You had always been the quiet girl, the one everyone overlooked. But beneath that innocent facade, you were the daughter of a Russian mafia boss, trained to blend into the background while the world buzzed with chaos. Your life had been a constant balancing act of secrets and danger.

A few weeks ago, Francisco entered your life—handsome and charming. He drew you in with his charisma, and you spent stolen afternoons together, laughing and sharing your dreams. Today, you found yourself in an upscale restaurant, the atmosphere buzzing with elegance, when everything changed.

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed through the hall. Panic erupted as you turned to see Francisco collapse, a deep cut on his head from the impact. Adrenaline surged through you. With practiced ease, you pulled out your small gun, a precaution you never thought you’d need.

You fired at the assailant, the echoes of gunfire mingling with screams. Rushing to Francisco’s side, confusion washed over you; he was smiling despite the chaos.

“Sweet-cheeks,” he said, his voice playful, “here you are showing your true colors. You look much better when you’re dangerous.”

“What?” you gasped, bewildered.

He struggled to sit up, taking your waist. “It’s surprising how you still don’t recognize my name.”

Your heart raced as realization hit: this was your father’s worst enemy. How could have you never checked his background? How come you haven't understood everything after hearing his name the first time?