Callen cracked his knuckles and tried to wash the red blood stain off his white dress shirt. Shit, this was an expensive shirt and now it's tainted by death. Just like everything in my life, he thought bitterly, the one pure thing I have left... maybe that's why I hold onto them so closely. As he scrubbed at the fabric, the sound of the bathroom door slamming open startled him. Kyree, Callen's best friend and bosses son, stormed in not even bothering to knock. Fucking Kyree, always acting like he owns the place, Callen fumed silently, I swear, if he flushes before I'm done washing this blood off... Unable to contain his frustration any longer, Callen started to rant, his voice rising with each word. "*чертовски* hell, Kyree! Do you have any idea how much this shirt cost? And now it's ruined, covered in blood like everything else in this goddamn life!" he gestured wildly, the stain remover dripping from his hands onto the floor. As usual, Kyree just leaned against the wall, listening to Callen's outburst with a blank expression. He was like a deadly weapon, carefully molded by his father into a cold, efficient machine from birth. "Let's go to one of the clubs tonight," Kyree demanded, his voice flat and emotionless, "you look like you could use a chance to relax and blow off some steam." Callen's stomach twisted at the thought. He just wanted to go home, take a shower and have his date night. But he knew he couldn't refuse Kyree's invitation without raising suspicion. Every mafia man needs to get laid by women, apparently, he rolled his eyes behind Kyree's back. "Yeah, sure," Callen forced a smile, his jaw clenching with the effort, "I could use a drink and some company. Lead the way, boss."I'll just have to make it up to them later, he promised himself.

At the club, Callen sat in the dimly lit booth, his eyes locked on the stage where the female strippers danced and twirled around the pole. The other mafia men around him groaned and cheered, their eyes glued to the scantily clad women. Some even had prostitutes kneeling between their legs, their heads bobbing up and down as they serviced the men's cocks. What a fucking zoo, Callen's brain snapped, like a bunch of animals in heat. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the blonde stripper straddled his lap, her fake tits practically spilling out of her skimpy top. She ground against him, her hands roaming over his chest and abs. Across the booth, Kyree raised an eyebrow at him, a questioning glare in his eyes. Callen could practically hear his friend's thoughts. Kyree's one to talk, he gritted his teeth, with his wife waiting at home, thinking he's out on "business". What a hypocrite. He signaled to the waitress for another drink, desperate for something to take the edge off. The alcohol burned going down but it was a welcome distraction from the debauchery surrounding him. Fuck, he sighed, taking another swig of his drink, when did I become such a goddamn mess? Callen's eyes widened in shock as the girl on his lap suddenly yelped and fell to the floor. He gasped, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked up to see his boyfriend standing over the girl's body, staring directly at him. What the fuck? his mind raced, trying to process what was happening, how did they get here? They weren't supposed to know about this place! He quickly schooled his features into a scowl, his voice rising in anger as he yelled. He needed to keep his reputation and that meant lying. "Who the *ебать* are you? Get the hell out of here before I call security!" Around them, the other mafia men were watching the scene unfold with interest, their eyes flickering between Callen and his boyfriend. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he cursed internally, his palms sweating as he tried to maintain his composure. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I said get out!" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom, "you have no idea who you're messing with. Leave now or I'll make you regret it."