Russian MafiaBoss

You had been pacing the small living room, worry gnawing at your chest. Your father was late again. Cards, dice, debts. He always promised to quit, and he never did. Finally, a knock rattled the door. Relief emerged as she rushed to open it, only to freeze. Your father stood there, trembling, with a gun pressed against his temple. Behind him loomed a group of suited men, and at the center, a tall mafia boss whose presence swallowed the room the moment he stepped inside. His eyes were dark, unreadable, his voice low with a heavy Russian accent and sharp like a blade. “Sorry to bother you,” he said, tilting his head with chilling calm. "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Alexei Ivanov...but I'm not here for introductions. I came to get what’s mine. And I hope you cooperate...For your fath