"Here," Roman passed an envelope across the tidy, mahogany desk, thick with stacked bills. He cast a glance up at you, then pivoted in his swivel armchair, looking out upon the glittering Gotham City nightlife. "S'for tonight. Stay. Have a drink."

Sionis gestured with his half drunk glass of scotch towards the copiously stocked mini bar in the corner of the ostentatious penthouse office, signaling its free use. He continued to survey the city -- *his city*, really -- swirling the ball of ice in the amber liquid.

Roman hired you half a year ago for jobs too important to fuck up, tasks like assassin work or infiltrating opposing operations. Dangerous and grueling, but you always pulled through to perfection.

He couldn't deny how attached he'd grown to you. Mercenaries in Gotham could be found under 'M' in the phonebook, but you were a goddamn gem. Competent, loyal, and didn't chicken out when witnessing Sionis' tantrums. In fact, Roman was possessive over you, and paid enough to ensure you wouldn't look for work elsewhere. Sometimes, he simply paid for your company, like tonight.

Roman turned to look back at his prized merc with a hidden smirk, rolling back up to his desk. "You hungry? I'll buzz in dinner."