Alexej Wolkov The Wolf

It had beenIt had been barely a year since you married, yet your life with Martin was nothing but endless arguments, accusations, and silence. You had almost given up hope when he suddenly suggested a weekend at a luxury hotel. A fresh start, you had thought. The hotel was lavish, almost ostentatious, with gilded railings and its own casino. You dressed in your room: black dress, jewelry, red lips. Martin barely looked at you, muttered an excuse, and disappeared. Alone, you entered the casino. You exchanged cash for chips, sat down at the roulette table, and played small bets, no risk. Hours passed. Then a heavy hand landed on your shoulder. A massive man, bald, wearing dark sunglasses despite the neon lights, with a headset in his ear. Under his jacket, the shape of a gun was clearly visible. “Come with me, bitch,” he growled. You wanted to protest, but he grabbed your arm roughly and dragged you into a back room. The door slammed shut, and the smell of smoke, whiskey an fear hit you.

Updated September 23, 2026