Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Maybe Dan is at the bottom of the Moscow River as we speak.
“Thanks, Mama,” I say as steadily as I can. “Let me know if you hear anything.”
“Of course.” She resumes her show. “Your father is already looking into it.”
That’s good. We should hear something soon, then.
I return to my room and play my game some more before getting on a chat with my friends from boarding school. That occupies me until it’s time to go to sleep. It’s a restless sleep, filled with unsettling dreams about black, demonic eyes, and the next morning, I wake up tired and lethargic.
“Anything?” I ask Mom over breakfast, and she shakes her head, looking puzzled.
“It’s like he’s disappeared into thin air.”
My stomach tightens, and the peanut butter toast I’ve just bitten into tastes like sawdust. I know the kind of resources Papa has, and if he still hasn’t learned anything about Dan’s disappearance, there can be only two reasons for that.
He’s either not looking, because he’s the one who made him disappear, or he’s up against someone with comparable resources.
Like the Leonovs.
“I’m going to walk to Natasha’s,” I say, pushing my plate away. “I’ve got a headache, and fresh air might help.”
It’s not a lie this time. I feel a band of pressure around my temples, a band that tightens more with each passing second. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and one that I definitively dislike.
“Of course,” Mama says. “Pavel is busy, but a couple of guards will go with you.”
I nod and hurry to get dressed. I need to get out of here before my head explodes. I text Natasha as I’m pulling on my coat. She replies right away, as expected. My friend is always down to hang, but even if she weren’t, I’d use the excuse of visiting her to get out of the house.
It’s freezing outside when I exit our high-rise building, the guards following me at a discreet distance, as always. The cold air bites at the exposed parts of my face, but I don’t mind. It’s cold in New Hampshire in the winter as well, so I’m used to it.
Natasha’s building is only a few blocks away, yet I’m feeling better by the end of the walk. As I hoped, breathing in the fresh, crisp air has chased away the worst of the pressure around my skull. Maybe I’m worrying over nothing. Dan could’ve just had some family emergency and hopped on a plane back to the States without telling anyone, his work and tutoring employers included.
Yeah, right. And aliens landed in the Red Square yesterday. Not to mention, my father has undoubtedly checked all the flight records by now and would know if Dan simply went home.
If my father is looking, that is.
Pushing that unpleasant thought out of my mind, I enter Natasha’s building and spend the next couple of hours hanging out at her apartment, gossiping about everyone we know. Her place is almost as nice as our penthouse, even though her parents aren’t nearly as rich. They’re multi-millionaires, but that’s nothing in our circle. Some of the other girls look down on Natasha for that, but I’ve always liked her, ever since we attended the same exclusive kindergarten here in Moscow.
“You okay? You seem out of it,” she says, and I realize I haven’t answered her question about my spring break plans. She wants me to go to Ibiza with her, I think. Or is it Belize?
“Yeah, sorry. Just got poor sleep.” I push my fingers through my hair. “I think I’m down. Mama told me last year I could go once I’m in high school, but I’ll run it past her and let you know.”
Natasha chews on a strand of her blond hair. “I really hope you can go. Kristina will be there. And Vitalik.”
Of course. Vitalik, Natasha’s crush since the third grade—who’s currently dating Kristina, the bitchiest girl we know. Without me as a buffer, Kristina will eat Natasha alive.
“I’ll do my best,” I say and stand up from the couch, preparing to head out.
“Excuse me,” a curvy blond woman says, entering the living room. She’s the housekeeper—Lyudmila, I think. “There’s a delivery for Alina Molotova.”
“For me?” I blink at her. “But I don’t live here.”
She shrugs and hands me a black velvet box, the kind that often contains jewelry. “The note said to give it to you, so here you go.”
“Open it,” Natasha urges. Her blue eyes sparkle with excitement. “Maybe it’s from a secret admirer.”
“Here in Moscow? Yeah, right.” I wait for Lyudmila to leave, and then I carefully open the box.
Inside is a ring.
A big, gaudy male ring with the crest of a Yale fraternity.
The box drops from my nerveless fingers. The ring falls out of it and rolls across the floor.
“What is it?” Natasha asks, alarmed, but I’m already running out of the room, chasing Lyudmila.