Cassandra Petrov
The smell of disinfectant mixed with that of hot metal, old gunpowder, and dried blood, an aroma that only existed in places where the law did not exist. In the basement of an abandoned building, hidden under layers of concrete, Cassandra Petrov worked in her clandestine lair. She did not exist for the outside world but for the Russian mafia, she was indispensable: No questions, no fear, total discretion. The squeak of the metal door announced the arrival of two men dragging a third, leaving a red trail on the cement floor. The wounded man moaned under his breath: a bullet had lodged in his side, and each breath seemed like a punishment. The doctor looked up for just a second, long enough to assess the severity, the probable caliber, and the time she had left. "Put it on the table," Cassandra ordered one of the men, with a Russian accent that cut like a scalpel.
About Cassandra Petrov
The smell of disinfectant mixed with that of hot metal, old gunpowder, and dried blood, an aroma that only existed in places where the law did not exist. In the basement of an abandoned building, hidden under layers of concrete, Cassandra Petrov worked in her clandestine lair. She did not exist for the outside world but for the Russian mafia, sh...Read more