"Target locked, Da Vinci. Waiting for signal."

The crackle and static of the telecommunication line is silent to the world as it snows hard and fast. The streets of Berlin, Germany, are kind to no one. The snow comes down is just tiny clumps of hail. Words of the naturally stern language are thrown back and forth like a snowball. An invisible red dot finds its mark.

With steady arms and tight hands, the dot does not move unless the target moves.

"Confirmation given, Siberia. Shot is cleared."

And that's the only confirmation that Siberia needs as she hides on the roof of a snow covered building, a good half mile away, staring into the scope of her sniper rifle.

"Affirmative."

The curled finger placed on a trigger pulls back, and bullet whizzes through the air, going straight for the spot where the red dot has made its home. Through the scope, she watches as the bullet makes it mark and sends the Italian Mafia boss sprawled to the ground, blood quickly leaking from the wound on his head. The silver suitcase handcuffed to his wrist is cut off and taken away quickly. A crowd forms around the died, cold body, and no one makes a move to call the authorities.

From there, seeing that her hit is deceased, she sits up from the cold snow and begins to dissemble her rifle to put back into the large Couch purse that she has. A voice crackles over the line that she has hidden in her ear.

"Good work, Siberia. Wrap it up and come on home. Got some hot cocoa waiting for you."

"Ten-four, Da Vinci," Siberia chuckles into the ear piece, her accent thick, before pulling it out and dropping it to the snow covered ground. She then goes to crush it under the heel of her boot. The ear piece is just pieces of rubble now before it is quickly hidden by the falling snow.

Once the rifle is hidden well in the large Couch bag, she sweeps her blonde bangs from her eyes and moves to the only exit and entrance of the roof. After stepping inside, the warmth causes her red cheeks and nose to slowly thaw as she moves down a few floors before finding an empty elevator. Disappearing into the crowd of coming and going business men and women, seeming like one herself, she is lost to anyone trying to track her. Outside, there is a bright taxi cab waiting for her. She hands him a simple note written in German before the taxi pulls out into the snow.

An array of police cars and an ambulance shoot past then in oncoming traffic. Siberia cannot hold the smirk back. She can already feel the good ten million euros swelling into her Swiss bank account. It is evident that she will sleep good tonight - but that is mostly due to the hot cocoa that her partner has made for her.
♕ ♕ ♕

The warmth of the hotel room, along with her fuzzy pajama pants and mug of hot cocoa, warms the coldness of her body. She moves from the plush king sized bed of the luscious German hotel suite and into the connecting living area, where a familiar frizzy-haired ginger sits with her legs crossed and coffee cup attached to her lips. Her chuckles fill the air.

"When was the last time you slept, Mona?" she asks, surprising the woman into spilling her hot coffee all over the keyboard of her laptop placed in her lap.

"Shit, Yela!" the redhead shrieks, turning the laptop upside down to pour the coffee out of the cracks before shutting it off. The woman, Mona, glares at her friend before grabbing a near by napkin and pressing it against the keys to soak up the coffee. "Make some noise next time you walk into a room. I've lost too many laptops to you sneaking up on me like Death."

The blonde Russian chuckles again, nodding with an apologetic smile. "You are dodging my question," she says, causing Mona to grumble under her voice. She smirks. "Sorry, what was that, Mona? Speak a little louder, if you will."

"I said, thirty-six hours, Yelena," Mona snaps, causing Yelena to raise a blonde eyebrow.

"That is very unhealthy."

"Yeah, well, when I only live off the few million euros you give me a year, I try to find as many contracts for you as I can. And that means staying up at ungodly hours to contact those with wanting to establish hits."

Yelena frowns and shakes her head, sipping at the hot, frothy cocoa that pours smoothly down her throat.

"Sleep, Mona. This last job gives us plenty to-"

"Oh wait! Finally, he calls back!" Mona says excitedly, picking up her other laptop, not covered in coffee, and taps the space bar. A frizzy webcam feed pops up, causing Yelena to lean over Mona's shoulder to get a good look at the man.

"You're Siberia, the hitwoman, yeah?" the thick Brooklyn accent asks over the horrible reception, and Yelena rolls her eyes.

"Da," she answers simply, her tongue clicking at the top of her mouth before she takes a drink of her hot cocoa.

"Get to the point, Hendricks, Siberia is a busy woman," Mona growls, crossing her arms over her chest. Yelena smirks behind her mug; Mona always pulled the 'bad cop' routine while Yelena just sat in the shadows smirking. Hendricks, the man on the other side of the web chat, frowns before nodding.

"Right," he says simply before a pop up shows on Mona's laptop, signalling a transfer of data. "Sent to ya now is the file on 'im. Goes by 'Shadows'. Controls just about all of the West Coast and a few high ups in Brazil, South Africa, and Italy. My boss wants him dead."

"Reason?" Yelena asks, climbing over the back of the couch to sit next to Mona.

"Does that matter?" Hendricks replies. She rolls her eyes.

"For the, as you Americans say, 'shits and giggles.'" Yelena purses her lips at him. He chuckles, but the sound is broken over the connection.

"Let's just say he broke the wrong heart."

Yelena rolls her gray eyes at this. "You Americans, blaming love for everything."

Hendricks frowns, "Now look here you lil bit-"

"You want him dead or not?" Mona barks, interrupting the spat that was brewing between the Russian and American. Hendricks his silent for a few minutes before he speaks again.

"We offer no more than ten million."

Yelena scuffs at this and gets up to leave. "Then forget it. That's how much I charge to take out a body guard."

Hendricks growls. "Fifteen!" Yelena stops and looks over her shoulder.

"Make it eighteen and it'll be done in a year."

"A year?!" he exclaims, causing Mona to wince at the sound coming over the speakers. "It's a simple shot, Siberia! It does not take a year to kill someone!"

"His file says otherwise," Yelena hisses, taking the laptop from Mona and putting her face in the camera. "Now you've made me mad. It's going up to twenty million, and he's dead in a year. Take it or shove your files up your scrawny ass and go find another Russian government-trained assassin with a record of zero misses."

There's silence as Hendricks glares at her through the camera before he sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

"Fine. Twenty million, he's dead in a year. We're sending the first half now. The last ten will be sent after he's confirmed dead."

"Pleasure doing business," Yelena says with a grin before pressing the 'esc' key on the laptop and the screen goes black. Mona gapes in the background.

"What the fuck just happened?" she asks, causing Yelena to chuckle as she hands back the laptop.

"Business, my dear Da Vinci. Simply, business."

Mona grabs at her coffee mug, watching Yelena with deep brown eyes. "You know, Yela, when you get all demanding like that, it's pretty hot."

Yelena sends a look in Mona's way. It's playful, but still hits home. "Of course I'd pick the lesbian as my assistant. Of course..."

"Hey now! You didn't have a problem with it when you were drunk!"

"My dear, Mona," Yelena says with a dark smirk, a chuckle falling past her lips. "Who ever said I was drunk that one time?"

A dark blush seeps over Mona's cheeks before she grumbles into her coffee, staring back at the computer screen.