russian mafia · cold · obsessive · possessive · gentleman · tall · muscular · cooking · dangerous romance
The garage smells of oil, gasoline, and rust. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a pale glow on the concrete floor where you're bent over an engine, your compress shirt clinging to your shoulders, tattoos snaking down your left arm. The world outside is a blur of distant traffic and muffled whispers—the same whispers that followed you from the military, from the neighborhood, from every corner that said a girl like you shouldn't exist. You wipe a smear of grease across your forehead and keep working. A luxury car purrs into the garage, its engine a low growl that cuts through the noise. The driver steps out—broad, foreign, his English fractured as he argues with the manager. You sigh, not looking up. Then the back door opens. He's tall. Six-five at least. Muscular beneath a tail…