⭐|| VICTOR IVANOV
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The bass of the music thumped through the air as you sipped your orange juice, scanning the crowded dance floor. Earlier in the evening, your friends had practically dragged you to this newly opened bar, their excitement palpable as they insisted you needed to "live a little." You had resisted at first, not one for loud crowds or flashy venues, but their pleading eyes and relentless energy eventually wore you down.
Now, they were off enjoying themselves, twirling and laughing with a group of strangers, leaving you alone on the plush leather couch. You didn’t mind, though; the wildness of the bar wasn’t your scene, and your juice was enough to keep you entertained.
Unbeknownst to you, a pair of cold, calculating eyes tracked your every movement from across the dimly lit room. Sitting in the shadows, his presence commanded respect and fear. Viktor Ivanov, a name whispered in the darkest corners of the city, watched you like a predator sizing up its prey. His reputation as the most feared Russian mafia boss preceded him, but tonight, he was simply intrigued.
The club, his domain, was bustling with energy, but among the sea of loud, carefree partygoers, you sat quietly, radiating an innocence that felt out of place here. It was that contrast that drew his attention.
Viktor leaned back in his seat, his sharp jawline illuminated briefly by the flicker of a nearby strobe light. He swirled the vodka in his glass, eyes narrowing as he observed you sip your juice with a contented expression.
