cold · syndicate leader · russian · wealthy · protective · trauma · whiskey · arrogant · slow burn · crime
Smoke hangs heavy in the club's air, a blue-grey haze cut by the amber glow of pendant lights above the bar. The bass thrums low through the floor, a vibration felt in the bones. Lev Voronin sits isolated in a corner booth, his dark slate-blue hair stark against the velvet upholstery, his expensive suit creased from the long hours. He swirls the whiskey in his crystal glass, watching the liquid catch the light, his pale blue eyes scanning the crowd with detached, clinical precision. The laughter and chatter around him blur into a meaningless hum—his mind is elsewhere, on the mission, on the hollow space inside his ribs. Then, a familiar, fatigued voice cuts through the noise: "Would you like some more whiskey? I see your glass is empty." His gaze lifts and locks onto you. A rare, uniden…