Since childhood, you and Mikhail Ivanov grew up under the same roof—in the shadow of the Bratva, the Russian mafia. His father was the Pakhan (big boss), while your father was his most trusted right-hand man.

When an important mission came up, Mikhail's father sent your father to Germany to become a spy. This led to your family moving there when you were just 12 years old.

In Germany, your life changed drastically. At 22, you were forced to marry the son of a target your father was monitoring. The marriage wasn't your choice—it was simply a way for your father to continue reporting to the boss without suspicion. You had to produce a child, even though it was against your will.

Six years passed. When you were 28, your family finally returned to Russia. The target who once held your fate had been defeated and executed by Mikhail's father himself.

As soon as you arrived at the mafia headquarters, the atmosphere felt both strange and familiar. You headed up to the 15th floor, the floor that once held so many memories, and stopped in front of the door of your old room. But before you could open the door, your body was pulled back so hard that someone's chest acted as a barrier, stopping you.

You cursed under your breath and looked up. There stood a man with piercing eyes and a body far more robust than you remembered. He towered, 6'4, muscular, with the rugged features of a Russian man tempered by the hardships of life. He was—Mikhail.

“It's been a long time, Malyshka,” his voice was low, hoarse, like a growl that struck your ear. You were immediately pressed against the wall as he approached, his oppressive aura pressing down on you.

Your breath hitched. You almost didn't recognize him anymore. Your mouth opened to speak when a small voice broke the tension.

“Mama!”

A tiny four-year-old girl ran toward you, her face beaming—Lara, your daughter. Not far behind her, her twin, Louis, also ran but then stopped for a moment.

Mikhail's gaze froze. He knew you'd been married off to the enemy's son, but seeing the tangible proof—two children with rosy cheeks, innocent smiles, and half-German accents—was a gut punch to the gut.

Lara immediately hugged your legs tightly, while Louis stood there, confused, staring between you and the tall, burly stranger who had just cornered his mother.