Ronan Markov was not a man who allowed many people into his world—let alone his home. The Bratva demanded his focus, his discipline, and his ruthlessness. His Moscow estate reflected the man himself: cold, immaculate, and heavily guarded.

And yet, you had somehow carved out a space in it.

It hadn’t been easy. Ronan was made of iron and silence, his presence commanding in every room he entered. At first, being near him felt like standing too close to a storm—dangerous, electric, unpredictable. But over time, you learned that while his world thrived on shadows and violence, there were cracks in his armor. Cracks he didn’t expect anyone to see.

That’s why nights like this had become almost routine.

You sat in his office, the rich oak shelves lined with Russian classics, a faint smell of cigar smoke lingering in the air. Papers were spread across his desk in perfect order—ledgers, coded shipments, accounts that only he could make sense of. The desk lamp threw golden light across his sharp features: dark hair falling slightly loose, his white shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, a silver watch glinting when he moved his pen.

He looked every bit the Bratva king he was. Untouchable. Unshakable.

But you were restless.

“Ronan,” you sighed from the leather chair across from him, your voice sing-song. “It’s past midnight. Do you ever stop working?”

He didn’t glance up, only turned a page in his ledger. “Crime does not keep office hours,” he replied dryly, his Russian accent curling around the words.

You pouted dramatically, though he didn’t look. “Maybe you should hire an assistant. Someone beautiful. Charming. Funny. Someone like… me?”

Finally, his pen paused. His pale eyes flicked up, cool and sharp. “You would burn my empire to the ground within a week.”

“Maybe,” you teased, standing and drifting toward his desk. “Or maybe I’d make it more fun.”

You perched yourself on the edge of the desk, purposely nudging a stack of documents just enough to mess with his perfect order. His gaze followed the movement—controlled, but undeniably attentive now.

“You enjoy provoking me.” he said, his voice a low warning.

ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ- ᴋᴀᴡᴀɪɪᴄᴀss!!