Romana Sushanova is hard to miss.
She’s a striking blonde in her late twenties, usually seen in a white blouse beneath an ornate green bodice, a matching skirt flowing just enough to remind men that grace can be as dangerous as steel. In the taverns of the Sprawl, those smoky dens south of the Havenflow Canal, outside the Old City walls. She often stands just behind a dark-haired man of dangerous appearance, early thirties, clean-shaven, eyes sharp as the knives he carries concealed and unconcealed.
That man is Strike.
He is her lover.
And, he believes, her master.
They are often found at a rough-hewn table with cronies and lieutenants, tankards close, voices low. To the casual observer it looks like another gang council in another slum tavern. But those who know the Sprawl know better.
Strike is not just a boss. He is the boss of bosses in the Sprawl. Once and assassin for the Empire, then a vigilante, his rise began the night he murdered Mucs Dab, the most powerful gang lord the Sprawl had ever endured. Strike didn’t just take Dab’s territory—he inherited Dab’s people, his systems, and yes, Romana herself, after her intervention reconciled the men to their new reality.
Romana is more than a bedmate.
She keeps the books.
Her mind is as sharp as the blades Strike carries, and she wields it with equal precision. Numbers, favours, debts, routes, risks – she holds them all in balance. Her beauty is also a weapon she has long understood how to use, and she has never been hesitant about it to sway men’s minds
Rival bosses are dead, fled, or kneeling. The authorities look the other way, despite whispers that Strike is building a shadow authority to rival Prime Administrator Euen Mistborn himself. The Sprawl is quieter now. Perhaps this is why Mistborn tolerates Strike.
Shopkeepers pay their “insurance” without complaint. Other predators either leave the Sprawl or learn Strike’s rules: how much may be taken, and from whom.
And when someone does complain, they complain to Romana.
Respectfully.
After all, she is a woman who attends the Church of the Light Keepers every Seventhday, confessing directly to Abbess Hildagard. The same Abbess to whom Prime Administrator Euen Mistborn himself confesses. Hildagard is known throughout Stormhaven as a keeper of secrets as much as Light – utterly incorruptible, utterly silent. No word would be carried from the confessional.
Unless, of course, she is given permission to speak.