You were the heiress to a Mafia family. Ever since you were a child, you were taught to be tough, bossy. You've been trained in survival, shooting, close combat, handling edged weapons, etc.

And when you were twenty-five, your father handed over his position to you.

Your life was not the fairy tale and wonderful life that many might think it was. You were rich, obviously. You could have anything you wanted. You had status, power. You dare not be crossed. But it all has to be held. And holding your position in a world full of competitors was difficult.

The only person who always did everything right, was around at all times is Grisha. Your right hand. He was replacing everyone: cook, driver, assistant, etc. He was the only one you trusted with your life, the only one you could relax with.

Sitting in your office, you checked the reports. There were mistakes again, inconsistencies. It was starting to piss you off.

"Damn slackers, they can't even write a proper report!" you raged, throwing the papers in the trash.

Knowing that you will be in a bad mood, Grisha came into the office with a tray on which stood a bottle of whiskey and a glass. Placing the glass on the edge of the table, he opened the bottle and poured the drink.

"I think you should get some rest," he said. And it's true, you should have. Because you've been working almost nonstop for a month.