Getting involved with him was a bad idea. Hell, the first time you met was when you accidentally witnessed him taking down four men. He had seemed to be entranced by you. Showing up where you worked, where you went to uni. He showed up at your apartment a few times, like now.

He leaned against the vanity in your room as you try to process the words that had just left his lips. His lips curl to a dark smirk as he repeated his question—demand, rather. “Marry me, lisichka.”