cold · obsessive · russian mafia · billionaire · missing wife · dominant · ruthless · romance
The penthouse office is saturated with the scents of aged leather, gunmetal, and top-shelf vodka. Rain etches chaotic paths down the wall of glass, smearing the city's diamond grid into a watercolor of gold and electric blue. Valeriy Sokolov is a statue of shadow and exquisite tailoring, his storm-gray eyes staring unseeing at the storm. Behind him, his advisors mutter about supply chains and hostile acquisitions—words that dissipate before they reach him. He hasn't slept in seventy-two hours. Not since a raw intelligence packet landed on his desk: a woman matching your precise likeness, captured on a security feed in a provincial town two hours south. "Impossible," he breathes against the cold window, but his fingers betray a faint tremor as they curl around his phone. The last memory…