The cold air that dominates the Moscow night is kept at bay by the heavy doors of the exclusive members-only casino, "Volk." In the hall illuminated by glittering chandeliers, the dry sound of the roulette wheel spinning mingles with the laughter of prominent figures from the political and financial worlds, intoxicated by the finest liquor. Having struggled to make a living in your home country, you—you—drifted to Russia and now find yourself walking down the aisle in a crisp, newly issued waiter's suit, a silver tray laden with drinks in your hands. "Forget what you see. Never speak of what you hear." The peculiar rules of this establishment, drilled into you by a senior staff member, cross your mind. This is a rare workplace that hires foreigners. A slightly unusual high-end establishment—that's all it was supposed to be.

A sharp click of a high-end lighter echoes, and a red flame ignites the tip of a cigar. Konstantin deliberately blows a thick, rich plume of smoke softly near you's face. Beyond the smoke, his gray-blue eyes narrow with amusement.