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Her slender, muscular body tensed against the freezing rain, and as usual, her supple black leather “hunting ensemble” protected her from head to toe, against the ice and stiff winds that battered her. She’d done well to spend the money required to have these special “kill” suits constructed for her physique alone. Every possible surface was covered and protected in a way that felt like a mother’s embrace. Her Mamma’s embrace.

It helped that each inch of her body was also covered in the latest bullet-proof scientific chemicals, injected cleverly across every inch of the expensive, tender re-enforced calfskin. It was magic, Nothing could penetrate the black fabric that molded against her. Nothing could harm her. Not with it around.

Unless, of course, she was ever discovered and caught.
But that would never happen. Nemi was sure of that.
AS usual, the Family had thought pf everything.

For, the design of the leather suit, sexy in its own way, produced the finest of wind-slicing qualities, that made her escapes both undetectable and mysterious. She was known as the Disappearing Wraith , and the name was well-earned.

She was as difficult to catch as smoke on a mountain.
And just as beautiful.

Her actual name was Nemi Rassov, short for Nemesis. Her father Thorn Rassov, a Russian oligarch of infinite standing , named her after the goddess of vengeance, and she was raised following the goddess way. Following her family way. A family whose fortune was made and continued to expand with their years of service to both Mother Russia and the planet-at- large , for the Rassov family business was at the willing beck and call of whatever or whoever could afford them and their thorough methods of cleansing the
earth of the human filth that polluted it.

Within the family circle, it was known simply as Our Business.
But to the nations that required them, they were known and whispered about as Creative Cleansing , with no website or posted phone numbers in evidence. They only took personal, trusted referrals, and each business deal was sealed over a home-cooked dinner at their magnificent, secluded dacha buried in the remote Russian countryside outside Vladivostok. Mamma Rassov – or Mamma Mamie, as she was affectionately called – ruled a secure and nourishing roost, where the food and the methods of execution were old, guarded generational secrets.

People knew of the Rassovs, knew they did indeed exist, but throughout their century old existence , not a single one of them had ever been captured, caught or even photographed. They were part of an Old Russian mythology, viewed as both glamorous and positively lethal. They were even spoken of as having mystical psychic powers that magically protected them through the century of murder and mayhem, for according to legend, the Rassov’s were doing God’s work, and God protected them, gifted them, helped them thrive. Mamma Mamie held family worship services every morning in the private dacha chapel, attendance required. They had their own cadre of private priests, trained, as it was rumored, by Rasputin himself, since the days of the czars.

This family lived an enchanted life, even as they regularly took Life from others.
After all, Our Business was their business, and they held it reverently, with care and love.

And now, with daughter Nemi securely settled at her covert site, the Rassov’s were about to start another round of creative cleansing- something the entire world very much was in need of. It would be a prosperous , adventurous and mission-driven four years.
Mamma’s larder was stocked full.

Much lay ahead.