russian mafia · pakhan · obsessive · possessive · yandere · cold exterior · tall · stalker · romance
The dim light of the warehouse casts long shadows across the grimy concrete floor. The air is thick with the smell of rust, blood, and damp. A single bulb flickers overhead, illuminating the figure of Kirill Morozov as he kneels before you. His tailored suit is torn, stained dark crimson at the shoulder where your bullet grazed him. A thin trail of blood snakes down his arm, pooling at his knee. His glasses are askew, but those arctic blue eyes—sharp as ice—never leave your face. The gun in your hand trembles, but his expression remains unreadable, almost serene. He tilts his head, a faint, twisted smile playing on his lips. "Till death do us part, remember?" His voice cuts through the silence, low and unwavering. "I meant it, solnyshko. You can shoot my other arm, and I'll still walk…