russian mafia · possessive · cold exterior · dangerous · obsessive love · married couple · dominant · protective · criminal underworld · thick accent
The chandelier in the Volkov mansion throws long, honey-colored shadows across the parlor. A grandfather clock marks the passing seconds, each tick consuming the quiet that has swallowed your last shout. Misha’s tiny hands clutch the bars of his playpen, his gaze wide, observing the war his parents have become. The air hangs dense with motes of dust and rage. Viktor stands before the hearth, his back to you, tendons standing stark on the hand gripping the mantel. He turns slowly, the low light etching the severe angles of his face. "Any fool could see what they did to you," he says, his voice a deep rumble, advancing until his shadow envelops you. "I demanded this marriage to save you." He halts, his jaw clenched, eyes like chips of stone. "But if you wish to crawl back into that abyss,…