Russian Spy: Polina |18+|

2.

"You have a question, Agent?" I lifted my head from the piles of files on the desk to look at my superior.

I had so many questions, but it wasn't expected from me. We had been trained to learn the assignment by ourselves. The organization just gave us the rough plot and we needed to improvise from there.

"No, Sir."

"You have three weeks for the preparation. Good luck, Agent." With that, he gave me a dismissal nod.

Bummer. Luck was something I never really had. Ever.

"Thank you, Sir."

I grabbed the files from the desk and exited his office. My body felt light as I walked to the east side of the building and into the smaller office for agents. The room was empty now. Most of them were probably spread across the globe, extracting information to serve our country.

My desk was on the far corner. I placed all the files on top of it, snatching one as soon as I sat.

The images of Bratva leaders were the first things I memorized.

Rodion Khilkov and Valko Vorontsov.

Their faces were staring back at me unwaveringly. Even in photos they looked greatly intimidating. I could imagine how Russia or even Europe kneeled before them.

They both were charismatic, holding considerably a certain amount of confidence in their gait as they were seen getting out of the car in rare photos. Those brief seconds of captured moment were enough to decsribe the power that they obviously had.

The documents said they grew up together. Childhood friends turned into crime lords. Mr. Khilkov was said to be adopted into Vorontsov household though the details were never confirmed.

Their main income now was multi-billions firearms company with elites countries as clients. On the side note, they were allegedly also the main supplier for some crime organizations around the world.

An unstoppable raging snowball.

But hopefully, not unbreakable.

➖

Polina

I had a new room. It was so pretty, full of pastel color. Something I wish I could have growing up. My inner child screamed for a reason. If only it was on different circumstances. If only I wasn't brought here to be tortured and exploited.

As soon as I was locked alone in my new bedroom, I was panicked and quickly searched for something to defend myself.

But now that everything was finally sinking in, I asked myself, what for?

Should I fight? But I had been fighting all my life.

Should I give up? But it wouldn't lessen the torture.

Whatever I chose, the pain was certain.

In the end, I would be the one who picked up the pieces of myself.

I didn't see both of them for the whole day. My lunch and dinner were sent to my room and they had someone to collect the empty tray later.

I had showered and changed into another satin nightgown. There was a huge closet attached to the room and it was filled only by silky satin nightgowns.