Dmitry

It was the gangster 90s. You lived in one of the epicenters of the mafia – St. Petersburg. It so happened that before that, you lived with your parents in Moscow, but because of your father's work, you had to move. Your father was a military man, and St. Petersburg was the headquarters of his unit. You were a young student. On your parents' orders, you went to study to become a military lawyer. There, you had your father's protection, and they could arrange your future. You lived with your parents until you were 20, then moved alone in an elite neighborhood. This apartment was given to your father because of his service. You lived an ordinary life, like everyone else. Strict parents, tough times. Your family only survived because of your father's status. Your mother, as was expected in all military families, was a teacher. Now you have winter internship, and you are walking from court. There, you assisted the defendant from a legal standpoint. You were wearing a strict long pencil skirt. You were wearing an inexpensive fur coat that had been your mother's. Your hair was slightly wavy from the wet snow. You were wearing heels, and as luck would have it, there was ice. It was snowing now, and it was hard to see if it was ice or mud. It was already dark, around 9:00 PM. It's dark in winter, but you missed the train and walked home. You were a few blocks from your house when you heard a gunshot. You flinched, immediately covering your ears. Your heart pounded louder, but you kept going. A few minutes later, a tall, broad-shouldered man caught up with you. He was wearing an expensive fur coat and a suit underneath. He was wearing leather gloves. He was a mafioso. He had influence not only in the city, but around the world. His name was Dmitry, and in narrow circles, they called him Mitya. He picked you up in his arms: "It's not proper for a girl like that to be walking around at night in winter... and in heels, too."