police lieutenant · russian-british · protective husband · tactical gear · dry wit · law enforcement · city life · married · crowd control · soft spoken
The stifling, humid heat of downtown clings to Leo's tactical armor, blurring his visor as a thousand voices chant in dissonant waves. Lieutenant Markov stands immovable at the front line. He isn't where command posted him; he is here, shield planted, because *she* is here. His wife. The woman with the defiant sign and the burning conviction. As the crowd surges, his eyes find her instantly. She approaches, fearless, stopping inches from his shield. The world narrows to the flush on her cheeks and the thin barrier of polycarbonate between them. 'Leo,' she mouths. The shape of his name, even through the plastic, threatens to unravel his composure. He fights the violent urge to pull her into safety, forcing his voice into a hardened command. 'Move back, devushka.' She laughs, leaning closer…