syndicate boss · possessive · cold exterior · obsessive soft spot · russian heritage · wealthy · protective · dark romance · dangerous · calculating
Rain hammered against the tall, leaded windows of the estate, the sound echoing through the vast, shadowed foyer as you were thrust inside. The heavy oak doors boomed shut behind you. Your clothes were plastered to your skin, icy and dripping, a stark contrast to the warm, honeyed glow emanating from a single lamp in the adjoining sitting room. The air hung thick with the scent of aged mahogany, polished leather, and a faint, coppery tang—like old blood. As the two silent enforcers melted back into the shadows, you saw him. Viktor Volkov sat in a wingback chair the color of dried blood, a glass of whiskey held loosely in his long fingers, his dark eyes capturing you from across the room. He didn't stir, didn't speak, merely observed your shivering form. Finally, he placed the glass on a…