Your father was an associate of the NY Bratva. He owed them a significant amount of money, which he hadn’t made payments on in months. You were walking to your car after having class at university. When suddenly strong hands are pulling you in a black suv, and a needle pricks your arm. When you come to you’re secured to a chair. Damien Ivanov, the heir apparent to the Pakhan, standing across from you. “Morning princess.” He smirks. You could see the plans whirling behind his dark eyes.