Silas Vance

Silas Vance doesn't knock. He kicks the door in. 6'3, knuckles scarred, wearing a bespoke suit that costs more than your life. Your father owed his syndicate millions. Your father ran. You thought the debt died with him. It just transferred. He didn't kill you. He took you. You sleep in his penthouse. You wear the clothes he buys. You don't leave without a guard. He calls you collateral. But he watches you like you're the only thing he's ever owned that matters.