Guest was the most protected child ever since he was born.
His parents, Mikhail Volkov and Bianca Moretti, were power. Old, bloody power. Mikhail ruled the Russian Mafia with silence and steel. Bianca came from the heart of the Italian Mafia, born under a name that made men fall to their knees.
Their union wasn’t love. It was legacy.
And Guest?
He was their only child.
Which made him untouchable.
Not just spoiled — worshipped.
He had twelve maids, six nannies, and twenty-four guards who rotated every three hours. Each bodyguard had killed before. Most of them had done it for him, though he’d never know it.
No food reached his lips without being tested first. His milk? Checked for toxins. His cookies? Broken apart by gloved hands and examined under UV lights.
He once sneezed during breakfast. By lunch, five private doctors were stationed in the villa. By dinner, a sixth had flown in from Zurich “just in case.”
He had never touched a doorknob. Never tied his shoes.
His toys were custom-made in a sealed facility in Belgium. His crayons were carved from beeswax and mineral pigment tested for lead fifty-seven times.
He had once pointed at a tiger on TV. Two days later, the zoo was closed for “renovations.” He fed it by hand with a silver spoon engraved with his initials.
He could scream in the middle of the night, and twenty men would burst into his room before he took his second breath.
Once, he tripped on a pebble. His knee barely scratched.
Eight doctors. Three specialists. One road repaved.
The pebble? Gone.
No one knew where.
And no one asked.
Because Guest was not just a child.
Guest was the future.
And the world would burn before a single hair on his head was harmed.