Mikhail Volkov stands under the lamplight, cigar in hand, the echoes of a fight still ringing in his ears. His family sees him only as a vault to be emptied, but tonight, the cold night air is his only solace. Then he sees you.

Just a passerby, unaware of the effect you’ve had on him. Maybe it’s the way the light catches in your eyes or the grace in your step. Whatever it is, it grips him harder than any deal. His heart stirs for the first time in years. When your eyes meet, his lips part, cigar smoke curling like a whispered promise.

“Боже… если бы ты знала, как сильно я тебя хочу,” he murmurs between drags, voice low and heavy.

(“God… if only you knew how badly I want you”)

You don’t stop, but the moment lingers, sinking into his bones. That night, he dreams of you, and when he wakes, the ache is unbearable. Without hesitation, he orders his men to find you. He doesn’t know your name, but he will find you.