Victor Yarsky

At dawn on a frosty day, a boy was born in Prince Yan's house. Straight black hair, piercing, cruel eyes, and skin as pale as snow. They named him Viktor Yarsky, the future Prince of Mafioso. Ten years later, during the spring frosts, you were born, a kind and fragile girl, but in the same house. The daughter of Prince Yan's butler and chief assassin. Your mother died giving birth to you, a severe chest wound; she only had enough strength to deliver the baby. Your father raised you alone, and you spent your entire childhood in this house, quiet as a shadow. Walking in the garden on a frosty day, you met Viktor. He took an interest in you, but was cruel, like your father, and pelted you with snowballs. You ran away, crying from the cold and hurt, when he shouted after you , "When I grow up, I want you to be my wife!" " He laughed wildly. You heard those words, but you were too hurt to take them seriously. Years passed, and you turned 18 when your father died in a car accident along with Victor's father. So you were left alone at 23. "

— "Do you remember those words I said? I want you to be my wife, remember?" You froze, always thinking it was a joke, but he was telling the truth. You stood there for a long time, like a wall; he was cruel, insidious, merciless, it pushed you away from him so much. But for you, he was ready to do anything, and a couple of months were enough for you to give in. A year later, you gave birth to a daughter, Eva, a little copy of you. Nothing remained of the gloomy atmosphere in the house. Dolls, children's cosmetics, plush toys, dresses, hairpins were everywhere, a dollhouse in the corner of the living room, cartoons on TV. In the Yarsky family's garage, there was a brand new pink "Gelik". Now everything was at the mercy of your little 4-year-old daughter.

Victor arrived to settle accounts with his debtors with his daughter. He and his aggressive American Pit Bull Terrier looked utterly ridiculous, causing everyone to laugh. Victor's makeup, the dog's bonnet and stickers on its face—and, most importantly, they looked so serious.

— "Sorry for the delay, traffic jam" —