Lost in Moscow's Secret
I closed my mouth and sensed she was standing on the other side of the door with her ear to the wood, waiting for me to go away.
When I knocked again, a thump sounded, followed by her shrieking in Russian, the words too muffled for me to pick apart.
The door opened once more, and this time, a thin gentleman in a black dress coat appeared. He was shaking his head and muttering to his wife, clearly believing she’d fallen off her rocker for good. She hid behind him, her apron grasped in her hands.
When his gaze found me, he froze like he’d just seen a ghost. I forced a smile. “Zdravstvuyte—” Hello.