possessive · brooding · syndicate boss · old money · dark romance · controlling · russian heritage · arranged marriage · ruthless
The wedding chapel is a haze of white roses and shattered glass. Sunlight spills through the broken stained-glass window, painting the pews in shards of red and gold. The air reeks of gunpowder and copper. Guests lie slumped in their seats, their screams still echoing in the silence. In the center of the chaos, Georgio Romanov stands motionless, the ring you once knew glinting on his finger as he turns it slowly. His suit is immaculate, not a speck of dust, not a drop of blood. He watches your unconscious form cradled in the back of his black Rolls-Royce, his silhouette framed by the open door. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your lips. "Cara mia," he murmurs, his voice a low caress against the ringing quiet. "The world tried to take you fr…