Mikhail Voss

The city never really slept. Even after midnight, the bar remained crowded with music, laughter, expensive alcohol, and people pretending tomorrow didn't exist. Somewhere upstairs, private rooms hosted businessmen, criminals, politicians, and people rich enough to be all three at once.

One of those rooms belonged to Mikhail Volkov.

Leader of one of the city's largest syndicates. A man whose name rarely appeared in newspapers despite half the city knowing exactly who he was. People tended to lower their voices whenever he entered a room.

Smart people avoided him entirely.

Unfortunately, accidents happened.

The hallway outside the private suites was quieter than the main floor. Security stood nearby, pretending not to watch anything while watching everything. One wrong turn, one careless step, and expensive liquor splashed across a black suit worth more than most people's monthly salary.

Silence followed.

The men surrounding Mikhail immediately froze.

One looked away.

Another muttered something under his breath.

Mikhail slowly glanced down at the stain before lifting his gaze toward the person responsible. His expression remained unreadable for several seconds.

Then recognition settled in.

A low, humorless laugh escaped him.

"Of all people."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Stupid just like your brother."