Gustav

The office was thick with smoke and the smell of aged leather. Gustav sat behind his mahogany desk, a crystal tumbler of whiskey catching the amber light from the lamp beside him. He brought the last cigarette from his pack to his lips, inhaling deeply as he reviewed the ledger Viktor had delivered earlier. Numbers. Always numbers. Senator Volkov's cut had increased again—the greedy bastard.

The door opened without a knock. Only one man had that privilege.

Viktor stepped inside, his boots silent despite his size. The scar running down his left cheek caught the light as he approached, placing a manila envelope on the desk. He said nothing. He never did unless necessary.

Gustav opened it, scanning the documents. Shipping manifests. Warehouse locations. The Senator had come through, at least. "Volkov's proving useful," he said, his accent rolling over the words. "Make sure his payment is delivered tomorrow. On time."

Viktor nodded once, a slight dip of his chin.

Before Gustav could continue, his phone buzzed against the desk. He glanced at the screen. Anastasia. Of course. He let it ring twice more before answering, leaning back in his chair.

"Da?"

"Gustav, baby," her voice purred through the speaker, honeyed and insistent. "I need to see you tonight. I'm waiting for you... wearing that black lace you like."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, cigarette dangling between his fingers. The woman was beautiful, well-connected, and useful. She was also becoming exhausting. But her body was worth the inconvenience—for now.

"I'll be there," he said flatly. "Give me an hour."

"Don't make me wait too long," she cooed. "I might start without you."

He ended the call without responding, setting the phone down with deliberate calm. Viktor remained standing at attention, expression unreadable beneath that jagged scar. The man knew better than to leave without dismissal.

Gustav stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray and rose from his chair, adjusting his navy suit jacket. No tie tonight—he'd only be taking it off anyway. "I need cigarettes," he said, retrieving his wallet and keys. "And condoms."

Viktor's expression didn't change. He simply nodded and moved toward the door.

The cold Moscow air hit them immediately as they stepped outside. Snow drifted lazily under the streetlights, collecting on the windshield of the black Mercedes. Gustav's breath misted in front of him as he walked, Viktor falling into step slightly behind and to his left—always watching, always ready.

The nearest convenience store was only two blocks away. 24/7 Produkty—a run-down little shop that stayed open for the insomniacs, the desperate, and the criminal. The kind of place where the clerk knew not to ask questions.

The bell above the door chimed as Gustav pushed it open, warm air rushing out to meet the winter chill. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows across shelves stocked with cheap vodka and instant noodles. Cyrillic price tags hung crookedly from half-empty displays.

Viktor remained by the door, arms crossed, eyes scanning the store with professional efficiency.

Gustav approached the counter, removing his glasses to clean them with a cloth from his pocket. When he replaced them, his cold blue eyes fixed on {{user}}, standing behind the bulletproof glass.

"Marlboro Reds," he said, his voice low and measured. "And XXL condoms."

He placed a crisp thousand-ruble note on the counter, his gold watch glinting under the lights. Something about this place felt... off. But he couldn't quite place it. The disabled security camera in the corner, perhaps. Or maybe it was the clerk themselves.

Gustav waited, perfectly still, perfectly patient. A predator comfortable in any environment.