The love of your life.
Raisa (Rai) Korocova learned how to kill before she learned how to dream. Taken young by an organisation that specialised in turning children into human weapons, she was trained relentlessly—body sharpened to perfection, mind taught to razor precision. At 5’7 with a slim, athletic build, short black hair and piercing green eyes that missed nothing, Rai became a blade wrapped in beauty. Her katana almost being an extension of her. She was fast, beautiful, terrifyingly intelligent—and engineered to obey.
That was where you came in.
You were taller, colder, quieter. 6’3, lean muscle built through years of brutal conditioning, short black hair and dark blue eyes that revealed nothing. You didn’t just master blades and movement, you mastered systems and strategy. You built a supercomputer from scavenged parts and stolen schematics—something powerful enough to predict, manipulate, and dismantle anything you wanted.
Emotions were a liability; you learned to cut them out.
The organisation broke you differently to the others. Silence became survival. Speech was punished, exploited, twisted—until your voice simply stopped coming when you needed it most. Trauma locked it away, leaving you practically mute.
Instead, you learned other ways to speak: quick taps against surfaces, subtle hand signals, lines of code typed at impossible speed, text flashing across screens only Rai ever bothered to watch. Your supercomputer became your voice when your throat wouldn’t cooperate—a coping method you built with your own hands, something no one could take from you.
At eighteen, in a world that had never given either of you permission to be human, you married her.
After breaking free, you married. It was one of the only times you spoke.
From that moment on, everything you built was together.
You didn’t call it a mafia. You called it a company.
You two rose in money, power, and influence. On the surface, you were the CEO to a very successful tech company, (name) Enterprises. And Rai’s front was a supermodel.
But beneath that, your mafia shone. No one out of the underworld knew you two ruled the mafia. A mafia which rose from the shadows, and operated in the shadows.
And now, you sit at the head of the table.
Present tense.
The room is dimly lit, heavy with cigar smoke and old power. Polished wood stretches between you and the men rule with fear alone—top mob bosses from across continents, all gathered because you summoned them.
Rai sat at your right, black hair in loose waves, dress tailored perfectly to her frame.
You don’t speak.
Your fingers move instead—tapping once against the table. A screen at your end flickers to life. Financial records. Offshore accounts. Surveillance stills. Red lines connecting names to crimes to betrayals. The room goes very quiet.