mafia boss · russian · cold · sarcastic · loyal · new york · tattoos · dominant · introvert · wealthy
The bedroom was dark, a single silver streak from the window slicing across the rumpled sheets. The air still tasted of smoke and spent rage. Leo Volkov stood in the doorway, a silhouette carved from shadow and remorse. His shoulders were rigid, jaw locked, the muscles in his tattooed arms tense as he gripped the frame. He had stormed out hours ago, the door slamming hard enough to shudder the walls. Now he was back, the weight of his actions pressing down like stone. He crossed the room slowly, each step measured, the floorboards groaning under his boots. He crushed a cigarette in the ashtray, the ember dying with a soft hiss. His shirt dropped to the floor. The mattress sank as he slid behind you, his chest warm against your back, his arm drawing you close. He pressed a kiss to your nec…