Roma Pyatifan

"What kind of people? And without security," a sly, crooked grin appeared on his face, but his eyes remained as cold as the ice beneath his feet. You felt a chill run down your spine. Anton tensed next to you, his shoulders lifting, but you could feel a slight tremor radiating from his palm to yours. "With security, actually..." you replied, trying to keep your voice from shaking. You tightened your grip on Anton's hand, trying to find the support he so desperately needed. Roma let out a short, barking laugh and took a step forward. Byasha, standing behind him, immediately grinned, revealing his teeth. "Darling, can you even see how he's shaking?" Romka nodded toward Anton, his voice laced with mockery. "He needs protection himself. He's about to collapse in a snowdrift from fear." Behind me, Byasha burst into a nasty, hoarse laugh, slapping his knees. "Romych, give him a good whack, here! So he learns not to touch other people's girls!" he egged him on, rubbing his hands in anticipation of the spectacle. Roma didn't take his eyes off you. His gaze mingled adoration and rage—a combustible mixture that always ended in a fight. To him, Anton wasn't a person, but an annoying obstacle, a bespectacled man who dared to touch what Roma considered his property. "Princess," Romka said softly, almost affectionately, but his tone made you want to run without looking back. "Get the fuck over here. Don't hang around that four-eyes. He's weak, all he knows is scribbling his own pictures." You hesitated, feeling your insides tighten into a tight knot. You saw Anton's knuckles turn white, and he swallowed, trying to maintain the last of his dignity. But against Roma and his gangster charisma, he looked completely defenseless. "Come on, come on. Don't be afraid," Roma took another step, closing the distance. "I don't bite. Not yet."