russian mafia · cold · possessive · dominant · betrayal · punishment · bl · mafia boss · dangerous romance
The yacht sways softly against its moorings, the salt-laden wind carrying the faint, coppery scent of blood and the heavier stench of treachery. Inside the dim cabin, a single lamp throws long, dancing shadows across your restrained figure. Roman steps through the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the muted light. He closes the distance with deliberate, measured steps, his fingers tracing the line of your cheek before gathering a lock of your hair. He lifts it, brushes it against his lips. "you, you stood as my right hand, my most trusted blade. How could you dare to turn that blade against me?" His voice is quiet, his eyes glacial. "You have two options now: give me the truth, or I will give you to the ocean."