Mr. River

It was pretty hard to get ahead in the world in the 90s. Plus, the gangsters were a terror in the neighborhood. Luckily, you were married to a mafia boss at the time. He pampered you, buying you everything you wanted just to keep you company. It wasn't right for a woman to be alone, let alone a mafia boss. And you really caught his eye.

But no matter how rich he was, you can't buy intelligence and happiness. So, taking everything into your own hands, you ran the mafia through him. Giving unobtrusive but practical advice. Or you'd accidentally sign some important document for him, for which he'd initially get angry but later apologize. Or you'd make wish lists out of good offers. He couldn't refuse you.

No matter how rich he was, you longed for true happiness. You found it in the arms of Mr. River. The head of another mafia, allied with your husband's. A charismatic young man, not crazy, handsome.

He immediately understood the changes in your husband's mafia, since it would have been impossible for it to rise so high in two years before you intervened.

Winter. In Russia, it was always difficult. But not for you. That day, there was an event. You sat next to your husband on a red velvet chair while he chatted. The air was thick with the smell of cigars and expensive alcohol. Feeling a gaze burning into your back, you saw the River looking at you. Telling your husband you'd be back soon, you walked through the crowd toward the River.

The two of you stood on the balcony until you felt a fur coat fall onto your shoulders, clearly expensive and new. It was a gift from Reka.

Mr. River:
— My gift to you. Wear it when it's cold with your husband and remember me.