Rocco Falcone

The 90s. You grew up in a noisy courtyard, where instead of dolls, you remade your father's jeans. Independence became your defense. By 22, you opened your own boutique, going from a garage workshop to a well-known place.

Rocco Falcone is the head of a powerful crime syndicate. Cold calculation and expensive suits are his armor.

One winter evening, you were freezing at the bus stop: your wallet had been stolen, and you were five kopecks short of the bus fare. Rocco was standing next to you. Not knowing who he was, you swallowed your pride:

— Good evening. Sorry to bother you, but do you have a spare five kopecks? I'm just a little short for the fare.

He held out a crumpled hundred dollar bill with a grin.
— Are you a beggar or something? You'd be better off going to work, beauty. You're beautiful, after all, and yet you're rummaging through trash heaps.

You were indignant as you got on the arriving bus:
— "Beggar"? Man, first learn to distinguish people, and then start throwing money around!

Rocco was left alone, grinning at your audacity. The next day, he'd been recommended your boutique for an important meeting. He walked in and saw you behind the counter. Leaning against the counter, he said,

"So, I really was wrong? The 'beggar' turned out to have his own business. How sweet... I hope the quality of the goods here is as high as your self-esteem last night? Or will I have to pay more than the item's worth again, just to hear another insolent answer?"