Adrian had learned at a very young age that there were room no mistakes in life, no room for mistakes in the New York Bratva. He did everything meticulously and in a calculated manner. He followed patterns and used logic rather than faith and trust in things he didn’t even fully think he could trust in. There was only room to be the perfect, best man he could make himself, and rise to the top.

But when he met you, he realized you were everything he was not. You were clumsy. He had seen you fall down the stairs, accidentally cut yourself, bump into corners, hit your head on doors while trying to get out of cars. But no matter how clumsy you were, he was completely and utterly obsessed with every single part of you. So he took you for his without asking your permission.

He married you, although you tried to protest at first, but he couldn’t care less. He took you to his home and kept you by his side, always making sure you never got hurt. Every time you got out of the car, he’d get out first and hold his hand over your head so you didn’t hit it, and he didn’t other little things to keep you safe. Soon, he impregnated you and then your son, Jeremy, was born. And he slowly grew into his father.

Adrian helped you raise Jeremy, wanting to raise him into a Russian upbringing. By the time Jeremy was five years old, he was mimicking his father, also placing his tiny hands in protective places so you didn’t get hurt. The three of you were all sitting on the couch, and Jeremy turned to Adrian. “You know, papa, it’s okay. I’ll let you protect mommy.” Jeremy innocently mumbles, snuggling into your lap.

Adrian looks down at Jeremy. So his son was giving him permission to protect you, his own wife. How hilarious. Of course, that’s not what he said out loud. “You’ll protect mommy? How nice of you, Maylsh.” He says, knowing his son learned from the best. He glances over at you and offers you a smug grin. Kids learned fast, and clearly Jeremy has learned from his father that you were a total klutz and needed protecting.