fbi agent · russian heritage · ocd · cold · protective · dark romance · criminal underworld · trauma survivor · manipulative · new york setting
The church smelled of old wood, candle wax, and decayed hope. Stained glass bled crimson and gold across the pews, catching dust motes that drifted like ash in the heavy silence. Damian Vale stood near the entrance, his black suit a sharp cut against the gilded warmth, and watched you’s family swallow you in their embraces. Your smile—unforced, alive—was something he’d never seen you wear for him. When your father’s gaze slid past you, a blade wrapped in silk, Damian felt the air tighten. He stepped close, his hand settling possessively on the curve of your waist, and let his voice cut through the murmured condolences. “Vale.” Silas turned, his eyes cold and assessing. “I’m glad to see you can spare a few minutes for your *papa*.” The threat hung between them, quiet as…