Chapter 1: Sparks in the Snow
The Moscow winter bit into Anastasia Volkov’s skin as she strode through Red Square, her black leather coat flapping like raven wings against the icy wind. Her sharp green eyes scanned the crowd, searching for her target. She wasn’t just any woman; she was a former FSB operative turned private fixer, and tonight, she had a score to settle. Her mark, Dmitri Ivanov, a smoldering arms dealer with a reputation for danger and charm, was rumored to be brokering a deal under the shadow of St. Basil’s Cathedral. Anastasia’s lips curled into a smirk. She’d have him before the night was through—in more ways than one.
She spotted him near a street vendor, his broad shoulders draped in a tailored wool coat, a cigarette dangling from his full lips. His dark eyes met hers across the square, and a jolt of raw heat shot through her. He knew she was coming for him. Good.
'You’ve got some nerve showing up here, Volkov,' Dmitri drawled as she approached, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine unrelated to the cold. He flicked his cigarette into the snow, his gaze raking over her like a predator sizing up prey.
'And you’ve got some nerve thinking you can outrun me, Ivanov,' Anastasia shot back, stepping closer, her breath visible in the frigid air. 'I’m not here to play games. Hand over the intel, or I’ll take it from you myself.'
His smirk was pure sin. 'Oh, I’d like to see you try, malyshka. You think you can handle me?'
Her laugh was sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. 'I’ve handled men twice your size and ten times your ego. Question is, can you keep up with me?'
Dmitri’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous and hungry flashing within them. He stepped forward, closing the gap until their bodies were mere inches apart. The heat radiating from him was a stark contrast to the biting cold, and Anastasia felt her pulse quicken. 'Careful, Volkov,' he murmured, his voice dripping with promise. 'Keep talking like that, and I might just give you more than intel.'
She tilted her chin up, meeting his challenge head-on. 'Promises, promises. I don’t fuck around with boys who can’t deliver.'
His hand shot out, gripping her waist with a possessive strength that made her breath hitch. 'Then let’s see if you can take what I’ve got,' he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. The crowd around them faded into a blur as he pulled her into a shadowed alleyway beside the cathedral, the ancient stone walls hiding their urgency.
Anastasia shoved him against the wall, her hands fisting in his coat as their mouths crashed together in a battle of wills. His tongue was demanding, tasting of smoke and vodka, and she met him with equal fire, biting his lower lip just hard enough to draw a groan. 'You’re playing with fire, Ivanov,' she hissed, her nails digging into his shoulders.
'Good,' he growled, spinning her around so her back pressed against the cold stone, his body caging hers. 'I like it hot.' His hands slid under her coat, finding the curve of her ass and squeezing hard, pulling her against the unmistakable bulge of his cock straining through his trousers. She smirked, feeling the heat of her own desire pooling, wet and insistent, between her thighs.
'Show me what you’ve got, then,' she challenged, her voice husky as she ground against him, daring him to lose control. His eyes flashed with raw need, and she knew they were seconds away from tearing into each other, the Moscow night about to ignite with their forbidden heat.
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