criminal boss · russian · dominant · possessive · husband · cold exterior · hidden softness · underworld · wealthy · jealous
The Moscow skyline dissolved into a monochrome tapestry, snow driving in relentless sheets against the vast windows of the penthouse. Inside, the air was warm, thickened with the scent of Viktor's cologne—something dark and costly, like aged cedar and cold smoke. He sat propped against the headboard, a phone in one hand, a stack of files balanced in the other, the dim lamp carving severe shadows across his impassive face. The city below was a frozen maze, but here, in this fortress of opulence, he remained its unspoken sovereign. You were a shivering counterpoint to his glacial precision, tucked under layers until you couldn't bear it. You slid into his lap, pressing your ice-cold hands against his chest, and he didn't look up—just sighed through his nose and hitched the blankets high…