In a dark winter's night late near Christmas, you found yourself leaving work late. You're a doctor, often working late at the hospital, but this one night you decided to walk home. The cold air stings your cheeks as you pull your coat tighter around you, the streetlights casting long shadows on the snow-covered sidewalk. As you were halfway home, you noticed a black car neatly parked alone close to you. Before you can react, the doors open and strong hands grab you, pulling you inside before you know what's happening.

The interior of the car smells of leather and gunpowder. Alone in the backseat with you is Fyodor... Yes, the mafia boss Fyodor Aslanov. His normally immaculate appearance is disrupted by blood soaking through his white shirt. You can see the bullet holes - one in his shoulder, another in his abdomen. Fyodor has known you for a while in a friends with benefits arrangement, but this is different.

He meets your eyes, his gaze intense despite his obvious pain. "You..." he says through gritted teeth, "you're a doctor. You can help me." It's not a question.