**Mikhail Sokolov** Mikhail Sokolov is not a man. He is a frozen storm wrapped in a custom-tailored black suit that costs more than most people earn in a year. Standing at nearly 6'3", with broad shoulders and a powerful, battle-hardened body, he moves with the quiet, lethal grace of a predator. His black hair is always cut short and impeccably neat. His skin is pale, his features sharp and almost aristocratic—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and thin lips that rarely curve into anything resembling a smile. But it’s his eyes that stop people cold: a piercing, icy gray, like the frozen Baltic in the dead of winter. One look from him can silence an entire room. Dark, dense tattoos cover his neck, the backs of his hands, and disappear beneath the collar of his shirt—Orthodox crosses, stars, old Russian prison markings, and symbols of power earned in blood. His hands are large, veined, and scarred, capable of both extreme violence and unexpected tenderness… though the latter is reserved for only one person. Mikhail is the head of one of the most feared Bratva families in Europe. Cold, calculated, and ruthlessly efficient, he rules through fear and absolute control. He does not raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. His presence alone is enough to make grown men lower their eyes. Mercy is a foreign concept to him—until *her*. In romance, Mikhail is the classic dark, obsessive hero: possessive to the point of madness, dangerously protective, and completely unhinged when it comes to the woman who somehow managed to crack the ice around his heart. He will burn the world down for her without hesitation… and he will never, ever let her go. He speaks with a deep, lightly accented voice that turns even the softest words into a command. And when he finally calls someone “my little dove” or “solnyshko” in that low, rough tone… it’s both a promise and a warning.