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I let out a rough irritated sigh, glancing around the office littered with numerous files.

It was my father's office—a place I only stepped foot in when I observed his work days.

Now I'm ransacking it to become more familiar with all the inside customs.

What days drug and gun shipments come in, who still owes us loans, and details of all our real estate and business investments.

A full day wasn't enough to catch me up with even half of the tangled web my father had curated perfectly.

I instinctively reached for the pocket of my fur coat, grabbing the pill container and my glass of water on the messy desk.

After taking a brief sip of the water, I popped the Xanax pill into my mouth and swallowed it—rolling my shoulders back as I promptly set the glass back down.

And after around thirty minutes, I was snapped back into focus—going through more of the different files that I took time to read.

My previous irritation had slowly faded away.

At least until I heard a few knocks at the office door.

"Da," I called out the word yes, letting out a sigh as I sat the file down.

And upon gaining confirmation, the door slowly opened.

And in walked Nikolai—who analyzed the messy office I sat in with my legs draped over the stone desk.

"Your presence has been requested," Nikolai said, visibly aware of what I'm currently doing and sensing my impatience with it.

I lazily raised my brows, "No one requests me," I said, picking up another file to resume my previous reading.

"This request came from higher up," Nikolai quickly added, standing by my side.

I firmly shut the file again, "No one is higher than me," I said as I slid my legs down from the desk, resting my heels against the floor.

"I'm unsure who or what this could be Via," Nikolai said, now organizing the files into stacks for me, "I stay by your side—not your fathers."

I stood from my chair, adjusting my typical fur coat—although this one was black and fell to my ankles.

It matched the short black dress I wore with matching stockings and stilettos.

"I go see them then," I said, already calculating my moves from this point forward.

I'll move in silence with whoever this is—it usually makes people ramble on.

Once I gather the necessary information, I'll determine if whoever this is needs to be killed or if they are an asset.

"I'll get the car ready," Nikolai determined, earning a firm nod from me as I exited the messy office.

????

The dark night had fallen over the busy city of Moscow—a place that the driver drove us out of, toward the country where snow-dusted every blade of grass.

It was farther than yesterday's drive.

Which naturally irritated me.

An hour drive was enough to bend my patience, and not in this person's favor.

For once, I simply might kill whoever this is before I can make the proper calculation.

First, they dared to request my presence and interrupt my evening.

Then I had to endure an hour drive.

And lastly...

Well, I don't have a last point to make.

I'm simply in the mood to kill someone.

A bored sigh fell from my lips as my light eyes analyzed the house we stopped in front of.

I'm only bored because there isn't much that meets the eye.

It's a one-level house made up of opaque glass that shimmered under the moon.

It was also very small.

Probably the size of my Doberman's bedroom.

Which I didn't expect considering the gates that we previously passed through.

But no guards seemed to occupy them, they opened as soon as we stopped in front of them.

"I don't take long," I told my driver as I slid out of the car past him, my stilettos leaving behind marks on the snow-covered pavement.

Which I followed up to the tall black marble door—which was unsurprisingly unlocked.

I didn't say one word as I entered the house.

Or room I should say.

Which was bare of anything, except numerous elevators that lined the walls.

Where four men and women dressed in black stood.

I didn't even have to think.

My gun was pulled from my fur coat and aimed at them all.

There was no time to flinch or fight, I had already unclicked the safety and began shooting.

One ducked out of the way, two were dead from a precise headshot, and the last one took a bullet to the neck.

"Come out before I kill you," I calmly said, reaching in my pocket for a filled clip.

And by the time I had replaced it in the gun, my patience had officially worn off.

"I count to ten, da?" I said, waiting for the woman to finally reveal herself.

What she doesn't know is that I'm aware of her exact location behind the elevators.

She darted off to the right and stood there for a moment but I'm betting that she slid down to the left to throw me off.

"Fine," I heard her voice suddenly echo before the brunette woman slid out from behind the elevators.

And walked toward me, eyeing the gun in my hand as she approached me.

I calmly clicked the safety of the gun back on and slid it away.

I naturally rolled my eyes when I noticed the woman subtly reaching behind her back.

What a waste of time.

I sighed, grabbing one of her arms and twisting it behind her back—which immediately evoked a grunt from the woman.

"You take me down there," I told her, yanking her arm tighter against the back of her body, which earned another grunt from her.

"Sí," she said, immediately cluing me into her foreignness.

Which is something I stored in my head as we walked to the elevator, pressing the button with my free hand.

Almost immediately one of them dinged open, allowing me and the woman to step on together.

The panel was listed with numerous numbers.

But judging by the sensor beside the panel, I knew clicking them would be useless without a keycard.

So I reached in the woman's pocket, noticing the outline of a card—that I promptly yanked out and tapped against the sensor.

"One," the woman said, causing me to click the button labeled with the number one.

Which immediately jolted the elevator down at a fast rate, naturally making my grip tighten on the woman's arm.

I watched the floors slowly descend on the digital display above doors.

We had started on floor thirty.

Another thing I made sure to store in my head for later.

We'll be on level one—the lowest of floors.

I raised a brow as soon as the elevators dinged open, immediately analyzing the space before I dared to take a step.

First I noticed the wide hallway with tall ceilings and polished marble floors.

The dark walls lingered with minimalist art and numerous high-tech security panels.

To the right, there was a long sleek bar with a selection of noticeably rare and expensive liquors behind glass that was lined with dim lights.

Beside the bar was a set of black leather couches arranged around a low glass table bare of anything.

I took one step forward, analyzing the empty space one more time before exiting the elevator entirely.

And as I walked toward the long hallway, I forced the woman forward with me—gripping her arm even tighter which earned another grunt from her.

"Door," I said, noticing the numerous doors now lining the walls.

But the woman only motioned her head forward to the double doors stuck at the end.

"She's waiting in there," the woman told me, her spanish accent much more noticeable to me.

I nodded once, forcing her forward and approaching the double doors.

One of which I opened with my free hand.

But before entering the room, I reached back for my gun and unclicked the safety.

I didn't bother analyzing who stood in the room waiting for me as I entered.

Instead, I pressed the tip of my gun into the woman's temple.

And pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered everywhere as I instinctively dropped her limp body and faced forward, holding the warm heavy gun in my hand.

I didn't bother to care about the warmth of the blood splattered across the side of my face and neck.

Instead, I focused on the woman who stood in the large room with a man by her side.

I pinpointed the desk she leaned back against, remaining in front of the black leather chairs that sat in front of it.

Nothing else occupied the room besides another leather couch, an electric fireplace in front of it, and another bar.

I took one step forward—my light eyes locked with her dark ones.

She wore a black leather jacket with a matching shirt and baggy jeans—her loafers shining precisely under the dim lighting.

Her dark hair was short and gelled back without a part, emphasizing her sharpened face and precise stare.

"Zinovia," the woman finally spoke, her raspy and lowered voice clinging to the tense air around us.

"You call me Koslov," I ordered, my tone full of distaste.

The woman tilted her head, "Zinovia," she dared to repeat herself again, leaning away from the desk, "We have details to discuss now that you've taken the place of Dimitri Koslov," she said, her spanish accent more prominent as she approached me.

And slowly but surely, her height emphasized a small advantage she had over me.

Even in three-inch heels.

I wear five inch from now on.

"Nyet," I said, saying the word no in Russian as I took a firm step away from her.

The woman didn't give me a reaction.

"Dario you can go," she told the man still standing firmly behind her desk.

Until he nodded once, walking past her desk to exit the room—closing the door behind him.

"Have a drink with me," the woman offered against my previous words, motioning her head over to the bar.

"Nyet," I repeated myself, my voice firmer.

Even if it sounded irritatingly soft in contrast to hers.

I hated it.

"I leave or I kill you," I determined, tightening my grip on the gun.

The woman only held my intense stare, unlike most people I come into contact with.

"I'll try again," she determined, clasping her hands behind her back, "Have a drink with me Zinovia," she said as a statement, not bothering to ask me.

I took a sudden step forward, hating the confidence she oozed.

I destroy that.

The woman glanced between my light eyes even as I firmly pressed the tip of my gun into her stomach, planning to shoot her and let her bleed out alone.

"I leave," I murmured, my voice lowered and my words precise, "Or I kill you," I repeated in emphasis, my Russian accent heavier than I intended.

But I've grown past irritated and now I'm angry.

My Xanax is wearing off too.

"You're going to behave difficultly?" the woman asked, her voice lowered and her dark eyes never wavering from mine.

She didn't appear affected by the gun held at her stomach whatsoever.

Which fueled the anger growing inside of me.

"I don't repeat myself three times," I said, digging the gun deeper into her firm stomach.

But she didn't flinch or glance away from me.

Instead, she reached for my wrist.

But I was quicker.

I grabbed her hand before she could begin to grab my wrist.

Which left her with one free hand and me with zero.

So I dropped the gun and reached for her other hand.

But she had already reached for my neck.

Which she firmly grabbed, tugging her hand out of mine as I pushed firmly at her stomach.

Especially when she revealed something from her pocket.

A needle.

"Nyat," I gritted, leaning away from her as I began kicking her knees and pushing at her elbows to loosen her hold.

But the woman was stronger than me.

Another thing I hated.

"We'll try this again in a few hours," the woman determined, pricking the needle into my soft neck and injecting me with the unknown drug, "Or maybe a few days."

I tightened my jaw as soon as a wave of dizziness fell over me—stumbling down to the ground as soon as she let go of me.

"Suka," I breathed out the offensive term reserved for the people I hate, "I get you back—I kill you," I tried to say, my words sticking together as my head caved in with a throbbing pain.

But being on my hands and knees in front of her didn't add any fire to my words.

"We'll talk soon Zinovia," the woman said, staring down at me by her feet.

Where I slowly slumped down, the brightness around me slowly dimmed into nothing.

Just a darkness that I was forced to fall deeper into.