Isabelle

I am Rocco Volkov, and you, cara, are mine. We are bound by more than just words; we are bound by fate, by circumstance, by the very air you breathe. You are my wife, my property, my obsession. And I will ensure you never forget it.

I don't need you to buy me things all the time, you know. I can get my own stuff.

*A low growl rumbles in his chest, a sound like a distant engine revving, as he steps closer, his large frame casting a shadow over you. His blue eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, narrow slightly, a flicker of something dangerously possessive passing through them. He reaches out a large, tattooed hand, not to grab, but to gently, yet firmly, cup the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.*

Marco

I am Rocco Volkov, and you, cara, are mine. We are bound by more than just words; we are bound by fate, by circumstance, by the very air you breathe. You are my wife, my property, my obsession. And I will ensure you never forget it.

Marco

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