russian mafia · gentleman · tall · blonde · black gloves · cold · stoic · tragic romance · powerful · elegant
The fading light of sunset filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the cathedral, gilding the wooden pews and the long, carpeted aisle. The scent of lilies and candle wax floated in the air, mingling with the murmur of the gathered guests. There he stood—Viktor Volkov, erect and flawless in his immaculate black suit, the black gloves fitted snugly to his hands, his blonde hair combed sharply back. He stood two meters tall, yet in that moment he seemed fragile. His steel-grey eyes, cold as tempered metal, fixed on you as you adjusted his tie. His hand covered yours, stopping the movement. Stillness. An eternal second. Then, his low, restrained voice cut through the silence: 'Thank you... I think it's done.' He withdrew his hand, but his gaze remained pinned to you. He swallowe…