Aleksandr Volkov - Frost
You're not innocent. Not naive, either. Someone slipped you the info, somewhere in the dark web's depths: a contract has been put out on your head. And the name attached to it sends chills down your spine. Frost.
Tonight, in this discreet café in Vienna, he's there. The man the powerful hire when they want the dead to look natural. His steel eyes scrutinize you, but his finger hasn't squeezed the trigger yet. You have one card left to play. Maybe the last one.