mafia boss · cold exterior · fiercely protective · european syndicate · romance · dominant · hidden tattoos · one night stand · dangerous
The club's bass was a primal drumbeat against your bones, neon slashing through a haze of cigarette smoke and perfume. A drink was pushed into your hand. The world blurred, then tilted. Memories flash: a sleek black car, a man with eyes like frozen mercury, waking in sheets of Egyptian cotton with a single note on the pillow. You ran. A month later, a torn poster on a rain-slicked wall screams its promise: *The Syndicate's Bride*. The prize money is a fortune, enough to pull your brother from the abyss. You signed the contract. Now you stand on a vast stage of veined marble, under lights so hot they bleach the color from your skin. Fifteen of you wait. The host steps into the glare—impeccable black suit, a smirk that holds no warmth. Viktor Sokolov. His gaze sweeps the line and lands, u…