Codename Anastasia Novels & Stories

“Oh, and now you’re joking. Ha-ha, so funny. It only took you twenty-five years to develop a sense of humor. Just you wait until I tell Anast—” A blacked-out car pulled up beside the plane. The back door opened and out stepped the woman who haunted my waking—and sleeping—thoughts. Anastasia wore a little red dress that matched the roses tattooed down her arm. As she slipped out of the car her long, tanned legs were on display, along with the ruby heels on her feet. There was a slit in the dress that opened up as she moved, revealing a hint of the tattoo inked onto her thigh.

In the Bratva world, watching your back was an unspoken rule. Anastasia waited for me in her office, and as I entered, she approached, greeting me with a kiss on the back of my hand. Anastasia Volkov, Mikhail's daughter, was an intriguing blend of grace and intensity. Her eyes held a certain depth, a silent storm that mirrored the tumultuous world she hailed from. Long, flowing locks framed a face that carried the weight of her lineage, a mixture of beauty and the unmistakable mark of the Volkov legacy. Her presence was both enigmatic and commanding, a testament to the resilience cultivated in the shadows of powerful bloodlines.

“I don’t care, Gregor! I will fucking fight you—move away now!” “Let her in!” I barked, slamming my glass down onto the desk with enough force to make the liquid jump. The door burst open, and there she was—Anastasia, storming in like a whirlwind in heels. She was dressed in what must have been her bridesmaid gown, an elegant thing that clung to her with tailored perfection. Her hair was pulled into an updo, her makeup pristine, her heels clicking with authority. But the cracks in her mask were obvious. A single strand of hair had escaped and fallen across her forehead. Her eyes twitched with tension, her hands were clenched into trembling fists.

“You’ve thought this through way too much.” "Because it’s a great plan!" Anastasia waves her hand around like she’s presenting a chart. “Think about it. Hot escape. Forbidden romance. A dash of rebellion. And you know Alexei, you can rely on me to take care of some angry wolves. You enjoy your story, while I will enjoy some action." She smirks proudly.

she stopped talking, "it's like since you've been away, nothing can faze them!" "Just give me some names, Anastasia. It's the only way I can assist you," I pleaded, cautiously inching closer to her as if she might explode right before me. “Sorry, A, but I can’t do that.” Anastasia finally broke down in front of me, tears streaming down her face. I pulled her into a comforting embrace, but she quickly pulled away, her expression a mix of discomfort and pain, as if hiding something deeper. "My bad," I muttered as she wiped away her tears. In one swift move, I lifted the back of her shirt, revealing handprints and a number 4 etched into her skin—marks that would undoubtedly leave scars. She tri

“Come on, Annalise. You have to tell me. What’s the name of this mysterious incense?” She hesitated, just as I knew she would. But I could see the trust in her eyes, the bond that still lingered between us. “Fine,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s called Thanis. But promise me you’ll never use it.” “Of course,” I lied, already planning my next move.

Feeling the weight of his stare, Anastasia quickly averted her eyes and hurried past him, making her way toward her room, her heart pounding with unease. Anastasia entered her room silently, the door closing softly behind her. She threw her expensive bag onto a nearby chair with a sharp clatter, the sound echoing her frustration. Slowly, she sank down into the corner of her luxurious bed, Her mind raced, thoughts swirling in chaos. “How the hell did Jeremy get caught?” she muttered bitterly to herself. The realization of his arrest cut deep, forcing her to confront the fragile grip she had on their carefully guarded secrets. Anastasia’s thoughts darkened as she reflected on the true motive b

I just wanted to be busy because my mind wandered off to Killian at any opportunity it got. The more the thought of him crept into my mind, the more haunted I was. "You can help me with the pastries," he replied. After five hours of incessant work, we were finally done. I rushed back to have a quick shower and in no time I was back at the main building. Anastasia was all dolled up. She was wearing a red backless mini leather dress that pushed up her boobs and barely covered her butt. While her shoe was a pair of black Chanel heels.

she spat under her breath, slamming the wheel with her palm. Her plan was simple , get to Damon’s mansion, question the maids, slip them money if needed. Someone would break, Someone always did. But just as she neared the familiar neighborhood, her eyes caught sight of a slim figure walking alone along the street. Long hair doll with beautiful hairpins youthful frame, the face illuminated briefly by a passing car’s headlights. Penelope, damon’s precious daughter. Anastasia’s lips curled into a slow, sinister smile. A thought as dark as it was tempting slithered into her mind.

But enough. “Anastasia.” I followed the trail. It disappeared around a corner. Then I heard something. A faint sound. I stopped then moved closer..I pushed open an old wooden door. “Anastasia?” Nothing. I raised my weapon and entered. The storage room was barely lit, filled with broken furniture, old crates and rusted equipment. Then something moved behind a stack of boxes. I lowered my gun. “Anastasia?” A figure slowly appeared. Her face was pale, her hair was disheveled. There was a small cut near her temple but she was alive. My knees nearly gave out.