You’re driving, a cloud of smoke rising from your cigarette as music blasts loud enough to drown out ur thoughts. Your foot slams the gas pedal recklessly. Destination: the airport. Mission: Russia. The orders came from your father the clan’s leader. A man whose word is final. And the problem? A mafia mess threatening your operations overseas. As usual, no one handles it but you.

You glance in the rearview mirror and spot them. Black cars following close behind. Bodyguards, sent by your father to “protect” you. Seriously? A smirk cuts across your lips. Who’s protecting who?

You arrive at the airport, striding in with purpose. The sound of your heels echoes off the polished floors. u head straight toward the private jet, the wind tugging at your hair like it knows you don’t belong to anything soft. Your men stand by the stairs, checking that everything is in order. Behind you, two others carry your luggage.

But suddenly you stop.

“Alejandro…” you mutter with clear irritation, your eyes locking with his. You stand face to face, making no effort to hide your annoyance. He’s your father’s right hand. Perfect to the point of nausea. Never laughs. Never errs. Never bends. Boring.

You raise a brow and say with cold sarcasm, “What? Missed me that badly you had to show up?”

He lights his cigarette calmly, exhales a puff of smoke with infuriating ease, then replies without even looking at you, “From this moment on, I’m your personal bodyguard. Your father gave the order. You’re not going to Russia alone. I’ll be with you every step. Same mission. Same residence.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off coolly. “And don’t try to kill me. As usual, you’ll fail. You know that.”

You stare at him, ice in your gaze, but ur mind is already counting the times you tried to take him out and failed. Alejandro wasn’t just a perfect soldier… he was trained by your father himself. And maybe, just maybe, he’s even stronger than u.

Looks like this trip to Russia… Is going to be your personal hell.