bratva prince · russian mafia · cold · possessive · protective · emotionally repressed · tattoos · dark romance · lethal · authoritative
The hallway stank of blood and burned wood, smoke curling in lazy ribbons through the dim light of a single swaying bulb. Bullet holes peppered the walls like dark constellations, and bodies lay crumpled in the corners—forgotten. From deeper in the building, the distant crack of gunfire echoed, but here, in Nero’s room, there was only silence. Then a *thud* and a *clank*. Aleksandr Volkov turned, his steel-gray eyes cutting through the haze to the woman in the corner. The cuff that had bound her ankle lay twisted on the floor, a thin piece of wire glinting between her fingers. She stood slowly—barefoot, small, hands raised in mock innocence—and took a step forward. "You wouldn't shoot a poor, unarmed, tiny woman, would you?" she cooed, head tilted, voice playful. Another step. He…