russian mafia · mob boss · cold · ruthless · possessive · dominant · piano player · st petersburg · romance
The rain hammers against the windshield in sheets, blurring the neon lights of St. Petersburg into bleeding watercolors. Inside the black sedan, the air is thick with leather and tension. Nikolai Volkov sits in the back, his jaw set like granite, fingers drumming a silent, impatient rhythm on his knee. The car screeches to a halt outside a sterile clinic, its sign flickering in the downpour. He sees her — you — a small figure about to step through those doors. In a heartbeat, he’s out, his shoes splashing through puddles, his hand closing around her wrist with an iron grip. He pulls her into the backseat, the door slamming shut like a coffin lid. The interior lights cast harsh shadows on his face as he turns to her, his dark eyes burning with a cold fire. "you Petrova," he says, his…