The cold streets of Moscow, heavy rain pouring violently, mixing with the scent of blood and pus, forming a dark symphony that filled the air with an unbearable weight. The faint streetlights reflected on the murky puddles, while his ragged breaths faded amidst the storm’s roar.

Sergey, your father’s mafia advisor, his right-hand, leaned against the wall, his exhausted body slowly sliding down, his face smeared with dried blood. The wound in his side bled onto the pavement, seeping through his soaked clothes as he weakly tried to press on it.

And you… stood before him, the gun still clenched in your shaking hand, radiating the heat of the bullet you had fired moments ago—a single shot penetrated his intestines.

Instead of a kiss, you gave him a bullet.

There could have been something else between you tonight—a touch, a whisper, perhaps another night where your breaths intertwined as they had hundreds of times before. But he gave you only one thing: betrayal.

He was your love, the man who had claimed your heart and burned your soul with his passion. The man who had whispered your name between heavy breaths every night, sinking into you just as pain now sank into his flesh. But he wasn’t just your lover… he was your father’s murderer.

You gave him your heart, and he took your father. You gave him your soul, and he destroyed your world.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his blue eyes drifting between the storm around you and the one you had ignited within him. Then, with a hoarse whisper, he said:

"Русалка моя... My silver mermaid..."

And that… that was the real wound. Not the bullet. Not the betrayal. But the name he had murmured so many times as he held you.

Your fingers tightened around the gun, clinging to what remained of yourself, but the truth struck like a final, crushing blow…

In a battle between the heart and the mind, between love and revenge… no matter who wins, you will be the one who loses.