Rusame Cold War Novels & Stories

he said in a heavy accent, his eyes flicking to Ethan, and he just nodded at him. “Let’s get down to business,” Sasha said, her voice cool and detached. The Russian gestured toward the first truck. “This one contains automatic rifles—AK-47s, AR-15s, you name it. The latest models, all with night-vision scopes. Enough to supply a small army.” Sasha stepped forward and pulled back the tarp covering the cargo. Crates upon crates were neatly stacked, each labeled with codes she recognized. Everything looked in order. She moved to the second truck.

This was a different kind of cold, older, deeper, seeping from the very stones of the city-from the onion domes of St. Basil's to the brutalist façades of the Soviet era. A cold that remembered tsars and secret police-a cold that felt like the breath of history itself. Davidson Ekon felt it through the layers of his cashmere coat as his motorcade moved through the sparse, late-night traffic, headed for the Barvikha Luxury Village, where he was to meet with the notoriously private head of Gazprombank.

"RUSSIA DOESN'T WELCOME ANYONE. IT SIMPLY DECIDES HOW HARD TO MAKE YOU WORK FOR WHAT YOU CAME FOR." DANTE Russia in winter is not a place that wants you there. That is the first thing I always think when I land here and I have landed here enough times to have formed a consistent opinion about it. The cold is not the polite cold of other places — the kind that inconveniences you slightly and retreats when you find shelter. This is the kind of cold that follows you inside. That gets into the car with you and sits in the back seat and reminds you it is there every time you breathe.

It’s the thrill of danger, the reminder of exactly who I’m provoking. "Where did you learn it?" I ask quietly. "Learn what?" "To kill. To fight. To be..." I wave a hand at his sheer bulk, at the latent violence that hums around him like static electricity. "...this." "Russia," he says shortly. "That’s a big country. Narrow it down a bit." "A camp," he says. "In the Urals. It does not exist anymore." "A camp," I repeat. "Like summer camp, only with strangling and beating people to death, instead of swimming and archery? Murder camp?"

We were doing because others did, not actually that we understand what they were doing. " What's so special about this dude? " Stacy asked, as she eyed him. I shrugged again, " I don't know. You know what, Stacy, let's just forget about what's so special about him and concerntrate on the show. " " Ladies and gentlemen, it's a pleasure to have you all here tonight. Some of us knows who I am, while some doesn't. 𝑾ell, my name is Romeo. Yeah, the same Romeo in the movie '𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒖𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒕?' Yeah, that's me. 𝑾ell tonight, we will be watching an interesting show titled, '𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔'. It's one of the best in the world. And I bet you all, no one is gonna leave without sa

"The b-aby. He hit the baby." He propped my back against the wall, returning to the guard. "I gave Marcus instructions... Didn't he give them to you?" The guard's gaze dropped from Nikolai to me. "Isn't she a first grade criminal?" Nikolai's claws bared without hesitation, and in an instant warm blood splattered across my face. I rose my gaze up to meet his. The guard's eyes had a look of horror in them, and the space where his throat should have been was empty.

We turn at the same time to see Luka stepping out from the forest, his gold-tinted curls blowing about his face, his brown eyes wide with wonder at the sight of the river. He walks past, still not seeing us. Darius and I look at each other, then scramble up to follow him. Luka stops at the top of the river embankment. He passes his hand over his eyes. When he drops his hand again, he opens his eyes and they are a milky grey colour. The glow disappears from the sky and in the darkness a full moon rises. Not just any moon. I recognize this moon. So pale, so clear, it appears as if behind a layer of ice. The first full moon of the new year. The Wolf Moon.

The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you." I stared at the screen. In the corner of the photo, part of a hand was visible. It was Kian’s hand. The watch on his wrist was the one I’d saved up for months to buy him last year. The table was overflowing with food. Braised short ribs, garlic butter shrimp, and a steaming pot of Tuscan white bean soup. Even through the screen, I could almost feel the warmth oozing from the dishes. Then I looked down at my own table. The frozen ravioli sat there in its plastic container, frost still clinging to the edges from the grocery store freezer.

Vadim remarked, rubbing his few days old stubble. "I would have done the same, Vadim." He said, shrugging his shoulders, understanding his cousin's fury, and frustration. “I haven't seen Russo this enraged before, he's been wandering around, searching for his wife, looking like a God of death. He's uncontrollable.” He said with a long exhale. Vadim locked eyes with him. "No doubt. You two are the most feared leaders." He said with a smirk. "Brother! See! I brought your lost girlfriend home!" Their heads turned to the door as they heard a loud voice.