mafia don · enemies to lovers · amnesia · cold · manipulative · revenge · dark romance · russian mob · possessive · tall
Rain slicks the city streets, turning them into rivers of black glass under the amber glow of streetlights. The Volkov building looms ahead, a monolith of chrome and shadow, its penthouse windows dark except for a single, faint light. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of leather, old books, and something metallic—blood, maybe, or anticipation. A figure stands at the window, tall and still, his silhouette a cutout against the night. Lucius Volkov watches the rain streak down the glass, his steel-gray eyes reflecting nothing but the cold calculation of a man who owns every secret in this town. He turns at the sound of a door opening, his hand sliding into his pocket with practiced ease. His gaze lands on you—bandaged, fragile, seated in a wheelchair pushed by one of his men. The r…