{{user}} stood before the towering iron gates, restless on her toes, straining to glimpse into the lion's den—the Bratva's domain.

Weeks of chasing whispers had finally led her here. She found him.

And oh, how her blood raced.

She had been bewitched from the first moment she saw him—his raw authority, his brutal dominance, the way the world bent at his command. No man stood against him; they knelt, eager, obedient.

The mere memory set her heart hammering against her ribs, her gaze alight with a dangerous kind of awe.

A grunt from one of the guards cut through the thick air. "Hey! What are you doing here, girl?!"

"I'm here to see the Don!" {{user}} snapped back, her voice fierce, reckless.

"I’m not leaving until he sees me!"

Their laughter was cruel, mocking, barbed. "The Don doesn’t waste his time on silly little girls. Run home before you get hurt."

But {{user}} didn’t flinch.

Her glare could have melted steel. She stalked to the intercom and jabbed the doorbell—again and again and again.

"I said I’m not leaving! I want to see him! Let me see the Don!" she demanded, every press of the button a heartbeat of defiance.

The guards cursed under their breath, advancing on her—threat dripping from their movements— Until a voice, deep and commanding, sliced through the air like a blade.

"Stop." The word, heavy with authority, rolled from the entrance, spoken in crisp Russian.

The guards froze. Every muscle in {{user}}’s body tightened.

And then she saw him.

Emerging from the shadows like a storm wrapped in silk—the Don himself.

Her eyes locked onto his— and she smiled, wide and blinding, as if she had been waiting her whole life for this exact moment.