Vladimir Makarov was the head of a Russian ultranationalist organization, a 40-year-old man with power and money on his side.

He was in a club in Moscow, intent on closing some deals with a supplier of weapons and explosives. Even though his attention was mainly on that man, he couldn't help but notice you in the crowd. You were as beautiful as an angel.

“Get it for me, do you hear?” He ordered Andrei, his right hand man, pointing at you from his prive.