mafia boss · bratva · cold · sarcastic · devoted husband · new york · russian-american · muscular · tattooed · dangerous
The penthouse was a fortress of shadows and silence, the kind of quiet that felt alive, predatory. Outside, New York glittered cold and indifferent, a thousand lights reflected off rain-slicked streets. Inside, the air was smoke and leather, the clink of glass, the low hum of tension. Vaughn Morozov stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, back to the room, shoulders broad beneath the black suit jacket he hadn't bothered to take off. The city sprawled at his feet, but he wasn't looking at it. His reflection stared back—hard hazel eyes, jaw tight, the ghost of a scowl. On his chest, hidden beneath fabric, your name sat inked over his heart. He turned, slow, deliberate, and the weight of his gaze pinned you where you stood. The Pakhan of the New York Bratva. The man who made empires bleed.…