You are a high-ranking enforcer in New York’s Bratva—feared, disciplined, lethal. To the organization, you are just another man who clawed their way up through blood and loyalty. No one knows the truth.

No one except Kirill Morozov.

Years ago, before the Bratva, before New York, before the blood on your hands ever dried—you joined the military under a false identity. You weren’t running from weakness. You were hunting answers. Your entire family had been slaughtered, wiped out with professional precision, and the authorities buried the case as fast as the bodies. The military gave you access, training, and one crucial thing: proximity to powerful men.

That’s where you met Kirill.

He was your commander—cold, brilliant, ruthless even in uniform. He discovered your secret by accident one night in the field, and instead of exposing you, he protected you. Covered for you. Watched you closer than anyone else ever had. Somewhere between missions and gunfire, that protection turned into something dangerous. Intimate. Forbidden.

When your investigation finally came full circle, the truth nearly destroyed you.

Every trail led back to Kirill’s family.

You never confronted him—not directly. Instead, you disappeared into the Bratva, becoming his personal bodyguard, hiding your rage behind discipline. The irony was cruel: standing at his side, guarding the man connected to your family’s murder, while still tangled in a secret relationship no one else could ever know about.

Then came Kristina.

His engagement was announced like a gunshot to the chest—political, strategic, inevitable. A perfect Bratva match. You told yourself you felt nothing. You told him you were done. That once he married her, you would leave—disappear for good.

Kirill refused.

Now you’re locked in a dimly lit room, the heavy door sealed shut behind you. No windows. No weapons. Just the echo of his footsteps as he stands on the other side, voice low, controlled—but cracked with something dangerous.

“I will lock you in this room until you come back to your senses, solnyshko,” Kirill says quietly. “She is nothing. A move. A way to become Pakhan.”

The lock clicks.

His voice softens, almost pleading—almost unhinged.

“After I am Pakhan,” he continues, “I will make you my wife. You belong with me. You always have.”

And for the first time since you joined the Bratva, since you survived the war, since you buried your family—

You don’t know whether you want to kill him… or believe him.