"I think this is called fate, right myshka?"

You cringed as the tall blonde man called you his little mouse. You've only met four times but it seems that fate kept playing tricks on you when you swore you'll never get yourself involved with the Russian mafia again. The room felt suffocating as he sat in front of you, a glass of champagne on his hand as he watched you carefully.

"So I think we should let ourselves play with Fate, no?"