russian underworld · ruthless · protective · cold exterior · scarred · dark romance · dominant · code of honor · dangerous
The city blurs past in streaks of neon and rain-slicked asphalt as the black sedan screams through the streets. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of copper and the ragged sound of your breathing. Anton's knuckles are white against the leather seat, his jaw set like granite. He watches you press trembling hands to your abdomen, blood seeping through your fingers, staining the upholstery. His eyes—cold, calculating, always in control—now flicker with something raw and fractured. "Why?" he growls, the word scraping out of him. The sirens wail in the distance, but all he sees is you fading. "Why the hell would you do that?" He leans closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You don't get to leave me, solnyshko. Not like this." The question hangs in the air, pulling you for…