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Anastasia Lenkov wants to live a normal life as a nurse after escaping her old, brutal life. But her past keeps catching up with her. She is on the run from the Russian mafia, because her father, the boss, will n...
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The air was colder here. I don't know if it was because the temperature was really colder here or that it was the mood I was sensing from this place. A cold city. Cooling and without any lovable quality. At least that's how I perceived it.
I could almost feel the snowflakes on my skin, mercilessly snowing down from the sky. But it was all imagination. All these were the memories of the day I left this place.
When the white thin dress flew across the ground because I ran so fast. When I couldn't feel my feet in the deep snow. When my teeth were chattering so hard in the cold I thought they were falling out.
I shook my head. There was no snow here. It was hot out here, but only when I focused on reality. Once in reality, I seemed to melt in my tight black pants and black blouse.
I saw Antonio's hand in my field of vision and shook off the memories. My feet hit the last few steps of the stairs leading from the plane to the ground. He looked worried so I took his hand.
He was already on the ground helping me down the last few steps.
We had landed in Moscow. I was back home. I was back in my past.
The flight was short and not very exciting. It was full of Antonio's people this time. I asked him on the plane where they all came from. In the restaurant, these women and men were already there. Many of them I did not know.
They landed yesterday he had informed me.
There were enough of us. Enough to break into the safe house and do what we were here to do: Kill the Lenkov leader. Kill my father.
"We'll gather here for a minute." said Antonio close beside me.
"Okay." I muttered.
The place was small. Just big enough for the plane to land. Large trees stood close together around us. We were hidden from prying eyes.
One by one, the men and women got off the plane. They all gathered around the area. Cigarettes were lit. Jackets were taken off. Conversations arose.
I noticed Antonio let go of my hand as I stood securely on the ground. I stopped and he strolled over to his brother in the middle of his people. They moved out of his way, making room for him.
They had an immense respect for him.
And the respect they had was not for the two pistols he had on him. Or for the knife in his shoe (which was my tip, by the way). We borrowed a couple of guns from Sergej. The man had two damn rooms, the walls of which were full of knives and pistols.
Maybe the weapons added to the respect for the leader, but to a large extent they had respect for him. For him as a person.
Maybe they had respect for me, too, but I didn't know that yet. What I did know, however, was that they were afraid of me. I saw it in their glances.
