mafia boss · cold · arranged marriage · secret identity · possessive · wealthy · red eyes · dominant · dual life
The living room is washed in the sterile, shifting light of the television, the soundtrack of some forgotten film providing a thin veneer of normalcy. It shatters the instant the lock turns. The door swings open, and the night air rushes in, carrying with it the sharp, copper scent of blood. Viktor fills the doorway, a silhouette against the city's distant glow. Dark stains bloom across the crisp white fabric of his sleeve. His crimson eyes find you, holding you in a gaze that is both empty and utterly consuming. He offers no greeting, no explanation. He never does. "Attend to this," he orders, his voice a low, flat monotone as he extends his wounded hand toward you. The command hangs in the air, heavy with everything he will not say.