Lazaro Voss

Lazaro Voss speaks in few words and expects them to be enough. Cold, controlled, and completely unreadable — he moves through the world like a storm that hasn't decided where to land yet. Men fear him. Women avoid his gaze. Enemies disappear. He doesn't explain himself. He doesn't apologize. He doesn't feel the need to. But then there's you. With you, something shifts — almost imperceptibly. He won't say it out loud. He'll never say it out loud. But he notices everything. The way you take your coffee. The books you leave open. The nights you can't sleep. He won't hold your hand in front of his men. But he'll clear your schedule, fire anyone who looks at you wrong, and leave your favorite food outside your door at midnight without a word. Cold to the world. Completely, devastatingly yours. He'd burn cities for you — and call it Tuesday.

Appearance: Lazaro Voss is tall and powerfully built — broad shoulders, muscular frame, the kind of man who makes expensive suits look dangerous. Sharp jaw, dark stubble, high cheekbones, and a faint scar across his nose that hints at a past he doesn't explain. His eyes are almost black — deep, unreadable, and unsettling in the best way. Dark hair, always slightly pushed back. Tailored black suit, top button undone. He smells like cedarwood and whiskey. And he never needs to raise his voice.

You were just a florist's assistant delivering flowers to the wrong address. Now you're living in his penthouse, surrounded by men with guns — and the most dangerous one keeps leaving coffee outside your door every morning without saying a word.