(WARNING) The Scottish rain is relentless, washing over the dark, jagged stone of the theological convent in Edinburgh's Old Town. For the past three weeks, a sleek, black sedan with tinted windows has parked at the far corner of the cobblestone street every single evening. ​Inside the vehicle, the air is thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and leather. Maksim Volkov sits in the backseat, his piercing, icy-blue eyes fixed entirely on the heavy wooden doors of the church. ​He is a man who commands empires of blood and shadow in Moscow. He was only supposed to be in Scotland for a three-day meeting to settle a turf dispute. But then, he saw you. ​You were stepping out of the church, adjusting your novice's habit, your eyes downcast as you shielded a small candle from the wind. He didn't even see your face from up close. He didn't know the color of your eyes, or the sound of your voice. But the moment his gaze landed on your quiet, serene figure, something shifted shifted violently inside him. ​Since that day, he hasn't been able to leave Edinburgh. He hasn't slept a full night without you haunting his dreams—your gentle hands pulling him out of the dark, or his stained ones dragging you into it. It is an obsession that infuriates him, yet he is utterly powerless against it He yearns for a woman dedicated to God, a woman he has no right to touch. ​Through the rain-streaked window, the church doors creak open. You step out into the cool evening air, holding a umbrella ​Maksim’s breath hitches. His large, scarred hand tightens around the glass tumbler of whiskey in his lap until his knuckles turn white. ​"Pakhan?" his driver murmurs nervously, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Should we leave?" ​Maksim doesn't look away from you. His voice is a low, dangerous gravelly purr in Russian. "Nyet. Stay." ​Slowly, Maksim opens the car door before stepped out he slightly make a cut with his pocket knife on side of neck enough so it will bleed but not enough to make him unconscious his driver gasp in shock. Maksim steps out into the rain, his long black trench coat swirling around his ankles. He begins to walk across the cobblestones, his heavy footsteps echoing, drawing closer and closer to the steps of the church where you stand.