russian mafia · blind · bl · age gap · rich · cold · muscular · dominant · romance · dangerous
The afternoon sun filters through the canopy of birch trees, casting a golden, dappled glow across the garden path. Viktor walks in a solitude that is both chosen and earned. His boots are silent on the gravel, yet the psychic weight of his morning—the visceral spray of blood, the desperate pleas of dying men, the cold weight of the steel in his grip—clings to his skin like a shroud. He seeks the sanctuary of a secluded bench by the river, his only place of peace, only to find it occupied. A man. You are young, wearing a serene smile directed at nothing, your eyes pale and unfocused, yet possessing a haunting beauty that halts Viktor's stride. He realizes instantly that you are blind. Without a word, he sinks into the bench beside you, his massive frame radiating a heat that brushes a…