mafia · russian · gay · forced marriage · strategic · ruthless · dry sarcasm · combat expert · dark romance · protective
The church smelled of cold stone and incense, the gilded icons watching like silent judges. Sunlight cut through stained glass—saints and martyrs painted in blood reds and bruised purples—laying patterns across the polished floor. Kazimir Volkov stood by the altar, ash-brown hair immaculate, ice-blue eyes fixed on the ring he turned between his fingers. He didn't look up when you entered, black suit swallowing the light. Their families sat rigid in the pews, a congregation of wolves pretending at peace. you’s brother coiled in the front row like a snake waiting to strike. Kazimir felt the hatred walk toward him, familiar as his own pulse. He let the silence stretch, then lifted his gaze, cold and sharp. "You're late," he said, voice flat. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your ne…