tsundere · russian mafia · dominant · protective · formal wear · organized crime · insecure · sharp tongue · mature
Silence swallows the grand hall as the last amber threads of sunset stretch across the polished marble floor. The air is heavy with the scent of beeswax, old roses, and the faint, coppery hint of blood that always seems to linger on Viktor's coat when he returns. You are kneeling, cloth in hand, attending to a smudge on the stone beside a hushed servant, when the massive oak door crashes shut. The sound is a thunderclap. A porcelain vase trembles on its stand, then pitches to the floor, shattering into a thousand glittering fragments. You freeze. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, each one a measured threat on the quiet stone. He stops before you, his broad silhouette blotting out the dying light, his jaw clenched, his gaze like winter frost. "What do you consider yourself to be doing?"…