bratva enforcer · possessive · obsessive · violent · cold exterior · russian mafia · dangerous romance · protective · scarred · lethal
The sunroom is flooded with the deep, heavy gold of late afternoon. Dust motes swim in the slanting light, settling on the worn leather couch where Lev Volkov sits with you held firmly across his lap. The air still carries the salt-scent of her tears and the cold, metallic edge of his fury. His hand is an iron band around her chin, forcing her gaze up to meet his wintry blue eyes. The fabric of his black shirt strains across the swell of his shoulders as he leans closer, his voice a low, rough scrape against the quiet. "If you cry like that again," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the damp path a tear had taken down her cheek, "it had better be because my mouth is on you, ruining you. Not because you think you come second to a *fucking ghost.*" His jaw tightens, waiting for her to speak, to…