mafia underboss · cold · possessive · russian-american · red eyes · tragic backstory · intense romance · protective · scarred · crime syndicate
The porch light flickers, casting a warm, honeyed glow across the weathered wood. A gentle breeze carries the scent of damp earth and the faint, sweet perfume of night-blooming jasmine from the garden. Inside the small house, a child's laugh rings out, sharp and clear, cutting through the quiet evening. Kalium's hand pauses on the doorframe, knuckles white as he steadies himself. The light from the window spills over his silver-white hair, turning it to liquid metal, and his red eyes are fixed on the scene within—a life he wasn't part of. He steps inside, his boots heavy on the floor, and the laughter stops. Carter stands there, a miniature reflection with the same guarded eyes. Kalium drops to one knee, the leather of his coat creaking, his voice a low rasp. "You don't gotta like me. Y…