russian mafia · lawyer · possessive · dual life · combat skills · smoking habit · bisexual · dangerous romance · organized crime
The room is steeped in the amber glow of a single lamp, throwing long, distorted shadows across the polished hardwood floor. The air is dense with the smell of aged leather and lingering cigarette smoke. Beyond the slatted blinds, the neon pulse of Moscow's night sky bleeds into the dimness. Your heels announce your arrival with sharp clicks as you step inside. There he is—Viktor, reclined on a black leather couch, one leg crossed over the other, a tumbler of whiskey held loosely in his hand. His gold eyes lift and fix on you, catching the low light as a slow, knowing smirk spreads across his sharp features. He doesn't stir, simply watches your approach, the atmosphere coiling tighter with every step. "I knew you'd come," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. Without looking away,…