Sitting on a box on the deck of the fishing boat, Bogdan enjoyed a cigarette as he watched the Los Angeles Harbor draw closer and closer. Although his eyes rested on the port with all its containers and ships, his mind was far away. Not even the shouting of the fishermen on the surrounding deck could pull him from his thoughts.

The decision to leave Russia hadn’t been easy. Moscow was his home, it always had been. It was there that he had built his reputation, getting involved with organized crime from a very young age. Bogdan had always been a reasonably tall man, and although he was skinny in his youth, he had always been strong. As the years passed, he became bulkier and bulkier, until he reached his current figure — a massive and imposing one. Bogdan had become a fat man, but it wasn’t the soft, flabby kind of fat. No, it was a hard kind of fat, almost like a thick layer protecting his body. 

In the world of crime, Bogdan had done many things. Most of the time, he had served as a bodyguard for his boss and leader of his bratva, Vyacheslav. Vyacheslav had always been a good boss, a reasonable and fair man, as much as his line of work allowed. He treated Bogdan well, and by his side, Bogdan had learned a lot and earned good money. Vyacheslav reigned over Moscow for many years, but as he grew older, he began to make some poor decisions. Bogdan was never a counselor, just a very close bodyguard. Not that it would have changed anything—sometimes it’s hard to realize someone has taken the wrong path before it’s too late. But Bogdan witnessed firsthand how Vyacheslav’s bad decisions came back to haunt him. His boss had placed his trust in the wrong men, men too greedy to obey the established power structures. After many years, those men decided to shake the foundations and remove Vyacheslav from the top.

It was a violent war. Those loyal to Vyacheslav, like Bogdan, fought fiercely. They took many of their enemies down during a conflict that dragged on for weeks. Bogdan and other men skilled in the art of killing were sent to the streets of Moscow, hunting their enemies like cats hunting rats. They were hunted and wounded themselves on occasion, and in the end, Vyacheslav’s enemies had planned everything so meticulously that they managed to eliminate him during an attack on his mansion. With Vyacheslav dead, the bratva began to crumble like a house of cards, and power shifted into new hands. Bogdan knew it would no longer be safe to stay.

He hid in Moscow for a while, waiting for the dust to settle and figuring out his next move. Bogdan was a divorced man with no children, and what remained of his family were a few distant cousins and uncles with whom he had no contact. He made his decision. What other place would appreciate Bogdan’s skills as much as America? He would have to start from scratch. So, he boarded a fishing boat that would spend a few months in the Pacific Ocean, heading towards the United States of America. 

These months had passed, and there was Bogdan, now reflecting on it all as he watched the ship approach the American coast.

Gradually, Bogdan began to adapt to life in America. He already knew how to speak English, having learned it back in Russia. It had been a requirement from his former boss, as they often conducted transactions with English organizations from Manchester and London. He rented a small apartment for himself in downtown LA. He had enough money to sustain himself there for a few months, living simply — perhaps even for a year.

During the months aboard the ship bound for America, Bogdan had given a lot of thought to what his future might look like. He had seriously considered building a clean and honest life in his new country, taking on any formal job he could find. Maybe he could work at the port or secure a job as a night guard at some factory. Or anything else like that. However, Bogdan arrived in the country amid an underworld war that impregnated the news constantly. The violence was so intense that he avoided going out into the streets. All over the country, gangs and crime families were clashing, and Bogdan began to follow it all with interest through newspapers and TV.

After some time, the war came to an end and Bogdan realized that the gangs in his new city, LA, had come out of the war with a considerably positive balance, when compared to others around the country. The most prominent crime figures in Los Angeles remained steadfast. They had endured the fire and chaos, and that stirred something within Bogdan. Slowly, he began to reconsider his plans for the future. After all, he was a man of talent, someone who could undoubtedly contribute and be well-compensated for his services. He knew that in a post-war environment like this, opportunities would be plentiful. 

Bogdan mulled over the possibility for some time, coldly weighing all the aspects that such a decision would bring to his life. When he finally made up his mind, he began to put an approach plan into action.

Jimmy Thompson was dining at one of his restaurants in downtown LA. At that hour, the place was sparsely populated, and Jimmy sat alone at a table. A few of his bodyguards occupied nearby tables, some discreetly reading newspapers, others just smoking cigarettes but each one of them, without exception, glanced toward the door as Bogdan walked in heavily. He quickly spotted Jimmy and made his way toward the table, but he was intercepted by two bodyguards who grabbed the Russian by the arm, glaring at him menacingly. Two others were already on their feet, hands inside their jackets, clearly gripping their guns. Jimmy Thompson didn't even seem to notice the movement around him, he simply continued eating, his eyes focused on his plate, but Bogdan knew that this was a kind of message for him. The burly russian spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Mr. Thompson, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Jimmy finally looked up. He had just taken a bite of steak and stared at Bogdan while he chewed. His eyes scrutinized Bogdan, as if trying to peer into the man’s soul, almost as if he had the power to read his mind. After what felt like an eternity, Jimmy Thompson gave a nod and gestured toward the chair in front of him. His bodyguards released Bogdan to sit, but not before thoroughly patting him down for any weapons, of course.

Bogdan took his seat. Jimmy offered him a drink, but he declined. He tried to keep it brief, and over the next ten minutes, he shared a bit of his background and seized the opportunity to ask Jimmy for a chance — a job. Jimmy, who had been listening very attentively, had finished his dinner and pushed the plate away. Once again, he shook his head.

"We can use someone like you. Meet me in my office tomorrow" -  he said and proceeded to give Bogdan the address of his office. Bogdan then nodded, stood up, and offered a firm handshake to Jimmy. Then he turned and nodded to the bodyguards, who this time remained seated. Some nodded back, and just as he had entered, Bogdan left into the night, feeling satisfied with the outcome of that first meeting.

The next day, Bogdan showed up at Mr. Thompson’s office an hour before the scheduled time. Clean-shaven, Bogdan had chosen a simple outfit for the occasion: a navy blue button-up shirt, larger than his usual size since he didn’t like tight-fitting clothes, black pants, and black shoes. On his wrist, he wore a simple, large watch, which served more to tell time than to make any kind of statement. It wasn’t long before Jimmy Thompson arrived, accompanied by two bodyguards. He didn’t seem surprised to see that Bogdan had actually shown up and invited him inside.

They all sat in Thompson’s office, with him and Bogdan facing each other on opposite sides of the desk, and the bodyguards seated in chairs near the exit door. Thompson quickly explained the situation they were in. After the war, a faction led by someone called The Wolf was trying to seize power, but they weren’t strong enough and were causing nothing but chaos and trouble. Bogdan was to accompany Thompson’s men on a mission: they had discovered the address of one of The Wolf’s men and were going there to make a score.

Bogdan agreed, of course. So, he and the other two men left, got into a car, and headed to the location where the mobster was supposed to be — a barbershop on the south side of the city. Bogdan and the two other men stepped out and entered the barbershop. The mobster, a man named Malcolm Winkle, was relaxed in the chair, staring at the ceiling while getting his beard shaved. As the doorbell chimed, both he and the barber glanced toward it, and surprise washed over them as they saw Bogdan and the two men from Thompson's crew walk in. They were three ominous figures, to say the least, and their presence was clearly menacing.

Malcolm, with his face covered in shaving cream, instinctively reached for his gun, but Bogdan was already closing the distance quickly. Before Malcolm could even draw his gun, Bogdan delivered a punch so brutal it sent him flying over the barber's chair, crashing onto the floor on the other side, landing on the back of his neck. 

The barber stood frozen, staring in disbelief at what was unfolding before him. Bogdan approached, snatched the razor from his hand, and gave him a menacing glare before turning his attention back to Malcolm, who was struggling to regain his senses and stand up. Thompson’s men watched silently, just as their boss had instructed. This was a test, and Jimmy Thompson would later want to hear every detail.

With the razor in hand, Bogdan crouched beside Malcolm. The man was sitting on the floor, still trying to get to his feet, very stunned. Bogdan grabbed him by the hair, positioned himself behind him, and swiftly slashed his jugular with the razor in one quick motion, stepping back to avoid the initial spray of blood before it began to pour down the man's neck. Malcolm let out a horrific, guttural sound — a choked attempt at a scream. Instinctively, he clutched at his throat with both hands, desperately trying to stem the torrent of blood that was gushing out. Bogdan gave his head a hard shove, releasing his grip on his hair, and watched as the man toppled to the side. As life slowly drained from his body, it left him with slight, involuntary twitches, a final testament to his fading existence.

Bogdan stood up and turned toward the barber, who was trembling with fear. Grabbing the old man by the collar, Bogdan pulled him closer, and the barber nearly gasped in terror. With cold eyes, Bogdan brought the blood-stained blade to the barber’s throat, letting the tension hang in the air. But instead of inflicting harm, Bogdan merely wiped the blade clean on the barber’s white smock, folded the razor, and tucked it into his own shirt pocket.

Bogdan released the barber and headed for the door. Before stepping out, he cast one last look at Malcolm's lifeless body sprawled on the blood-stained floor​​​​​​​.

"This will send them a message", he said and then stepped out into the street with the other two men, got into the car, and sped off to a hideout.

Bogdan stayed in the hideout for a few days, avoiding his own apartment. He wasn’t alone. Several soldiers from Nuccio's gang also stayed there, waiting for valuable intel or their next mission. It was a common practice in mob wars, a way to stay close to the action and be ready for whatever came next and avoid exposing their personal addresses and families, for those who had families.

During his time there, the men mostly played cards. Each turn, one of them was in charge of cooking for the rest, usually pasta with some type of meat like fish or chicken. The place reeked of smoke, as they were constantly smoking. Alcohol was strictly forbidden; everyone had to stay sharp, as they could be called into action at any moment.

Bogdan soon got to know better the two men with whom he had done the barbershop job. They were two Italian-Americans in their early forties, close to his own age. They formed a sort of squad and worked together over the next few days. Whenever there was a mission or a target, the three of them would go together. They became good comrades. The two men, of course, reported back to Jimmy Thompson. In a way, Bogdan's success within the organization depended on them, and he made an effort to show them that he was already an experienced man in the life of crime — skilled, capable, and trustworthy.

Eventually, the war against The Wolf’s gang in Los Angeles came to an end. The Ligambis emerged victorious, as expected. Hours after The Wolf himself was gunned down in the streets of LA, the phone in the hideout rang, and Bogdan was called to answer it. On the phone, Bogdan nodded a few times, grunted in agreement, and finally thanked the person on the other side. It was Jimmy Thompson. Bogdan had gotten the job; he was now an associate of Jimmy's. He had passed the test — great news. And at last, he would have a break to drink and celebrate. Finally.