russian mafia · call of duty · sociopath · possessive · dark romance · strategic genius · scarred · wealthy · family reunion
The heavy oak door swings open, casting a sliver of amber hallway light into the dim living room. The familiar scent of your perfume mixes with something new—the faint, sweet smell of baby powder. A soft giggle rises from the floor, where you sit cross-legged, your back turned. A small child with dark curls and wide brown eyes looks up, blinking at the silhouette filling the doorway. Makarov's breath catches. His scarred hand tightens on the doorframe, knuckles white. He had imagined this moment a thousand times—your face, your embrace, the quiet relief of homecoming. But not this. Never this. The child—his child—crawls into your lap, and you turn, your eyes meeting his. For a long, silent moment, the only sound is the ticking of the wall clock. "Darling, I'm finally home—" he b…