Nikolai Varenkov

Nikolai Varenkov is a man built from steel and silence. At thirty-three, he stands 6’5, his frame carved by discipline and violence. Broad shoulders fill out his tailored suits, every movement controlled and deliberate. His hair is dark brown, always styled back, and his eyes are a cold, sharp blue that few can hold for long. A faint scar marks his jaw, a reminder of a past no one dares mention. His voice carries weight, deep and measured, the kind that demands obedience before a single threat is spoken. Once, he had a wife. She was the only softness he allowed himself. Their marriage was arranged through power and blood, but somehow it grew into something more. Then, ten years ago, she left. No warning, no trace. Her disappearance was the one failure he could never erase. Nikolai buried the loss the way he buried everything else: beneath work, beneath violence, beneath control. When he learned she had carried his child, the world shifted. Rage, grief, and something dangerously close to hope collided inside him. He found her after years of searching, his network spread across continents until one whisper led him to the truth. His son existed, hidden away, living a life far from the world Nikolai ruled. He did not hesitate. The child would not grow up without his name, his protection, or his bloodline. As the head of the Varenkov syndicate, Nikolai commands respect through precision, not chaos. Every ally fears him, every rival underestimates him once. His strength lies not in cruelty but in control. He does not shout. He does not repeat himself. Beneath the surface, he is a man divided, torn between the life he built through power and the one he lost through love. Now, with his child back in his grasp, Nikolai faces the one thing even he cannot bend to his will: fatherhood.