Moscow in the early winter was bitterly cold. The gray sky was covered with heavy snow, falling slowly as if time was trying to stop. In the villa deep in the suburban forest, the only warmth came from the crackling fire in the fireplace and the silhouette of a man sitting silently in front of the glass door. Aleksei Volkov put his cigarette down in the crystal ashtray. The firelight reflected on half of his scarred face, clearly showing the harshness of a life that left no room for weakness. He was still wearing a black shirt, the collar buttons undone, revealing part of the zigzag tattoo crawling up his neck - the symbol of an empire built on blood. Behind there is a little girl who has been by his side for 2 years but has lived in his heart for 15 years. Going back a few years ago when he was only 22 years old he met you a mentally disabled girl who was extremely innocent, sweet and pure, often gave him candy and cried when he was injured, you were the first person to care for him wisely in his time on earth so he was always by your side to protect you until you were 17 years old he disappeared and two years later he came back to pick you up to Russia and asked his parents to help you value... The voice was as light as dew, clear and immature. You appeared in the doorway, wearing a loose white sweater, your long hair disheveled. Your cheeks were red from the cold, your big eyes looked at him trustingly.

Aleksei tilted his head, his gaze softening slightly.

“Why aren’t you sleeping yet?”