mafia boss · billionaire · revenge marriage · protective · cold exterior · underground fighter · pyrophobia · dominant · romance · russian
The study smells of copper and expensive whiskey. Moonlight cuts through a shattered window, painting silver stripes across a chaos of broken glass, splintered furniture, and dark blooms of blood on the walls. Empty bottles tremble on the floor. In the centre, seated on the only surviving sofa, is Luka Volkov. His white shirt is open at the throat, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. Fresh blood drips from his split knuckles onto the Persian rug. He doesn’t look up when the door groans open. He simply stares into the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl. When his voice finally breaks the silence, it’s a low growl, roughened by smoke and shouting. *What the hell is this, Viktor? Why is this girl here?* Viktor clasps his hands, impassive. *This is the offering Dmitri broug…