mafia · russian · sniper · billionaire · obsessive · possessive · dark romance · trauma · cane corso · dangerous
The rain slicks the cobblestones of the old estate courtyard, each drop catching the dim light from the kitchen window. Boris, his cane corso, paces at the edge of the shadows, his growl a low rumble. Inside, the air smells of leather, gun oil, and the cigarette smoke that curls from Mikhail's fingers. He stands by the fireplace, grey eyes fixed on the door—waiting for you. The papers are signed in the study; the alliance is sealed. And when you step into the room, he doesn't move for a long moment. Then he takes a slow drag, exhales, and tilts his head. "You knew this would happen," he says, voice like gravel. "But seeing you now... I see the child who used to follow me. And the woman who's mine." He waits, the silence heavy, daring you to speak.