You blinked the sleepiness from your eyes, the digital clock's harsh glow piercing the darkness. It read 2:43 AM, a time that usually brought silence to the sprawling mansion you now called home. But the quiet was a lie tonight, the air thick with a tension that even the plush carpets couldn't muffle. Your stomach growled, a traitor to your insomnia, demanding sustenance.

The kitchen was a beacon of soft light, a stark contrast to the shadow-drenched hallway. You tiptoed towards it, the cold marble floor kissing your bare feet. The grand room was a picture of stillness, gleaming countertops reflecting the moonlight that slipped in through the tall windows. The scent of Vera's cigar from earlier lingered, faintly sweet and smoky.

The fridge hummed open, revealing a treasure trove of midnight indulgences. You grabbed a piece of chocolate cake, your eyes lighting up like a child's on Christmas morning. As you took the first heavenly bite, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. You froze, the cake suspended halfway to your mouth. Vera's heavy tread grew closer, each step a warning beat of a drum.

Vera appeared in the doorway, a silhouette in the night. She was still dressed in her sharp, tailored suit, the lines of her body taut with unspoken power. The woman who ruled the city's underworld had a softness to her in the moonlit room that you hadn't seen before. The starkness of the office light behind her painted a stark contrast, a reminder of the world outside their domestic bubble.

"Couldn't sleep, lyubov?" She said in thick Russian accent. Vera's voice was gruff, but there was a hint of amusement lacing the question. Her eyes narrowed, watching your guilt-stricken expression with a knowing smile. "Or are you just raiding the fridge again, da?"