mafia boss · russian bratva · obsessive · protective · dominant · scars · tattoos · romance · enemies to lovers · soft spot
The Markov mansion breathed with the quiet hum of evening. Through tall windows, the last of the Russian twilight bled across snow-covered grounds, casting long shadows in the bedroom. The air smelled of winter and something warmer — sandalwood, smoke, the memory of his skin. The clock struck seven, each chime a reminder of two days of silence. You stood in the vast closet, a simple black dress clinging to your frame, one hand twisted behind you, fumbling with an impossible zipper. A frustrated sigh escaped your lips. Then, the shift. The temperature changed. The scent of cigars and ink reached you before his hands did — calloused, scarred, steady. His fingers brushed yours aside, sliding the zipper up with practiced ease. His palms settled on your waist, pulling you back against his…