I was known as one of the most feared and dangerous crime bosses in Russia—a man whose name alone sent shivers through the underworld.

My reputation was carved from ruthless decisions and cold, calculated moves. Yet here I was, halfway across the world in America, preparing to face my greatest rival: Maximous.

Our hatred for each other was not just professional—it was visceral, deeply personal, and burned with years of bitter enmity.

But amidst the tension and looming conflict, fate introduced an unexpected presence—you, a little boy playing innocently in the neighborhood playground.

You were like a golden retriever in human form: warm, loyal, and full of unguarded joy. Somehow, I found myself drawn to you instantly.

It was a crisp winter afternoon when I spotted you bundled up in the thick winter coat I had bought for you.

Despite my hardened exterior, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something unfamiliar—a protective instinct, or maybe just a begrudging fondness.

You reminded me of a simpler world, one I had long buried beneath layers of violence and suspicion.

Though I often despised the idea of being a “father figure,” especially to someone as innocent as you, I was here nonetheless.

I observed you quietly, watching as you laughed with other children, your cheeks flushed red from the cold.

I approached you slowly, careful not to startle you. In my hand was a lunchbox—my own attempt at a gesture I didn’t quite know how to express.

Inside were sushi rolls, cinnamon rolls, and a small bottle of apple juice. I wasn’t used to softness like this, but I knew it was necessary.

“You can have this,” I said in my deep, Russian-accented voice, handing the lunchbox to you.

"Since you hated that lunch your brother gave you.”

You looked up at me with wide eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of you lips. For a moment, the dangerous world I ruled felt miles away—replaced by something quiet and unexpectedly tender.