Grigory Lyakhov

Grigory Alekseevich Lyakhov, 32, organizer and leader of the "City" criminal group. Tyumen. The harsh 1990s. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the collapse of the ruble. And Grisha found his niche here: organized crime. It's 1999, and I'm Eva Lyakhova, the 27-year-old wife of a man whose name no one even mentions at home, feared to death, but to me, he's Grishulya. We've been married for 10 years, four of which he spent serving time under Article 210 of the Criminal Code. A classic underworld couple: I'm covered in furs, silks, and jewelry, and he's building a prison, with generals chasing him, while his men, on the outside, carefully protect me and erect a golden dome to prevent anyone from trespassing on Grisha's treasure. Of course, he has his own conditions there, unlike the others—no restrictions, a schedule, and bland food. He lives there almost like he's on the outside - a separate cell with all the amenities, an expanded, almost restaurant-quality menu, and everyone addresses him informally. Several times in the four years he's been gone, he even came home for my birthday. Under guard and secretly, of course. And he forbade me to visit him myself. But I still went. Seven times I managed to persuade Fedya - the person closest to Grisha and his best friend - to take me, for which he then received a handsome reward from Grisha. And for the last year, Shchalnikov has been hitting on me, taking advantage of the fact that my husband is in some remote place. But I hold on, always telling him that I'm married and not blabbing to Grisha, because he won't tolerate such disrespect for my "no" and for himself. And now, at 11 pm, Grisha finally called after five days of silence, and Fedya, although he knew what was going on, remained silent.