𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒢𝒶𝓂𝒷𝒾𝓃𝑜
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
I was trained to be the way I am.
Trained to be this ruthless, calculating, a devil hiding behind beauty. Able to kill someone without blinking an eye or showing any sort of remorse. Is was like my nature. I was showed that this was my normal and there was no escaping it.
Ever since I was little I was raised inside the world of a dangerous life. I was trained daily for the day I finally ended a life or the day I finally do the thing I was destined to do. Make my father proud by becoming him one day. Being in his position was all I lived for. Like literally.
The child of the don is usually who is supposed to take that throne. It was usually a cocky and arrogant son, but not this time.
And when other people heard that a woman would be a boss, they didn't want to hear any second of it. Fragile masculinity if you ask me.
There was usually a line drawn when it comes to women being powerful in the Mafia world. They didn't want it. They cursed upon the people who believed women weren't just a piece of arm candy or actual candy I guess. They believed women were too vulnerable and dramatic to see and act such things that men do in their position as a mafia leader.
Man, were they wrong.
Very fucking wrong.
Women were forced to step down and let the men take all the power for themselves.
They'd do the killing while we stood there in our expensive clothing and jewelry, living our best lives in a mansion that he owned, all while our husbands talked for us and about us. Women were basically animals in a cage at a carnival.
Trained to be quiet.
Trained to obey.
Trained to live life the way other people wanted us too.
It was pathetic frankly.
And I damn sure wasn't going to live like one of those bitches. I wasn't vulnerable, I was capable of being just as conniving and evil just like these men who claim to be better than me. Probably worse than them.
I've always had this whole idea warped into my mind that I would be the person my father had always wanted to be. The future boss of the American/Italian Mafia and take over when it was time.
I wanted to show everyone that I could do it. I was capable of it and I was so close to it that I could reach for it and grab it.
My father had it handed out for me in the palm his hand. Trusting me and honoring me, before he shut it tightly and wouldn't give it to me unless I did the worst and most unexpected thing he could ever ask of me.
Here in comes my father. Felix Gambino, don of the Italian-American Mafia.
He made me strong—but also cold.
He doesn't believe in softness. Love, to him, is weakness. He raised me like a weapon, not a girl.
Taught me that love is a weakness, trust is a
liability, and power is the only currency that matters. He doesn't flinch at violence; he orchestrates it like a conductor with a symphony. It's fucking intimidating, even for me.
Every move calculated. Every betrayal expected. And if someone crosses him, they don't get a second chance—they disappear.
He always told me, "Feelings are for the dead. Stay alive."
And those words stayed with me throughout my whole life. I guess it wasn't really something that would be in a parenting manual but it helped me grow up. Now, I'm proud of who I am.
He's not just feared—he's respected, obeyed, and loathed in equal measure. A man who built his empire not with charm, but with blood and silence. His name is spoken like a warning. The kind of man who doesn't raise his voice—because he never has to.
And then someone thought it would be fun to test the waters. To see if my father was as conniving and dangerous as they say he is. I swear, people are so stupid.
There was this time when the Russian mafia owed my father 20 million dollars.
Not in favors. Not in product. In cash. Hard, cold, counted bills. Stupid.
They stalled. Delayed. Sent messages laced with excuses and arrogance, like he wouldn't notice—or wouldn't care.
It was allll just stupid.
They forgot who they were dealing with. The deadly truth of my ruthless father.
So, my father shot the Don's younger brother.
No warnings. No threats. No drawn-out negotiations. Just one clean shot to the head in the middle of a private meeting. The body collapsed mid-sentence. Blood on Persian rugs. Silence thick enough to choke on.
A clear message to them. And the debt was paid in full by sunrise.
I didnt know anything about this yet when the story started.
People like to say my father was heartless. But that's not accurate. He had a heart—he just never used it for mercy. Only memory.
He never forgot who owed him. Who disrespected him. Who tested the weight of his name like it was something fragile. And he never let a debt sit long enough to rot. He didn't kill the brother to prove a point.
He did it because that's what men like him do when they're owed—and when they're tired of waiting. That's the difference between power and desperation. My father never begged for what was his. He took it. Like it was nothing.
And that's where this story begins. With death, betrayal, hatred, and rivalry.
And the rule my father had set upon for me if I wanted to be the boss one day. The one rule that would ultimately change my life forever.
And it started with a two words.
Isaak Kozlov.𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒢𝒶𝓂𝒷𝒾𝓃𝑜
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
I was trained to be the way I am.
Trained to be this ruthless, calculating, a devil hiding behind beauty. Able to kill someone without blinking an eye or showing any sort of remorse. Is was like my nature. I was showed that this was my normal and there was no escaping it.
Ever since I was little I was raised inside the world of a dangerous life. I was trained daily for the day I finally ended a life or the day I finally do the thing I was destined to do. Make my father proud by becoming him one day. Being in his position was all I lived for. Like literally.
The child of the don is usually who is supposed to take that throne. It was usually a cocky and arrogant son, but not this time.
And when other people heard that a woman would be a boss, they didn't want to hear any second of it. Fragile masculinity if you ask me.
There was usually a line drawn when it comes to women being powerful in the Mafia world. They didn't want it. They cursed upon the people who believed women weren't just a piece of arm candy or actual candy I guess. They believed women were too vulnerable and dramatic to see and act such things that men do in their position as a mafia leader.
Man, were they wrong.
Very fucking wrong.
Women were forced to step down and let the men take all the power for themselves.
They'd do the killing while we stood there in our expensive clothing and jewelry, living our best lives in a mansion that he owned, all while our husbands talked for us and about us. Women were basically animals in a cage at a carnival.
Trained to be quiet.
Trained to obey.
Trained to live life the way other people wanted us too.
It was pathetic frankly.
And I damn sure wasn't going to live like one of those bitches. I wasn't vulnerable, I was capable of being just as conniving and evil just like these men who claim to be better than me. Probably worse than them.
I've always had this whole idea warped into my mind that I would be the person my father had always wanted to be. The future boss of the American/Italian Mafia and take over when it was time.
I wanted to show everyone that I could do it. I was capable of it and I was so close to it that I could reach for it and grab it.
My father had it handed out for me in the palm his hand. Trusting me and honoring me, before he shut it tightly and wouldn't give it to me unless I did the worst and most unexpected thing he could ever ask of me.
Here in comes my father. Felix Gambino, don of the Italian-American Mafia.
He made me strong—but also cold.
He doesn't believe in softness. Love, to him, is weakness. He raised me like a weapon, not a girl.
Taught me that love is a weakness, trust is a
liability, and power is the only currency that matters. He doesn't flinch at violence; he orchestrates it like a conductor with a symphony. It's fucking intimidating, even for me.
Every move calculated. Every betrayal expected. And if someone crosses him, they don't get a second chance—they disappear.
He always told me, "Feelings are for the dead. Stay alive."
And those words stayed with me throughout my whole life. I guess it wasn't really something that would be in a parenting manual but it helped me grow up. Now, I'm proud of who I am.
He's not just feared—he's respected, obeyed, and loathed in equal measure. A man who built his empire not with charm, but with blood and silence. His name is spoken like a warning. The kind of man who doesn't raise his voice—because he never has to.
And then someone thought it would be fun to test the waters. To see if my father was as conniving and dangerous as they say he is. I swear, people are so stupid.
There was this time when the Russian mafia owed my father 20 million dollars.
Not in favors. Not in product. In cash. Hard, cold, counted bills. Stupid.
They stalled. Delayed. Sent messages laced with excuses and arrogance, like he wouldn't notice—or wouldn't care.
It was allll just stupid.
They forgot who they were dealing with. The deadly truth of my ruthless father.
So, my father shot the Don's younger brother.
No warnings. No threats. No drawn-out negotiations. Just one clean shot to the head in the middle of a private meeting. The body collapsed mid-sentence. Blood on Persian rugs. Silence thick enough to choke on.
A clear message to them. And the debt was paid in full by sunrise.
I didnt know anything about this yet when the story started.
People like to say my father was heartless. But that's not accurate. He had a heart—he just never used it for mercy. Only memory.
He never forgot who owed him. Who disrespected him. Who tested the weight of his name like it was something fragile. And he never let a debt sit long enough to rot. He didn't kill the brother to prove a point.
He did it because that's what men like him do when they're owed—and when they're tired of waiting. That's the difference between power and desperation. My father never begged for what was his. He took it. Like it was nothing.
And that's where this story begins. With death, betrayal, hatred, and rivalry.
And the rule my father had set upon for me if I wanted to be the boss one day. The one rule that would ultimately change my life forever.
And it started with a two words.
Isaak Kozlov.