𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗔𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⚔︎

13

in the back of a limousine with black-out windows, aleksander was sat reading over a bunch of files that he was due to present to his superiors in the KGB.

every so often, he would briefly glance up and out of the window to take in the views from the moscow countryside — snowy hillsides unravelled before him, dotted with thick forests and farmland. the sun was hidden amongst a dull sky of grey.

after two long hours, the limo veered off of the highway and onto a country road surrounded by woodland. pebbles crunched under the tires and the breaks squeaked with every turn. the track seemed to get narrower and narrower as they drove. the chauffeur had stayed quiet for the entirety of it.

eventually, the car stopped outside of two tall gates. in the near distance, a mansion loomed on a slight hill. he wished goodbye to the driver and stepped out into the cold, open air.

devin house had once belonged to a rather influential moscovian family for generations up until the 1930s, when it was abandoned during the second world war. since then, it had lay dormant, but in 1961 the federal government bought it and renovated it into a secret base where agents of the KGB would go to meet in private, without the close scrutiny of the city. today was the first time that aleksander had been told to come here, but from his initial impressions, he could tell that it had once been an incredible home: built in the era where early modernism met art deco, it had large, smooth pillars by the engraved front door, as well as windows designed in perfect symmetry which jutted out from the house itself; balconies framed by intricate, black metal fencing, some of which were chipped and rusty from lack of care; roof tiles the colour of deep jade, and an unused, blackened chimney on the far side. despite its grandeur, it did not look its best — in fact, it looked rather rundown, especially without any garden plants potted outside or vases on the windowsills. it still looked quite abandoned.

once he had heard the limo pull away and watch it turn back down the road they had came, aleksander walked up to a keypad that was mounted on the brick pillar beside the gates. he pressed a silver button and bowed his head to talk.

"volkov zaprashivayet razresheniye na vkhod." volkov requesting permission for entrance.

the feedback buzzed. a voice broke through. "razresheniye polucheno." permission granted.

aleksander pressed the numbers needed for his entrance. the gates soon opened with an ear-splitting creak, and, tightening his grip on his briefcase, he marched up the icy road.

over the past few months, the agent had been working non-stop. ever since his previous meeting with mr gusev in november, he had been thinking constantly about his investigation: he knew, of course, that marc costello was dead, but that had not ruined everything completely; in fact, it had only strengthened his mission and motivated him even more. from going undercover as his alias, pierre dubois, and infiltrating the costellos' ritual meetings with their new don, lonnie lambert, to spartanly beating in the faces of those he did not trust — he had gone on relentlessly trying to find the man who had killed his prime target. but, there was no luck. marc's body still had yet to be found.

as for his dealings with the FBI — or more specifically, the deceased agent william turner — he had flown under the radar. lucky for aleksander, nobody had guessed that it was him who had murdered him that night in september. he was to go on as normal, collecting his evidence against the costellos to finally shut them down, once and for all.

to put it all simply, he did not have the time to think about anything else. even when he had returned home to berezenki for christmas and new year's to see his family had he been any less focused. but something horrid — something blazing and hot and sharp, like a flare gun exploding over a dark sea — had ignited inside of him upon seeing giovanni again. he had not forgotten about their remarkable run-in on the docks. he could remember it all so well, so vivid at the forefront of his mind; the weight of giovanni's foot on his chest, pinning him to the rain-soaked ground; staring down the barrel of a gun, not sure whether he was about to live or die; the words, so clear and coherent in his ears... 'if you tell anyone about this, i'll kill you. don't make me do this, alek.'