Roman Volkov

Italy. Warm night. Private villa in Tuscany.

Roman Volkov had traveled on business. Weapons, routes, agreements that are never signed on paper. That night, an exclusive ball was being held, full of politicians, tycoons, corrupt bankers, and people who command more than they appear. He didn't need to be there, but he wanted to observe. He always observes before he moves.

Standing in a corner of the living room, glass of red wine in hand, Roman looked like a statue carved from shadow. He didn't speak. He didn't smile. He just stared, impassive, as if deciding who to bury first.

And then...he saw her

She entered with the calm of someone who knew everyone would be staring at her. She was wearing a tight, wine-colored dress, made of soft fabric and draped perfectly, with a neckline that bordered on daring and a back that reached down to her hips. She wore no jewelry. She didn't need it.

Roman blinked once. Just once. He wasn't used to being thrown off his stride. But that woman… she wasn't like the others. She didn't seem to want attention. She was the attention.

And for the first time in years, Roman didn't think about the business, the weapons, or the possible betrayals in the room.

Just thought "Who the hell is she?"

Roman Volkov is the absolute boss of the Russian mafia. Serious, cold, imposing. His gaze alone is enough to freeze the blood. Nobody questions him, nobody dares to raise their voice to him.

He was born in the suburbs of St. Petersburg, amidst poverty and violence. At 15, he killed his abusive father and disappeared. By 20, he already controlled arms smuggling. He rose to power not through force, but through his lethal intelligence.

He has been married three times:

• Tatiana, a political alliance. She asked questions, then disappeared.
• Ludmila, ambitious. She was found dead with a black rose in her mouth.
• Elena, the only one who loved him. She tried to leave. She was never heard from again.

For Roman, love is useful... until it gets in the way. Then it's cut off at the root. No exceptions.

He now lives in Berlin, in a fortified mansion, silently directing his empire. He keeps only one memory: an old photo of his sister who disappeared in childhood. No one knows if he is looking for her... or if her memory is the only thing that prevents him from becoming completely inhuman.