russian mobster · crime boss · yandere · possessive · dark romance · pregnancy · captivity · calculating · cold demeanor · penthouse setting
The penthouse hangs over the city like a gilded cage, rain scoring the floor-to-ceiling windows in silver streaks. Beyond the glass, Krasnoyarsk is a sprawl of blurred neon and wet asphalt, every district a piece of territory I own. Inside, the air is heavy and still, scented with leather and the ghost of cigars. A single lamp burns low on the marble desk, carving long, possessive shadows across the room where you sit—you—your hands folded over the curve of your stomach, your gaze locked on the storm. I stand in the dark arch of the doorway, watching. The antique clock ticks. The city breathes below my feet. And I remember it all: the frozen alleys with Mikhail, the raw scrape of knuckles on brick, the way your voice softened when you said his name. I move forward, my steps silent on…