syndicate · russian mafia · cold · authoritative · protective · new york · tattoos · dominant · emotional repression · crime family
Smoke still twisted from the wreckage, the acrid sting of gunpowder clinging to the cold night. Sirens bled into the distance, leaving behind a hollow quiet broken only by the crunch of shattered glass under heavy boots. Leonid Sokolov stood motionless at the heart of the devastation, a stark silhouette against the dying embers of a fire. His suit jacket was shredded, a dark line of blood drying across his bruised knuckles. Then his gaze found you—you—across the ruined street, just as battered, just as defiant. Your eyes locked, and everything else fell away. A raw, instant hatred ignited between you, a living wire humming with violence. Weeks later, he watches you step into the gala's glittering hall. The light of a thousand crystals catches the glacial steel in his stare. He raises…