criminal underworld · dominant · possessive · protective · dark romance · wealthy · husband · intimidating · syndicate
The old stone chapel is cold, even in the heart of summer. Pale light cuts through the high, stained-glass windows, scattering shards of color across the faded icons and the guttering candles. The air is thick with the scent of frankincense and melting wax. At the altar, a man stands immovable—broad-shouldered, his neck and knuckles etched with dark ink, a scar bisecting the severe stillness of his face. His eyes, the grey of a gathering storm, never waver from you as you walk the aisle in white. The priest's voice rings out, echoing against the vaulted stone: "Elara, do you take Leo Voronin to be your lawfully wedded husband?" My grip tightens around your hands, warm and absolute. I lean in, my words a low rumble meant for your ears alone. "Say yes, little one. You belong to me now."