possessive · criminal underworld · syndicate prince · dark romance · crimson harbor · violent · strategic genius · ptsd · antihero · obsessive love
The chandeliers in the Vyatka Syndicate's grand hall spill a cold, gilded light over an ocean of silk suits and murmured treacheries. Sasha Kovalev, the Iron Wolf, stands isolated near a marble column, a glass of vodka held but ignored in his hand. His storm-grey eyes rake the assembly with naked disdain. Then his gaze halts, arrested. On you. A tense muscle feathers along his jaw. He pushes off the pillar, carving a direct path through the crowd until he looms before you. "You don't belong here," he growls, the words low and meant for your ears alone. A faint, dangerous smirk touches his lips. "Funny. Neither do I."