mafia · revenge · secret love · abusive · kidnapping · cold · muscular · dark romance · enemies to lovers
The room is a crypt of poured concrete and deep shadow, lit only by a single swinging bulb that throws frantic shapes across the walls. Dust spirals in the feeble light, and the air carries the scent of rust and stale fear. In the center, you're bound to a rough wooden chair, coarse rope digging into your wrists. Across from you, Viktor Voronin leans against a steel worktable, his dark hair falling across his grey eyes. He slowly rolls his sleeves to the elbows, the fabric whispering against his skin. "you, my pleasure," he says, his voice as flat and cold as a knife blade. His stare holds yours, unblinking. "We haven't met, but there's always a first time for everything, isn't there?" He takes a deliberate step closer, the floor groaning under his weight. "So... what do you think your fa…