Caucasian passions in the center of Moscow.

A table with a colored tablecloth, a leather armchair, a tape recorder on a shelf. An ordinary Moscow apartment. Quite unusual inhabitants.

The woman is pacing the room in anticipation. Head and fingers nervously shudder. The upcoming meeting is clearly not joyful. Minutes last for hours.

An alarm bell rings at the door. It's them. At last. It has long been important to discuss a very important matter. These two will help to develop a plan for killing.

National patriot, spineless intellectual and professorial daughter. What do they have in common? They are all angles of a love triangle. One loves another, and no one knows what to do about it.

A former husband, a native of sunny Azerbaijan, tries to turn the triangle into a square. It's something they decided to eliminate, as an extra element.

Behind the door there is a roar and shots. It is done. It remains only to dance.

Three men in a boat, not counting Azerbaijanis.