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CHAPTER I. The Truth About Budapest
Budapest. The city had seen its share of shadows, but tonight, it would bear witness to something darker still. For Elina, this was no ordinary mission-it was her most crucial assignment, the one that would test every ounce of her resolve. General Dreykov, a man of untold secrets and power, was under her protection, and more importantly, so was his daughter, Antonia. The stakes were unfathomable.
Elina had prepared meticulously. Every corner of the safehouse was secured, every line of defense reinforced. The cold metal of her weapon pressed against her side, a constant reminder that she must be ready to act at a moment's notice. This night would demand nothing less than perfection, and she would deliver it without fail.
Inside the dimly lit kitchen, Antonia sat at the worn wooden table, her small hands busy with crayons. The bright colors seemed out of place in the oppressive atmosphere, yet the little girl remained oblivious to the tension that coiled like a serpent around them. She beamed as she lifted her drawing, holding it out toward Elina-the mysterious figure who hovered on the edges of her life. Antonia had only ever known her as the Mystery Woman, a silent guardian who never smiled, never spoke.
"It's you," Antonia said softly, her finger tracing the figure of a winged woman in the background of her drawing. "I gave you wings because you're like my guardian angel."
Elina's heart clenched, but she merely nodded, her face an unyielding mask. Emotions were a luxury she could not afford. She circled the room, her eyes sharp as they scanned the windows, checked the locks, and surveyed the door. But no matter how vigilant, she never strayed far from Antonia's side.
In the adjoining room, Dreykov was on the phone, his voice a deep murmur that carried the weight of heavy secrets. Elina knew better than to listen, to pry into the conversations that were not meant for her ears. Her duty was clear: protect and serve, nothing more. As Dreykov ended his call, he glanced at Elina, his gaze a penetrating force that made her feel like an insect under a microscope.
"Nothing yet?" he inquired, his voice a flat, cold thing. Elina shook her head. Words were unnecessary, even unwelcome between them.
Antonia tugged at her father's sleeve, her drawing clutched in her small hands, desperate for even a shred of his attention. But Dreykov was already lost to the world of his phone, waving her away with a dismissive gesture that made the child's face fall, her enthusiasm wilting like a flower in winter.
Outside, a car pulled up quietly, its headlights dimmed, the engine purring to a stop. Elina's senses sharpened, and she crouched low, creeping toward the window. She watched as a figure emerged from the car and entered the building across the street. False alarm, she thought as she turned back to Dreykov, who was still watching her with that same probing intensity. She shook her head, signaling that there was no immediate danger, but she knew the night was far from over.
Dreykov looked irritated, his patience thinning. Antonia, meanwhile, continued to plead for his attention, her voice small and plaintive against the backdrop of looming danger. At last, Dreykov ended his call with an exasperated sigh and stormed over to her, his harsh demeanor casting a shadow over the little girl's world.
Elina's attention snapped back to the car, something nagging at her. She squinted, leaning closer to the glass, her breath fogging up the cold pane. In the passenger seat, someone still sat, motionless, alone. A flash of recognition pierced through her-scarlet hair, bright as blood in the dim light.
Natasha.
Elina's heart skipped a beat, her breath caught in her throat. What was Natasha doing here? The figure in the car seemed so real, so close, and yet it was impossible. Natasha was with the KGB, far from here, likely entrenched in Moscow, nowhere near Novosibirsk. But the vision wouldn't fade, and as Elina's gaze remained fixed, she knew with chilling certainty-it was her sister.
A cold sweat broke out on Elina's brow as Natasha met her gaze through the glass. There was no mistaking it-the recognition was mutual. Natasha's hand moved of its own accord, reaching for the remote trigger hidden in her pocket.
She pressed the button.
The night exploded into a maelstrom of fire and debris. The kitchen, the entire house, was obliterated in a heartbeat. Elina was thrown to the ground, the force of the blast searing her senses, but she fought through the haze, crawling towards the motionless form of Antonia.
The little girl lay still, her small body crumpled on the scorched floor. Elina's hands trembled as she checked for a pulse. Nothing. Her world narrowed to that single, horrible truth.
Antonia was gone.
Desperation clawed at Elina as she forced herself to her feet, her eyes scanning the room, seeking out Dreykov. A raspy cough from across the room drew her attention, and she stumbled toward him. He was injured but alive. With a strength born of adrenaline, she hauled him up, draping his arm around her shoulders as they limped toward the door.
She hesitated at the threshold. "Antonia is still inside. I can revive her," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"She's dead," Dreykov snarled, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Get me out of here now."
Elina looked back at the apartment, at the flames consuming everything in their path. There was no time, no hope. With a bitter nod, she tightened her grip on Dreykov and helped him to the rooftop, where a helicopter awaited, its blades slicing through the night air.
As the helicopter ascended, the burning building grew smaller beneath them, but the explosions were still deafening, echoing through the city like a death knell. Elina's heart was a cold, heavy thing in her chest, weighed down by the image of Antonia's lifeless body, alone in the inferno.
But more than that, one thought haunted her above all else-Natasha. Why had she come here? And why had she tried to kill them?
This, she would find out. Elina clenched her teeth. She would make sure Natasha paid.
