One day, Jasmin was walking across the ice, unaware that Mafia bosses were trailing her every move. Feeling the weight of that dark world, she decided to return to her roots—to the world of modeling. When she arrived at the fashion house studio, a strange wave of excitement swept across the floor. After three long months, seeing 'Supermodel Jasmin' felt like a miracle to the photographers and designers. Jasmin wanted to forget those dark days in the underworld and submerge herself back into her glamorous life. The Transformation
Jasmin was immediately taken to the dressing room. A team of skilled stylists and hairdressers surrounded her. They knew Jasmin was no ordinary woman; every movement of hers carried a sense of royalty.
The Hair: Stylists began crafting a new look for her silky hair. Some added soft curls, while others set it with spray. Looking in the mirror, Jasmin saw that familiar fire returning to her eyes.
The Dress: The designer brought out a deep red silk gown. It was elegant yet bold—the color of blood, just like Dmitri's favorite shade. When Jasmin put it on, she looked like a celestial goddess.
The Makeup: Her eyes were done in a way that captured the mysterious essence of the 'Red Phantom.' Standing before the mirror, she was no longer a spy or a Mafia associate; she was an unrivaled beauty.
The Silent War Outside
Outside the makeup room, a different game was afoot. Dmitri's bodyguards stood at every entrance. They informed Dmitri that Jasmin was busy shooting. Meanwhile, Ziyaisko's sniper team took positions on the studio roof, knowing rival mafiosos could strike at any moment.
As Jasmin walked toward the ramp, her every step exuded royalty. Suddenly, a black limousine pulled up outside. Dmitri stepped out, wearing a dark blue formal suit that made him look like a mix of a corporate tycoon and a Mafia Emperor. As he entered the studio, a pin-drop silence fell. Everyone knew Jasmin wasn't just a supermodel—she was Dmitri's wife.
The Shoot and the Ambush
Jasmin continued to pose under the flashing lights. Her crimson gown glowed like fire. Even after seeing Dmitri, she didn't stop. Her confidence amazed him. Dmitri stood next to the photographer. The photographer, trembling with fear, tried to move his camera, but Dmitri stopped him.
"Carry on," Dmitri said in a low, grave voice, unable to take his eyes off his wife's mesmerizing form.
Suddenly, a signal came over Ziyaisko's walkie-talkie from the roof. A rival gang's car was speeding toward the studio. Ziyaisko whispered the news into Dmitri's ear. Dmitri's jaw tightened. Jasmin sensed the trouble. She stopped posing at the edge of the ramp and looked at Dmitri. With a subtle gesture, she signaled: "I know they are coming."
From beneath the folds of her red gown, Jasmin pulled out a small silver pistol strapped to her thigh. No one could have imagined how much death was hidden behind that silk. Dmitri smiled. His wife didn't just know how to pose; she knew how to protect an empire.
"Jessi, finish your shoot," Dmitri said calmly. "Ziyaisko and I will handle the trash outside."
Chaos in the Studio
The main gates were smashed open as the rival group tried to force their way in. Ziyaisko fired the first shot from the roof. A surreal battle began—a glamorous photoshoot on one side, and a brutal Mafia power struggle on the other.
Jasmin stood fearless. Holding her gown with one hand, she shouted to the photographer, "Don't stop the camera! Capture this moment. This will be the best shoot of my life!"
The First Strike: As three men burst through the glass doors, Ziyaisko took two out instantly. Before the third could raise his gun, Jasmin moved like lightning, delivering a low-kick that sent him crashing down. She didn't hesitate, firing her silver pistol into his arm.
Dmitri's Roar: Dmitri stood in the center like a wounded lion, unleashing a hail of bullets with his machine gun. He and Ziyaisko moved in perfect harmony, two brothers acting as each other's shields.
The Glamorous Fight: Jasmin used the studio props to her advantage. She swung a heavy spotlight toward an enemy, blinding him instantly, allowing Dmitri to finish him off.
Throughout the carnage, Jasmin continued to pose, her expressions shifting between high-fashion elegance and cold-blooded intensity. The photographer, sweating and shaking, kept clicking. The red gown, the guns, the blood—it wasn't just a shoot; it was a historic document.
The Victory
The battle didn't last long. The rivals were no match for the professionalism of Dmitri and Ziyaisko. On the studio floor, the red of the silk gowns mingled with the red of real blood.
Dmitri approached Jasmin, breathing hard. His suit was dusty, but miraculously, Jasmin's red gown remained spotless. He took her hand. "Are you okay, Jessi?"
Jasmin smiled, hiding her pistol back under her dress. She turned to the photographer. "Did the shots come out right?" The photographer could only nod in stunned silence.
The World's Illusion
When the photos were published in Russia's biggest fashion magazines and on giant billboards, the country was mesmerized.
The whole of Russia saw the pictures. They were captivated by the "Beauty of Blood and Passion." People assumed it was high-tech editing or a brilliant stage production. They thought the fallen bodies and debris in the background were just props.
But in reality, those men were actually dead.
Only Dmitri, Ziyaisko, and the rival families knew the truth. The red stains on the gown weren't paint—they were the blood of enemies.
In the back of the limousine, Jasmin looked at the magazine cover on her tablet and smiled. "Dmitri, look. The world sees our war as 'art.' We gave them exactly what they wanted to see."
Dmitri kissed her forehead. "That is your power, Jessi. You used beauty as a shield for the truth. Now, our enemies will cower in fear, knowing these photos aren't just modeling—they are a record of our victory."
Ziyaisko, driving the car, caught her eye in the rearview mirror. "Sister-in-law, after this, every Mafia group in Russia knows: you aren't just a model. You are a living death trap."