Chapter 1

The main residence of the Arseni family stood as a symbol of absolute power. It was ruled by Vassili Arseni, a name that inspired fear throughout Russia’s underworld. Known as a ruthless and brilliant gang leader, Vassili controlled vast black and gray industries across the globe. His influence reached far beyond imagination, penetrating every corner of the dark world. He was a beast hidden in shadows, the unquestioned king of the gang realm.

Yet what shocked the world most was not his cruelty or authority, but his marriage.

No one expected Vassili Arseni to marry an apparently ordinary Thai woman.

Nathalada, a well-known Thai actress, had come to Russia years earlier to attend the launch of a famous jewelry brand. With her calm demeanor and simple, unadorned face, she appeared distant and difficult to approach. Still, her quiet beauty was impossible to ignore, capturing every gaze in the room—including that of the young gang leader himself. After countless twists and obstacles, the two eventually married, defying expectations, and their union produced two sons as proof of their love.

Their eldest son, Theerakit Kian Arseni, was born first. Two years later came their second son, Krisdanai Rome Arseni. Raised under strict discipline, both boys were expected to grow into powerful figures in the gang world. Yet despite the harsh training, they were also surrounded by genuine love from their parents. The brothers shared an unbreakable bond, trusting each other more than anyone else.

To outsiders, the Arseni family seemed flawless. Only those within the family knew how unusual the two sons truly were.

“Rome, why are you injured again?”

Seventeen-year-old Kian frowned as he examined his younger brother. Rome’s lip was split, a long wound cut across the corner of his eye, and his clothes were messy. His light-colored hair was disheveled, yet his gray eyes shone with excitement. He smiled brightly, as though he had just enjoyed himself.

“Don’t worry, PKian,” Rome replied cheerfully. “If I’m hurt, the other side is in worse shape.”

Kian’s expression darkened—not because Rome had fought someone, but because he had allowed himself to get hurt. “You could have escaped without bleeding.”

“It wouldn’t be fun without blood.”

“But Mom will be sad.”

At those words, Rome’s smile vanished. In his excitement, he had forgotten the only woman in the family they truly feared—not their terrifying father, but their gentle mother. Nathalada’s sadness was something neither brother could bear. The last time Rome returned home seriously injured, she had cried in fear. Just one tear had haunted him with guilt for nearly a year.

Rome sighed softly and began thinking of ways to hide his wounds, but before he could act, the door opened. He froze, then relaxed slightly, while Kian gave him a knowing, almost mocking glance.

Kian’s abnormality lay in his severe social disorder. He hated interacting with outsiders and allowed no one except his family to call him by his middle name. It was as though he deliberately shut the world out. Though he understood others might have problems, he refused to open his world to them.

Rome, on the other hand, was impatient and cruel by nature, having inherited much of his father’s temperament. When it came to protecting his family, his rage was terrifying. Yet because he always wore a smile, most people failed to notice the danger beneath.

Preparing himself, Rome followed his brother toward the luxurious black car parked outside. Moments later, a tall woman stepped out, her elegant posture and cold beauty unmistakable. But the instant she saw her son, her icy calm shattered.

“Nong Rome, are you hurt? What happened?”

“It’s just a small accident, Mom,” Rome answered quietly, lowering his head as he hugged her, trying to distract her. “How was Thailand? I missed you.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Nathalada frowned, though she hugged him tenderly and stroked his hair. “Boys can be impulsive, but don’t let yourself get hurt, okay?”

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

Rome shot Kian a desperate look, silently begging for help. Kian raised an eyebrow.

“Reward?” he asked calmly.

“The latest Nike shoes,” Rome muttered.

Kian accepted, then smoothly changed the topic. “Mom, you should rest. Let the bodyguards handle the luggage.”

As Nathalada turned to him, she seemed to remember something. “Oh—Mhok, come here.”

The unfamiliar name made both brothers pause. Nathalada gestured toward the car, and a thin boy stepped out. He had black hair, black eyes, and a frail build, made more obvious by his loose black clothes. His face was expressionless, like a lifeless statue.

“This is Mhok,” Nathalada said warmly, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll be your new brother.”

Kian frowned instantly. Rome stared in surprise.

“The same age as me?” Rome muttered.

“Where did he come from?” Kian asked coldly, his voice filled with caution and possessiveness.

“He came back from Thailand with me,” Nathalada explained gently. “He’s smart and well-behaved. Your father suggested it.”

That answer silenced further objections. After hugging her sons, Nathalada went inside to find her husband, leaving the three boys behind.

Kian spoke first, his tone icy. “Rest today. Report to Father tomorrow.”

With that, he turned away. Rome glanced once at the new boy, lost interest, and followed his brother. To him, Mhok was nothing more than another outsider.

Mhok was led through the manor to a quiet corridor at the back of the estate. He was given a room on the first floor—comfortable, clean, and unexpectedly warm. After checking the space, he lay down on the bed, breathing in the faint scent of sunshine from freshly washed sheets.

For the first time in months, his tense body relaxed.

From his pocket, he took out a balisong knife. Its black handle was marked with red flames, the blade sharp and cold. It was a gift from the man he once called “father”—given when he was ten years old. Not a toy, not a storybook, but a weapon.

This was the world he came from: join the gang, or die.

Survival had always been his only goal. He never imagined a day when he might protect others instead. Thinking of the two brothers who clearly did not welcome him, unease settled in his chest. Being unwanted was dangerous.

Putting the knife away, Mhok closed his eyes, hiding his exhaustion. When he opened them again, only calm remained. He showered, changed, and lay down once more.

For the first time in a long while, he slept peacefully.

What was meant to come, would come.

Chapter 2

Mhok woke up early the next morning. The unfamiliar room was quiet, and sunlight filtered faintly through the curtains. He did not go out immediately. Instead, he stayed inside and did simple exercises, keeping his movements controlled and silent. Only after his body warmed and sweat soaked his clothes did he allow himself to relax slightly. He took a quick shower, changed, and made sure everything was in order before sitting down to wait.

He had learned long ago that in an unfamiliar place, patience mattered more than curiosity.

Not long after, a knock sounded at the door.

Mhok opened it to find Alof standing outside, dressed in black as always. His posture was straight, his expression unreadable. “Come with me,” Alof said. “The sir is waiting for you upstairs.”

Mhok nodded, locked the door behind him, and followed.

As they walked, he quietly observed the mansion. The second floor overlooked a vast circular living room at the center of the building. The floor below was padded with thick carpeting, and above, frosted glass covered the high ceiling, allowing soft daylight to pour in. A spiral staircase wrapped around the open space, elegant yet imposing. The mansion was luxurious, but not ostentatious—it carried the quiet authority of someone who did not need to show off power.

Alof led him to a finely carved wooden door. After knocking and receiving permission, Alof opened it but remained outside. Mhok lowered his head slightly and stepped in alone.

The room was cool and solemn. One wall was lined with towering bookshelves and filing cabinets, while a massive desk piled with documents sat in the center. On the opposite side was a leather sofa set with a small coffee table.

“Come in and sit,” a calm voice said in Russian.

Vassili Arseni sat on the sofa, holding a cup of hot coffee. His tall frame radiated pressure even at rest. His light gray eyes briefly lifted to examine Mhok before returning to the cup in his hand.

Mhok followed instructions and sat down on the opposite sofa. Only then did he notice Kian and Rome seated nearby, their expressions cold and distant. He glanced at them briefly, then focused his attention on Vassili.

“Let me formally introduce you,” Vassili said unhurriedly. “These are my sons. The eldest is Kian. The younger is Rome.”

“Call me Thee,” Kian said immediately, his voice sharp. He spared Mhok a brief, cold glance before turning away.

Vassili smiled faintly and gestured toward Mhok. “This is Mhok. From today on, he will be your right-hand man.”

“I don’t need an assistant,” Kian replied without hesitation, his hostility obvious.

“You will need one someday,” Vassili said calmly. “Try first. If you truly dislike it, I won’t force you.”

Kian pressed his lips together but did not argue further. That silence was his reluctant acceptance.

Vassili turned his attention to Rome. “Mhok is close to your age. School starts next month. You’ll go together and look after each other.”

“Me?” Rome dragged the word out, sounding bored.

“Who else?” Vassili chuckled. “Besides, I think he’s more suited to taking care of you.”

“Him? Take care of me?” Rome scoffed and turned his head away.

“If you behave, your mother won’t worry,” Vassili said mildly.

“I’ll be in high school next year,” Rome replied lazily. “I won’t have time to fight.”

Mhok watched quietly. The two brothers were completely different. Kian was cold and rigid like ice, while Rome appeared relaxed, like a calm sea—though Mhok suspected hidden storms beneath that surface.

Rome noticed Mhok’s gaze and looked back. Their eyes met briefly before Rome looked away again.

“Rome, calm down,” Vassili said gently. “I believe Mhok can become your best friend. And Kian—don’t shut yourself away. Not everyone in this world is bad.”

Neither brother responded.

Vassili then fixed his sharp gaze on Mhok. “I’ve already handled your enrollment. My sons are now in your care. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, sir,” Mhok replied evenly.

Satisfied, Vassili waved his sons away. Once the door closed, the oppressive aura in the room softened.

“I didn’t bring you here to be my subordinate,” Vassili said quietly. “I want you to be my son’s confidant.”

Mhok lowered his head. He understood what that meant—to grow beside the future gang leader, support him, correct him, and even die for him if necessary.

“I understand,” he said, though doubt lingered in his heart.

“They may be difficult,” Vassili continued. “Be patient. But if they cross the line, you’re allowed to fight back. Just don’t stab them.”

Mhok looked up in surprise.

“Don’t hold back,” Vassili added lightly. “They’re tough.”

Mhok nodded silently, storing the permission away, hoping he would never need to use it.

After leaving the study, Alof guided him through the grounds, explaining the mansion’s rules. The third floor was restricted. The study and bedrooms required permission. The white building housed the kitchen.

Inside, the smell of food filled the air. It resembled a large canteen. Alof handed Mhok a plate and instructed him to serve himself.

Mhok took modest portions—toast, eggs, bacon, and ham—and sat at a long table surrounded by men in black. He stood out immediately: a thin Asian teenager among towering bodyguards.

A scar-faced man struck up a conversation, introducing himself as Kelaifu. He laughed loudly, questioned Mhok’s age, and teased him for eating so little, piling sausages onto his plate.

“I don’t want it,” Mhok said calmly, pushing them back.

Kelaifu burst out laughing.

After breakfast, Alof called Mhok away. “Master Kian is waiting.”

Mhok followed, steady and silent.

It was time to meet his new master.

Chapter 3

Alof led Mhok back to the second floor of the villa. As they walked down the corridor, Mhok finally had the chance to observe his surroundings more carefully. In addition to the large wooden door he had exited earlier that morning, there were two smaller doors set not far apart. The atmosphere here was noticeably quieter, heavier—this was clearly the working area of the Arseni family.

They stopped at the first door. Alof knocked lightly and waited until a voice inside gave permission. He pushed the door open and stepped aside, signaling Mhok to enter alone.

Mhok walked in and stopped at the center of the room.

Behind a wide desk sat Kian Arseni.

Mhok’s expression remained calm as his gaze quietly assessed his new master. Kian was tall, his posture straight and steady, with a physique built through long-term training. His movements were precise and economical. His dark hair was combed back neatly, revealing sharp features and smoky gray eyes that moved calmly over the documents in his hands.

On the desk lay a thick file. Mhok was almost certain it contained his personal information.

For a long moment, only the faint sound of pages turning filled the room.

“What are you doing here?” Kian finally asked, his voice cold and steady.

“I’m here to be Master Kian’s confidant,” Mhok replied evenly, without hesitation or emotion.

Kian did not react immediately. He continued reading. “Your résumé is impressive. Academics, training, skill assessments—you scored high in every category. That’s admirable.”

Mhok stood quietly. Those achievements meant nothing special to him. They were merely tasks required for survival.

“But,” Kian said as he lifted his gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly, “I don’t trust anyone anymore.”

There it was—the core of the problem.

Mhok already knew the rumors. The eldest son of the Arseni family, betrayed in the past, guarded by suspicion and possessiveness, trusting no one outside his family.

Mhok’s lips curved faintly. There was no pressure, no fear—only calm confidence.

“I believe Master Kian has misunderstood something,” he said calmly. “My duty isn’t to earn your trust. Trust is valuable, but it isn’t required for my work.”

Kian frowned, interest flickering briefly in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“My duty is to support you, assist you, protect you, and strengthen you,” Mhok replied. In that moment, the image of a thin, quiet Asian boy vanished, replaced by someone steady and assured. “Whether you trust me or not, my duty remains unchanged. I won’t betray you.”

Kian leaned back slightly, studying him. “Someone with no background like you is unlikely to betray me.”

“Aren’t the people who want to harm you precisely those with backgrounds?” Mhok tilted his head slightly, his tone casual. “My past isn’t something Master Kian needs to concern himself with.”

Kian folded his hands over his knees. “Then what should I concern myself with?”

“How to make the best use of me,” Mhok answered with a small, confident smile. “That is my responsibility as your confidant.”

The two stared at each other in silence. The challenge in Mhok’s eyes made Kian chuckle softly. The tense atmosphere eased without either of them realizing it.

“You’re confident,” Kian said. “But words aren’t enough. I need proof.”

He picked up another document. “What do you think about Zhao He’s company?”

Mhok glanced at the file. “The Japanese mafia family?” His brows lifted slightly. “That’s an interesting gamble.”

“Everyone says it’s their final struggle before collapse,” Kian said casually.

Mhok shook his head. “Sho Hyuk’s influence in Japan runs far deeper than a single mafia family. Even if the world changes, they won’t fall easily.”

Kian’s finger tapped two precise points in the document. “They’re transitioning into legitimate business. That’s the correct path forward. If it succeeds, capital will flood in. Instead of waiting for Zhao He to fail, expanding into the Asian market now would be smarter.”

Kian looked up. His smoky gray eyes gleamed with genuine interest, and a satisfied smile appeared. It had been a long time since someone could keep pace with his thinking—especially someone so young.

“I accept you as my confidant,” he said finally. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Mhok blinked once, then bowed slightly, smiling politely. Cooperation with this master, at least, would not be difficult.

—

Rome frowned deeply as he leaned back on the sofa, staring at the scene before him in disbelief.

Two weeks had passed since the skinny Asian boy moved into their home—a “stranger,” in Rome’s eyes. He had no intention of accepting him, no matter how much his mother insisted. At first, even Kian had seemed uninterested, and Rome was sure Mhok would be ignored and fade into the background.

But what he saw now completely shattered that expectation.

“Mhok, where’s the previous document?” Kian asked, handing over a stack of papers.

“It’s in the third folder,” Mhok replied smoothly. “The next one you need is in the fourth. I reorganized them.”

Rome sat stiffly on the opposite sofa, staring at the pile of documents between them. His frustration grew. How could this guy understand his brother’s work in just two weeks—when even he, Kian’s own brother, didn’t?

“P’Kian, why is he still here?” Rome complained loudly.

Kian lifted his eyes, irritation flashing briefly. “Don’t call him names. It’s rude.”

Rome froze, eyes wide. Kian had never corrected him like that—especially not in front of an outsider.

“Are you nicer to others than to me?” Rome whined, nearly throwing himself at his brother. “I’m your younger brother!”

“I’m not treating others better,” Kian replied flatly. “It’s just that my subordinates are more useful than you right now.”

Rome collapsed dramatically onto the sofa, devastated.

Kian sighed, then turned to Mhok. “Bring me an espresso.”

Mhok nodded quickly and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The moment he was gone, Rome rushed to the desk. “P’Kian, can he really be trusted?”

“I don’t trust him,” Kian replied calmly. “And he doesn’t ask me to.”

Rome frowned. “Then why—”

“Dad approved him,” Kian said. “He was chosen from hundreds. If Mom and Dad agreed, that’s enough.”

Rome turned away, irritation burning in his chest. Someone had entered his territory—praised by their parents, valued by his brother.

“I could be your confidant,” Rome muttered stubbornly.

“You?” Kian raised a brow.

“Why not? I’m stronger, better at fighting, more familiar with internal affairs, and better-looking.”

“Mhok’s exam scores are higher than yours.”

“That doesn’t count!”

“The position isn’t just about strength,” Kian said patiently. “And his combat evaluations are excellent.”

Rome snorted, unconvinced.

“Calm down,” Kian continued. “Mhok isn’t here to replace you. Stop comparing.”

Rome stormed out, lips pressed tight, anger simmering.

That calm face… that effortless competence…

He would find Mhok’s weakness.

No one was perfect.

And Rome was determined to prove it.