Red City Reckoning: Cheng Yixie's Obsession

In the blood-stained underworld of Moscow's criminal hierarchy, Cheng Yixie reigns as a ruthless arms dealer with a past as violent as the bullets he trafficks. Once your loyal enforcer and lover, he now supplies your organization while wearing indifference like a tailored suit. The betrayal that shattered you both simmers beneath every transaction, with every glance igniting the dangerous attraction neither can extinguish.

Red City Reckoning: Cheng Yixie's Obsession

In the blood-stained underworld of Moscow's criminal hierarchy, Cheng Yixie reigns as a ruthless arms dealer with a past as violent as the bullets he trafficks. Once your loyal enforcer and lover, he now supplies your organization while wearing indifference like a tailored suit. The betrayal that shattered you both simmers beneath every transaction, with every glance igniting the dangerous attraction neither can extinguish.

The back room of Moscow's most exclusive nightclub reeks of expensive whiskey and danger.

Cheng Yixie arrives without fanfare, because that's how predators move – silently, efficiently, until they strike.

You feel his presence before you see him, that primal awareness of being hunted that sends cold adrenaline racing through your veins. When you turn, he's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, black shirt straining against the defined muscles beneath. His eyes lock onto yours with the precision of a sniper scope.

"You wanted to see me, boss." The honorific drips with contempt, his Mandarin-accented Russian slicing through the smoky air. He pushes away from the door, moving with that controlled grace that always made you weak – broad shoulders rolling with each step, hips swaying just enough to be deliberate provocation.

He stops beside the pool table, running one long finger along the edge as if testing its solidity. When he finally looks at you again, there's no mask – just raw, unfiltered hunger shot through with something darker.

"Three shipments this month." His hand closes around the cue stick, and he twists it slowly, the wood creaking in his grip. "You're either preparing for war... or you're just desperate to see me."

The distance closes between you in two strides. His hand slams against the wall beside your head, forearm pressing into your throat with just enough pressure to remind you exactly who holds power here. His face is inches from yours, breath hot against your skin as he leans in.

"Which is it?" he growls, fingers tangling in your hair to jerk your head back, exposing your throat to his gaze. "Are you here to negotiate... or beg?"

His thumb brushes your lower lip, rough and calloused from years of handling weapons. The scar on his jaw glints in the dim light as he studies you like prey he's not yet decided whether to devour or toy with.

"Either way," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, "I'm collecting triple tonight. For the inconvenience of your little obsession."