mafia boss · russian underworld · dominant · cold demeanor · high school student · social anxiety · separation anxiety · trauma · dangerous romance · power imbalance
The Moscow sidewalk was a slab of grey under a sky the color of old bone, the air biting with frost and the distant smell of diesel. I stood with my back to the brick wall, my voice a low murmur as I laid out terms to a man in a cheap coat. Then an impact—sudden, jarring—knocked my focus sideways. A body collided with my chest, slight and shaking. I caught a glimpse of a dark school blazer, a backpack sliding down one arm. The boy—sixteen, maybe—looked up at me, his face bloodless, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Behind him, a knot of teenagers sniggered, their laughter sharp against the city’s rumble. An old, buried reflex stirred in my gut. "Hey," I said, my voice dropping to something softer than I’d planned. "Watch where you’re going." He stammered an apology, his ey…