Gabriel's Regret: Book Two (The Medlov Men 3)

by Latrivia Welch

  Word on the street since the attack was that Valeriya Nenya was dead, which meant that no one had seen her since the shootout, and according to the reports from the Donetsk Revolutionaries, their captain Faddei was missing. Neither was a good sign for them. If Valeriya had put together the pieces and figured out who had sold her out, it was quite possible that she had gotten to Faddei and found out much more about their military plans and operations. As such, they had to not only move fast, but strategically.

  Some of the men in the Neo-Nazi camp wanted money and guns for the trade of Gabriel Medlov, some of the men wanted Valeriya Nenya, but none of them wanted to keep the organized crime boss there at the compound for long, save one.

  Behind his beaten up, black metal desk in his makeshift office in the back of the compound, complete with the Nazi swastika hanging beside the more modern yellow flag dawning a black Wolfsangel, their furious leader, Yuri Danko, sat in silence cleaning the dirt from under his brittle nails with the tip of his serrated blade, contemplating exactly how he wanted to use Gabriel to further his cause. It was a pity that his other key men seemed to lack his dictator-esque vision for Donetsk and ultimately for Ukraine, but he had ways to motivate them. He had ways to incentivize going rogue. And he knew the buttons to push to rally the men behind him.

  Both of flags on the wall signified who they were, what they were fighting for and what they were fighting against. In Yuri’s mind, Gabriel Medlov was a threat to all of it with his new-aged ideals and co-mingled philosophies.

  American. Capitalist. Race-mixer. He could go on for days with labels that this one man wore proudly – titles that could bring down a country. And in Yuri’s mind, killing him might be the best way to prove that this war was real and that Right for Donetsk was a major part of it.

  Up until now, the Right for Donetsk and other Neo-Nazi nationalists had simply been used as pawns in the civil war against Russia. The citizens needed them to fight in the streets and on the battlefield; so they ignored their fundamental ideals. The government needed their presence and their large numbers both in the streets and against the Russians, so they backed their financial needs in running a militia. But the votes in the last election had proven they were weak in the ballot box, weak where the real power lies and so now, they needed to make a statement that the country could stand behind – one that would unite the greater collective behind their swastika and ultimately, behind their vision.

  They didn’t need outsiders like Gabriel coming in and empowering the minorities with ideas of equality and arming them with guns. It would only be a problem for the pure nationalists once the war was won. They didn’t need democracy creeping into their national conversation and shining light on racial inequality because they believed that a dictatorship was what the country truly needed to survive, and they didn’t want a fucking, Black woman leading the revolution because she was an abomination. This was their country – free white men. Not hers. If she wanted to lead something, she could go back to Africa and try, but she wasn’t welcomed here in his native land, where his forefathers had been for centuries.

  However, strongly they felt about the Medlov Crime Family, Yuri’s brothers did not agree with killing Gabriel, even if they were in favor of killing Valeriya and every other black-faced citizen in their country. They feared the beast being held in his cage. They feared the wrath of those who might come looking for him. They feared the wealth attached to his name and the resources attached to his allegiance. It was hard to kill a man of means, even harder to kill one without fear.

  Rightly, they should be cautious, but Yuri was a man who believed that the strongest and longest standing in a fight required sacrifice. Fear was never an option, not even fear of the Russian mafia.

  Heavy footfalls of a determined man could be heard echoing down the hall as someone approached the open door of his office. The sound of boots clacking against the worn linoleum pulled him from his thoughts and back into the present.

  Putting down his knife atop a pile of papers, Yuri looked over at the gun beside him on the desk, taking the approaching sound as an act of aggression. He sat up straighter in his chair and waited, tapping his index finger on the butt of the weapon.

  A familiar face emerged. His right hand and long-time friend, Yegor, stopped at the threshold and used his knuckle to knock on the door before entering. His brown eyes were red from exhaustion. Wearing green fatigues and scuffed, black steel-toe boots, the shaved head, 35 years old, former club bouncer nodded amicably in his direction.

  “Do you have a minute?” Yegor asked, voice strained, face serious.

  Yuri waved him inside with a sigh. “Close the door,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. He picked the knife back up and began to clean his nails again. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Yegor closed the door quietly behind him and took a seat directly in front of the desk. His eyes darted around the room in nervousness. “I didn’t want to talk to you in front of the others. So, I figured after going to check on the hostage, I’d come back by to talk in private. You don’t mind, eh?”

  “Don’t mind at all,” Yuri said, expecting his friend to try as normal to sway his decisions to a more reasonable middle-ground.

  Yegor did not disappoint to be predictable. “You can’t kill him,” he said directly. His eyes batted fast as he wrung his hands. “We have to keep our focus on the Russians. We can’t afford a war with the Vory v Zakone.”

  Yuri’s slow gaze that trailed up from his desk to Yegor was not promising. There was an edge to his raspy voice. “I hear fear speaking instead of my captain.”

  The curl of his lips was pronounced now. “You hear sense speaking, Yuri,” Yegor warned his friend. Trying hard to level with his friend, he scooted closer in his seat, dragging the chair across the floor. “I’ve done a little asking around to some of our men in government, people we can trust not to reveal that we have the Vor, and what they say is not good for us.”

  “What do they say that is ever good for us?” Yuri asked, already on the defense.

  Yegor’s voice lowered. “They say this Dmitry Medlov is the most powerful underworld boss…period. He might not go to war over a single shipment, but he will go to war over his nephew. He has relationships in every country in the Eastern bloc…every single country, including the Ukraine and Russia.” Taking a deep frustrated breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow. “We must trade the Medlov soon. We must get him out of here. What good is he to us anyway? He doesn’t know anything about the Russians and their attacks. He wasn’t with Valeriya long enough to know anything more than what your man has already told us about the Donetsk Revolutionaries, and he is not a high-value target for the Ukraine.”

  Yuri scowled. “Do you think Gabriel Medlov will simply go away, if we just turn him over to his family? He will return to our country with more men and more of a presence.”

  Yegor shrugged. “We don’t know that, but what we do know is that this man is dangerous for us. We should have never taken him. We should have taken Valeriya like we first planned.”

  “We will get Valeriya, but Gabriel Medlov must pay also. He’s responsible for many deaths of our men. Don’t tell me that you want to just let him go.”

  “I will be the first one to say we don’t need to tuck our tail between our legs and run and hide. That’s not what I’m suggesting. I’m saying that I know you and what you are thinking and we cannot kill him.” Yegor’s jaw clenched tight. “Listen to reason, please.”

  “What happened to the man that used to roll heads with me when we were teenagers? What happened to the man who wanted to make this country pure again? Now you sit before me advocating for this outsider like he has you in his pocket.”

  Despite the jab at his honor, Yegor assured his friend. “I am still the man who believes in a better Ukraine, free of infestation of minorities and the gays, but this world is bigger than the Ukraine. And we can’t afford to go to war with Dmitry Medlov as long as he is in it.”

 
“Then maybe he shouldn’t be in it anymore?” Yuri’s breaths began to shorten as his chest swelled. “No man is untouchable, as we have seen a hundred times before.”

  Yegor saw then that this friend would not easily be moved. However, he knew that what they were facing if Yuri moved forward would surely lead to more of their own being murdered. “Yes, we have relationships across the world, but so does he. At this point, all we know for sure is that he wants his nephew. To neutralize him as a threat is our only real option, anything less will compromise the cause. Don’t let your ego get in the way, Yuri.”

  “It is not my ego that I seek to appease. It is my country,” Yuri said with a crooked smile. He took a deep breath and averted his eyes to the ceiling as he quoted Hitler himself. “It is thus necessary that the individual should finally come to realize that his own ego is of no importance in comparison with the existence of his nation; that the position of the individual ego is conditioned solely by the interests of the nation as a whole … that above all the unity of a nation’s spirit and will are worth far more than the freedom of the spirit and will of an individual….”

  Crooking his head to the side, he looked at Yuri, seeing him for the first time as a weak link. “Do you know who spoke that, Yegor?”

  “Our leader, Adolph Hitler,” Yegor said, face unreadable.

  ***

  Memphis, TN

  The Medlov Compound in Memphis was nearly empty after the mass exodus just an hour before that led off the property with a convoy full of black, bulletproof Yukon Denali SUVs.

  Everyone had received their orders directly from the desk of Boss Medlov and had quickly been dispatched across the world to Prague. The first jet had already taken off from the private tarmac near the Memphis International Airport, carrying with it the Prince of the Underworld, Anatoly Medlov, his wife Renee, their daughter Alexandria, a host of nannies, support staff and bodyguards.

  A smaller chartered jet had gone shortly after it carrying Briggy, Gabriel’s live-in, pregnant girlfriend, her support staff and a few bodyguards. It was a shame that even during such a turbulent time in the family, they had to accommodate the strain of that relationship, but Royal felt it best to spend the money to keep one problem from compounding on another.

  The initial response was to leave Briggy in Memphis, but Dmitry had quickly shot that down, citing her presence in Memphis alone could create another security breach, one that he did not want to deal with at the moment.

  The second family jet was fueled and waiting as Dmitry mulled over papers while last minute provisions were made for his wife and children. Royal never packed light- even during a disaster. With three young children, a host of thriving businesses and her own personal effects, there had to be coordination between a lot of assistants to have things packed and other things mailed to make sure that while family business was being handled, she could still conduct business as usual anywhere she was.

  Having done business across Europe and the greater Eastern bloc for over 25 years, Dmitry was familiar with how difficult it would be to pinpoint where his nephew Gabriel was and who was holding him. The question was what did they want? So far, no demands had been offered and no communication had been formed. He was running blind after many hours since Gabriel’s capture.

  Normally, captors had demands. They had strategies. They had resources. What he feared most was that he was dealing with amateurs that might make mistakes that a professional would not – mistakes that would get his nephew killed.

  That was never a good sign. Still, he covered all basis as thoroughly as possible.

  Running a hand over a map of the Ukraine and surrounding countries, he raised a thick brow and glanced over at his newest council member, Vasily. “Where are we with the recon team?” Dmitry asked, voice distant. Vasily was useful in many ways, but as his former bodyguard, his biggest strength was still in the logistics of offshore operations.

  Vasily quickly spoke up, eager to give his report. He had been working since the moment word had come in that Gabriel had been captured and was still angry at himself for not going with him in the first place. It was times like these that he begrudged being elevated in position, especially when he knew what he was good at. “Marat has identified four men like you asked, boss. They are rendezvousing in St. Petersburg as we speak to wait for word with a colonel inside of the Russian military. It should not be hard to get them in. They are all former Spetsnaz.”

  “Which colonel?” Dmitry asked. He knew them, many on a first name basis.

  “Mikhailov,” Vasily answered, scratching his brow. “We’re waiting on a number from him. He says he’ll get back to us within the hour.”

  Colonel Mikhailov was nothing if not a profiteer. They had done business with him in Russia for over a decade now. “He won’t ask for less than two million pounds,” Dmitry assured. The American dollar just wasn’t what it used to be anymore, everything was done in the euro for the moment, if not diamonds. “But it doesn’t matter. Give the old man whatever he wants. Just make sure our men our protected and undetected when they go in. Make sure he understands that our money is good, but his word better be fucking better. I don’t want mistakes.”

  For Vasily, it went without saying. “Will do,” Vasily said, sending a text immediately. “If Russian militia or army has him in one of their camps, Mikhailov will find out about it within the next few hours. From there, I’m sure we can make some type of exchange.”

  “If the Russians have him.” Dmitry was not so sure. Fighting a migraine that beat at his right temple like a hammer, he groaned as he looked over the papers on his desk, trying to determine if he had missed any single detail. Everything had to be perfect, accurate, and exact. He raised a finger, waving it in the air. “We must also have a contingency plan for if they don’t have him. Even Nadei could not confirm whether or not the men who took Gabriel were Russian or someone else. Looks can be very deceiving.”

  “We have put out feelers in Ukraine. It has to be the government or Nazis, if it is not the Russians.”

  “Good, then there is only one last call to make,” Dmitry said, pulling his office phone to him. He slipped on his gold-rimmed glasses and dialed the number. “Are our boys in route?” he asked Vasily.

  Vasily looked down at his watch. “They should already be there.”

  Hitting the speakerphone as the caller picked up, Dmitry rubbed his head.

  “This is Allan,” the man said quickly in a high-professional and extremely busy voice.

  “Allan Roman,” Dmitry said, putting his elbows on the desk. “It’s good to hear from you. It’s Dmitry Medlov.”

  Allan’s heart constricted. “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

  “Glad that you asked. There are two men who are coming to collect you directly. They will escort you to a private plane where you will board it and go to Kiev. I need you to be my eyes and ears there with the government until I get my boy back. I might also need you to use your relationships to apply pressure to get us the help we need, but I doubt that that should be a problem for you, considering your contributions to the country and its citizens.”

  Allan waved the men who were meeting with him out of the office as quickly as he held his hand over the receiver on his cell phone. “I need to take this. We can pick up where we left off later,” he told the men.

  Closing the door behind him, he took a deep breath and leaned against the door, looking out of his high-rise windows at the smoggy Los Angeles afternoon. He tried to take the fear out of his voice. “I want to help with Gabriel, trust me. But I can’t just pick up and leave my business.”

  Dmitry’s voice never changed from his amicable light tone. “You can and you will, Allan.” He looked over at the picture of Anatoly and Gabriel on his desk. “Do you love your family, Mr. Roman?”

  Allan swallowed hard. “I do.”

  “I love mine as well. And Gabriel would not be in this situation if he had not been trying to keep your family and your interests protecte
d. So now, you will return the favor.”

  A hard knock on Allan’s door let him know that Dmitry’s men had arrived.

  Hearing the knock through the phone, Dmitry smacked his lips. “Let them in, Allan,” he warned coolly.

  Allan hesitantly grasped the door knob and then slowly opened the door to find two large menacing men in black standing there looking at him. Worry and concern washed over his face.

  “You can make arrangements for the office from the plane. Tell them you had important business. After all, you’re the boss. No one will question you. But you are to leave with my men immediately. I’ve sent someone to keep an eye on your home and your family until you return. Don’t worry. If everything turns out alright and you cooperate, your beautiful wife won’t even know that she’s being watched.” Dmitry paused. “You have my word.”

  Allan didn’t even bother to ask what would happen if he said no. There was no saying no to Dmitry Medlov. Looking at the men who waited silently, he waved off the security guards who were approaching behind them. “I’ll need my passport.”

  “My men stopped by your home and got it for you just before they came to collect you. The wife wasn’t there and the maid…well, she’s fine, just a bit shaken up. I’ll call you in a few hours with further instruction,” Dmitry said, knowing he had Allan right where he wanted him.

  “Yes, sir,” Allan said defeated.

  Slamming the phone down, Dmitry nodded at Vasily. “Checkmate.”

  Boris cleared his throat and stepped away from the door at Vasily’s quiet urging. “Sir, we must be going now. Everyone else has already left for Prague.”

  Dmitry nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Da, da.” He waved Boris away. “Get my wife. Tell her whatever she doesn’t have, she can send for.”

  Boris nodded and turned for the door. When he exited, Dmitry wiped his red, tired eyes and pushed away from the desk. He had been sitting there so long until his legs had gone to sleep. “How many men do we have meeting us in Prague?”