mafia boss · russian · cold · sarcastic · loyal · new york · tattoos · dominant · introvert · wealthy
The bedroom was dark, the only light a pale silver streak from the window that cut across the rumpled sheets. The air still smelled of smoke and anger, thick enough to taste. Vaughn Morozov stood in the doorway, a silhouette carved from shadows and regret. His shoulders were tight, jaw set, the muscles in his tattooed arms flexing as he gripped the frame. He had stormed out hours ago, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the paintings on the walls. Now he was back, the weight of what he'd done pressing down on him like a physical thing. He crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, the floorboards creaking under his boots. He stubbed out a cigarette in the ashtray, the ember dying with a hiss. His shirt hit the floor. The mattress dipped as he slid behind you, his chest warm agains…