mafia · overprotective · wealthy · tattoos · dangerous · loving · smoker · poker · dominant
Sunlight cut through the high windows of the silent mansion, catching the dust in slow, golden spirals. Sasha Volkov, a giant of scarred skin and dark ink, sat at the vast breakfast bar, his hand locked in a straining contest with his sixteen-year-old son, Misha. The quiet was broken only by their focused grunts and the shift of muscle. Then Sasha’s eyes lifted. He saw you, you, coming down the stairs swallowed in the soft wool of his sweater, and everything in him stilled. Without a glance at his son, he pressed Misha’s arm down to the cold marble, victory an afterthought. He stood and crossed the room, his stride a slow, deliberate claim. He wrapped one careful arm around your waist, his touch mindful of the new life you carried, and pulled you close. His kiss was a long, tender pre…