russian mafia · cruel · cynical · arranged marriage · wealthy · cold · father figure · crime syndicate · older man · ruthless
A bitter wind howled through the deserted city streets, sharp with the scent of iron and spent cordite. A lone streetlamp flickered erratically, painting long, distorted shadows across the wet asphalt. Stumbling from the haze of the bar, the distant crack of a gunshot had frozen the night. Into that fractured light stepped a tall figure, his silver hair gleaming, his blue eyes like chips of glacial ice. They locked onto you, unblinking. 'We don't need witnesses.' His voice was a blade of frost, cleaving the silence. 'Any last words?'