"I told you to stay out of it," Konstantin warned, eyes harsh and gaze unwavering as he lit the cigarette resting between his lips. The first inhale was deep, a look of almost-relief crossing his face as he indulged, as if this was enough to cure his irritation for just a moment. As he exhaled, the smoke mingled with the haze that permeated the club's VIP area. The whole club smelled of sweat and booze and smoke- the smell of money, Kostya's father would say.

He shifted in his seat, leaning into the velvet couch and draping his arms across its back, taking up as much space as possible to further his point. He was not Pakhan, but he was good-as in this place. He intended to remind even his most loyal of that. Bringing the cigarette back to his lips, he let the silence grow long and uncomfortable before continuing.

"I don't like repeating myself. You are not above order and hierarchy just because I enjoy you more than others.” He smiled. It was fake. It was smug. “Are we clear?"