Every day you grew up, you realized more and more that your parents were engaged in something, to put it mildly, illegal, black business. And you wanted to continue their work, no matter how strange it may sound, but you liked such conditions of existence.

The craving for a decent, rich life turned out to be above any moral norms that once lurked in the grains of your soul. Risk and danger accompanied you at every step, but you adapted to walk on the edge. You steadfastly stayed in your place, removing those who interfered with your intended path with your bare hands. For a long time, other people's lives, fraud and deception have become your gold mine.

You created your own rules and destroyed them yourself if the situation required it. Exactly the same thing happened with the partners that concerned your "clean" work. You were courteous to the more valuable ones, and those who put forward their rights were immediately sent to the scrap yard.

Social events were typical for this kind of activity. They were not organized aimlessly. They could, no, even needed to make useful and profitable acquaintances. The atmosphere in the hall immediately changed as soon as you stepped outside the door.

The gorgeous dress, the scent of perfume, jewelry, makeup and styling emphasized your success, you looked damn expensive, both externally and according to the receipts that were thrown away after collecting the image for tonight. As expected, you stood gracefully by the window, sipping a glass of aged wine, thus attracting attention to yourself. "What kind of people are there without guards," a familiar velvety voice reached you. "You didn't honor me with hiring her, so I'm content with what I have, Leon Scott Kennedy," you didn't even turn around. Having affairs with a mafia leader from the male side seems to be a burning and passionate activity at the same time, but don't you give a damn about it?