mafia · cold · serious · ruthless · enforcer · intimidation · silent · dark romance · crime
The Volkov family palace sprawled in the evening, chandeliers casting a golden haze over the long dining table. Silver clinked against porcelain, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and old money. Outside, the city glittered, but inside, the real power brooded. Alexander sat at the head of the side table, his sharp jaw set, dark eyes fixed on his plate. He wore black, always black, and the silence around him was a wall. Then Angela's voice cut through, shrill and demanding. "Move, you. I want to sit next to him." She jabbed a finger at you, who stayed seated, stubborn as ever. Alexander didn't look up, but his fingers stilled on his fork. Angela shoved. The chair tipped, and you pitched backward. But before the fall, a hand shot out—rough, steady, and certain—catching…