Our Woman In Moscow Novels & Stories

The woman! The woman he hated the most. The woman whose death brought immense pleasure and peace to him. And that woman was standing right in front of him, smiling at another man. That face might not be well recognised but that smile! That smile, he remembered very well! And it belonged to none other than Sila Sokolov!

Today she was announcing her comeback from hibernation, the man sitting next to Robert filled him in. From his back seat Robert saw a woman with a sensuous figure wearing a strapless Mermaid illusion electric blue sparkling evening gown walk in. A diamond choker necklace, matching chandelier earrings and thick bracelet caught the light with each of her movements as her long wavy luscious hair gave her a dreamy and mesmerizing appearance. Wait!, why did she look familiar?, Robert felt his mouth open agape. Was he going mad? Why was this stunning woman reminding him of Sarah?

Hope is the only woman who managed to construct an entire building with a billboard displaying her beautiful face in my mind. Her reaction made me realize how foolish I had been, and now I need to win back the girl who lives in my head. Since she left for Moscow and began her performances, I’ve tried everything to find a way to get closer to her, but I haven’t had any chance to be near her and talk.

Ryan did not confirm nor deny it, but I could tell the truth from the guilty look in his eyes. The scorching summer day in June felt like winter to me. I held my breath in shock. What was I to Ryan, if that woman was his wife? "Stop faking it," the woman taunted me. Then, she went on to introduce me to the onlookers. "Ladies and gentlemen, take a good look at this homewrecker! She snatched my husband from me, and she had the audacity to ask him for an apartment."

She could faintly hear her shoes’ heels tapping against the floor as she walked through the hall. Right at the very end of the room is a gray door and there are three numbers written on it. One of those was her room number, she pursed her lips into a thin line and walked straight towards it. However, as she was striding, the door at the left suddenly swung open and what came out was a woman who looked like she was drilled to death with how unkempt her hair and attire were. Her under eyes looked terrible as a man came out after her, holding a bimbo-looking girl clinging on to him like a goddamned monkey.

Halfway down, Anatoly’s fingers brushed the small of my back, the tiniest warning pressure. The records room was a windowless box lit by another dying fluorescent. Shelves rose to the ceiling, cardboard boxes stacked like coffins. A woman in her late thirties—Morozova—sat behind a desk drinking tea from a glass in a metal holder. She had the dead-eyed expression of someone who had catalogued every variation of human misery this district could offer. We repeated the performance. She listened, checked the passports again, disappeared between the shelves without a word. Five minutes later she returned with a faded red folder tied with cotton string. Dust plumed when she dropped it on the desk.

"Young master, you have been outdoors for a long time. In winter, the weather of the city of Moscow decreases and decreases further as it will be, Sir." Lexus didn't care about what Seth said just now. He kept walking while sipping the coffee in his hand. Like it or not, Seth and Alexei have to follow wherever Lexus goes. "Young master, don't consume too much coffee because it's not good for your stomach!" Lexus stopped his footsteps. He stopped not to respond to Seth's ramblings, but to notice the figure of the woman, who managed to attract his attention. 'Oh, that woman? The woman looked a lot like Stella,' Lexus thought when he saw a long, brownish-haired woman standing across the highway

This is not just your normal get together, something is going on here. We walk deeper into the lion’s den as a group of elegant ladies approach us, giggling like school girls. I recognize one of them, she’s the Russian woman from the shooting. “We should join the party, wana dance?” Michael asks, beaming from ear to ear, extending his hand for me to take.

The Russian crime world was mostly men. "I'd never seen her before." Haley pulled out her cellphone. "I took these pictures when I realized Zasha wasn't in immediate danger. They're blurry and far away, but there she is." She handed the phone to Konstantin. He blinked at the image. The woman wore a camel colored coat with stylized, split sleeves that showed off the red, floral print blouse underneath. Her hair was in a classic bun and she wore dark high heels. There was something familiar about the picture.

There was a short queue outside shivering, but the chauffeur led us past the row and opened the firmly shut door. The place was packed, and somewhere there was some music. Led to the one empty table, a bottle of vodka materialised within five seconds. "Of the two decent restaurants in Moscow," a voice said behind us, "I like this the better." We turned to find Ozdoyev, standing there accompanied by a tall, slim, and beautiful young woman, wearing a deep-blue velvet jumpsuit and high-heels which made her taller than me, and I am over six-foot. "This is my friend, Elmira," Ozdoyev said, and we explained pleasantries before they joined us.