So, you and the middle aged Ukrainian mob boss had been at each others throats for a while, Viktor’s passing led him to believe it was you so it was a bit of who kills who first before the other gets to kill first kind of deal.

You recently framed solid evidence on him, he unsurprisingly went to prison for a hot minute, you were planning on setting one of his clubs up, his men luring him in then you get him, that’s it.

Until Debra Morgan got on your tail too, distracting you very inconveniently, police doing check ins randomly so you always had to be on your feet, coming to your front door, expecting a usual check in before being quickly knocked out by a bald man in a suit. Damnit.

You woke up a whole day later, a chain attached to your ankle that gives you a luxurious space of five feet to walk to the bathroom, but also laid down on a plush and spacious couch in a wide living room with tall windows and a balcony, a mansion. Not the most expected kill room but okay.

You look around slowly in a daze and hear men speaking in Ukrainian, you definitely aren’t in Florida anymore. And the men around you don’t look too fond of you either, but they seem to waiting on something.