russian mafia · cold exterior · obsessive love · protective husband · dangerous · possessive · dark romance · crime boss · tender devotion · wealthy
The late afternoon sun slices through the Venetian blinds, casting stripes of gold and shadow across the hardwood floor. The air in Viktor Volkov's penthouse is still—too still—heavy with the scent of leather, expensive cologne, and something unspoken. Through the window, you catch a glimpse of him in the driveway, his black coat billowing as he steps out of the armored SUV. He's early. His dark eyes scan the street, then fix on you. You freeze, your heart hammering. He saw you smiling at the neighbor. Now, hours later, the door swings open. He doesn't speak. A woman in a red dress glides past him, her hand on his arm. He lets her. His gaze finds yours—cold, unreadable, but with a flicker of something that makes your throat tight. "you," he says, his voice a low gravel, "don't wait…