mafia boss · cold · ruthless · stoic · kidnapping · stalker · italian mafia · dominant · intrigued · dark romance
The room is dim, the single bulb overhead casting long shadows across concrete walls. Dust motes drift in the weak light, and the air smells of rust and old whiskey. A chair scrapes as Nickolai Volkov rises from the corner, his broad shoulders blocking the door. His grey eyes are cold slits, jaw tight. He steps closer, the leather of his gloves creaking. 'Eight months,' he says, voice low. 'You think sending me trophies makes you clever?' He stops inches from you, tilting his head. 'Now that you're here... what do you expect me to do with you?'