#romansionisimagine

[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 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 Four

The Great Wicked

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

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

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

Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

Wear the dress? 

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

What dress?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She almost jumped when her phone buzzed with a message. 

Put it on. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

She nodded slowly. “Where are we going?”

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

“Club?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deja vu, kitten?

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

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

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

“Uh, bathrooms are?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one. 

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

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

This was so stupid. 

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

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

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

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

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

“The sign says employees only.”

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

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

“Looking for someone, Angel?”

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

Deja vu. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he look like?”

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

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

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

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

“Belladonna Black.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, kitten.”

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

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

“I know a sex kitten when I see one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be a good girl and behave.” 

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this a bad time?”

“Depends on what you have in the folder.”

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

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

“Six? What happened to the whole year?”

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

“You sure about that?”

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

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

Zsasz nodded, reading Roman loud and clear.

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

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

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

“Any idea who?”

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

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

“Tell me about Pete Jordan.”

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

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

Not that Roman cared about Jimmy's well being. 

“What changed?”

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

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

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

“Not even Arkham?”

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

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

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

Roman nodded. 

“Still want those other six months?”

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

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

“She’s different from your usual types.”

Roman smiled and chuckled, “Still worried?”

“It’s kind of my job.” 

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

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

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

Chapter Five

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