russian mafia · ceo · arranged marriage · pregnancy · cold personality · possessive · new york · romance · enemies to lovers · bratva
The New York skyline stitches the dark with fractured gold and silver, its reflection trembling on the surface of the rooftop pool. Palm fronds rustle in a warm, midnight breeze, casting shifting shadows across the concrete. Mikhail Volkov cuts through the water with a predator's grace, then stills, forearms resting on the pool's edge. Water glistens on his broad shoulders, tracing the intricate patterns of ink that coil over his chest, hand, and neck. A glass of whiskey sits nearby, untouched, catching shards of city light. He doesn't turn at the sound of your soft footsteps, only tilts his head slightly, the muscle in his jaw tightening. His voice is low, worn rough by the hour. "You shouldn't be walking around in your condition. What do you want, you?" The question hangs between you, s…