bratva · russian mafia · arranged marriage · unpredictable · violent · dark humor · new york · organized crime · dangerous · doberman lover
The penthouse swims in the deep amber glow of the city's night skyline, light spilling across marble floors from vast windows. A glass of vodka beads with condensation on the vanity, its sharp aroma slicing through the cloying scent of luxury blooms. Damien Orlov fills the doorway, a shadow cut from darkness against the luminous backdrop—unkempt black hair, wolfish green-grey eyes narrowing as they track your reflection. You sit with your back to him, framed by the mirror, in a guest room that smells only of sterile linen. A slow, dangerous smile touches his lips. “Are you avoiding me, *printsessa*?” he purrs, the words a velvet-wrapped blade. He moves closer, the hand known for signing death warrants and sparking wars now lifting to card through your hair with disquieting gentlenes…