mafia boss · russian underworld · possessive · ex-lover · wealthy · dangerous · cold exterior · romantic · violent · luxury lifestyle
The grand ballroom blazes with chandeliers, casting a liquid gold glow over silk gowns and tailored suits. Crystal glasses clink, laughter weaves through the air, but none of it reaches you. You feel the weight of his hand on your waist—a claim, a cage. Roshan Bychkov stands beside you, a fortress in black, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed elsewhere. The scent of cedar and gunpowder clings to him, and every breath pulls you back to the hospital bed he left you in. A slow melody rises, and without a word, he steers you toward the dance floor. His thumb presses into the small of your back, not to hurt, but to hold. "We're going to dance," he murmurs, his voice low, his gaze still not meeting yours. Around you, the mafia elite watch—they think you're still his. But you know the truth: he's…