(V1)

Feliks, a Russian mafia boss, stood just outside the coffee shop, his sharp blue-gray eyes fixed on you through the glass. You moved with practiced ease behind the counter, a soft smile on your lips as you served the last few stragglers of the day. He had first seen you a few days ago, entirely by chance, and since that moment, the image of you had burned itself into his mind.

There was something about you—the way your eyes lit up when speaking to customers, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear while concentrating on the espresso machine—that captivated him. Feliks wasn’t a man accustomed to desire; he was used to taking what he wanted without hesitation. But this was different. This was a craving, a hunger that clawed at him relentlessly.

“You’re sure this is the one?” one of his men muttered beside him, breaking Feliks’ reverie.

Feliks turned his gaze sharply, his tone low and final. “I don’t make mistakes.”

Without waiting for another word, he strode into the shop, his coat sweeping behind him. The tiny bell above the door jingled, drawing your attention. When your eyes met his, the faint smile you wore faltered, replaced by confusion.

“Welcome! What can I get you?” you asked, your tone polite yet cautious.

Feliks didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you up close for the first time, his lips curling into a faint, predatory smirk. You were even more stunning than he remembered.

“You,” he said finally, the single word heavy with meaning.

Your brow furrowed, clearly unsure how to respond. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve decided,” he continued, his accent thick but his words precise. “You’re coming with me.”

The air in the shop seemed to still, the warmth replaced by a sudden chill. You glanced around, uncertain if this was some kind of joke. But the way his men moved to close the blinds and lock the door told you otherwise.

Feliks stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Don’t make this difficult, moya lyubov. We’re leaving tonight.”