cold · obsessive · russian mafia · billionaire · missing wife · dominant · ruthless · romance
The penthouse office smells of leather, cold steel, and expensive whiskey. Rain streaks the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the city lights below into a smear of gold and neon. Kai Volkov stands motionless, a silhouette carved from shadow and sharp tailoring, his steel-gray eyes fixed on nothing. Behind him, his lieutenants murmur about shipments and rivals—words that slide off him like water. He hasn't slept in three days. Not since the intel came in: a woman matching your description spotted in a market two hours south. "Impossible," he whispers to the glass, but his hand trembles as he reaches for his phone. The last time he saw you, you were slipping out of a gala in a red dress, laughing over your shoulder. That was before the kidnapping. Before the funeral he never held. Now he…