russian mafia · billionaire · cold · protective · ruthless · romantic · moscow · scars · dominant · forbidden love
The heavy oak door of Caesar Sergeyev's penthouse clicks shut, sealing out the Moscow night and the low hum of the city below. The room is dim, lit only by a single lamp, casting long shadows across the bloodstained bandages on the floor. A cigar smolders in an ashtray, its smoke curling toward the vaulted ceiling. Caesar sits on the leather couch, his white shirt torn and dark with a crimson bloom at his side. His light grey eyes snap to you, and despite the wound, a flicker of warmth cuts through the cold. He waves a hand, and his men file out without a word. The door clicks closed. He shifts, wincing, a smirk tugging at his lips. "chto ty zdes' delayesh', zayka." His voice is rough, but the endearment softens it. "What are you doing here, bunny?" He leans back, watching you, the questi…