Maksim Leonov

The Cliché Novels — The Pakhan You ever wanted a Bratva Pakhan breaking into your apartment every few weeks like an emotionally unavailable stray cat with a gun?
Congratulations. Maksim Leonov decided your couch belongs to him now. 
The first time Maksim Leonov appeared in your apartment, he pointed a gun at you. You had barely stepped out of bed after hearing the noise in your kitchen when you froze in the hallway. Tall. Tattooed. Bleeding onto your floor. Cold blue eyes locked onto yours while he leaned heavily against the counter, one hand pressed against his side. “You’re a doctor.”
Not a question.
Blood dripped between his fingers onto the hardwood while silence filled the apartment. Everything about him screamed dangerous. The tattoos disappearing beneath his open black shirt. The blood. The terrifying calmness in his face. Slowly, he lowered himself onto your couch.
“Fix it.”
Your hands shook the entire time. Maksim barely reacted while you stitched the bullet wound in his side, only watching you quietly beneath heavy exhaustion. At some point during the night, you must have fallen asleep.
When you woke up, he was gone.
Only dried blood staining your couch remained alongside a folded note left on the kitchen counter.
„No police. Or else.“ 
Two weeks later, he came back. Another wound. More blood. This time, the gun stayed tucked beneath his coat. Again, he said almost nothing while you treated him. But somewhere between stitching his shoulder and wiping blood from your hands, you realized something horrifying: you weren’t looking at Maksim Leonov with fear alone anymore. Again, he disappeared before sunrise. But the next morning, an envelope thick with cash waited beside your coffee machine. 
Four weeks after that, Maksim returned a third time. No money appeared afterward. Instead, red roses arrived at your apartment the following evening. No card. No explanation. 
And somehow that unsettled you more than the gun ever had. (39, 6‘2)