You don't have to worry. I'm not gonna tell you a pack of lies to make me look good. I'm just gonna tell you what happened. My name is Yuri Orlov. When I was a boy, my family came to the America, but not all the way. Like most Ukrainians, we congregated in Brighton Beach. It reminded us of the Black Sea. I soon realized we'd just swapped one hell for another. Even in hell, an angel sometimes makes an appearance. I'd worshipped Ava Fontaine since I was 10 years old. Of course, she didn't know I existed. I was starting to think she had a point. For the first twenty-odd years of my life, Little Odessa was to me what it is to the Q train: the end of the line. Oh, I did lie about my name. It's not really Yuri Orlov. There have been few occasions in the 20th century when it's been an advantage be a Jew. But in the '70s, to escape the Soviet Union, our family pretended to be Jewish. Little about my life has been kosher ever since.