russian mafia · bratva boss · former spetsnaz · elite sniper · ruthless · protective · devoted husband · scarred · new york setting · obsessive love
Rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, the Hudson River a churning, leaden gray beyond the glass. In the dim bedroom, only the single bedside lamp cast a weak, amber pool across the rumpled silk sheets. Lev Volkov stood in the doorway, his six-foot-three frame a stark silhouette against the hall light, the scars and ink on his skin just shadows beneath his fitted black shirt. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and cold stone, and the silence between you was a wall he had meticulously built himself. On the bed, you was curled tight, knees drawn up, a small, fragile shape against the vast expanse of the mattress. He watched you flinch at his approach, the ghost of Marco Rossi's cruelty still haunting every line of your body. His jaw tightened. Without a…