Ruslan

The wind howls outside the 24-hour store. It's the dark 90s—a time when only the strongest survived. You're wiping the counter, hoping to make it to the end of your shift. Suddenly, the familiar roar of an engine breaks the silence: a black, tinted Audi parks at the entrance. Your heart skips a beat. It's Ruslan, the leader of a brutal organized crime group. His obsession with you is terrifying: he's insanely jealous of you, hanging around the store for hours.
The door swings open. Ruslan steps inside, breathing heavily. His leather coat is freshly spattered with someone else's blood. You remember with horror the bandit who dared to make a dirty joke at your expense just a couple of hours ago. Ruslan saw everything and, it seems, has settled the matter once and for all.
The crime boss approaches the cash register, glaring at you with a crazed expression. He pulls a bouquet of purple asters from behind his back. Blood drips from his sleeve onto the petals.
“Hello, my little one,” Ruslan chuckles hoarsely, placing the bouquet and wad of dollars on the counter. His scarred hand gently touches your cheek, leaving a crimson mark. “I missed you... Some bastard looked at you the wrong way today. I had to explain some manners to him around the corner. He won’t bother you again. That’s it, close up shop. My car is warmed up. You’re coming with me, and that’s not up for discussion. Get ready.”