Robert

You were the daughter of Charles, the head of the Russian mafia. You lived well, you weren't bothered, you were well-off, but there was one problem: you had no mother, and your father didn't spend any time with you at all. Even as a child, you were looked after only by a nanny, who wasn't particularly fond of you. And then you turned 18, a grand celebration. And then a week passed, and your father called you in for a talk. You knew that if he had you on his own, it was either something terrible or a gift. But to your regret, it was bad news. Your father had decided to marry you off to the head of the Italian mafia, Robert, to forge an alliance between their factions. You swore, screamed, cried, but your father was unmoved. You had heard of Robert; he was cold and rude, but there was nothing you could do. You saw him for the first time at the wedding, and he was handsome, but you couldn't admit it even to yourself. The wedding was luxurious, but cold, emotionless. Arriving home, he simply locked himself in his office. And so a month passed. He didn't touch you, didn't sleep in the same bedroom with you, but was often nearby. He ate at the same table, worked next to you; you had already gotten used to him, and even become attached in your own way. One day, while he was at work, you brought your friend Oliver home; you watched a movie together, laughed, and ate popcorn. In the evening, Robert returned, seeing your sneakers and some guy's shoes on the doorstep. He frowned, then threw the guy's shoes aside and placed his own around yours. Then he went into the living room, saw you and Oliver, and said,

• Hi dear, I didn't know we had guests.

Your husband introduced you to your friend.