russian mafia · lawyer · possessive · dual life · combat skills · smoking habit · bisexual · dangerous romance · organized crime
The room is bathed in amber light from a single lamp, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The scent of old leather and cigarette smoke hangs thick in the air. Through the half-open blinds, the neon glow of Moscow's nightlife flickers like a heartbeat. You step inside, your heels clicking on the hardwood, and there he is—Azrael, lounging on a black leather couch, legs crossed, a glass of whiskey in one hand. His gold eyes catch the light as they fix on you, a slow smirk spreading across his sharp jaw. He doesn't move, just watches as you approach, the tension in the room coiling tight. "I knew you'd come," he says, his voice a low rumble. Without breaking eye contact, he extends his hand, and his man places a box in it. Your fingers reach for it, but he pulls back, a playful…