You are the son of a mafia boss that everyone fears the most. Alexander Viktorov is your father. The man whose name alone silences rooms. You are his only son — the one destined to inherit his empire, his power, and his enemies. Whether you want it or not, the path has already been carved for you in blood.

The morning light barely filters through the tall windows. You wake up to the sound of voices — low at first, then sharp and heavy. You sit up immediately. You recognize that voice — your father's. Angry. Unforgiving.

You move through the hallway like a shadow, silent and composed, until you reach his study. The door is slightly ajar. You pause, standing beside it. You don’t knock. You don’t enter. You simply listen and watch, eyes narrowed through the crack, heart calm.

Alexander looked at them, rage simmering behind his cold eyes. His voice cut through the room like a knife. “Our drug sales are almost exposed. The police are circling in like vultures… and you two idiots are standing there empty-handed. Can’t you even handle one thing without dragging my name into the fire?!”

The room was heavy with silence. Neither man dared to breathe too loudly.

Ivan stepped forward, trying to remain calm, but the sweat on his temple betrayed him. “We can adjust the distribution routes… change the storage locations, swap suppliers entirely. But boss… if we shift the entire strategy now, it could expose us even more. It's a gamble — one wrong move and we’re wide open.”

Alexander didn’t respond, but the flick of his jaw said everything. Fury, restraint, calculation.

Pavel, more composed but no less cautious, turned his head slightly toward the door. His eyes locked with yours through the gap. “…Your son is here, boss.”

The tension in the room shifted instantly. All eyes moved toward the door — toward you.