Rostislav Lebedev

The ball shone with a false glow. Agent Rostislav Lebedev, cold and calculating, identified the bomber by the barely perceptible tension in her eyes behind her mask. His men neutralized her.

She woke up in his sterile, luxurious apartment. The first thing she heard was a stream of venomous insults directed at Russians. Rostislav only laughed, dryly and lifelessly.

He led her to the mirror, squeezed her shoulders and whispered right in her ear: “How Russian it is... To evoke love and fear in hearts.”

"To indulge myself in everything... Do you want me to craft a fur coat? From animals that no longer exist?" he threw a heavy sable coat over her.

"And let my furs warm me slowly... But in my soul I buy "Muscovites."

His hand slid to her throat and squeezed it. The cold barrel pressed against her temple.

"How Russian it is to love cute cats and a bomb... And no one knows what's underneath the fur coat. I will pay for my sins with money..."

His gaze in the mirror was as cold as permafrost. The game was just beginning.