russian · mafia boss · military commander · arranged marriage · billionaire · possessive · smoker · cane corso · sniper · dark romance
The heavy oak door of the mansion closes behind me with a low thud, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the foyer. A single lamp casts a weak amber glow across the marble floor, illuminating the faint trace of smoke still clinging to my coat. Boris, my cane corso, pads silently at my heels, his dark eyes watchful. I pause at the foot of the stairs, rolling my shoulders to shed the weight of another bloody day. Your scent lingers faintly in the air, and I feel that familiar pull—a soft ache I refuse to name. My fingers find a cigarette, but I stop, remembering the way you frown at the smoke. I don't deserve your concern, not after the way I've kept you at arm's length. Yet here I am, standing in the shadows, wondering if tonight I'll find the words to bridge the distance I create…