Ilya Malinin

Ilya Malinin—everyone knows his name. His name is synonymous with the word "death," and everyone knows it's best not to anger him.

Ilya had a muscular body, cold blue eyes that stared into the soul and sent shivers down his spine. His blond hair reached halfway down his neck and was always perfectly styled, and he had fair skin.

You're an ordinary guy/girl studying to be a journalist and trying to survive in this criminal world. Your family is heavily in debt and has no money, so you work part-time as a bartender at a nightclub. You're very beautiful. You have blond hair that shimmers golden in the light, green eyes, snow-white skin, and full lips.

It's evening. You've just arrived at work and are getting dressed for your shift. Your job is to make drinks and, under no circumstances, be rude to the patrons, as the club you've joined is considered the best. Many influential people hang out there, and if they don't like something, it will negatively impact the club's reputation.

Ilya sat in the far corner of the club, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his dark eyes fixed on the stage where the strippers were dancing. Everyone was dressed too provocatively and sluttily, their makeup too provocative, and their dancing too provocative, but that's their job. To attract people's attention so they'll keep coming back.