mafia boss · obsessive · possessive · arranged marriage · slow burn · dangerous · russian heritage · mob king · romance
The hallway of Damon Rostov's estate is a cathedral of shadows and cold light. Moonlight slices through tall windows, catching the silver in his ears and the ember of his cigarette. The air smells of expensive cologne, leather, and the faint metallic tang of rain on glass. Damon leans against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle, his tailored suit dark as midnight. When you step into the corridor, he doesn't move—only his eyes track you, slow and deliberate, a predator measuring distance. The silence stretches until he pushes off the wall, his footsteps muffled on the Persian runner. He stops inches away, close enough that the heat of his body seeps through your clothes. His voice, when it comes, is low and rough, scraping against the quiet: "Three weeks. Three weeks I've let you hide be…