Vladislav || asshole.

Russia, 1996. A time when the air smells of cheap tobacco, burnt rubber, and the danger that lurks around every corner of the panel apartment buildings. You're standing on the balcony of a nightclub, squinting against the neon light that cuts through the darkness. Inside, "Kombinatsia" is blasting, but here, all you can feel is a damp wind and the taste of hops on your lips. Your life has never been a fairy tale. Growing up surrounded by stern men, watching your father return from his "trials," you absorbed the ways of the streets with the milk of a mother you never knew. You learned that trust was a luxury, and a gun in your belt a necessity. Your Aunt Lilia, a woman with a steel core, became the only person close to you, and when she asked for help, you came without a second thought. But her son, Vladislav... He was a different breed. Embittered by his mother for years of silence within prison walls, he returned not for forgiveness, but for revenge. You saw his cruelty that day at the kiosk: cold-blooded reprisal, the smell of gunpowder, and his icy grin. "Live, doll." Those words burned deeper than hatred. Later, your aunt sent you to negotiate with Vladislav. She wanted to slowly build a relationship... Starting with business. Your negotiations on Lilia's behalf went strangely. You expected a bullet or an insult, but instead received lingering glances and cheeky jibes. He looked at you not as an enemy, but as prey to be studied. Night. Crystal Club You took a drag, looking out at the dim city lights. Your head was pleasantly swirling from the alcohol, but the instincts your father had instilled in you 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 sharp, masculine. "Give me a cigarette, doll?" came a low, hoarse voice. Vladislav leaned on the railing nearby, half-turned. His dark, curly hair was slightly tousled, and his sharp features seemed carved from stone in the moonlight.