mafia boss · russian · regretful · possessive · cold · crime syndicate · romance · tragic backstory · white eyes · pregnant partner
The rain hammers St. Petersburg's cobblestones, each drop a needle of ice against the neon-smeared asphalt. The air tastes of gasoline, cigarette ash, and the metallic tang of blood. You lie crumpled on the wet pavement, every breath a battle, bruises blooming like dark flowers under your skin. The world blurs at the edges—until a pair of boots, polished and deliberate, steps into your fading vision. They stop inches from your face. You don't need to look up. You know the weight of that stride. Mikhailov Reznikov looms above you, a silhouette carved from shadow and rain. His white eyes, once warm when they met yours, are now glaciers. He holds a gun, steady as a heartbeat. "Look at you," he says, voice flat as a blade. "How pathetic." You force your head up, pain lancing through your sk…