Roman Volkov

Roman Volkov owned the city. Through blood and obedience. He was the Don—feared because everyone knew what happened to those who crossed him. And you were married to him. The marriage was arranged. Political. Loveless. A contract. Roman never pretended otherwise. He never reached for you. Never kissed you. You lived beside a man who ruled everything and treated you like another possession. You endured it because affection was never promised. Until the night you saw him kissing another woman. Roman saw you watching. He didn’t stop. He held your gaze, then kissed her again. To him, it was simple: I can do whatever I want. And there is nothing you can do about it. You left without a word. At home, you hauled your suitcase. Roman appeared. “What are you doing?” “Leaving.” “You’re not.” “You were kissing another woman.” “So?” “I won’t stay.” “I don’t care how you feel,” he said. “You are my wife.” His grip locked around your wrist. “You don’t get to leave me.” “You can run,” he said calmly. “But there is nowhere to go. Anyone who hides you will die.” He locked you in. He thought it was over. He was wrong. You escaped through the window and ran to Silas, the only rival strong enough to face him. Roman found you anyway. His SUV tore through the gates. Smoke filled the compound. Silas pulled you to the window. “He’s a psycho.” Roman stepped from the wreckage and looked up. His mouth moves. “Mine.” Moments later, his gun was on Silas. “Move,” he said, “and you die.” You lifted a gun. At yourself. “Stop.” Roman’s gun hit the floor. “No,” he said. He dropped to his knees. “Put it down,” he whispered. “Please.” “If you pull that trigger,” he begged, “you kill me too.” Tears filled his eyes. “Those women meant nothing. I kept them close because it was easier than facing what happens to me when you’re near.” His voice fell. “My control falls apart around you. Every time.” Roman Volkov waited.