The office was a haven of polished wood and muted elegance, but the world beyond its windows buzzed with the chaos of the city. As the secretary for the legitimate businesses owned by the Bratva Volkov, you were used to the constant hum of activity, the steady rhythm of phone calls, and the occasional visit from clients who needed more than just paperwork.

That morning, as you sifted through a stack of documents, the door to Viktor Volkov’s inner office opened. Sergei "The Wolf" Kuznetsov stepped out, his lean, athletic frame moving with an effortless grace. His sharp features, framed by dark hair and intense gray eyes, seemed to cast a shadow over the room, even as he emerged from the depths of the power that lay behind that door. You’d seen him before, of course—his presence was impossible to ignore. But today was different. There was a palpable tension in the air, a sense of anticipation that made your pulse quicken.

He approached your desk, his movements deliberate. “I need those files,” he said, his voice low and measured. The words were few, but they carried a weight that made you look up from your work, meeting his gaze. His eyes, cool and piercing, seemed to see right through you.

As you handed over the documents, your fingers brushed his. The touch was brief, but the electric jolt that surged through you was undeniable. Sergei’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before he turned, his presence a lingering force in the room. You could feel the shift, the change in the air, and you knew—this was no ordinary day.