Private Moscow Novels & Stories

“Arrange the jet. I arrive in Moscow tomorrow." “Copy that,” Dmilo says. The line dies. Moscow, here she comes.

And I did understand what Enzo meant when he called it The Den. Fucking bright and welcoming during the day, Moscow sat right in the center of Moskov River, giving to the naked eye of a complacent world for many- old and young, rich and poor. It looked like a place where honey and milk reigned, a place where the scared could run to for help. But when the sun died and darkness claimed the land, it turned hauntingly formidable. The alleyways turned into the cradle of crime, and the cries for help could be heard from every corner on every street throughout the entire city. Because Moscow was the motherland of all the dark lords.

Ace said as he sat down in a decorative chair. “Precisely.” My father said. “Thanks to Allegra’s… interesting methods… we discovered that Moskov is hiding somewhere in Samara, Russia.” Marciano said, his face paling at the memory. “We’ll need to do some reconnaissance, and gather information of his whereabouts before we plan our attack. Allegra, we need you to go to Samara and trail any Russian member you find and try to get a location on Moskov.” My father said as he looked at me.

Her stepfather opened the front door and motioned impatiently. “Let’s go.” Cold air rushed into the apartment as they stepped outside. Snow crunched beneath their shoes as they walked toward his car, an old sedan that rattled every time the engine started. Sofia slid into the passenger seat, pulling the door closed behind her. The car smelled faintly of cigarettes and gasoline. For several minutes neither of them spoke. The engine hummed as the car moved through the crowded streets, weaving between taxis and buses while neon lights reflected across the windshield. Moscow at night was loud and alive, the sidewalks filled with people heading to restaurants, clubs, and late-night shops.

With every word, I edged further into the room and closed the distance between Eddie and myself. "I heard the Russian Mafia had their initiations a few months ago. I'd bet one of them must have done this to eliminate the competition and get in comfortably." "So we don't have anyone new to worry about," Gunnar mused, "just an old crew with peanuts for brains as new possible members. How fucking lovely." "The perks of being in this line of business, Mr. Astor," Eddie crooned with a coy smirk.

the computer operator said. ‘Can you find out who operates from the port?’ Bobby questioned The operator gave a short smile. ‘The position here has been located already’ he said, referring to the point where all the lines met. ‘Yes, where exactly in Russia is it?’ Bobby interest rose ‘Grand Kremlin Palace, Moscow’ the operator said bluntly. ‘Huh?’ Bobby's eyes widened in shock, he stood up straight and glanced at Billy who also looked surprised. ‘Are you sure of what you’re saying?’

The sky over Moscow was a bruised, heavy grey, the kind of clouds that promised snow but delivered only a suffocating cold. Below, the city was a sprawling hive of millions—unaware that the pulse of their existence was no longer held by government ministers or power grids. It was held by a woman sitting in a stolen courier craft, hovering in the dead-zone of a low-altitude radar sweep.

IRINA VOLKOV The car was black, long, and moved through Moscow's Friday evening traffic with the particular ease of vehicles that don't have to worry about anyone getting in their way. I sat beside Nikolai in the back, a careful distance between us, watching the city slide past the tinted windows. Moscow at night was different from Moscow in daylight. Softer. The lights turning everything amber and gold, the Moskva River catching the reflection of the bridges, the spires of the old buildings cutting dark shapes against a sky that never went fully black in the city.

Everything--except for the awful rumbling in the sky--was ghostly, eerily quiet. In the distance, she could see a river, and far across it, a great building. Even in the darkness, she could make out its elaborate tiered spires and ornate onion-shaped domes, which seemed familiar and mythic at the same time. It took a moment to sink in--and then fear shot through Lawrence . She was in Moscow. And the city was a war zone.

he said as he pushed me toward the waiting car, “you are an Orlov tonight.” The black Mercedes wound through Moscow's snow-covered streets, driving past glittering storefronts and crowded cafes. I pressed my forehead to the cold glass, watching ordinary people live ordinary lives. I wish I had that much freedom. The car stopped before a towering cathedral, its golden domes glowing against the night sky. Armed men in dark suits flanked the entrance. Then I saw the banners. Black and silver. A snarling wolf. Volkov colors? My blood turned to ice.