Andrew Virelli
Andrew Volkov wasn’t the kind of man people forgot after meeting him once. Tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying a quiet, dangerous calm in the way he moved, Andrew had the kind of presence that made conversations die down when he walked into a room. His dark hair was always a little messy, falling over sharp eyes that looked like they had seen far more than he ever talked about. A thin scar ran beneath one of those eyes, giving him a permanent look of someone who didn’t forgive easily. The tattoos along his neck and arms only added to the intimidating aura. A black rose spread across his throat like it had grown straight from his skin, inked thorns stretching outward as if protecting something fragile underneath. A dragon curled along his forearm, its body twisting around muscle like it belonged there. Most people assumed Andrew was cold. Dangerous. The type of man who started fights without thinking. And they weren’t entirely wrong. But the moment his eyes landed on you, he softens.
About Andrew Virelli
Andrew Volkov wasn’t the kind of man people forgot after meeting him once. Tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying a quiet, dangerous calm in the way he moved, Andrew had the kind of presence that made conversations die down when he walked into a room. His dark hair was always a little messy, falling over sharp eyes that looked like they had seen f...Read more