روايات وقصص ضمن A Gentleman In Moscow

Clara's voice was quiet, but it carried a sticky malice that echoed through the dead silent cabin. "That guest from Moscow, Mr. Boris." She pointed a finger toward a fleshy man in the corner who was chugging vodka. He was an envoy from the Russian mafia, notorious for his depravity. "I order my dear sister Seraphina to give Mr. Boris a passionate kiss," Clara said, her body shaking with laughter. "It's 'diplomatic etiquette,' after all."

“I just spent nine hours removing a glioblastoma from the motor cortex. Zero deficits. But please, continue your little plumbing project.” “Plumbing project?” I glance up at the gallery. Mistake. Alexei leans against the glass like he’s watching theater instead of surgery. Tall, dark-haired, those sharp Slavic features that belong on magazine covers. Even in surgical scrubs, he looks like money. Because he is money. Morozov Oil. Three generations of Moscow elite. He’s also—I force the thought away. Not relevant. Not professional. Definitely not something I should be thinking about while knuckle-deep in someone’s chest cavity.

People dramatically cleaning dead bodies and guns in every hallway? I wasn’t sure. Because this place looked more like the home of a billionaire with excellent taste which somehow made it creepier. I guess those mafia novels were spot on after all! “Miss Morozova.”She murmurs as the woman smiled politely. The smile on her lips is quite genuine. Not a blink twice if you need help smile but an actual smile and It threw me off. “Hello?”I murmur cautiously as she blinks back her expression warm. “Your dinner.”She says as my gaze drops back down to the cart.

the gentleman replies "I am Francesco Ramires, the butler of the house." "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ramires" I introduce him with a smile. "I'll change your plate. Do you have a preference?" "I really like pasta." "I'll have them prepare it for you." Boris didn't seem to mind, he just ate while looking at his iPad. He appeared to be working. "Mr. Mikhailovich" he looks at me. "Why do you insist on calling me that?" "May I know why this woman chooses what I eat, Boris?" I emphasize his name.

"Come in." The door opened slowly and Ricardo Romanoff enters. SvetozarVolkov’s right hand and most trusted man. The man was in his early 50's and even took the bullet on several occasions saving the Boss of Russian Mafia. Ricardo's eyes and throat burned as the poisonous smoke touched his senses. Holding his breath, he walks towards the balcony doors and opens them first to let the fresh air in, without acknowledging the Boss. Once done, he stood in front of Svetozar and nodded his head in greetings.

She felt a little embarrassed for space out. "S-Sorry Sir. Actually I came to tell you that the Russians are here. Should I arrange the meeting? " she informed him before apologising for her silly act. He just gave her a curt nod before telling her to leave. "Fuck" he cursed under his breath losing his tie. "Great pleasure to meet you again Alexander " Zacarias Casso the Russian mafia leader said, shaking his hand with Alexander. "Well I can't say the same. By the way, it's Mr. Kingston for you" Casso instantly felt embarrassed by his rude remark in front of his employee. He clenched his jaw to shallow the insult the young man threw at him.

he winked as he stalked off and she shook her head with a small smile as she instructed the special bell boy to wheel his luggage to his assigned room. He went to the private booth and a Swiss knife flew at his face as he drew the curtains which he caught between his index and middle finger. “As sharp as ever I see,” a man with a Russian accent said as he chuckled and puffed a Panetela Gigante as he rose to his feet. “Maurice,” Bruce called as he embraced the man and clapped him on the back, “I see your cigars haven’t killed you yet.” “And you are still single as ever, my friend,” Maurice chuckled and gestured towards the leather seats.

He looks super outstanding in a three-piece tux, hair well-knitted with gel, and a lithe beard; he is super hot. “What if I would like to smudge it on the base of your cock?” I replied. He arched his brow, gazing into my eyes. “You are death to me,” He husked and pulled my lower lips gently to get a taste of my lips. “Where are your cufflinks?” I reminded him. “Thank you for reminding me.” He walked towards the closet, followed by me. “What’s this gala about?” “It’s an unofficial meeting with Russians,” he answered and flipped something on the ground.

He glanced out the window at the towering skyline, then back at me, his eyes momentarily softening. “This is Moscow, India,” he stated. “The most developed part of the nation. It is where we can find what we need.” He returned immediately to his call, the wall of Russian clicking back into place. We came to a stop in the shadow of a colossal, black glass skyscraper that seemed to claw its way into the gray sky. This wasn’t a hidden safehouse; it was a fortress of commerce, a beacon of brazen, visible power. “End of the line. Enzo, take the boy,” Fabiano said, opening his door.