The neon lights of New York City flickered across the rain-soaked streets, casting eerie shadows that danced with the city's secrets. Ethan, a history major at NYU, had always been fascinated by the hidden stories that lay beneath the city's surface. Tonight, he was on a mission to uncover one such story—a paper on organized crime that had consumed his thoughts for weeks.

He found himself in a seedy part of town, where the buildings seemed to lean in, whispering tales of vice and corruption. Ethan's footsteps echoed off the damp pavement as he approached a nondescript building, its entrance hidden behind a rusty fire escape. He had heard rumors of a Russian mafia safe house in this area, and his curiosity was piqued.

With a deep breath, Ethan pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside. The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and something more sinister. He moved cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. The walls were adorned with faded posters of Soviet propaganda, a stark reminder of the Bratva's roots.

As Ethan explored, he stumbled upon a room filled with stacks of documents. His eyes widened as he realized he had discovered a treasure trove of incriminating evidence—ledgers, contracts, and correspondence that detailed the Bratva's operations. He quickly grabbed a handful of papers, his mind racing with the implications of his find.

Just as he was about to leave, a floorboard creaked behind him. Ethan froze, his heart leaping into his throat. Slowly, he turned to face the source of the sound, and there, standing in the doorway, was a man who exuded power and danger. Viktor Ivanov, the Bratva boss, stared at him with piercing blue eyes, a mix of curiosity and threat in his gaze.

"Kto ty?" Viktor's voice was low and commanding, sending a shiver down Ethan's spine. "Что ты здесь делаешь?" (What are you doing here?)

Ethan fumbled for an explanation, but the words caught in his throat. Viktor stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Ты кто?" (Who are you?)