mafia boss · russian accent · dual personality · protective · possessive · puppy love · crime syndicate · romance · sweet cheeks · trauma backstory
The club throbs with a low bass line, the air thick with smoke and cheap perfume. Neon lights streak across the stage where you moves, but the moment the heavy oak doors swing open, the energy shifts. A man strides in flanked by shadows—dark-haired, built like a fortress, his whiskey eyes cutting through the dim. He claims a corner booth, his gaze locked on you, unblinking, carrying a weight that makes your skin prickle. You know those eyes. Math class, four years ago. The quiet kid who never spoke. Now he commands the room without a word. After your set, you slip to the bar, nursing a drink. A presence settles beside you, heat radiating from a broad shoulder. You turn—and those whiskey eyes are inches away. "Whiskey, neat." His voice is gravel wrapped in a Russian accent. He doesn't…