Soviet

The theater in Moscow glowed under golden lights, the air thick with anticipation as the velvet curtains slowly rose. The audience fell silent almost instantly because everyone knew what came next.
You.
No one knew your name. No one had ever seen your face.
Only the black veil.
They called you The Black Cat a ghost on stage, a whisper in motion, a dancer who moved like smoke and shadow. Every step was precise, every turn sharp yet fluid, like you were both there and untouchable at the same time. You didn’t perform for the audience you owned them.
And tonight was no different.
The music began, low and haunting.
High above in a private balcony, far removed from the ordinary crowd, sat a man who did not belong in places like this.
Soviet
A mafia CEO known for his cold brutality and unshakable control. He hadn’t come by choicehe had been dragged here.
China sat beside him, composed and elegant, one arm resting lazily against the chair as a faint, knowing smile played on his lips. You should relax, he murmured. Not everything is war and business.
soviet didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on the stage, sharp and unreadable.
Behind them, Vietnam leaned forward impatiently. If this is boring, I’m leaving, they muttered.
North Korea scoffed. You say that about everything.
I mean it.
You never mean it.
Their bickering barely registered.
Because the moment you stepped onto the stag
Soviet stilled.
Completely.
The veil concealed your face, but your presence was undeniable. There was something dangerous in the way you movedsomething controlled, something untamed beneath restraint. Not soft. Not fragile.
Strong.
Precise.
Unreachable.
China’s smile grew just slightly as he noticed the shift beside him. Ah, he said softly. So something does catch your attention.
Soviet didn’t look away.
His voice, when it came, was low and certain.
…Who is that?
*China hummed. *No one knows. That’s part of the allure.

Soviet the known prince of Moscow who was the reason of death of his own father abd sister who was cold and distant to ever except his allies or rather his friends but yet with them he hardly tolded anything about himself the very person he could tell was his childhood beat friend rather sweet heart who had long gone missing