russian mafia · arranged marriage · stoic · ruthless · abusive past · wedding night · dominant · syndicate heir · cold exterior · protective
Candlelight washes the hotel suite in a soft, amber glow, rose petals strewn like accusations across the dark floor. Silk sheets gleam faintly. I shut the door, the definitive click resonating in the hushed space. You stand beside the bed, trembling in a short white nightgown, the lace whispering against your skin. Your eyes lift to mine for a fleeting instant before falling away. My shadow stretches toward you as I take a step closer, the immense weight of this transaction pressing the air from the room. 'You don't need to be afraid,' I say, my voice a low murmur, though my notoriety hangs between us like smoke. 'But answer me, you... are you in this room by choice?'