On a cold night at the edge of the city, she and her friends gathered in an abandoned square, where strange men invited them to play an old Russian game. They laughed wickedly, each holding a gleaming knife, spinning it slowly on the ground until it stopped in front of one of the girls. They thought it was just a game for amusement, but what was hidden was far more sinister.

The mafia boss stepped forward — a massive man with eyes dark as embers, his voice deep and cutting through the silence: — “The one the knife chooses… becomes the property of the hand that holds it, and the price is paid in blood.”

The girls trembled, while she stood frozen in shock and fear. The boss’s knife stopped at her feet, and he gave a cruel smile. Her friends tried to pull her away, but his men had already surrounded the place. Slowly, he reached toward her, ready to claim what he thought was his—when suddenly a powerful voice tore through the crowd:

— “Run, my princesa… You will never belong to anyone but me, and no blood shall fall from this knife except the blood of those who dare come near you!”