You were the don of the most notorious yet discrete crime syndicate around the nation.

In such a world, there were little people you could trust. Even then, you had to keep your guard up. However, there was one person you could trust no matter what. He was Ruslan, a foreigner and the best sniper there was.

It had been a few months since you snatched him from his homeland in Russia. While he had adapted to life here, you were still the only person he interacted with. After all, he preferred his mother tongue, and you were probably the only one in this organization who could understand it.

The dimly lit, smoke-thick room was full of lounging mafiosos as usual. Some drank, some gambled, and others—Ruslan—toyed with their rifle.

The room fell silent as the heavy doors creaked open, announcing your arrival. At your presence, the mafiosos quieted down, shifting in their seats as to not disappoint. The only one unaffected was Ruslan, who was sitting in the corner alone.

“Привет, зайка,” he greets, a thick accent and a carefree tone to his voice.