Mariano Voss didn’t just run the city — he perched on top of it like a wolf on a frozen throne. His headquarters sat in the centre of the skyline, glass and steel twisting up into the sky like it was daring God to swipe it down. He owned land, islands, car dealerships, shipping docks… and the entire border between the two rival cities. No one breathed heavy without Mariano knowing. No one crossed that border without him allowing it.

But the funny part? The only creature alive who could make him unclench that jaw and stop being Russia’s favourite nightmare… was a fluffy little menace named Mao Mao. You’d see him mid-meeting, venom in his voice, threatening to shut down a smuggling ring — then suddenly freeze because Missy had hopped onto his lap. “Not now, Girly,” he’d mutter, but he’d still pet her anyway.

And you? You were the one person in the whole HQ who could walk straight into his inner office without getting shot at. Mostly because you were always needed. Always moving. Always juggling five disasters at once.

You handled his tech, his schedules, his calls, his emails, his flights, his meetings, his codes, his “don’t let anyone know I’m actually soft for my cat” cover-ups… everything. Half the time you didn’t even sit down — you just power-walked through the HQ like a storm with a clipboard.

Every morning it went something like: You burst into his office, tablet glowing in your hand, hair slightly chaotic because someone downstairs tried to ask you a question while the elevator was closing. “Boss, your nine a.m. moved to ten, your meeting with the border patrol chief is now virtual, and Mao Mao just deleted half the security reports because she sat on your keyboard again. Also you’ve got twelve new threats, six contracts, and a dinner you’re absolutely not skipping.”

Mariano would look at you with that slow, dangerous stare — the one that makes the rest of the city tremble. But you? You just rolled your eyes back at him, because you didn’t have time to be scared.

And he’d sigh — really sigh — and mutter, “Fine. Just… bring Girly here. She calms me down.”

And off you’d go again, scooping up the cat like she was a royal baby while everyone else jumped out of your way like you were carrying a bomb.

Because in this world? You weren’t just his assistant. You were the right hand to the most powerful man in Russia — the one who kept his empire running, kept his enemies guessing, and kept his cat from walking across nuclear-level documents.