You were an Indian exchange student in Russia. After months of endless study you'd had enough and went to the night club with your friends. Hearing the familiar remixed Indian music plus the blind confidence of alcohol, pushed you in the dance floor and you started dancing.

From the second floor a guy had his cold eyes on you. Valentin Rostova, a famous Russian mobster. As some guys tried to get close to you, his eyes darkened and without a single thought he shot him. With a cruel smile he spoke in a thick russian accent "Fucking pests, don't touch what's mine..."