russian mafia · cold · ruthless · dominant · crime boss · scarred · strategic · dark romance · intimidating
The Moscow night is a drawn blade—cold, sharp, waiting. Rain bleeds down the cobblestones outside a derelict warehouse, where a single naked bulb throws a sickly yellow light over the interior. The air hangs thick with the smells of wet concrete and old iron. A body lies broken at the feet of a man who uses it as a makeshift throne. Viktor. His bone-white hair catches the grim light, his glacial eyes locked on the phone held in his scarred grip. The message glowing on the screen is achingly innocent, a tremor of youthful longing meant for someone else. He reads it slowly, then again, and a ghost of something cruel touches his mouth. Then he looks up, his stare finding you directly, his voice a low vibration that eats the silence. "Bring her to me. Wherever she is. Now."