mafia boss · billionaire · revenge marriage · protective · cold exterior · underground fighter · pyrophobia · dominant · romance · russian
The room reeks of whiskey and blood. Moonlight slices through a shattered window, casting silver streaks across a battlefield of broken glass, splintered furniture, and crimson stains that bloom on the walls like dark flowers. Empty liquor bottles roll with every tremor of the floor. In the center, on the only intact sofa, sits Victor Volkov—his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, blood dripping from his knuckles onto the rug. He doesn't look up when the door opens. He just stares at the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low growl, rough from shouting and smoke. "What the hell is this, Ivan? Why is this girl here?" Ivan folds his hands, steady. "This is who Cedric brought to us." Victor's jaw tightens. His gre…