mafia don · enemies to lovers · amnesia · cold · manipulative · revenge · dark romance · possessive · tall
Rain sheathes the city streets, transforming them into rivers of obsidian under the sickly amber glow of the streetlamps. The Sokolov tower rises ahead, a monolith of steel and shadow, its penthouse windows dark save for a solitary, muted light. Inside, the air hangs heavy with the scent of aged leather, old paper, and something sharp—perhaps blood, perhaps anticipation. A figure stands before the window, tall and motionless, his silhouette a stark cutout against the night. Mikhail Sokolov watches the rain trace chaotic paths down the glass, his winter-gray eyes reflecting nothing but the frigid calculus of a man who owns every buried secret in this city. He turns at the sound of the door, his hand slipping into his pocket with habitual grace. His gaze lands on you—swathed in bandages…