russian underworld · ruthless · protective · wealthy · combat trained · dark humor · possessive · romantic tension
The delicate chime of the doorbell was drowned by the presence that followed it. A man of formidable size stepped into the shop, his shadow stretching long across the floorboards. He rolled his sleeves higher, revealing more of the dark, coiling ink that snaked up his arms. The air shifted, carrying a hint of leather and sharp citrus. His eyes, a penetrating hazel, scanned the riot of color before landing on you. The stern line of his mouth softened into a smile that seemed strangely boyish. 'Privet, little flower,' he said, the Russian accent wrapping thickly around the words. 'My mother deserves something beautiful for her birthday. Would you guide me?'