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"I see," I mumbled, my gaze fixed on the man's bloodied face as he knelt before me, held in place by my men.

His eyes were swollen shut, his face saturated with desperation, almost as if he'd been marinating in it.

But his desperation only irritates me more.

"Please, Kozlov, I apologize greatly," the man whimpered, collapsing weakly onto his knees.

My men yanked him upright again, forcing him into a more respectful kneeling position.

"You bite the hand that feeds you," I said, my voice cold and void of any sympathy.

As I stepped closer, he instinctively flinched—a reflex born purely of fear.

I tsked softly, lowering down to his height so our eyes could meet directly.

After all the lies and theft he committed behind our backs, I insist he meets my stare.

"You die now," I murmured, tilting my head slightly as I watched his reaction—his lips clamped together, his expression growing even more desperate, and his breaths coming faster.

I found it satisfying.

"I'll do anything, Kozlov—name it, and I'll do it," he begged, struggling against the men in black who held him firmly.

I never bothered to learn their names—there are too many of them to keep track.

"Anything?" I echoed, the word dripping with distaste.

I already have what he calls anything.

The man missed the noticeable hint of my offense, "Anything, Kozlov," he insisted.

I fell silent, my stare piercing through his eyes that reflected pure fear back at me.

However, his confusion quickly grew when he noticed the faintest of smiles curling up on my lips.

My smile widened into a mocking grin as I laughed softly, "You are the most pathetic, Boris," I said, rising to my full height. "You made your bed, now you lie in it."

I reached for the gun tucked into the back of my waistband, taking a step closer to him.

Which made Boris shiver as I pressed the gun's cold tip against his forehead—his eyes squeezed shut so tightly.

But his surrender only bored me.

I let out a distasteful sigh, letting the gun drop onto the marble floor of his house—a house he could only afford with the money he stole.

Boris's eyes snapped back open at my actions, terror suddenly written all over his face when he saw the knife I drew from my waistband.

I always carry a variety of weapons.

He shook his head furiously as I approached, but before he could plead again—

I slashed the knife across his neck, blood spraying everywhere.

Including my favorite fur coat, which I would now have to fucking replace.

Blyat.

"You watch him die," I instructed the two men on either side of Boris—who was now choking and wheezing on his own blood.

As they nodded, I stepped back, the click of my stilettos echoing precisely against the marble floors.

The metallic scent of blood hung heavily in the air as I exited the house to the grey outdoors, where the snow stuck to the grass for miles.

I pulled my bloodied fur coat tighter, accustomed to the mess of my work.

I've been covered in someone else's blood before and it's never affected me.

I glanced over to the chauffeured Maybach waiting for me, exhaling thick clouds of gas as it sat parked out front among the two other SUVs my men drove.

The warmth greeted me inside the car—along with my driver, who never met my gaze.

No one ever did.

"Back home," I said as I leaned back in my seat with a sigh, staring out of the tinted windows.

And by the time we made it back into the busy city of Moscow, the blood of the pathetic man I killed had dried.

Which left me frustrated as my driver pulled to the front of the secured compound.

I sighed as I watched the driver put the car in park, stepping out of the car to open the back door for me.

And as the man nodded his head down at my presence, I walked past him to ascend the staircase leading up to the double doors made of stone-cold marble.

The chill of the stone mirrored the cold silence of the house inside.

All I could hear were the soft patter of paws—my loyal Dobermans, Misha and Varya.

They are my most treasured companions, their devotion always surpassed any treacherous human.

As my father always said, animals provide a loyalty that people simply cannot.

"Good girls," I murmured, bending slightly to greet my dogs.

At my two snaps, they sprang from their seated position, their tails wagging and their tongues eagerly brushing my hands.

"Via," I heard a deep familiar voice call.

I immediately glanced up, my stare falling on Nikolai—one of my closest friends.

"I'm not in the mood, Kol," I said as I signaled my dogs to sit, standing from my lowered stance and crossing my arms over my chest.

Which made Nikolai's gaze drop to the dried blood on my fur coat, descending the marble steps to approach me.

"What's bothering our princess?" Nikolai asked, but by his amused smile and mocking name he called me, I knew he wasn't serious, "Usually, killing people makes our Via very happy."

I lazily raised my brows, "Unless it ruins my favorite fur," I pointed out, motioning to my jacket.

Nikolai immediately nodded, "I have a new one in your room by tonight," he insisted, earning a nod from me.

Even if I subtly eyed his neck doused in trashy red bruises from his latest of numerous hook-ups—a behavior that earned him the nickname Pretty Boy.

"Cover these up—they disgust me," I said, motioning to his neck in disapproval.

"He assumed these hickeys stop my other hookups," Nikolai explained, adjusting the collar of his polo button-down shirt to cover his neck.

"Run the opposite direction of insecure man," I instructed my friend—until my light eyes naturally snapped up to the hallway above us, hearing a horrid scream echo throughout the compound.

Neither of us flinched.

I only sighed instead, "He's dead," I said, already predicting his cold corpse awaiting me upstairs.

Death is familiar to me.

I killed my first grown man at six, and since then, it has been a constant cycle—birth, life, death.

It's simple—and unnecessary emotions have no place in it.

Instead, we honor their life with a grand dinner of their favorite dishes.

"Tell Ivo I'm offering my farewells and I'll meet him for chess," I told Nikolai, who nodded once before stepping aside to let me pass.

And as I walked toward the stairs, I snapped my fingers twice, signaling Misha and Varya to follow me to the second level.

His room sat toward the back of the compound, nestled at the end of the long corridor and marked by the heavy double doors.

"Ostatsya," I commanded my dogs to stay put.

They complied, sitting by the doors as I entered the room.

And inside, the nurse was murmuring a prayer beside his bed, holding his pale hand.

"Leave," I ordered, shooting her a disapproving glance as she released his hand.

Once she was gone, I took a seat by his side, my eyes tracing the familiar features—his sharp jawline, strong nose, and stoic demeanor, all of which I inherited.

"You were a good man," I said, gently reaching for the sheet underneath his covers, "I make you a proud man too," I added, knowing my father always saw potential in me.

I was his princess before I became the Russian mafia's princess—something I was born into.

He was hard on me, yes, but only in the necessary ways.

My father trained me himself, and not just with fighting—he also made sure I studied beyond the private school he had me attend.

He trained me to be calculated, strong, and ruthless.

Anything less wouldn't have ensured my survival in this world.

I had to calculate more than math equations.

I needed to always think ahead—specifically, ten steps ahead of everyone else.

But aside from his ruthlessness and the weight of the mafia, he was my father.

He took me shopping weekly, taught me how to make proper tea and borsch—and behind the cold marble doors, he read me bedtime stories and was present at every doll tea party.

Dimitri Koslov was nothing short of a father.

And I'll always remember him that way.

"Goodbye Father," I said, covering his face with the white sheet.

And I didn't show any sign of emotion, knowing that to do so would dishonor everything he stood for.

I touched my forehead, chest, and shoulders in the traditional cross—a final gesture of respect—before rising from his bedside.

And exiting his room.

Where my favorite girls waited for me.

My dogs followed as I descended the stairs and headed to one of the many formal living rooms.

But only one was continuously used at the strict time of three in the afternoon.

It was 3:05 pm.

"I want him in the family plot by nightfall," I instructed as soon as I entered the room where Nikolai and Ivan were waiting with a few of my men.

Who suddenly scurried out of the room to carry out my orders, leaving me with my two closest friends.

Aside from my two dogs, I prefer the company of male friends.

Women are emotional to the point that it's nauseating.

Most of them get pathetically attached after sharing a night with me.

Or not share in terms considering the idea of anyone touching me disgusts me.

My body is a temple that no one gets the privilege to touch.

Except for me.

"We restart," I said to Ivan, eyeing the messy chessboard

A game that Nikolai had started for me and is already losing.

"I'll handle the dinner for tonight," Nikolai said, helping me out of my blood-stained coat

"Thirty people will be present at tonight's table," I told Nikolai as I sat down in the warm seat that he previously sat in.

He nodded in acknowledgment and went off to make arrangements, while Ivan reset the chessboard.

And once it was reset for our game, Ivan stood from his chair—silently pouring me a glass of Imperial Collection vodka.

He also pulled the lid off of the small china glass bowl, grabbing one of the small white Xanax.

My favorite white pills.

Ivan promptly walked back over with my two favorite pastimes, settling back in his chair and handing them to me.

I took them both from him, the vodka burning as it went down and the Xanax calming my restlessness.

"We play chess," I said, earning a silent nod of agreement from Ivan.

Who has said around twenty words in the last five years I've known him.

It was either when he stubbed his toe, fucked up a kill, or other general mistakes that involved the word blyat.

Otherwise, he was known to always be mute—allegedly known as the quiet one.

But that only added power to his calculations, immediately assessing people as soon as his eyes fell on them.

Nikolai and Ivan were my first and only friends.

The irony is their duty involves ensuring my happiness and safety—an obligation passed down through their families just as it is for everyone in this mafia.

Or my mafia I should say.

I'll begin planning my takeover after tonight's dinner is concluded.

"Checkmate," I said, watching as Ivan's light eyes darted across the board two times in a row.

Before he moved his next chess piece.

Which immediately awarded me the winning title of today's game.

"You need to get out of your head," I told Ivan.

Which is something I always told him.

I've analyzed each of his moves in detail, and he's too focused.

He thinks so harshly about each move, that I can calculate the next one before he takes it.

Ivan nodded once, watching as I stood from my chair and grabbed the glass of vodka I planned to finish off.

Just in my room where I planned to sit with my dogs.

So I said a brief goodbye to Ivan and left him in the formal living room to practice chess with himself—snapping twice to earn my dogs' attention.

Who both followed me through the cold house and up the stairs.

My room has always been devoid of unnecessary clutter.

The walls are a cool grey, the furniture dark and functional—almost blending into the dark marble floors that were present only in my room.

Everything has its place—no trinkets, no personal items.

Just a perfectly made bed, a dresser, and a single piece of art on the wall.

It's a space of order, calm, and control, just as it should be.

I didn't want to be anywhere else with a glass of vodka and my two dogs—who sat on my bed on either side of me, nuzzled into my legs.

The continuous sips of the strong vodka didn't affect me much, instead, it calmed me as I sat petting my dogs.

I spent an hour in pure silence.

Until eventually, it was time to get ready for tonight's dinner.

I chose a black dress with matching stockings and a white fur coat speckled with black—walking to my bathroom with my black stilettos clicking beneath me.

My bathroom was a direct mirror of my room.

Sleek black marble covers the floors and counters—reflecting the dimmed lights.

A large mirror that spanned the wall above the sink, free of any fingerprints or smudges.

The shower is enclosed in minimalistic glass with nothing but three bottles of soap on the ledge.

No fragrances, no cosmetics—just the essentials neatly displayed.

Everything else is stored in cabinets or drawers.

I let out a content sigh as I examined my appearance.

My silky brown hair was left down, cascading past my shoulders and framing my sharp face with minimal makeup.

Except one thing was missing—aside from my usual flashy jewelry that lined my wrists and neck.

I reached into the drawer of my nightstand, grabbing the sleek box that holds only the finest cigars.

And once the cigar was between my glossed lips, I took the heavy gold lighter, flicked it on, and lit the cigar.

I drew in a calm deep breath, taking a puff from the cigar before exhaling it out.

Which was a process I repeated as I exited my room with my dogs on either side behind me.

My loud heels clicked among their paws pattering, announcing my presence to everyone in the house as I descended the stairs.

It was silent.

Just as I liked it to be.

Even as I entered the large formal dining room, spanning with a long intimidating table, everyone kept their head down—remaining stiff as they awaited my next move.

But I didn't speak one word.

I simply put out my cigar in the ashtray waiting for me at the head of the table.

"We drink, da?" I said, eyeing the table for any sign of alcohol.

Nikolai, on the left side of me, immediately signaled one of the servers in the corner.

Who poured the burning vodka in the finest glass for me.

"We all drink," I emphasized as I picked up the heavy glass.

And just as I blinked, the room filled with servers who began pouring the same clear liquid for everyone.

I raised my glass as the last server finished, "To Dimitri Koslov," I called out, my stoic voice echoing around us.

Until they all chanted the three words back to me, raising their glasses before we all drank in sync.

The calm reserved chatter slowly grew in the room as soon as I announced dinner to begin.

Ivan remained silent on the right side of me, listening to the story Nikolai told about the faulty shipment he checked on last night.

But I had no interest in the details.

My focus was on planning my next move as the leader of my newly inherited mafia.

Technically, I had taken charge while my father was on his deathbed.

But now the title is truly mine.

And I'm ready to claim everything it comes with.