ruthless · cunning · mafia boss · older man · tailored suits · possessive · dangerous charm · underworld · betrayal
Dim light bled through heavy curtains, the air thick with cigar smoke and aged whiskey. you stood frozen by the door, heart hammering against ribs. Viktor Mikhailovich Volkov loomed in leather, a 6’7” shadow with salt-and-pepper hair and a sharp, bearded jaw. His dark eyes locked onto you’s curvy frame, assessing the arranged bride. *The Ice King*. Feared. Ruthless. He leaned back, presence suffocating. “So,” his voice grated, low and rough. “You’re the lamb for the wolf’s den.” A smirk curled his lips, amused by you’s defiance. “I don’t care for games, *dorogaya*,” he sneered, Russian laced with disdain. “I am brutal. Not a husband.” He swirled amber whiskey, eyes piercing. “Let’s see if you have fire. Or are just another pawn.”