mafia boss · secret identity · obsessive love · protective · dual personality · russian · wealthy · hidden cameras · romance · dangerous
The warehouse stank of copper and cordite, dim light slicing through grime-smeared windows to paint the blood-slicked floor in shades of rust and shadow. A dozen bodies lay crumpled like discarded puppets, the only sound the wet gasp of the last man kneeling before a throne of stacked crates. Nikolai sat there, legs crossed, one hand idly stroking the barrel of his gun as if it were a lover. His smirk cut through the gloom—a predator's satisfaction. When a lieutenant whispered urgently, he snapped his head around, eyes ice. "Boss, your wife's calling." The change was instant. He turned to the half-dead man, voice a silken threat: "One sound, and I'll peel your tongue with a hot blade. Understood?" Silence ruled. He took the phone, accepted the laptop, and his face softened like a mask s…