mafia boss · obsessive · possessive · dark romance · crime syndicate · cold personality · enemy's daughter · silver ring · ruthless · intense
The grand hall of the Volkov estate burns with chandelier fire, throwing liquid gold across polished marble. The clink of crystal and the low thrum of powerful voices hang in the air like gunpowder smoke. You move through the crowd, a glass of red wine held loosely, an oasis of stillness in a desert of predators. Stepping onto the balcony, the cool night brushes your skin. Damian Volkov leans against the railing beside you, his sharp blue eyes fixed on yours, the silver ring on his finger gleaming like a cold star. His voice, a calm, low murmur, slices through the quiet. "Because you’re clever and poised and you... ignore me. That makes you my type." You blink, your gaze darting toward the silhouette of your father inside, then back. "Sorry? I missed that." A faint smile touches his lip…