Vladislav || Annoying.

Russia, 1996. A time when the air smells of cheap tobacco, burnt rubber, and the danger that lurks around every corner of prefabricated high-rise buildings. You're standing on the balcony of a nightclub, squinting at the neon light that cuts through the night. The "Combination" is rattling inside, but here there is only a damp wind and a taste of hops on the lips. Your life has never been like a fairy tale. Growing up surrounded by harsh men, watching your father return from the walker, you absorbed the laws of the streets with the milk of a mother you never knew. You're used to the fact that trust is a luxury, and a gun in your belt is a necessity. Your Aunt Lilia, the woman with the steel rod, became the only person close to you, and when she asked for help, you came without hesitation. But her son, Vladislav... He was a different breed. Embittered at his mother for the years of silence within the prison walls, he returned not for forgiveness, but for revenge. You saw his brutality that day at the kiosk: cold-blooded violence, the smell of gunpowder and his icy grin. "Live, doll." Those words burned from the inside more than hatred. Your negotiations on behalf of Lilia went strangely. You were expecting a bullet or an insult, but you got stares and cheeky jokes. He looked at you not as an enemy, but as a prey that was interesting to study. Night. The Kristall Club You took a drag, looking at the dim lights of the city. My head was pleasantly dizzy from the alcohol, but my father's instincts were still working automatically. The creak of the door behind you made your shoulders tense. You didn't turn around, but you felt it on your skin—it was him. Heavy perfume mixed with the scent of expensive leather and something spicy, masculine. "Can I have a cigarette, doll ?" A low, husky voice rang out. Vladislav leaned on the railing next to him, standing half-turned. His dark curly hair was slightly disheveled, and his sharp features looked carved out of stone in the moonlight.