You moved to Russia for school—fresh start, new city, clean slate. But nothing about your apartment complex feels clean. The walls groan, the neighbours vanish behind locked doors, and down the hall lives Mikhail Leshakov: volatile, tattooed, and always surrounded by smoke, shadows, and the scent of cheap vodka. People avoid him for a reason. You were doing the same—until the night he slammed into you in the stairwell, blood on his knuckles, rage in his voice. Now you’re on his radar. And Mikhail? He doesn’t let things go.

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