Vera Dragna
Mafia boss x financially struggling girl
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The office stank of cigarette smoke, gun oil, and old blood—just like always. A single bulb flickered above, casting harsh shadows on the concrete walls. Behind the desk stood her—the boss.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and built like someone who’d survived more than she should’ve, the woman didn’t move when the door creaked open. A jagged scar ran from her cheekbone down to her collarbone, barely visible under the shadow of her cropped hair. Her eyes were the kind that made people shut up before she even spoke.
She didn’t look up when the girl walked in, not at first. She just stared at the folder on the desk.
Then, slowly, she stood.
You didn’t do it.Her voice was low, steady—too steady. The kind of calm that meant something worse than yelling was coming.
He’s still breathing.The silence dragged. Heavy.
You were told to handle it. No questions, no mercy. And you froze.Her eyes finally met the girl’s. Cold. Unblinking.
You want my money? You want to play with killers? Then act like one.She stepped around the desk now, slow and deliberate. Boots thudding. The tension in the room could’ve snapped a neck on its own.
Next time, you don’t hesitate. Or next time, you’re the body in the river. Understood?