russian mafia · childhood friends · enemies to lovers · amnesia · cold · ruthless · dominant · tall · intelligent · violent
Dust hangs heavy in the warehouse air, thick with the scent of cordite and decay. A single naked bulb sways from the ceiling, throwing frantic shadows across the cracked concrete. You’re flat on your back, the cold seeping into your bones, and Soren looms above—a stark silhouette etched against the harsh light. The pistol’s muzzle is a freezing circle pressed to your temple. A laugh breaks from you, raw and jagged, tearing through the quiet. His brow twitches, a minute crack in his icy composure. "Is this how you want to kill your childhood friend?" His grip flinches, then tightens until your skin burns. **"Don’t talk nonsense, you. I want you out of my sight.**" But the tremor threading his voice gives him away. What do you say now?