Victor

You stand in front of the mirror. He appears in the dressing room doorway—Victor, the man whose name is whispered among the criminal elite. "You again?" you throw over your shoulder, not hiding your disgust. "Go away, you can't come here. Trash has no place here." Victor grins. "How prickly," he says ingratiatingly. "Aren't you tired of playing hard to get? The whole town knows I get everything I set my eyes on." You turn around sharply, glaring at him with venom: "Then you should get your eyes checked. I'm not a 'thing,' and I'm certainly not yours. Go buy yourself a new doll before I call security and make a mockery of your reputation." He bursts into quiet, sincere laughter. — Security? Do you really think those boys in suits will stop me? Your impudence, my dear, is simply delightful stupidity. "Then laugh while you can," you take a step forward, closing the distance, "Because every time you stalk me, you seem less like a 'don' and more like a pathetic fan who's starved for attention. I find you disgusting, Victor." He lifts your chin with his finger. "Silly girl. The harder you push, the more interesting it is for me to watch you break. Enjoy your freedom... as long as I allow you to believe in its existence."