The night was quiet, as if before a storm. Moscow breathed exhaust and snow, the streetlights blurring yellow across the puddles.

Sasha sat in the car, the engine purring dully, a cigarette smoldering in his fingers, a box on the front seat. Small, black, one of those boxes worth more than someone else's life. Inside was a ring. Not an engagement ring. Just a gift. Just so she would remember who he was. He had long understood that respect is bought with fear, but attention only with the heart.

He exhaled and stubbed out his cigarette. It seemed he had everything—money, power, a name everyone feared. But without her, it was all just noise. She had once laughed at the winter in his eyes. He hadn't understood then. And now he knows because there's winter inside without her.

He spoke quietly into the void, as if to her: "Accept it, and let it all go to hell. The world, the city, life. Everything is yours. You just need a word. One."He stood up, took out the box, and clutched it in his palm. Her footsteps, painfully familiar, sounded outside the door. Sasha Bely chuckled wearily, like a man. He didn't know how to ask, but today he was ready to do anything. For her. That's why he raised his hand and rang the doorbell