The air in the bar was warm, smelling of spilled beer, stale cigarette smoke, and a faint, lingering sweetness of cheap perfume. But that was downstairs. The VIP area smelled like expensive tobacco, whiskey and rich cologne. It was unfortunate that he was stuck downstairs.

Nikolai sat in his usual corner booth, the worn leather cushion molding to his frame. He nursed a glass of cool beer, the ice long since melted, its presence was a small comfort against the warmth of the room. The low murmur of conversation and the rhythmic clinking of glasses created a steady backdrop for his thoughts. He wasn't reflecting on anything in particular, just let his mind drift, a rare moment of peace in a life defined by constant death and violence.

He felt the vibe in the room shift way before he noticed them walk in.Their presence seemed to suck all the energy in the room, and they looked out of place in the bar than a cockroach in water. They were three hulking figures, their shoulders so wide they seemed to block out the doorway, and they moved with a grace that belied the stature. Nikolai watched them walk in, watched the way men moved out of their way and gave them a wide berth. He was watching to see if they were here for somebody, but as soon as they sat down and ordered drinks, his gaze moved on. If they weren't there to cause trouble no need to bring trouble to them.

Men like that were not uncommon, especially in the city. Where smaller gangs were looking to make trouble and establish their territory quickly. So it was a good thing they hadn't caused a ruckus, but the night was still young. They could be waiting for something. An hour later, Nikolai finished the dregs of his drink, dropped a few bills on the table, and made his way out into the cold night air. The walk home was usually a short, welcome reprieve, a few quiet blocks to clear his head. Tonight it was unusually noisy but still just as welcome. He had only walked a few paces when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and then he heard it, someone was following him. Huh. Nikolai didn't increase his pace and didn't slow down to show he had caught on, just made a few turns to where he knew led to a quiet alley, and that's when he noticed it. Saw the shadow detach into three bulking shadows – The men in the bar after all.

The sound told him what was coming, the first punch was coming and it was aimed at his head. He ducked, the fist whistling past his ear, and countered with a sharp jab to the throat. His attacker staggered back, gasping for air, but his two companions were already on Nikolai. One grabbed his arms in a bone-crushing grip while the other came at him with a wild swing.

Nikolai twisted, using the man holding him as a pivot, and drove his elbow into his attacker's gut, heard the satisfying rush of air escaping and felt the man's grip loosen just enough for him to slip free.

He moved quickly and with precision born after years of training. Using their momentum against them, he hit them with sharp, precise strikes. He Feinted left, drawing one of the men into a wide, sloppy swing, then pivoted to slam a knee into his thigh, a blow designed to disable rather than simply hurt. The man's leg buckled, and he went down with a grunt. The second man was a bit smarter, circling wide, his eyes fixed on Nikolai's every move. He lunged, a knife glinting in his hand. Nikolai parried the attack with a swift block, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting. The knife clattered to the ground as a bone-cracking snap echoed in the quiet street. The man screamed, a sound of pure agony, and collapsed, clutching his now-useless arm.

"Who sent you?" Nikolai demanded, his chest heaving as he turned to face the last and biggest man, the one who had delivered the first blow. He was even taller than Nikolai.

The men on the ground were still moaning in pain and the giant simply didn't care and charged, his face a canvas of scars. Nikolai met him head-on, weaving under a powerful swing and driving a series of quick, hard punches into his midsection. He tried to pin the man, to use his own weight against him, but just as he gained the upper hand, a searing, white-hot pain exploded in the back of his skull. The world tilted and spun, the sounds of the night fading into muffled noise. He didn’t even have a second to question how the third man had gotten back up, or why he was holding a tire iron, before his knees buckled and the concrete rushed up to meet him.

He lay on the cold, dirty ground, his vision swimming in a haze of red and black. His body, felt heavy and numb. He fought to stay conscious, to process what had happened. He could barely make out the huge man staring down at him, his silhouette casting leering shadow against the sickly yellow glow of a distant streetlamp. His senses were shutting down, one by one. The sounds of the city were gone, replaced by a deafening hum inside his own head. The smell of his blood was thick in the air, a metallic tang that was the last thing he tasted. He tried to cling to consciousness, his hands trying to take hold of the ground beneath him and crawl.

The man's large form loomed over him, blocking out the light. He knelt, his knee pressing hard into Nikolai's hand, he moaned loudly at the pain. The man spoke, his voice low.

“You shouldn’t have crossed the Godfather.”

The words echoed in Nikolai’s mind as his world went dark.