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Aleksandr Vasilievich was a tired man. Singlehandedly fighting crime in New York felt like a never ending battle. It had been two years since he started systematically dismantling organized crime. Picking up where the Ronin left off. Yet he couldn't help noticing things weren't getting better. If anything, they were getting worse. He was tired. He stretched his fingers. They were tight. After a full day and most of the previous night, fighting in an underground fighting ring, run by the tracksuits. Everything was tight. He looked at his watch. It had been nearly twenty hours since he went out to infiltrate that fighting ring. He needed sleep. He took a swig of the vodka on his nightstand to numb his nerves. He poured a bit on a rag and dabbed it on the fresh cut on his forehead. The familiar sting causing him to wince. 
Sasha took another swig and felt the alcohol clear his sinus. The strong Russian liquor reminded him of his father. He often liked strong Russian things. Like his mother, who often said you shouldn't drink. "You need a clear head for this kind of work." He would remember her saying. Aleksandr, or Sasha as he was called by friends, not that he had many left these days, walked into his bathroom of his expensive penthouse apartment. He washed his hands. Placed his phone on the counter. Turned off the lights and got undressed. Pushing his clothes into a neat pile in the corner, and moved into the shower. It was a large modern shower. With one of those rain fall heads. Turning it on, Sasha knelt down under the flow of the water. Feeling the warm water caress his body. He closed his eyes and focused on the now. In an attempt at what his therapist would call grounding or something similar. If he was being honest, he never really listened to his therapist. He was only seeing him because his parents were worried about him. Focusing on the sound of the water, and the feeling of it sliding over his skin, he was finally starting to relax.