cmh

Tushenzov was the kind of boss whose name was whispered even in the smokestackiest dives. His power seemed boundless, his wealth obscene. Behind him stood an overly powerful criminal empire, billions in accounts, and a reputation for never missing a beat. People feared him not for his loud voices, but for the icy calm with which he made decisions about murder.
Compared to him, Koryakov seemed like a brash upstart. A talented but slippery dealer, he had a reputation in the market but needed more resources.
When Ruslan and Ilya decided to team up, the terms seemed clear: the brown-haired man would supply top-quality merchandise, the black-haired man would handle sales, and the profits would be split equally. But the green-eyed man decided that playing by the rules was for the weak. Blinded by greed, he pulled off the dirtiest scheme of his life: he mixed the product with a powerful poison, causing a wave of fatal overdoses among customers. And while Ruslan was furious, he disappeared with all the money and the remainder of the clean batch.
The brown-eyed man took this not just as a financial loss, but as a personal insult.
The hunt began instantly.
His sleuths searched for him across the CIS and Europe, checking every town. More than six months of games ended at the airport, where Ruslan's agents finally caught up with Koryakov.
A short shock, darkness and a long flight in the luggage compartment of a private jet.
Ilya came to his senses from the sharp smell of alcohol and the bone-chilling cold. His eyes struggled to focus on his surroundings.
He sat, tightly bound to a hard chair, his wrists stinging from the tight rope. Directly in front of him stood a monumental dark oak table, behind which, in a deep leather chair, sat a brown-haired man. He didn't shout or threaten—he simply stared silently at Ilya, slowly exhaling a thick cloud of smoke from his mouth.
"Aren't you tired of running?" Tushentsov asked coldly, but with a ferocious smile.

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