eyes — a hunger that defied explanation. Roman's hand jerked down, cupping his balls, and he threw his head back as waves of pleasure cascaded through him, tempests of ecstasy ripping his body apart. Howls escaped him, echoing like a mad dog, gripped by the searing bolts of white-hot lightning, nerves ablaze with impulses dancing beyond the realm of humanity. In that fleeting moment, he wasn't a man; he was a conduit for raw, primal urges.

“Fuck!”

When it finally wrapped up, Roman was spent, a bit like a deflated balloon but in a more satisfying, less party-favor way. The post-orgasmic haze was settling in, the relentless storm of pleasure subsiding, replaced by a pulsating hypersensitivity that was both agony and ecstasy. His knees threatened rebellion, and she sank down beside him, exhaling a mix of relief and satisfaction. Damn, he was tired now.

Early Saturday morning, the time when regular folks were still dreaming of cozy breakfasts or some idyllic weekend. Not him. He'd been dealing with Cobblepot's lackeys at the warehouse, taking his sweet time to make it clear who the alpha was. Work usually left him wired, practically bouncing off the walls with a certain sadistic satisfaction. The satisfaction of dominating his enemies usually fueled him. But not tonight.

Coupled with the frustrations that had built up during the night and what, frankly, was one of the best shower sessions he'd had in months, his bed was calling. 

“Diamonds,” He muttered a bit out of breath, he thought with a hint of sarcasm, feeling like a mob boss from a noir film. Yet, here they were, tangled in a web neither seemed keen on unraveling.

He wasn't sure how this had happened. Every criminal instinct in his body screamed that she was a mistake, a weakness, something not to be tolerated. If he had half a brain, he'd cut her loose and move on.

But hell. Every moment he'd grazed the edge of having her, every near miss, every touch, left Roman hungry for more. It had been, what, two months since he'd barged into her life? And in all that time, he hadn't taken her to bed. Oh, there had been some risqué fun, but if jerking just thinking about her made jerking off this damn satisfying, sex promised a whole new level. He was practically salivating at the prospect of actual sex. Drained, yet still buzzing with desire, he contemplated the unfinished business with Cobblepot. Well, that could wait until morning — or, more accurately, later today.

Standing up, he killed the water, wrapping a towel around his waist. Staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror, he couldn't help but think, *What a goddamn pussy.*

"Fuck off."

Exiting the sauna-like bathroom, he cast the master bedroom into darkness, discarded the towel on the floor without a care, and sank into the sumptuous silk sheets, savoring the luxurious feel against his skin. Sleep now, Cobblepot later, woman after. Though the sun sneaked through the gaps in his curtains, he dropped into a deep sleep, unfazed by the approaching dawn or whatever chaos the day might unveil.

Chapter Eleven

~~~

@keffirinne my fellow Black Mask/Roman Sionis fan, hope this chapter finds you well!

#fanfiction is life #i have too many stories #original character #alternate universe #roman sionis smut #romansionisimagine #roman sions #roman sionis fan fiction #roman sionis x original female character #roman sionis has anger issues #roman sionis imagine #black mask imagine #black mask fanfiction #belladonna fucking black #belladonna black #shadows of deception #slightly toxic #simping for the bad guy #birds of prey #bop #dc fandom #but daddy i love him #but daddy i can fix him

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception Chapter Seven

Shadows of Deception

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.

Chapter Seven

Do It For Me by Rosenfeld

As soon as she stepped through her front door into the warmth of her loft apartment, her cheerful demeanor quickly faded, replaced by a frown upon spotting someone seated on the couch.

Benjamin Cyrus Black, a distinguished man with a salt-and-pepper beard, reclined comfortably, his presence commanding attention. He held a lit Cuban cigar, its fragrant smoke mingling with the air, it smelled good on Roman but on her father it just smelled like oppression.

With a thinly veiled politeness that barely concealed her annoyance, Belladonna greeted him, her tone reminiscent of one used when dealing with an unwanted telemarketer. "Hello, Dad."

Benjamin looked up from his contemplative state and offered a nod in response. "Hello, Belladonna," he replied, his voice carrying a tone of authority with a touch of indifference.

As the room filled with a tense silence, Belladonna fought the urge to roll her eyes at her father's presence even as a grown woman, she was still afraid of him. Their relationship has been strained for years, marked by their conflicting personalities and differing views on life. She knew that engaging in conversation with him was often an exercise in frustration.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Belladonna crossed her arms over her chest, readying herself for whatever conversation her father had come to initiate. 

The loft, once a sanctuary for Belladonna's creative pursuits, now held an added layer of tension, as the clash between father and daughter loomed on the horizon. 

~~~

Whispers rippled through the room as Belladonna entered, and her colleagues made no effort to hide their stares. Their eyes darted between her and each other, clearly sensing something was amiss. Her foul mood was evident in the way she carried herself, her usual vivaciousness muted by a somber aura and an almost aggressive cadence. She'd left Roman's penthouse that night feeling like a queen, only to be promptly crushed under her father’s designer shoe.

"Oh my God, Belladonna, what happened?" Daisy's voice was filled with worry and her eyes searched Belladonna's face for answers, the angry split lip and bruise on her cheek marring what was usually an otherwise flawless appearance. Belladonna wasn’t in the mood for the conversation and for a few moments she had every intention of saying nothing until Daisy posed a dangerous question. "Did Roman do this?"

Daisy was taken aback when she caught sight of the unsightly bruise, she quickly pulled Belladonna aside for an urgent conversation.

"Oh my God, Belladonna, what happened?" Daisy's voice was filled with worry and her eyes searched Belladonna's face for answers. "Did Roman do this?"

Belladonna's eyes widened slightly at the accusation, annoyance flickering across her features. "Of course not," she responded firmly, her voice tinged with frustration.

Daisy remained unconvinced, “Look, Belladonna we all saw him yesterday, he was pretty intense, men like that…” Her words trailed off with an unspoken truth that both women understood well. “The tabloids…”

Her eyes softened as she realized she had to do damage control and fast if she was going to make good on her word of salvaging Romans reputation. "Daisy, Roman's not like that. Our dynamic is just... intense." She hesitated, realizing just how cliche what she was saying sounded. What did every victim in a ansbusive relationship ever say? Something like that, she needa  different appraoch. "Daisy, last week I asked Roman to tie me up and blindfold me and I gave him twenty minutes to let him do whatever he wanted to me and when his time was up, I rode him like the But it wasn't Roman who did this. It was my father."

"Your father? How... How did he find out where you live? Are you okay? Is it safe for you to go home?" A lightbulb went off in Daisy's eyes, “People were talking and snapping photos as you two left. A few people said you guys were looking pretty cozy in the conference room too. I saw it this morning across my feed”

Belladonna's face tightened, the pain of her past and the present converging in her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it, Daisy. I just want to work, to focus on something else." She brushed off Daisy's concern, attempting to shield herself from the vulnerability of the situation.

Daisy bit her lip, torn between respecting Belladonna's wishes and her own instinct to protect her friend. "Does Roman know about this?" she asked tentatively, her voice filled with worry. “I mean, does he know about your father?”

A scoff escaped Belladonna's lips, mingling with bitterness. "Are you crazy? Of course he doesn't." Her tone 

Daisy hesitated, her gaze filled with uncertainty. "But, Belladonna, shouldn't he know? Shouldn't he be there for you?"

Belladonna's voice was firm and determined. "Daisy, listen to me. I need you to have my back on this."

Daisy's worry mingled with her loyalty, she nodded. "You know I do, Belladonna.”

The atmosphere in the studio remained tense throughout the morning, as the news of Belladonna's bruise circulated among her colleagues. Whispers fluttered like hushed wings, curiosity mingling with concern. Daisy, ever watchful, kept a vigilant eye on Roman's lack of communication. As time passed the absence of any text or call from him became conspicuous.

Just as the lunch break was about to commence, the studio doors swung open, and Roman strode in, holding a cup of Belladonna's favorite coffee. His charm was on full display, a practiced smile playing on his lips. But as his gaze landed on the bruise adorning Belladonna's face, the warmth vanished, replaced by a storm of anger brewing within him. The act dropped, as did the coffee spilling on the floor, revealing the genuine concern that lurked beneath his charismatic facade.

Shit.

In a near-shouting voice, Roman demanded, "Who did this?" His words reverberate through the studio, commanding attention. He closed the distance between them, cupping Belladonna's face in his hands, his touch firm yet careful, as if handling something precious. It was possessiveness veiled as concern, a complex blend of emotions that only he could truly decipher.

Belladonna acted quickly, her mind racing to quell any suspicions that may arise among their colleagues. She threw her arms around Romans neck and hugged him tightly, meeting Roman's confused gaze and issuing a command harshly whispered into his ear. 

"Kiss me." 

In that intimate moment, she whispered further into his ear, her words laced with determination. "Lots of people are watching, and more than half of them probably think you did this. So play the concerned boyfriend and kiss me!" She held her breath, waiting for him to understand, to comply.

Roman recovered quickly after being initially caught off guard by her sudden request, registering her words and the gravity of the situation. He complied, taking her hand on his, bringing it close to his face placing a kiss upon her palm before pressing his lips against hers gently. The kiss was a performance, a good one. A convincing display of affection that would sway any onlookers.

"Angel, who did this to you?" Roman's voice dropped low and was filled with a fine tuned mixture of rage and desire, carrying genuine concern. Its authenticity resonated through the room, loud enough for all close by to hear. He played his part flawlessly, projecting the image of a concerned lover, protective and deeply invested in her well-being. 

Belladonna took a deep breath, her mind working swiftly to devise a plan. She laced her fingers with his, a symbolic gesture of unity, and leans in to place a tender kiss upon his hand. "Baby, I’m fine," she told him, her voice filled with determination and a touch of vulnerability. With their hands still entwined, she led him toward an empty conference room again.

But her attempt to distance herself from the chaos was short-lived when she turned around to find Roman standing right there, their bodies pressed against the door. His fury is palpable, an electric current coursing through his veins. 

"Who did this?" Roman's voice cut through the air, filled with a dangerous edge. Belladonna hesitated, knowing that revealing the truth would mean exposing more of Roman's involvement in her life than she desired. In a desperate attempt to divert his anger, she tried a quick lie, claiming it was an accident. But Roman saw through her facade, his gaze piercing through her defenses. "Bull fucking shit, Angel, do not lie to me" he seethed, his tone a blend of fury, possessiveness, and offense. The question that followed caught her off guard, and for a moment, her shock was palpable. "Are you fucking around on me?" Roman's accusation hung heavily in the air dark and dangerous and full of anger, casting a shadow over their already complicated relationship.

Her response was swift, filled with genuine surprise and indignation. "What? Of course not!" Yet, Roman was unrelenting and not convinced The weight of his doubt threatened to suffocate the fragile trust between them.

“Why should I believe you, Belladonna? You’ve just lied to me!” His voice was filled with venom and it sounded much like it had the night she met him when he killed so easily. 

She placed her hands on Roman's chest, a subtle attempt to anchor him. "You can't kill anybody." Her voice, a plea to temper his anger.

Roman's tone softened ever so slightly, "Angel," he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips, his touch gentle yet with an undeniable intensity. "I'll do whatever I damn well please." 

Belladonna took a deep breath, her body still pressed against the door, "Roman, I'm not cheating on you," she asserted firmly, her own frustration seeping through “How did you even come to that conclusion? Not that it matters, this isn’t real anyway!” She hissed as she tried to yank her hand back. 

"It doesn't matter if it's real, Angel," he interjected, his voice firm and unwavering. "Until it's not, you belong to me." His possessive nature, a reflection of his need to assert control over her, even in this charade.

"I am not a cheater, not even on a fake boyfriend. I had a visit from my father last night," she revealed, her voice suddenly a bit weak. His fury momentarily subsided, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. "We don't get along," she continued, weakness replaced by bitterness. Roman tilted her chin up, his gaze intense as he studied her face. She could feel his scrutiny, the silent demand for the truth. "Am I lying?" 

"No, Angel, I don't think you are," Roman surprised her with his admission. He took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, planting a tender kiss upon her skin. The gesture was affectionate and protective, and sent a thrill down her spine but she couldn't understand why he was doing it, no one else was around to see it. "Tell me exactly what happened, and don't lie to me again, Belladonna,"

Her voice was steady but traces of resentment were audible as she recounted the strained visit with her father the previous night. 

"My father doesn't like it when I rock the boat." 

Curiosity filled Roman's voice as he asked, "How are you rocking the boat?" 

"By being involved with you." 

Roman's brow rose in intrigue, and he leaned in closer, urging her to share more. "What did you tell your father?"

"I told him it's none of his business who I'm fucking." Roman's grin widened.

"Good for you," he replied, his voice filled with satisfaction. But the amusement faded, replaced by a simmering anger as he added, "What did he say to that?" Belladonna's expression grew somber as she pointed at the bruise on her face.

"Let's just say my father has a very specific idea about how to make women and children compliant," Roman's displeasure was evident, his jaw clenched, and his grip on her hand tightened.

"I don't want you to get involved, Roman. It's complicated enough already," Roman's eyes bore into hers, burning with determination.

"Oh, Angel,” Roman sank his hands into her hair and used his grip to force her to look at him. "No one tells me what to do, not even fake girlfriends," he retorted in defiance.

He let her go and turned to leave seemingly unaffected by her pleas, and continued to walk away, brushing her off with his nonchalant demeanor. 

Belladonna's voice took on a more urgent tone. She reached out to grab his arm, her fingers trembling slightly. "I'm serious, Roman. There's more at stake here than your pride.”

But Roman, seemingly unfazed, straightened his jacket as if preparing to leave. The corners of his mouth curled into an amused smile as he observed her futile attempts to block the door. "Lunchtime Is over, Angel. Daddy has some work to do," he quipped dripping with mockery.

Desperation seeped into Belladonna's voice as she scrambled to find the right words to stop him. "Roman, no! Please, I'm begging you," she pleaded, but Roman's playfully dismissive demeanor remained intact with his pandering response. 

"Oh, kitten, that doesn't sound like begging."

Belladonna didn’t hesitate, her voice cracking with sincerity as she pleaded once more. "Roman, please. Give me till tonight. I promise I'll answer all your questions, no more secrets, no more lies. Just don't do anything until I get off work. Please," she implored, her words carried a raw vulnerability.

Roman's steely resolve wavered for a moment as he gazed at her, his hardened features softened by a pang of curiosity. The creature before him now resembled nothing of the Belladonna that had entered his penthouse last night. She seemed like she was truly afraid, but not of him, of the consequences. He contemplated her request, his mind weighing the risks and consequences. But he didn’t really care.

"For me. Do it for me, please baby," she nearly cried, her hands grasped his, clinging tightly.

Roman stopped, intrigued by her use of the endearing term ‘baby,’ leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "Say it again," a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Belladonna, realizing the effect her words had on Roman, repeats them. "Please, baby." Her voice, a whisper as she brought his hands gently to her lips, pleading with her touch. “Please.”

"You're lucky you're so pretty when you beg," Belladonna breathed a sigh of relief, her tension momentarily lifted. "Tonight. No more secrets. No lies, Angel."

With the agreement set, Belladonna nodded, trapped under Roman's intense gaze. She placed a gentle and thankful kiss to his knuckles. 

Roman quickly donned his mask of a loving boyfriend, guiding Belladonna back to the studio, with his arm wrapped low around her hip. As they entered, eyes found them, quickly scrutinizing each movement and every gesture. 

Roman should have been an actor, his charm and faux concern was effortless and even though she knew it was an act, it was Oscar worthy. “We’ll handle this together, Angel.” His voice velvety smooth, leaning in to tuck her hair behind her ear and placing a sweet kiss on her bruised cheek then one to her split lip lingering longer than he really had to. 

Turning her hand over, his lips found her palm once again. His voice was low as he murmured against her hand “You owe me a kiss, Angel.” Whether he was referencing her promise to kiss him whenever she saw him like she had the night before, or because she was still trying to convince him to do as she asked was anyone's guess. 

Carefully orchestrated for all to see, Belladonna brushed her thumb against his lip and just as she had the night before kissed him, albeit a little less tongue this time. Roman's embrace exuded a sense of protection, and onlookers couldn’t help but be captivated by the display of affection. "Till tonight, Angel."

~~~

The dim lighting cast shadows across the room in Roman’s penthouse, adding to the somber mood. It was a far cry from the night before when she’d strolled in like she owned the place, she took a seat across from Roman, her hands fidgeting slightly.

Exuding a mix of arrogance and concern, Roman leaned back in his chair, cigar smoke swirling around him. He looked like a Bond villain, but then what did that make her? His eyes fixated on Belladonna, his expression full of arrogance and mockery. 

"Not so confident tonight, are we, Angel?" 

Belladonna took a deep breath, "I'm gonna need something stronger than that," referring to the vodka. 

Roman's demeanor shifted slightly, a touch of impatience in his voice. "Talk first. Booze later," not a request, not a suggestion.

She nodded, a s far as she could tell Roman had kept his word and a promise was a promise. 

"My father found me again. The media attention from our public appearances led him right to me. He paid me a visit as a reminder to fall in line and obey the family's expectations." 

Roman's expression hardened as he listened, his empathy mingling with his own experiences of familial disappointment. He leaned forward, his eyes locked on Belladonna, "What does your father want?"

A look of genuine disgust crossed her face as she spoke, her voice filled with disdain. "He's furious because he needs me to be single. Thing is, I’m sort of promised to someone," 

Roman's features twisted with disbelief. He clenched his jaw, processing the information. Ridiculous, who the fuck does that anymore?

The tension in the room grew as Roman's displeasure became palpable. 

"What the fuck do you mean 'sort of promised to someone?'" His demanding tone was thick with irritation. 

Belladonna, feeling defensive and worn down, shrugged her shoulders, "It's just what it sounds like, Roman." 

Roman's eyes narrowed at her combative stance. "Who is this supposed intended of yours?" 

Belladonna scoffed dismissively, her tone dripping with bitterness. "Fuck if I know, and hell if I care," she retorted, her frustration evident. "He's some old friend of my father's, at least twenty years older than me. It's how they operate—old money, old family connections," she explained, her voice betraying a hint of discomfort as she recalled the memory. "I met him once when I was fifteen," Belladonna confessed. "Haven't seen him since, but he was already in his late thirties back then. Honestly, just thinking about it makes me want to puke." A long silence stretched before Roman spoke again. 

"What's he got on you, Angel?" 

Belladonna exhaled a deep breath, pulling strands of her hair so tightly several slipped through her fingers. She reached into her coat pocket, retrieving a cigarette and lighting it up, using the brief moment to gather her thoughts. 

Taking a long drag from her cigarette, Belladonna met Roman's gaze, her eyes reflecting vulnerability and anger. "My mother," 

Roman's expression darkened as he processed her words, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Belladonna took another drag from her cigarette, the smoke swirling around her. Roman's demeanor remained stoic while he absorbed the revelations, his eyes never left Belladonna's face. 

"Explain," Roman demanded, his voice firm and determined.

"Moria Black isn't my mother," she asserted. "My mother is a Italian immigrant, Maria Caruso. She worked for my father as a housekeeper when she came to the country, and he had a thing for teenage girls. Knocked her up, took her passport, cut her off from everyone and everything back home and kept me. His barren bitch of a wife can't have kids. I'm just the consolation prize of one of his many one-night stands. She never got over what he did to her."

Pure rage emanated from her as she recounted the years of torment her mother endured. She exhaled another plume of smoke and fixed her gaze on a spot on the floor, her anger seething.

"Be a good girl, Bella," she mutters bitterly in an exaggerated Greek accent "The son of a bitch is hiding her somewhere from me. I haven't seen her since I was twenty-five."

Roman did the mental math, realizing it had been four long years since Belladonna last saw her mother. While he had no personal experience with parental relationships, he was well versed in manipulation and power imbalance

"Hope he’s not expecting some sweet little virgin bride?" Roman inquired, slightly taken aback by Belladonna's laughter.

"I think he thought he was being so clever sending me to an all-girls prep school," she replied, her laughter tinged with a hint of irony. "Seemed to think I couldn’t have sex if I wasn’t around boys, and to some degree he was right. While other girls my age were having sex, I was the only one having orgasms.”

Roman chuckled at Belladonna’s amusing take on the situation. Her hesitation dissipated as Roman beckoned her closer, she slowly rose from her seat, making her way around the desk. She perched on the edge, her legs crossed, observing Roman intently a little bit more of her sass returning. Another ring of smoke escaped her lips as she listened to his words.

"Angel," Roman began, his voice low and filled with a delightful combination of amusement and seriousness. His hand slid from her knee up her thigh. "I would've kept you for the fun of it, but now? I just might do it out of spite."

Her expression fell in irritation, unamused by his comment. She abruptly stood up and shoved his hand off her leg, storming towards the liquor cabinet, rummaging through its contents, finding a half-empty bottle of vodka, she took a long swig straight from it. She looked back to Roman like a parent who was disappointed in their child might.

"Well, I’m glad you find this so amusing, Roman," There was no mistaking the anger that was now directed at him, "I'm not really in the position to be spiteful. I've spent the last three years trying to find her. But I keep coming up with nothing. He used to let me see her once a year, then when I turned twenty-five, you know what said to me?” She let a moment of silence fall, though she didn’t actually expect him to answer her. “He said I could see her next at my wedding. If I couldn't find her in three years, what would be different now?"

Roman moved to her side, taking the bottle from her grasp, clearly unaffected by her anger, a dark smile playing on his lips. "Angel, you didn't have me before," he cradled her jaw making her look at him. 

He was offering to help her? Genuine curiosity danced in Belladonna's eyes. "Why would you do this? Why help me?” He didn’t answer her, he looked at her like she was a chess piece. “You don’t care, I’m just an alibi to keep your ass out of Blackgate."

Roman's grip tightened around her, and he drew her closer,taking one of her hands in his, thus thumb brushing against her palm. His tone became softer, yet resolute. "Because until our business is complete, you belong to me," a possessiveness to his words. "And nobody fucks with Roman Sionis."

Belladonna's confusion deepened as Roman thanked her for being honest with him, reminiscing of the way her old headmaster used to chide her when they already knew the truth, his own enigmatic smile hinted at his hidden knowledge. 

"You arrogant jackass!" she exclaims, her voice filled with anger as she forcefully pushed him in the chest. "What good did that do? Why go through all this if you already knew?"

Roman swiftly took hold of her hands in a grip of steel, holding them firmly to stop her assault. His gaze met hers, unwavering and determined. "I needed to know that you wouldn't lie to me, kitten," he explained matter-of-factly. "You did lie to me once today. If I can't trust you with something as simple as a tragic backstory, then I can't trust you at all, can I?"

“You... trust me?" 

Roman shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, trust but verify," he replied, his tone serious. "Angel, as long as you're with me, you're mine. And I protect what's mine, that protection extends to your mother."

She was left speechless, her mind reeling from the implication of his words. "What are you playing at?"

Roman's smile remained, his eyes gleaming with mischief and determination. "I play to win, kitten," his words carried a hint of both challenge and affection. In his own way, he made it clear that he wasn’t not just a man driven by self-interest, but someone who did things simply because he wanted to and he needed no further justification.

She couldn’t explain why, and it didn’t make any sense, but she wanted to kiss him. To shove her tongue down his throat until the lack of oxygen made him dizzy. Driven by a mix of emotions, her lips were a hair's breadth from his own but he stopped her, instead pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Angel, you've been drinking, and you're upset," he explained. "I'm having Zsasz take you to a hotel. Tomorrow morning, we'll strengthen your security—new locks, a new system. And from now on, you're never going anywhere alone again. Understand?" His words left no room for negotiation or argument, taken aback by his forceful declaration, her mind raced to process his sudden protectiveness. Before she could respond, Roman continued, his determination evident. "Starting tomorrow, I’m gonna find your mother," he asserted firmly. "And once that's done, I'll pay your father a visit. Neither of you will ever have to worry about him again. Understand?"

She nodded in a daze, the night took a turn she could have never predicted. Roman took her hand, kissing her palm tenderly, as if to offer comfort and reassurance.

"We're going to make a splash, kitten, in the court of public opinion," he said with a mischievous grin, her trust in his intentions growing. Roman's hand caressed her hair, as he let her go, now confident that he’d made his point. “Make all of Gotham fall in love with us, make them want to see every kiss, every date, every smile. And then we’re going to rub your fathers face in it.”

“Under the circumstance, I think that’s the most romantic thing anyones ever said to me” Her newfound fascination with Roman Sionis evident in her eyes. 

“You need to get out more.” He offered her that snarky grin of his, but the look on her face suggested she still had a little bit of fight in her.

"I'm not leaving here without a goodnight kiss," 

Roman chuckled softly, a genuine fondness for her fiery spirit, just a minute ago she looked as though she was fighting back unbridled rage and sadness, but now? If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she wanted to fuck him, though maybe that was his ego talking. And as much as he wouldn’t have minded a goodnight fuck, he didn’t want it with a mess of a woman, not that Belladonna was a mess by any means, but Roman had very specific wants in the bedroom and if her mind wasn’t on what they were doing one hundred percent, then he didn’t want it at all. However, he conceded slightly and let their lips meet in a lingering kiss, sealing their unspoken agreement and fueling the growing intensity of their connection.

Chapter Eight

#i have too many stories #original character #fanfiction is life #alternate universe #roman sionis smut #birdsofprey #bop #roman sionis imagine #roman sions #romansionis #roman sionis x original female character #roman sionis is a tease #roman Sionis fan fiction #black mask imagine #black mask fanfiction #protective roman #romansionisimagine #romansionisblackmask #romansionissmut #romansionisfanfiction #roman sionis #shadows of deception

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception

Chapter Nine

You Put A Spell On Me by Austin Giorgio

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.

What would he be like tonight? Would he manage to keep it together, or were they in for a one-of-a-kind Roman Sionis spectacular? What exactly did 'good behavior' even mean for someone like him? Was he going to cause a scene? 

They were en route to the party she’d told him about part work, party party, part fashion show, a hybrid of all three events, and an open bar to boot. Photographers, journalists, and reporters would swarm the venue and everyone in it, hungry for both fashion highlights and scandalous stories. In the past that had never been an issue, as Belladonna wasn’t someone any of them had ever been particularly interested in, her presence went largely unnoticed, but that was going to change tonight. Her professional name and reputation hung in the balance, but there was more at stake than just her job. In the grand scheme of things, Roman's behavior was the least of her concerns.

Tonight was the night they were going to ‘make a splash’ as Roman had put it, and very publicly stick it to her father, and she’d be full of shit if she said wasn’t even a little bit scared.

Their little family reunion a few weeks back, made it clear that, despite being older and financially independent of him, he still held far too much power over her. She was still afraid of him. She’d gone from feeling like a goddamned queen after power walking out of Roman’s penthouse to shaking like a scared little mouse as soon as she’d seen him. It took almost a week for the bruise to fade, a lingering reminder that, when faced with a challenge, her response was driven by childlike fear rather than strength. She was a kid again.

Then there was the other thing.

Her mother. Sure, Roman had a point when he emphasized that her father's power was constrained; eliminating her mother would strip away his leverage. But, that didn't necessarily mean she was safe. He could still hurt her if he thought it would make Belladonna fall in line, and she wouldn't put it past her father's capacity for cruelty when things didn't go his way. He was nothing short of a spoiled little prince. Just like someone else she knew.

The air inside the car went from a comfortable temperature to stiffling. 

Just like someone else she knew.

Trying not to draw attention to her sudden nervousness or how she was looking at him, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She hadn’t realized the similarities Roman and her father shared until just this moment, probably because he was so damned good-looking. She’d been swept up in his charm and completely thrown caution to the winds whenever he’d touched her, every encounter screamed control, power, and uncertainty. It made her wonder if her mother had felt the same way about her father when she met him, if her mother had known anything about the man she was working for she’d run the opposite direction, all the way back to Italy. It made her realize that despite the time they’d spent together, the man sitting next to her was a virtual stranger. She didn’t know anything about him.

Oddly enough it never occurred to her to do a damn Google search on Roman Sionis, all she knew was what managed to stick with her from occasional glances at what was published and popular in the gossip rags. She knew the Sionis name was linked to Sionis Steel and Janus Cosmetics but beyond that, kind of nothing. She wasn’t really even sure how old he was, maybe mid to late thirties and Belladonna was a few months shy of turning thirty. Her mother had been fourteen, her father in his late thirties. 

When she met Roman she’d watched him execute three men without even thinking, he might have had her killed too. He’d said so himself, ‘These things are always easier when they’re ugly.’ That was what he had said to her, would he have killed her if he’d found her less than aesthetically appealing?

Each interaction had been defined by control, bordering on obsessiveness. She was two for two; an older man and a clear power imbalance, her mom had been a maid stripped of her passport and Belladonna was tethered to Roman by violence. He was narcissistic for sure, did he even feel remorse of any kind, wait– No remorse would make him a sociopath, right? What did that make him? A monster like her father? What did that make her?

An idiot. It made her an idiot.

What kind of man had she gotten involved with? What would he do with her when this thing they had was over? Would he kill her? Let her go? Would he hurt her? So much about Roman screamed old-school Mafia Prince and she’d seen her fair share of mobster movies.

The darkness closed in, a crowded chaos in her mind. Uncertainty and fears clawed at her, disrupting her resolve, rattling her confidence, prompting doubts about everything she was undertaking, the impending actions, and the man at the center of it all. Amidst the overwhelming and suffocating mental tumult, a firm anchor yanked her back to the present — Roman's hand softly enveloping hers, his fingers delicately lacing with hers.

It was surprisingly laid-back, and felt natural, defying the expectations Belladonna had of their scripted arrangement. He didn’t even look at her, he was engrossed in his phone, probably checking his social media or whatever it was he did on his phone, running a criminal empire on an app. Did they have such things? In this day and age, there was an app for everything. His thumb traced gentle patterns on the back of her hand, a touch more personal and revealing than any of the staged kisses they'd shared. Strangely, he stayed silent, as if this little act of subtle affection were as natural to him as breathing, it blurred the lines of their orchestrated relationship and created an illusion of authenticity.

The car journey was marked by an anticipatory silence, with Zsasz at the wheel navigating through the city's pulse, his sharp eyes occasionally looking to the back through the mear view mirror. Belladonna's mind was a swirl of potential damage control scenarios, contemplating what might unfold if their plan took an unexpected turn. However, the internal chatter ceased abruptly as the car came to a stop, before she could open the door, Romans’s hand tightened on hers and pulled her back to him.

“You’re Belladonna-fucking-Black, baby.” 

A pep talk from Roman Sionis seemed so very out of place, so much so that Belladonna was genuinely speechless as if she was trying to decipher if he was being genuine or pandering. At any given moment, she waited for him to crack a joke or sprinkle in some sarcastic remark to undercut the seriousness of his declaration. Surprisingly, he didn't, and that lent an unusual weight to the intensity of his stare. His eyes, dark and luxurious, held a hypnotic quality, ensnaring her attention completely. Though his gaze softened, it retained a certain depth, and he tilted his head slightly, teasing the idea of leaning in for a kiss. Not that she would've minded; Roman was undeniably one hell of a kisser, and she suspected, a skilled lover too. However, instead of a kiss, he gently brushed her hair behind her ear, nodded, and gestured for her to step out first once the door opened.

As expected, a barrage of camera flashes bombarded her as the initial confusion unfolded. The paparazzi, hungry for exclusive shots, snapped away before realizing she wasn't anyone particularly noteworthy—a status she was perfectly content with. Their heads swiveled sharply, seeking someone more prominent to photograph, leaving Belladonna as just another face in the crowd, a nobody with a pretty visage.

However, the dynamic shifted dramatically when Roman emerged from the vehicle. The paparazzi, initially scattered and disinterested, pivoted their attention fast enough to give you whiplash. First, one camera lens turned toward Roman, then another, until a collective realization sparked. Suddenly, the flashes intensified, creating a pulsating wall of light, and the questions from the eager reporters boomed like distant thunder. The duo was now the epicenter of the media storm, the unexpected frenzy escalating as their presence set the event abuzz with fervent speculation. The crowd's reaction was immediate, a cascade of double takes, heads whipping back in disbelief, a domino effect of questioning glances sweeping through the onlookers. Then came the murmurs, a rising wave of whispers that quickly engulfed the vicinity. The collective gasp of realization swept through the crowd, turning their attention from the unknown figure of Belladonna to a notoriously, well-known, enigma that was Roman Sionis. The camera flashes and the thunderous barrage of questions was overwhelming.

"Take the lead, Angel. I’m right behind you."

Roman staged the whole setup with intention, emphasizing that he was there with her, not the other way around. The spotlight was meant for her, despite his infamous presence. In this world, she was the star, and he was just walking into it. It was surprisingly considerate and a bit alarming how much thought he put into a seemingly straightforward party appearance. Belladonna knew Roman was smarter than he looked, a fact he probably used to his advantage more than once, but this level of straightforward manipulation was strangely inspiring.

The duo paused, maintaining their fashionable position for a few moments as the relentless cameras captured snapshots that would undoubtedly be splashed across tabloids and social media sites within moments. The secret was now out—or, at least, one of them was. The flashing lights froze a moment in time, a moment where Roman and Belladonna, with all their charisma and allure, became the focal point of public curiosity and speculation. The Gotham would soon be buzzing with questions and comments about the glamorous couple who had just made their official debut.

Roman’s hand slipped around her waist, settling comfortably on her hip while his other rested in his pocket with the air of casual comfort that only a man who was long desensitized to paparazzi could achieve. The little gesture wasn’t missed and cameras clicked like mad and the muttered questions thundered into a dull roar. Stepping forward with her head held high, she led the way slightly, with Roman a half step behind her. The questions from the paparazzi grew louder, but the narrative was shifting — now, they were clamoring for information about the mysterious woman in the spotlight, not just the notorious Roman Sionis.

The questions, from every direction, shouted louder and louder, each one trying to be heard over the other, bombarding them immediately like a wall of furious demanding noise: 

"Roman, who's your date?"

"What label are you wearing?" 

"Roman, does this mean you’re off the market? Who’s the lucky lady?" 

"What about that socialite, Jezebel Jett, you were seen with in January? Is it over?" 

All the questions being shouted were different, yet, all these inquiries shared a common thread—they sought more information about the black-haired woman whom Roman trailed after. Who was Belladonna? Roman didn't engage with any questions; he gave a wave or two and subtly nudged Belladonna forward following her silently, his gaze reflecting a man who was just out to spend a night on the town with his girlfriend with as little hassle as possible.

The transition inside the venue brought a noticeable reduction in flashes of cameras, but there was still enough poised to capture every fleeting moment. As Roman and Belladonna made their entrance, the hum of the environment transformed into a more refined atmosphere, one where questions weren’t shouted but casually asked over sipped vodka tonics, champagne glasses, and cigarette smoke. The air was much calmer with subdued excitement, a stark contrast to the frenzied energy outside.

The party unfolded exactly as Belladonna had come to anticipate from an industry steeped in the superficial, a spectacle of cameras flashing, extravagant drinks, couture that could break the bank, models resembling human coat hangers, and an atmosphere of entitlement reminiscent of a snobbish French waiter serving an oblivious American tourist. 

Amidst this shift, Daisy, the ever-efficient aide, approached them quickly murmuring compliments on both Roman and Belladonna. She graciously relieved Belladonna of her clutch, seamlessly sliding into the role of a coordinator. With a quick efficiency that spoke of her experience in such settings, then  Daisy provided Belladonna with a rundown of the key figures present, offering insights on whom to engage with and whom to gracefully sidestep. It was a whirlwind of information delivered in a matter of seconds, the kind of guidance that could navigate Belladonna through the social intricacies of the event.

"Sure could use a personal guide, telling me who's worth chatting up and who's best to steer clear of," Roman reflected, injecting a touch of humor into the situation. His words earned a genuine chuckle from Belladonna, a shared moment of amusement amid the refined orchestration of the evening.

"Yeah, my all-knowing oracle. Advises me on who's on speaking terms, what landmines to avoid, and, my personal favorite, the grand 'who's who' of the room." Roman scoffed and shook his head.

"Angel, are you seriously saying you don't know the players in your own industry?" His feigned shock drew a wry smile from her as she nudged him with her hip.

"I know the people who matter, not their sidepieces," Belladonna quipped, her no-nonsense humor a delightful treat that even earned a sideways smile from Roman.Navigating through the lively crowd, Roman and Belladonna aimed for the open bar, a refuge of libations in the sea of people. A seamless exchange of glances translated into orders — an Old Fashioned for Roman and a French Martini for Belladonna.

The bartender, a professional amid the bustling activity, acknowledged their choices with a polite nod. The orchestrated dance of mixing began, starting with Belladonna's French Martini. Roman observed with a seasoned eye, unsurprised by her preference for something sweet yet delighted she chose a drink of elevated class over a more commonplace choice like a cosmopolitan.

The drink arrived promptly, a frosted glass cradling the blushing pink elixir. Premium vodka, Chambord, and a splash of pineapple juice mingled in a delicate dance of flavors. It was a sophisticated choice, a reflection of Belladonna's refined taste.

Roman's Old Fashioned made its entrance, and to no one's surprise, especially not Belladonna's, it embodied the essence of Roman Sionis. She had once labeled it an "old man's drink," but now, she reconsidered. The amber hue of the smoky bourbon, coupled with the blend of muddled sugar and bitters, bespoke a refined taste that adorned Roman like a well-tailored suit. He wore it better than the old men who popularized the drink.

With drinks in hand, the glasses met in a delicate clink, a subtle toast to the pairing of sophistication and sweet indulgence. As the bartender received what appeared to be a generous tip from Roman, Belladonna couldn't help but appreciate the intricate dance of flavors and the subtle choreography of elegance that unfolded in the exchange. It was a moment of shared indulgence, and the open bar seemed like the perfect stage for their unfolding story.

“Daisy’s been studying these names and faces for weeks, each big event she gets a binder full of basic details to juicy tidbits and it’s updated daily.” Roman held a skeptical look, a binder of fashion elite to study? That was a job he didn’t envy and there wasn’t a paycheck with enough zeroes to hold his attention for that. Belladonna nodded her silent agreement, then she nodded across the room to a couple. 

"See them?" Roman looked up to where she pointed, to the older guy, all decked out in a sharp suit that probably cost more than a small car. He had that vibe. Like he owned the place and everything within a ten-mile radius. Next to him, a young a pretty girl, all dolled up in a little black dress, looking like she just stepped off a runway. Her smile was a good one, almost convincing but it was a mask. Her eyes, though, told a whole different story – the kind that screamed, "Get me outta here, ASAP."

 "That’s Colton Hauser, a big name in the industry. He makes his money funding new, up-and-coming designers, photographers, and models. Picks them up and considers himself a talent agent. That girl he’s with? She’s a third of his age, and she’s clamoring for a model job, hanging off his arm for months. Shame about it too—she doesn't need him. She’s pretty on her own, and an open casting call could get her a callback in a few days. Instead, she’s going to laugh at his jokes, get him drinks, and probably suck his wrinkled dick till he’s hard enough to get it up. Then she’ll have five minutes of disappointing sex and do it all again tomorrow till he throws her a better bone." 

Roman couldn't help but let out a laugh, appreciating Belladonna's straightforward and, let's face it, probably accurate observation. Her humor was like a direct hit, no sugarcoating, and he found it rather refreshing. They both leaned back, sipping their drinks at a leisurely pace. Occasionally, his gaze would drift toward the curve of her lips around the glass and the graceful way she held it.

In a casual gesture, she nodded toward an inviting seating arrangement. "See those two?" she asked, indicating the pair of young Asian men in their mid-twenties. Each exuded a distinct style — one emanating a polished, professional air, the other a more artistic and free-spirited vibe.

Roman raised an inquisitive eyebrow, anticipating some intriguing gossip, leaning in closer, creating an intimate portrait of lovers taking.

"That's Jun Wen and Minghao Xu,"

The name Minghao Xu caused a spark of recognition to cross Roman's face. "The artist?" He narrowed his gaze, staring hard across the room, the lighting was dim and comfortable but after a moment of careful scrutiny he let out a genuinely interetest ‘huh.’ 

A bit surprised that Roman, with his rough exterior, would be interested in art. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Belladonna. Everyone wants a piece of Minhao Xu; I hear there's a waitlist for his next exhibition." Noting her raised eyebrows, he added, "I'm not an uncultured peasant; he's hot right now."

"Well, hot or not, stare too long, and you'll have a bone to pick with his boyfriend. Jun's one hell of a shark, he’s an independent lawyer—because no firm can afford to keep him on staff, and he’s got a reputation for playing fast and loose. It's practically a Cinderella story. Minghao shows up in Gotham with nothing but talent and naivety to spare. Thinks he's hit the jackpot when he snags himself a publicist and an agent, both in his first week. Turns out, they're a pair of con artists who lock him into a bogus contract.”

Roman interjected, "Yeah, I heard about that. Poor lad got swindled when he first set up shop here, left nearly penniless." Belladonna nodded, surprised at how much she was enjoying this exchange of normally deemed worthless gossip. “Didn’t get the details though,” He looked at Belladonna expectantly as she now seemed to be the storyteller. 

“So, the guy's making waves, but his pockets are emptier than my Sunday schedule. Then enters the ex-boyfriend, a real abusive scumbag who isolates Minghao until the poor babe practically has Stockholm Syndrome. And that's when Jun steps in.”

“The two hit it off right away, causing drama with the 'boyfriend.' Minghao all but disappears from the public eye for weeks. Then Jun finally gets word out to Minghao; he knows he's in trouble and willing to help. So, Minghao makes a run for it. The breakup is as nasty as it gets, and the ex has one last power play. Threatens to leak some sensitive information, and that's when Jun goes to work."

Roman had a love-hate relationship with gossip. Unless it was relevant to him or his life, he hated it. But sometimes the stories were interesting, and so far, he was liking what he heard about this Jun guy. Seemed as cutthroat as Roman was. And who didn’t LOVE some drama at someone else’s expense? Gotham was a dog eat, dog world. "So, what happened next?" It was a bit odd that Roman wanted more details, but then again, as long as it wasn't his drama being leaked, it made sense. 

"Jun sets Minghao up in his place and he goes 'out.' He's gone for a few mysterious hours, and when he comes back, his suit's a bit of a mess, and Minghao's ex is just gone. Supposedly there sno activity on his bank accounts, his credit cards, no cellphone activity, nothing. Then he goes to work on Minghao's agent and publicist; supposedly, he had a very frank conversation with them involving nothing but a ballpoint pen, and suddenly, the contracts are very open to interpretation." Roman chuckled darkly at the implication. A ballpoint pen? He liked that, he’d have to remember that one.

Roman gave a nod of approval, getting into the vibe of Jun's story. "So, after the whole drama, Minghao fired Jun, and they became a thing. They keep it low-key, but you know, everyone's itching to find out what Jun did to Ming's ex. It's all a bit hush-hush. Jun's the protective type; if I were you, I'd avoid staring too long, or he might just whip out a pen from his suit jacket."

Belladonna’s warning wasn’t concerning to Roman, but sure enough Roman had been looking a little too interested a little too long and had found himself under the hard, icy, scrutinizing glaze of Jun Wen. But Roman wasn’t looking to stir up trouble with a kindred spirit, hell no, he liked the guy, slipping an arm around Belladonna, drawing her in closer to him, mirroring the way Jun slipped his arm around Minghao. It was kind of sweet, really. Roman offered a dark smile and raised his glass in a silent, respectful toast toward Jun who simply offered a curt nod. "A brother from another mother," he mused, thoroughly amused.

“And who is she?” Roman asked calling her attention back to the young pretty girl hanging on Colton Hauser’s arm. She shrugged.

“No idea, but he’s cheating on his wife of twenty years, Rebecca, with her, while she’s in rehab for the sixth time. Which is probably fine since since she’s more than likely fucking the pool boy.” Roman’s subdued chuckle was full of amusement, as he sipped his drink. She was bored with gossip now but to be fair it never really held her attention for very long.

"You know, I'm surprised you weren't fielding questions to the paps out there," Roman shook his head, adopting a slightly patronizing tone before enlightening her. 

"They're scavengers, angel. If you want a story spread, go to the right source." Roman flicked his hand in the direction of the photographers with better event access, and the wisdom in his words hit her. “Look around, what do you see? Who do you see?” She scanned the room, filled with big names, industry professionals, up-and-comers, photojournalists, reporters—all more credible than the vultures outside. “The paps outside serve a purpose, and that's to grab everyone's attention. They’ll get their scoops from the people represented here. You think any of those vultures outside are going to get Pulitzers for selling nip slips? No, no, angel. They're just the clickbait. You don't want them asking questions or telling the story. We need a more sophisticated mouthpiece than theirs, and it's virtually everyone in this room.”

In the chaotic swirl of flashing lights and probing questions, there was no need to shout to answer one question when six others were being hurled at you. The controlled environment inside offered a chance to shape the narrative intentionally. “Besides, we’re selling an image, not our souls. A real couple wouldn’t want the whole damn city prying into their lives. We’re just two people out for an enjoyable night.”

He continued, emphasizing the importance of control in crafting their public image. As he pointed out, "Talking to the paps outside just screams 'look at me, I want attention.' Not the kind of narrative we want. We want them to follow our every move and unseen gesture—all the little touches, smiles, whispers, and kisses. You have to make them feel clever, like the information they fight so hard to get is real because of how hard they struggle for it." Roman’s intelligence at times was downright startling.

His lips hovered close to her ear, casually tucking back her long hair. While Belladonna was no stranger to the media world, it had been years since she willingly stepped into its limelight with the purpose of grabbing attention. She understood that Roman, well-accustomed to this level of public scrutiny, knew how to navigate it effortlessly. Belladonna's boss waved from across the room, and suddenly more heads turned, whispers spreading. In an instant, nearly every pair of eyes was fixed on them. 

"We've got their attention; now let's make them want us."

They were playing the game of perception with a skilled hand, keenly aware of every gaze and every captured moment. The strategic dance with the media had just started, and Roman, the maestro of manipulation, orchestrated their every move to craft a narrative that left the public both captivated and hungry for more.

The directive resonated as they wove through the crowd, aware of every gaze and every captured moment, playing the game of perception with a skilled hand. The strategic dance with the media had just begun, and Roman, the maestro of manipulation, was orchestrating their every move to shape a narrative that left the public both captivated and craving more.

Strikingly absent was the usual predatory or menacing aura that often surrounded him. Roman's subtle yet impactful gestures of attention and affection, like a simple hand on her lower back as they glided through the crowd and engaged with industry figures, subtly elevated Belladonna's standing, drawing increased interest from the attendees.

Their private conversations, nestled between larger social interactions, flowed effortlessly. Roman, being well-acquainted with most people present, thanks to his club, effortlessly guided discussions through the latest fashion collections and the anticipated directions of upcoming seasons. 

Belladonna found herself pleasantly surprised when they tossed a few questions her way about her photography work, adding a nice touch to the evening. Yet, Roman, always perceptive, could tell that work wasn't exactly topping her list of interests that night. Sensing her unease with work chatter, he smoothly steered the conversation back to his domain—the art of creating a spectacle. With a gaze filled with intense yearning, the kind that reveals a man smitten, he leaned in during their discussion, so close that his words brushed her ear in a whisper meant for just them, "Come on, kitten, let that smile out. Show the world how happy I make you."

A grin spread across her face almost on its own, surprising even her. She glanced down, nibbling at her lip in a sort of shy way. It was the type of smile that spills the beans—like the one you give when your partner gives you a sweet compliment, whispers something naughty, or hints at plans for later. With this quiet yet telling move, the conversation effortlessly shifted to the topic that had everyone's curiosity but remained unspoken, setting the scene for the grand reveal of their artfully spun tale. Let the show begin.

"So, how did this happen? How did the two of you meet?" 

The question just hung there, floating around like it had nothing better to do. Roman stared at Belladonna like he was caught in some weird spell or something for a good thirty seconds. Finally, when he snapped out of whatever trance he was in, he casually turned to the person who asked, looking like he'd been thinking about something far more interesting.

"Sorry, what was that?" his voice infused with the perfect touch of authentic confusion. The question got a repetition, and Roman, in response, gracefully draped his arm around Belladonna—not possessively, not domineering, but a tender gesture as if he simply wanted to draw her closer.

"Alright, buckle up for this one," Roman chimed in, launching into a tale that echoed the yarn he'd spun back at her place after the whole Jimmy's murder saga—minus the actual murder part. A chill grazed Belladonna's stomach, but she brushed it off; it wasn't the time for that. Nothing nefarious going on here, just a work party with her boyfriend. The precinct visit concern could take a back seat for now.

Roman held everyone enraptured as he spun the tale of that monotonous evening in his club. The drinks had lost their allure, and the music had become a mere hum in the background. He was teetering on leaving early when, like a scene from a movie, he laid eyes on her — the woman in the striking red dress, her olive skin and midnight-black hair creating a mesmerizing image. Smitten in an instant, he was determined to know her name before she slipped away, a mission that became urgent when an unwanted suitor approached her.

As Roman continued to narrate the story, Belladonna found herself drawn into the tale. She wore an expression not often seen on her face — one of starstruck fascination and undeniable attraction. The epic narrative unfolded like a fairy tale of enchantment, where Roman couldn't bear to let her go. It began with a simple offer of a drink, escalated to an inevitable kiss, and reached a point where parting ways was out of the question. The crowd hung on every word, thoroughly captivated by the carefully crafted love story.

Each phrase carried a blend of alarming intensity and convincing warmth, blurring the lines between fiction and reality. The performance was so masterful that anyone within earshot fell under its spell, instantly becoming enamored with this seemingly genuine love story. Roman's storytelling prowess worked like magic, orchestrating a transformation in perceptions of him in the blink of an eye.

As Roman skillfully spun his tale, the menacing image that clung to him like a shadow evaporated all together. The once-ruthless figure now seemed like a mere character in a story, and the notion lingered that these stories were nothing more than myths. The whispers of the crowd hinted at a revelation: the right woman could, indeed, alter the course of such a man. Long-standing negative opinions melted away, replaced by a newfound admiration.

In the brief span of Roman's storytelling, the room underwent a seismic shift in how the couple was perceived.His long-standing reputation as a violent, spoiled, and unreasonable figure crumbled in real-time, leaving everyone in a state of disbelief, akin to the revelation that your favorite reality TV show was as scripted as daytime TV. Men, who had eyed Roman cautiously, as if approaching a potentially aggressive dog, now saw a different side of him. He transformed into an ordinary guy, someone who had weathered the storms of media scrutiny, a self-made man they could imagine sharing a casual beer with. After all, tabloids didn't thrive on tales of well-adjusted individuals navigating stress; their bread and butter was scandal and sensationalism. In this narrative, Roman emerged as just another victim of their scandalous tales.

Conversely, the women in the room stared in awe, their mouths agape, overtaken by envy. Each of them harbored a secret yearning for a man who could cast a gaze as intense and affectionate as the one Roman directed at Belladonna. No doubt, this spectacle would unleash a wave of drama in their personal lives, leading to discussions with boyfriends and husbands about why Roman seemed to embody the perfect partner. It left them wishing their significant others would take a page out of his playbook.

The potency of his narrative was heightened by the fact that, throughout the storytelling, he consistently looked at Belladonna, always finding some gentle, loving way of touching her. At moments, he seemed to forget the small crowd around them, immersed in the tale as if it were a private confession.

The lie proved wildly successful, with compliments raining down on them. Observers marveled at how fortunate Belladonna was to have such an affectionate boyfriend. Roman, not satisfied with his own performance and needing to draw them in closer, swiftly corrected this notion, asserting that he was the fortunate one to have a talented, smart, and stunning angel on his arm and in his life. The declarations drew looks of longing and deep sighs and sounds of envy from the onlookers.

As the night unfolded, the party persisted, marked by a relentless onslaught of photographs immortalizing the elegant couple. Despite the occasion being a professional gathering, which she usually tried to leave as quickly as she was allowed, Belladonna discovered a genuine enjoyment of the evening, a sentiment that held true as long as Roman steadfastly accompanied her, never venturing too far away. The event, typically a mandatory chore, turned into an unexpected delight, an evening that she'd remember not just for the glamorous setting but for the unique dynamic she shared with Roman.

The relentless clicks of cameras, capturing their every move, gradually faded into the background. For a moment, the party atmosphere normalized, creating the illusion of an authentic couple navigating the ordinary affairs of a workplace gathering. Even Roman, burdened by the weight of public expectations, felt an unexpected sense of liberation. He relished in the simplicity of just being Roman, detached from the heavy persona of Roman Sionis. 

Despite Roman's acute awareness of both self-perception and the nuances of Belladonna's demeanor, he couldn't help but notice her discreet yawns. Leaning in, he remarked, "You seem tired, angel. I think we've stirred up enough excitement. How about we make a discreet exit?"

She nodded gratefully, stifling another yawn. "I never stay this late at these events anyway. I’m usually catching up on some much-needed sleep by now. But I think I’ve shown face enough for the night, although I don’t think anyone was that interested in me."

Roman's disapproving 'tsk, tsk, tsk' at the notion Belladonna held of herself and he led her away, demonstrating an unusual knowledge of the building and its back halls. The shadowy corners absorbing their presence. Without wasting a moment, he pulled out his phone, and dialed Zsasz with swift efficiency, orchestrating the car's stealthy arrival. The atmosphere crackled with a sense of urgency as they vanished through the venue, slipping away from the prying eyes of the press and into the secluded alley. All the while they walked in silence at a casual pace, Roman had her hand clasped in his. 

“Out the back?”

As they stepped outside and approached the waiting sleek black car, Roman, with his trademark smirk, shared a piece of insight. 

"Come on, babe, real couples don't need the whole media circus. We'll just sneak off, keep 'em guessing, and maybe It'll cook up some juicy rumors about our mysterious rendezvous." His tone was a mix of casual confidence, like someone who's been around the block, and his grin hinted at a man who's familiar with a few covert escapades in dark corners and quiet hallways.

A scene straight out of a paradoxical tale, Roman played the gentleman, holding the car door open for Belladonna. But, in that moment, she hesitated, her gaze wandering past Roman, as if glimpsing something only she could decipher. With a touch of suspense hanging in the air, she eventually slid into the car.

However, just before closing the curtain on this episode of their public act, Belladonna decided to stray from the planned script. Bold, almost audacious, she gently cupped Roman's jaw, whisking them both away to a private realm, far from the prying eyes of the world.

Their lips embarked on a slow, purposeful dance—a kiss that transcended the play they were enacting. It was a moment of intimacy, an unveiling of a connection that surpassed the rehearsed storyline. In those stolen seconds, time slipped away, entangled in the covert world forged by that unexpected kiss, so authentic it almost felt real.

Her fingers traced a path from his strong jaw down to the lapels of his suit, lingering, splayed over his chest. It mirrored the memory of their first encounter, that evening in her apartment where a different, more enigmatic Belladonna Black had captivated him. He couldn't deny the attraction, and the interruption by Zsasz had been a source of frustration he had let loose in the confines of the car.

This was the Belladonna he had been insanely attracted to—the one who had stirred something primal within him. The memory of that interrupted moment in her apartment flashed in his mind, and even though

Zsasz had a valid reason, sure, but it was still bullshit and Roman had been furious, she remembered because she'd been pissed too. As the last echoes of the kiss dissipated, Roman, still in a slightly lowered posture, couldn't resist the temptation for more. He leaned forward, capturing her lips in several smaller kisses, each one a delightful echo of the initial fervor. It was a craving that lingered, intensifying with each stolen kiss.

“Well, well, Angel,” he purred, his voice carrying the faintest undertone of breathiness, well-concealed but not entirely imperceptible. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but where'd that come from?" His question hung in the air, a playful challenge and a genuine inquiry. He wanted to understand the motive behind that sudden, passionate exchange, and the tiniest breathiness in his voice revealed that beneath his confident demeanor, he was affected—perhaps even pleasantly surprised—by her assertive move.

Belladonna, with a cryptic smile, merely told him, “Just trust me on this one, baby,” before kissing him again. Then, she slipped into the car, followed by a grinning Roman, and they smoothly left the scene, leaving the glitz and glamour behind for a quiet, private journey.

~~~

In the sleek confines of the car, as the door closed, she braced herself for his usual forwardness, anticipating that Roman wouldn't settle for just a few kisses. Yet, much to her surprise, he remained still. His gaze, however, was anything but passive; it held the intensity of a tiger ready to pounce—more thrilling than unsettling. 

Trying to shift her focus from the almost predatory look Roman directed at her, Belladonna attempted to divert her attention. It was the kind of stare that spoke of obsession or, perhaps, the calculated deliberation of a predator deciding how best to toy with its prey before the final strike. When the intensity became too much, she looked straight ahead, feigning indifference to his gaze, but the burning sensation persisted in her peripheral vision.

A soft chuckle escaped Roman, and he casually pulled a cigar from his jacket, propping his feet up on the seat across from him, his figure now a silhouette veiled in wisps of smoke. The car's speakers began playing music, initially soft, but as the silence lingered, she recognized the song.

You put a spell on me, I’m loosing my mind

You better stop these things, its a matter of time

Before I hunt you down, grab your chin, and kiss your lips

You bring me back, I lay you down

And grab your hips, and we lose all control

And before you know it

I put a spell on you

Now your mine

The sultry and seductive tune added an intensity to the quiet ride, making Belladonna wonder about where the night would take them next. As the familiar turn toward his penthouse was bypassed, curiosity surged within her. Their destination wasn't her place either; it was situated on the opposite end of town. A knot of nervousness settled in her stomach, wondering if Roman might have an expectation of something more. It wouldn't surprise her; she had all but shoved her tongue down his throat just now. Not that she owed him anything, but it wouldn’t surprise her if he thought she did.

To her surprise, Roman did nothing to indicate as much. He didn’t touch her, didn’t move closer. With the city lights streaking past the windows, the tension inside the car shifted. Before she could voice her question about their course, Roman responded with a predatory smile.

"Where are we going?"

He shrugged with nonchalance, explaining that he had instructed Zsasz to drive without a specific destination in mind, before he leaned back against the headrest of his seat and closed his eyes. 

"So, we're just cruising around Gotham?" 

It seemed like such a simple thing for a person like Roman Sionis to do, just enjoying a drive on a nice spring evening. But the more time she spent around him, the more she realized two things: one, he always surprised her, doing the unexpected just when she thought she had him figured out, and two, she knew next to nothing about him.

I've got a hold on you, at least for the night

You know I can't help myself when you ask tenderly

If I'd dim the lights as your hand brushes me

And the floor swallows your clothes

And your silhouette puts on a show

You put a spell on me

I'm losing my mind

You better stop these games

It's a matter of time

What made a man like Roman tick? What did he want? Money? Power? Respect? As far as she could tell, he had all those things. Sitting in the car just hours ago, she was determined not to look at him, not to let him know that practically everything about him screamed red flags and daddy issues, that he scared her. But now, she couldn't take her eyes off him.

Maybe she'd been too quick to jump to conclusions, to lump Roman in with the specter of her father. After all, she'd witnessed the true monstrosity her father was—the kind that thought nothing of using violence against women. Yet, Roman hadn't laid a finger on her, not even when the threat of danger loomed. Not really. Her father reveled in the power dynamic, exploiting younger women without a hint of remorse. The sounds from his room, the hushed cries—it had kept her up at night.

Yet, the more Belladonna scrutinized that dark aspect of her father, the more it clashed with the Roman Sionis she had come to know. Violence against women seemed to repulse him rather than appeal to some hidden penchant. The stark contrast between her father's twisted exploits and Roman's demeanor became increasingly evident. It made her question the narratives she had woven in her mind, forcing her to confront the possibility that Roman might not be cut from the same sinister cloth.

She observed him in the quiet of the car, her thoughts dancing between the stark contrast of the man before her and the notorious stories that painted him as a criminal and a killer. His eyes remained closed, a serene mask that hardly betrayed the tumult she suspected beneath the surface. Did he sense her scrutiny, or did he possess some uncanny peripheral vision that kept him aware even in this seemingly relaxed state?

"What’s on your mind, angel?" The words slipped from him effortlessly, a subtle acknowledgment of her unspoken musings. His lack of movement, the almost imperceptible acknowledgment, was eerie in its precision.

Taking a moment to weigh her words, she considered the delicate balance between truth and evasion. Did she dare reveal her thoughts, or was it wiser to cloak them in a veil of half-truths? The unspoken understanding between them lingered, pushing her toward a shade of honesty.

"You know, I really don’t know anything about you." It wasn't a question, more like a skillful sidestep, a way to keep the conversation on her terms. His eyes, now open and fixed on her, held a glint of amusement.

He grinned, a response that felt oddly out of sync with the dark stories surrounding him. "Ask away, angel. I’m an open book." The words hung in the air, creating a paradox — an open book from a man who, by all expectations, should have been adept at maintaining a shroud of mystery in every facet of his life. A peculiar statement from a man she'd think would keep two sets of books in all aspects of his life.

"Maybe I’m not thinking about anything, maybe I’m just enjoying the pretty scenery," Belladonna tossed back, a playful echo of Roman's usual cockiness. His grin widened, almost reaching the territory of a genuine smile — a rare sight from him. It was a fleeting acknowledgment of a man who enjoyed a bit of flattery, a trait she knew he took pleasure in.

“Well, thank you, angel, but we both know that’s not true.” He saw past the surface, his tone, though playful, hinted at impatience; and he patted her hand in a pandering way. “Angel, I just spent the last few hours socializing with people I wouldn't piss on if they were on fire. I'm not a patient man on a good day, but I'm still in a good mood. So, you may as well just ask me what's floating around in that pretty head of yours, and please, for the love of God don’t be boring.”

Oddly charming one minute, profoundly dickish the next. Roman Sionis, ladies and gentleman.

“How old were you the first time you killed someone?”

The question hit its mark. Roman's eyes flicked open, and he turned to her with slow calculated snake-like precision, a stark reminder of his predatory nature. He seemed downright entertained by both her question and her audacity, a wolfish grin breaking across his face, the tips of his canines making a brief appearance.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you, angel?”

It felt like a setup. Saying no would expose the lie; saying yes would reveal her fear. But the answer wasn’t black and white; she found herself somewhere in the middle. His intense gaze suggested he anticipated a response.

“I don’t know.” Her answer seemed to spark his interest, and to her surprise, he seemed pleased by the honesty she offered. He still hadn’t answered her question, she stared him down hard likewise expecting, an answer to her question and surprisingly enough he conceded, sort of.

“I’ve always had a bit of a temper,” His voice went heavy and dark, as though a monster from within was trying to come out, he huffed out a breath and shook his head when Belladonna kept her gaze on him expectantly, “Fifteen, the age of rebellion. We all have stories from that time, don't we? But let’s just say mine might be a bit more colorful than most."

Fifteen. He'd offed someone at fifteen, she was pretty damn sure. Belladonna could read between the lines, and Roman's intelligence was a constant surprise. Not what she'd expected when they first met. Back then, she'd thought of him as impulsive, brash, the kind to jump in before looking. Maybe that was true to some degree; he did act fast when angry or maybe ithad more to do with being cornered. But when calm, it was downright chilling how sharp he was. Here, in the back of his ride with Zsasz, his buddy and bodyguard, he wasn't giving away anything. Just vague responses, as Roman Sionis tended to do.

"Do you like hurting people?" His grin got darker, and he shook his head.

"Pretty personal for a first date, angel."

"You said not to be boring."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Pausing, he seemed more into this conversation.  "Tell you what, angel. Come over here and sit on my lap, and I'll answer your questions." 

He shifted, giving her an open invitation with his legs spread a bit wider to accommodate her. That smirk and the way he shut his eyes suggested he was pretty convinced she wouldn't go for it. But hey, either way, he seemed to get what he wanted – either dodging her questions or answering them on his own terms, plus the added bonus of her on his lap. It also hinted that, while she was throwing these intriguing questions his way, he wasn't planning on giving up much in return. The look of surprise on his face was pretty obvious when he heard that seatbelt unbuckle, and in she climbed.

"So, do you like hurting people?"

He looked off at an unfocused point somewhere in the car, lost in contemplation. Did he savor the suffering of others? Was it a twisted pleasure for him, like the enjoyment some found in gossip, TV drama, or the company of others?

“Sometimes,” he finally responded, a hardness in his eyes signaling an end to further elaboration. Familiar with his tendency to be stubborn, she casually unbuttoned her jacket, letting it slip off her shoulders and land on the seat beside them.

The darkness in his eyes shifted, suggesting an elusive intrigue sparked by this unexpected twist.

Before I hunt you down

Grab your chin

And kiss your lips

Then you bring me back

I lay you down

And grab your hips

And we lose all control

And before you know it

You give me fever

And drive me insane

“What about me? Would you hurt me?” She asked more out of curiosity than fear, though she knew better than to consider such a question lightly. It eas a dumb question to ask in the first place. Roman was a cutthroat man in every sense, was likely to leave her with an answer she didn’t want to hear.

“Don’t give me a reason to,” He warned, a tone that left no room for misunderstanding. He didn’t want to, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

“What would be a reason?”

“Don’t lie to me, and don’t betray me.” His words were nearly a growl as he grabbed her hips, pulling her closer and asserting his dominance. “I’ll know if you lie.” It struck her as an unusual choice of words. He didn't say he’d find out; he said he would know. It left her wondering about the depth of his influence, his connections. How far, how deep did they go?

“I don't care if it's as simple a question as how your day was, if your coffee was cold, or if you had one of those raspberry scones you like so much," His casual knowledge of such mundane details was unsettling, so he had been watching her? "I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable like when I ask what happened with that sad little ex of yours, or how often you use that little toy you’ve got stashed away in your bedside drawer.” He smirked at that last one. “Never lie to me.”

The instinct to draw back, to retreat to the safety of her seat, was strong, but something about his brutal honesty held her in place, captivated. 

“Are you a psychopath?”

He chuckled, like he'd just heard the best joke ever, his hands casually gliding up and down her legs and back, this mix of affectionate and possessive.

“The good ol’ doc at Arkham diagnosed with me mild psychopathy with narcissistic and obsessive tendencies. You know what that means angel?” She shook her head, having a limited understanding of what psychopaths did or didn’t do. “It means I can charm anyone I damn well please. My relationships are like business transactions, driven by what benefits me. Even if I like people, I don't get too attached. People, my dear, are about as disposable as the non-biodegradable cup I get my coffee in. And that's just for the folks I actually like. It means I'm not burdened with empathy, so I couldn't care less about people I don't like. Holding a grudge is an art form for me, and I'm not shy about seizing opportunities against those I consider enemies. I've perfected the art of sweet revenge, and I don't mind getting my hands dirty."

He took a moment, eyeing Belladonna with an expectant gaze, thinking she'd be all horror-stricken. But instead, she seemed oddly curious. "And for you, kitten, it means that as long as we're in bed together; you're mine. I'll be possessive as hell, like some grade schooler marking his territory. You'll be my world, sweetheart, but don't expect any warm and fuzzies from me. What bothers you won't even register on my radar, and I might just drive you mad enough that you'll be begging for a all-expensesd-paid VIP pass to Arkham just to catch a break from me." The final revelation came with a sly, calculated grin. “But you won’t.”

For a moment her expression was as unreadable as a blank Etch-A-Sketch, she seemed cold and detached, it looked like a mirror of Romans own indifference was being held up to him and it surprised him. It made him wonder, "Is that how I came off to people?" Yeah, he could see how it would be unnerving.

“Do you care if I get off?” Not the question he was expecting. He looked at her like she just sprouted wings. 

Maybe not the question to blurt out but she couldn’t help it. Was she crazy attracted to Roman Sionis? Hell yes. Did that mean he was a stellar lover? Maybe not. Did he scare the crap outta her sometimes? Absolutely. But do you go with the devil you know or the one you don't, right? So, what was the harm in asking? At least she'd know if she needed to keep that little toy of hers handy for later.

His grin turned positively sinful, “Oh, Kitten… Did you forget what we did in the back of my club? Well, what I did to you? Because you really just kind of stood there.” She shook her head, how could she? That night had played over and over on repeat in her head almost every night since it happened, “I’m hurt if you forgot how easily you came for me with my hand in your panties,” 

He shifted his hips adding a little friction between them, his grip suddenly like steel, thank god she wasn’t in a slinky dress like he’d hoped for, otherwise she was pretty sure her panties would be in an even worse state than they were right now. She had no doubts if that were the case it would be bunched up around her waist and he’d be giving her a repeat performance, but was that so bad? Then again, knowing Roman, he might have just as well have teased her without letting her come. He definitely seemed like the type who enjoyed holding power of all forms over someone.

He straightened up, fingers gently cupping her chin, tilting it up. Instead of a kiss, he brought his nose along the curve of her throat, a silent exploration that felt both intimate and provocative, creating a proximity that sent shivers through her.

“If I didn’t care about my angel getting off, I’d have made you suck my cock on your knees, gagged you with it until your mascara was running from the tears streaming down your face. But I wanted to see you fall apart, wanted to hear all those sweet noises you could offer me, and trust me when I say since then, anytime I’ve jacked off it’s been with those little sounds of yours playing in my head. I don’t care about the side piece that winds up on the dirty ground, but angels don’t belong on their knees. But you? You’re special, you’re afraid of me but you don’t cower, you’re smart but you know I’m smarter, and God I love a woman who can make me laugh, so when I tell you if I take you to bed, you can trust that I’m gonna make you cum so hard you cry.”

Well, this had certainly taken a turn, she should have been scared out of her mind, should have tucked and rolled and disappeared from Gotham but she couldn’t move, didn’t want to. Roman was about as trustworthy as a venomous snake but that forked tongue of his was tempting and made her feel alive. 

It was a bad idea, one of the worst, anyone with common sense would says so, but unless you were sitting where Belladonna was sitting, then you couldn’t understand the pull Roman Sionis had. And he was pulling, the tiniest bit, just enough to throw off gravity so that she’d tumble right into his bed, and she lost her balance. Lips crashing onto his, fingers working the buttons on his shirt as her tongue tangled with his, she could feel him smiling into the kiss, like he knew he’d get what he wanted no matter what.

He seemed to revel in the fact that Belladonna was the one unhinged and he remained calm as can be like he enjoyed seeing her lose her cool, or maybe he just loved having a woman crawl all over and pawing at him like he was a fresh meal. 

The deep rumble in his throat sounded like a purring lion and sent little molten shocks throughout her body, the buttons of his dress shirt undone and the smooth expanse of his chest bared to her exploratory hands while her mouth slanted over his. His hands were just lazily on her thighs, just softly caressing the fabric of her pants and he too found himself wishing she had worn a dress. Oh the things he would be doing if she was in a damn dress, he made a mental note next time to ensure it. 

Belladonna had this idea — a kind of personal philosophy she was more than ready to champion: smug men deserved a visual reckoning, a map of possessiveness left on their bodies. And who better to be the canvas for her masterpiece than Roman Sionis, a man who practically oozed smugness like it was cologne?

Her Ted Talk topic, was simple yet profound: smug men deserved to be marked up as if they'd just wrestled with a tiger and lost. Hickeys a little too dark that makeup couldn’t hide them. Bites a little too reminisce of a vampire kink, nail scratches so deep that it might have looked like the act was more out of anger than lust, and the unmistakable imprints of handcuffs a little too tight — a tapestry of evidence that even the mightiest could find themselves in the clutches of someone else.

Her reasoning? Well, it was a silent rebellion against the arrogance that often accompanied power. Why not expose the vulnerability beneath the tailored suits and carefully crafted personas? A reminder that even the most seemingly invincible men could, for a moment, be somebody's willing captive.

So, with a grin and a twinkle in her eye, she embarked on her mission to turn Roman's confident exterior into a visible diary of shared intimacy. Each mark told a story, a narrative that whispered, "You might be in charge out there, but in here, you're mine." It was a deliciously defiant act, one that left a lingering sense of triumph in every little love bite and bruise. After all, what better way to prove a point than with a smattering of love-induced battle scars on the smuggest man in Gotham?

Her initial impression of Roman as a domineering force in bed, dictating terms and demanding control, was quickly changing. Surprisingly, he seemed content to cede some control to her. As they sat together, her in his lap, he became a willing canvas for the marks she left, seemingly nonchalant or perhaps not fully registering the situation.

This didn't translate to passivity on his part either. On the contrary, he actively and eagerly participated, tongues intertwining, and his hands inducing shivers, sparking a myriad of enticing thoughts. The dynamics were evolving in unexpected ways, defying Belladonna's initial expectations.

His chest rumbled in a low growl as she reached for his belt, deftly unbuckling it, the distinctive sound of zipper teeth lowering filling the car. Such a rendezvous wasn't part of his original plan, but Roman sure as hell wasn't about to put a halt to it. Unless she intended to give him a blowjob—because who really opted for a handjob when other options were on the table—then they needed to address her lack of a slinky dress. Those dresses made encounters like these way more convenient. But that was okay; he'd rip the damn thing off. Despite how stunning she looked in those high-fashion creations, he knew he could effortlessly tear through the intricate stitching with a hard rip, caring not a wit less.

His hips jolted forward as her hand found its way into his slacks, slipping inside, and Roman was on the verge of tossing her down on the seat. Romantic wasn’t a label he often applied to himself, but he had a certain idea of how things would unfold, especially with Belladonna. In Roman's world, cheap women were valued for what they could spend, and it was about more than just money. Those who invested time in a man were worth more than a quick encounter in the back seat of a car. Belladonna wasn't like those other women; she was worth time—the time it took to have a woman screaming his name. Cheap women weren't worth that. Yet, here she was, accepting his invitation to sit in his lap. Though he had intended for a more protracted encounter, a little good old-fashioned foreplay before the main event never hurt. 

Belladonna was a wild one, and when he labeled her with "daddy issues," it seemed he had hit the mark. Sitting in his lap, tugging at his clothes, hand in his pants, tongue down his throat—especially after he'd just disclosed his diagnosis of being a psychopath. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was turned on by that.

Women like her were the special ones, the kind that could give you the best experience of your life if you treated them right. He knew she was the type of woman who could make his dark dreams come true. SHe didn’t cower or shrink away, she rose to his challenge, and best of all? She wasn’t boring.

That was it. He was going to fuck her right there in the backseat of his car—maybe not what he had initially planned, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans...

The sound of the window partition lowering slightly brought Zsasz's voice cutting through the ambient noise.

“Boss, we’ve got a situation.” 

Fucking Zsasz.

Roman growled as Belladonna's mouth sought refuge on his neck when his lips were no longer available to her, “What?!” 

His divided attention didn't deter Belladonna; she continued her exploration, sucking on his neck with the dedication to leave as dark a hickey as possible. His hips responded, a slight thrust, and his hands gripped her thighs. The sting of his grip wavered from enjoyable to bordering on angry at the interruption.

“You’re needed at the docks; got word there's an issue with Cobblepots crew.”

Cobblepot. A name she'd heard sporadically in the news and tabloids but couldn't quite place it’s most recent appearance, Belladonna found herself in the dark. The docks made no sense without further context, except for their notorious reputation. Bad things happened there; people vanished, and sometimes, pieces of them resurfaced. Anyone with a shred of common sense avoided them after dark and Kept theri head on a swivel during the day. Roman's stiffening posture and the now painful and controlling grip signaled he was no longer present in the moment, indicating their fun was over. It would be the second time Zsasz played the role of a cockblock. Once again, plans for Roman were once again thwarted.

"Kitten,"

 His voice shifted, his mind was transitioning from pleasure to business, the tone leaving no room for argument. But she wasn't arguing; she just wasn't stopping. "Angel, that’s enough." 

His grip on her arms was firm but not painful. Not yet. Her fingers continued their slow stroking in his pants, practically begging for him to reconsider his devotion to the docks and the trouble that awaited him there. His hips canted up, a strained hiss escaping him. He didn’t want to stop, she knew he didn’t. She sped up, fully aware that Zsasz probably watched through the rearview mirror and she didn’t give a damn. Part of her curiosity drove this, wanting to test the boundaries of what Roman would allow her to get away with. 

In better circumstances, she might have succeeded, but not this time. Spending time with Roman had made her cocky, giving her a false sense of power.

With a snarl, he seized her hair, yanking her head back and exposing her throat. In that fleeting second, a tinge of fear crept in, akin to prey awaiting the killing blow. His hand wrapped around hers, jerking himself a few times, grappling with a surge of rage and lust, like he was holding back some inner demon. Pissed off that once again his desires would be left unfulfilled, and, hell, he wanted to finish—no, who was he kidding? He hadn't even gotten started.

After a moment of wrestling with his inner turmoil, he abruptly pulled her hand off him and yanked her into an almost painful kiss, reminiscent of the time he barged into the studio when she'd ignored his messages and calls.

"I said, that’s enough! Get off!" 

The predatory edge was back in his voice, but not the playful one hinting at some kinky nature—the one that froze her blood. He had warned her not to give him a reason, and had she just handed him one? He held her hair painfully for another minute before releasing it, then practically threw her off him and causing her to tumble back onto the floor of the car.

She didn’t dare move. 

He was back. The Roman she hardly recognized — the one with the abyssal eyes and an icy demeanor, casually toting a gun as if life meant nothing. The man who spared her simply because she met his aesthetic standards. A shiver of fear ran down her spine, and she found herself momentarily speechless as Roman straightened his attire, slipping seamlessly into work mode. It was as if he retreated deep into the recesses of his own mind, leaving no trace of the man who, just an hour ago, was showering her with affection like an infatuated pup. Instead, before her sat a dark, brooding figure, unwaveringly gazing ahead.

She wasn't sure how long she remained glued to the car floor, but eventually, the vehicle came to a halt, and the door swung open. Zsasz stood there, extending a hand to help her out. She avoided a second glance at Roman, who sat there staring straight ahead, an unsettling disassociation masking his features. Silently, she accepted Zsasz’s hand, stepping out of the car, mustering all her strength not to flee. They had arrived back at her loft, and in total silence, they made their way up the elevator, Zsasz accompanying her, likely at Roman's insistence as part of his heightened security.

Zsasz, perceptive enough to sense the tension, mercifully refrained from offering any words or unwanted advice. The quiet ascent concluded with a nod from Zsasz, a reminder to set the alarm code, and a strong suggestion to stay indoors tonight. With that, he vanished, and moments later, she heard the tires squeal on the road as the car sped away, presumably back to the docks. What awaited there was unknown to her, but she had a sinking feeling that someone was in for a very bad night.

What the hell just happened? The sudden shift was a stark reminder that she wasn’t just dealing with a rich eccentric bachelor but a criminal, a murderer. The realization hung in the air, and Belladonna grappled with the uneasy truth of the world she had entered.

She needed a drink.

~~~

His lip curled into a sneer, a visible sign of the fury building within him. Roman couldn't care less about whatever mess was unfolding at the docks; this was about his reputation, hard-earned and soaked in the blood of his enemies. It was time to send a message loud and clear — you don't mess with Roman Sionis. Pity would be an emotion reserved for the unfortunate souls about to face Zsasz's surgical precision. Just moments ago, he had been on cloud nine, reveling in the heights of pleasure. Now, as the car maneuvered through Gotham's streets with a deliberate low profile, he had ample time to address the glaring problem — the one in his pants.

That was the issue: one that Belladonna had been more than willing to assist with, but she needed to learn a lesson — she didn't dictate his actions; he held the reins. He didn’t care how badly they both wanted it, when he said the fun was over that was all there was to it. The retribution he planned for those unfortunate souls who dared interrupt his time with Belladonna played out vividly in his mind in a symphony of screams, pain and bloodshed. He had sensed her fear when he had thrown her off him, and he both relished in it and despised it. Fear was a powerful weapon, and she needed to understand its potency. But he still didn’t like the way she looked at him, it probably didn’t help given the nature of the questions she’d asked him. God only knew where her head was right now.

"Zsasz," his voice cut through the air, icy and sharp. Zsasz made eye contact through the partition, awaiting orders. "Keep them on ice." A nod from Zsasz, and the partition rose, providing Roman with a semblance of privacy. His hand delved into his pocket for his phone, adjusting the volume. Simultaneously, he reached into his pants to address the pressing issue — His still-hard dick. It was difficult for enemies to take you seriously when sporting a raging hard-on — unless, of course, that was your thing. Roman wasn't above such games, but right now, playful moods were a distant memory.

Chapter Ten

~~~

Well, this might be my longest chapter to date so thanks for hanging in there! The good smut and more drama is coming, thought Belladonna needed a little refresher of who she's dealing with! Hope you all liked it and if you'd like to join the taglist (which I have yet to start) give me a reblog and throw in a unique tag to make me laugh, ya'll are so creative! Happy holidays!

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