Chapter 1
It was the inevitable end of a thoroughly exhausting day. The culmination was a small Orthodox church. Valery followed behind her with a precarious step, as if about to collapse.
“Anya.”
Anya. The name given to her by her adoptive father, Denis, from Korea, meaning “grace” in Russian.
Remember the grace he had given her.
Giving a slight tremor to her trembling toes, she stepped onto the ground and opened her mouth.
“I’m going in alone.”
“Anya.”
“Rera.”
Anya called Valery ‘Rera.’ A nickname entirely unbefitting his masculine face, towering over 190 cm, and his muscular build. No one dared call him ‘Rera,’ but Anya could.
“I’m going alone.”
The firm words spat out between her red lips caused Valery’s mouth to firmly close. Her loyal bodyguard and subordinate. Valery’s place was exactly that—nothing more.
His feet stopped abruptly. Instead of following, his eyes persistently followed her. Anya knew full well about that relentless gaze trailing behind her.
“I’ll get my back pierced.”
Muttering softly, Anya pushed open the door of the Orthodox church.
Creeeak—
The door of the worn-out Orthodox church creaked grotesquely as it opened. No wonder, considering that today might be the only time this door would be opened by Anya herself.
Above, an old chandelier hung, its broken pieces reflecting dim light, and below, colorful stained glass showed numerous cracks. With a grand cathedral nearby, no one visited this small, aged church.
Only Anya, and no one else.
The reason she began attending the Orthodox church was clear—she needed somewhere to seek solace. Whenever something precious or dear to her came into her life, Denis would invariably destroy or eliminate it. Because of that, Anya couldn’t develop affection for Valery, who had loyally stayed by her side. Fear that Denis might eventually kill him.
Of course, the likelihood of Denis killing Valery was slim. He had placed him beside Anya for surveillance.
In a place where people die every day, her only sanctuary was the church. Even Denis, who destroyed everything she cherished, couldn’t destroy the church. So, she became obsessively attached to the church.
A sigh escaped from her lips.
“Huh.”
How many people had bled before her today?
From the moment she was adopted into the infamous Chechen Mafia family, this was a foreseen fate—killing people.
At the age of 8, she was adopted into Russia. At that time, it was a relief. Simply escaping the constant violence of the orphanage director brought a sense of happiness.
The day she first met her new father. Standing there with tear-filled eyes in the bitterly cold wind, the man who introduced himself as her stepfather was none other than Denis Malikov, the notorious Chechen Mafia boss.
As she looked at Denis with a smile extending his hand, Anya instinctively sensed something off. Beneath his sly grin lay something hidden.
Instinct. Yes, it was instinct. Even without being taught, Anya wanted to flee as soon as she saw the man in front of her. But as an 8-year-old girl in a foreign land, she had nowhere to run.
She acted as told, like a mouse hiding, a survival instinct.
The first time she saw someone die before her was at the age of 10. Her adoptive mother, who had abused and looked down on her for being Asian, was shot in the head and died instantly.
Right before her eyes.
And the one who killed her adoptive mother was none other than Denis. The reason? Simply because she had hit Anya, leaving a bruise on her cheek.
This led many to believe that Denis cared deeply for Anya. But publicly, he appeared to be a loving father, while privately, he saw her as merely a tool.
Anya was a means to fulfill Denis’ vengeance and desires—tools for toppling his long-time rival, the Russian Bratva boss, Oleg.
Aware that Oleg couldn’t forget his Asian wife, Denis adopted Anya to position her as Oleg’s mistress.
But Oleg stopped meeting women, and Denis’ plan failed.
So now, Anya had become a mere tool for the organization—using her beauty to gain leverage and deal with matters, though Valery handled the actual dirty work. Without her half-decent looks, she would have been the one doing those tasks.
Anya harbored no resentment toward Denis or regret about being adopted. Even if she hadn’t been adopted, her life would have been similar—if not more luxurious. At least here, she didn’t have to worry about being beaten or hiding her meals.
Anya was living as a tool, paying back her “grace” in the form of the name Denis had given her—Anya, as if repaying the grace she had received.
“Huh.”
In the quiet, darkened church, her gaze remained fixed ahead. Her eyes closed as she gazed upon the faded icon of God.
She prayed again today. Praying for the souls of those who had died before her. Of course, some deserved to die, but still, they had died at her hands, so she thought it appropriate to pray for their souls.
A spiteful and selfish prayer. Not for others, but for her own safety—a prayer of repentance for her selfish desires.
At that moment of concentration, the faint sound of movement broke through her moment of peace.
No one would enter the darkened church. It was a church kept solely by a deaf and half-blind old priest. This hour was when the old priest would retire to his room for prayer and rest, and Anya had deliberately chosen this time to seek solace in the empty church.
Yet, the sound of movement?
She instinctively reached for the pistol tucked in her leather holster, her hand extending toward the source of the noise.
Her aim was precise, the barrel pointing directly at the spot, and her gaze locked onto the figure.
“Oops, I must have interrupted your prayer,” the man said.
The man, clad in black monastic robes, had eyes devoid of any wavering, illuminated faintly by the moonlight.
Anya remained silent, continuing to observe him. Even after checking his monastic robes and the long cross pendant, she still couldn’t lower her gun.
No one else around had such a robust build as Rera. With his tall stature and muscular frame, there were few like him.
Yet, the man before her now was almost indistinguishable from Rera. Even beneath the monastic robe, he exuded a commanding presence. Broad shoulders and bulging muscular arms visible beneath the robe.
Seeing him smile calmly despite the gun pointed at him made her feel uneasy. It was as if she had encountered something she should not have.
“I would appreciate it if you lowered the gun.”
The gentle tone held an underlying sense of pressure.
“It’s just that I’m a little concerned about who might be watching.”
Anya hesitated for a moment before slowly lowering her gun.
“Where did the priest who used to be here go?”
The man chuckled softly before answering.
“Oh, Father Vyacheslav is resting at this hour. I’m the one watching over the church now.”
The man took a step forward. His face, once concealed in the darkness, began to slowly emerge. Instinctively, Anya gripped her weapon tighter.
Really a priest?
Even as he looked down at her, his eyes, cold and distant, never dropped. Her instincts screamed—it was impossible for this man to be a priest. His presence and aura alone spoke volumes.
If not for the monastic robe and cross, she would have driven a bullet into his arm or thigh immediately. From the atmosphere, it was clear he had come to kill her.
Unable to shake her suspicious gaze, she finally spoke.
“So, are you a new priest?”
At that, the corner of the man’s lips curled slightly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Leo. Since Father Vyacheslav is getting on in years, I’ll be staying here with you from now on.”
Leo. Such a common name. Yet, he really was a priest.
Anya holstered the gun she had been holding in her hand and spoke.
“My apologies. I seem to have been disrespectful to the priest.”
Given her sudden action of aiming a gun at a priest, an apology was necessary. Leo, however, offered a faint, enigmatic smile in response.
“It’s fine. The world is a dangerous place for a woman living alone.”
It was as if he understood exactly what Anya was concerned about.
“A gun like that looks a little too real for self-defense,” he said with a light chuckle.
Self-defense or not, that was a fortunate observation. Anya maintained her composed expression as she responded.
“I bought the most realistic one I could.”
“Well then,”
How had he closed the distance so quickly? Anya and Father Leo were now only two steps apart. The proximity didn’t escape her notice as a soft, melodic voice lingered near her ear.
“What happens if you fire it?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just curious how things would turn out if you fired it.”
Her gaze met his unwavering eyes. At the same time, she tightened her lips.
“Well, you’ve got a nice dimple.”
She felt a chill as his sharp, cool gaze revealed a hint of a red undertone in his pale eyes.
“I’d almost be tempted to see what happens.”
Anya was certain now—this man standing before her was not just a priest.
