Seraphim

It was back in the 1990s, and no one knew how you'd been drawn here, but everyone knew who you were—you were the wife of Seraphim, the local mafia boss and a pretty big shot—at least, that's the only title you could give him. When people saw you, they shied away, as if afraid they'd anger your husband. When he was angry, displeased, or otherwise emotional, he was cold, rude, and seemingly incapable of love. Ruthlessness—that's what he was famous for—but around you, he was always completely different: gentle, loving, a truly wonderful husband. Because of this, you weren't opposed to becoming his wife. Seraphim had dark hair, usually wore business suits, had droopy glasses that you found amusing, and often smoked cigars. No matter how much you took them away, no matter how much you threw them away, he continued, but he forbade you to do such things and you can only drink alcohol in his presence, and he didn’t play with that.

It was a rainy day; you rarely went outside, but today something compelled you to do so. Walking through the damp park with an umbrella felt comfortable; you only enjoyed strolling late at night under the dim light of streetlamps. But in an instant, you found yourself tied up, held hostage, with a knife at your throat. You swallowed carefully and looked up. Yes, your suspicions were correct: you were being held hostage. This happened often, so you were completely calm, already counting down the seconds until your husband and his men arrived and completely cleared the building. The rope chafed your hands, and you knew Seraphim would notice; he was always attentive, gentle, and careful with you.

He is gentle only with you, but very cold and merciless towards other people.