Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen

by Nelson, Latrivia S.

  Dmitry's Royal Flush:

  Rise of the Queen

  Latrivia S. Nelson

  RiverHouse Publishing, LLC

  9160 Highway 64

  Suite 12, #176

  Lakeland, TN 38002

  Copyright © 2010 by Latrivia S. Nelson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All RiverHouse, LLC Titles, Imprints and Distributed Lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising and educational or institutional use.

  First RiverHouse, LLC Trade Paperback Printing: 07/01/2010

  1

  Imprint: RiverHouse Publishing, LLC ISBN: 978-0578060118 (sc)

  Printed in the United States Memphis, Tennessee

  This book is printed on acid-free paper

  www.riverhousepublishingllc.com

  For Adam Thanks for being just you.

  Acknowledgments

  There would be no Anya without Tierra and Jordans constant inspiration. Thanks for being great teachers of the art of childhood for Mommy and Daddy each and every day.

  To my world travelers, Adam and Markum, thank you for your continued insight.

  To my blog readers who have been kind enough to have frank, open conversations with me about their lives, I am honored.

  To every fan and every reader who supports my aspirations, thank you for believing in me.

  Enjoy!

  !!!Warning!!!

  This book contains graphic violence, explicit sex, rape, murder, vulgar language and is only intended for adults over the age of 18. If you are not 18 or you wish to prevent the transfer of this kind of content to your psyche, please do not proceed. For those who have the stomach and meet the minimum age requirement, enjoy.

  Rated: R

  The Code

  The Thieves' Code

  A thief is bound by the Code to:

  1. Forsake his relatives--mother, father, brothers, sisters…

  2. Not have a family of his own—no wife, no children; this does not however, preclude him from having a lover.

  3. Never, under any circumstances work, no matter how much difficulty this brings. Live only on means gleaned from thievery.

  4. Help other thieves—both by moral and material support, utilizing the commune of thieves.

  5. Keep secret information about the whereabouts of accomplices (i.e. dens, districts, hideouts, safe apartments, etc.).

  6. In unavoidable situations (if a thief is under investigation) to take the blame for someone else's crime; this buys the other person time of freedom.

  7. Demand a convocation of inquiry for the purpose of resolving disputes in the event of a conflict between oneself and other thieves or between thieves.

  8. If necessary, participate in such inquiries.

  9. Carry out the punishment of the offending thief as decided by the convocation.

  10. Not resist carrying out the decision of punishing the offending thief who is found guilty, with punishment determined by the convocation.

  11. Have good command of the thieves' jargon ("Fehnay").

  12. Not gamble without being able to cover losses.

  13. Teach the trade to young beginners.

  14. Have, if possible, informants from the rank and file of thieves.

  15. Not lose your reasoning ability when using alcohol.

  16. Have nothing to do with the authorities (particularly with the ITU [Correctional Labor Authority]), not participate in public activities, nor join any community organizations.

  17. Not take weapons from the hands of authorities; not serve in the military.

  18. Make good on promises given to other thieves.

  Prologue

  There was a complete media frenzy behind the bomb attack on Mother Russia and the Medlov compound. Outlets from across the nation stood outside of the gates of Dmitry's home discussing the murder of a young, female shopkeeper and the attempted assassination of a millionaire of questionable character with alleged ties to the Vory v Zakone by his crime boss brother, Ivan Medlov, who headed the Memphis Medlov Organized Crime Family.

  Obviously, the media had it all wrong, which was good for the men who had survived the attack and for his son, who was now the head of the family, but it was not good for his most apparent and haunting dilemma.

  For nearly 15 years, Dmitry avoided his name ever making one newspaper regarding his possible connections to the mafia, and now his face was splashed across CNN, MSNBC and Fox News along with newspapers nationwide. He had no choice. He had to leave.

  Three months had passed and although the house repaired and the restaurant rebuilt, there were several undercover investigations underway by the MPD, FBI, ICE, DEA and the IRS. Dmitry was embattled, yet none of his worries outweighed the pain he felt for Royal.

  He sat in the back of the limo as it escorted him now to the private airstrip, where he had made arrangements to fly to Prague to his new luxury villa that awaited him with a full staff and a newer life.

  He also had purchased two large storefronts in the middle of Prague 1 district, where he had already started a new restaurant and an upscale clothing store called Royal Flush, just as he had promised her.

  A staff had already been picked, and both would be open within the week. Besides, he had done everything that he could here. Dmitry's Closet and Mother Russia belonged to Anatoly now. There was nothing more to fix, no more reason to linger.

  "What are you thinking about?" Royal asked, taking off her shades.

  Dmitry put his hand on her knee and sighed. "You. This is big move so early in your recovery. I'm not sure that you even need to be out of bed."

  "I'm ready." She rubbed her growing stomach. "I think we both are. This place is just a memory now. It's time to move and time for you to stop treating me like I'm made of glass." The diamonds sparkled from her neck. Dmitry had purchased a three-million dollar diamond necklace, designed specifically to cover the large knife mark that Ivan had left when he tried to claim her life.

  "Prague is a good change. A place where no one knows me or you," she said confidently. "I can feel it. Everything is going to be fine."

  Dmitry raised his brow. "They know me, but there is no need to worry. I won't be boss in Czech Republic. I'll be shop keeper like you."

  "Well, well finally have something in common."

  The limo stopped on the airstrip, and the driver opened the door.

  "Mrs. Medlov," he said, offering his hand.

  "Umm, I never get tired of hearing that name," Royal said, taking his hand and smiling.

  "Good, because you're going to hear it for the rest of your life." Dmitry stepped out after her.

  There was not one cloud in the sky. Spring had brought fresh clean air, warm weather and unexplainable beauty with it. Memphis was wonderful that way, always offering all four seasons in full. Royal would miss that.

  As soon as the sun hit Royal's necklace, it lit up the airstrip. Dmitry smiled. No matter where she went for the rest of her days, he would make sure that her lifestyle reflected her name. She would live like a queen. He would see to it.

  "Are you sure that you're ready to leave this all behind?" he asked, straightening his linen suit.

  He stood beside her taller and more hauntingly beautiful than ever. His blonde hair brandished streaks of new grey. His eyes wore lines beside them where talons of life had clawed at his face in the middle of sleepless nights. But his heart was warm and content. The love he now possessed radiated past
the physical and transformed him into something one could only admire.

  "Everyone already thinks that I'm dead thanks to Cory and a broke coroner," Royal said as their bodyguards escorted them. "I might as well start a new life."

  He stole a look at his wife. Strong. Beautiful. Resilient. She had stood by him until her end. She had endured the sins of his life with more dignity than even he could, and she had done so at her expense with no blame.

  I owe you everything, he thought to himself. It was a recurring though lately. His existence was no longer complete without her.

  He grabbed her hand and led her to their private jet.

  This was the end of their stories apart and the beginning of their one life together. God only knew what was in store.

  Dmitry had been by Royal's side the entire time of her recovery. Every time that she woke, he was there to take care of her—feed her, bathe her, dress her, read to her. Every need had been met. Every promise kept. He did so with little to no sleep. He barely ate. He never stopped worrying.

  He paid the coroner, doctors, lawyers, police and the local judges millions to stay out of jail and out of court—to keep his secret of Royal's survival.

  All that he cared for was her health. It had been his dedication that kept her and his blooming daughter alive.

  And it had been New York and Moscow that had come in to help the transition go smoothly. He had their blessings and therefore their protection. Men came in droves from across the world. They replenished the ranks and worked faithfully under the Medlov Family's newest boss.

  Upon her recovery, Dmitry and Royal were married in their home with only Cory and Anatoly to witness a quaint, private ceremony. She could never again call her adopted family or see Renée, but the trade was worth it. She wished them all well.

  Royal had known no pain after that horrible night with Ivan and no greater pleasure than being married to a man who seemed to live to provide her complete happiness.

  For weeks after Ivan's attack, Royal had been displaced. The transfusions, the pain pills and the nightmares had all overwhelmed her.

  For weeks, she could feel Ivan's large hands on her body, his tongue in her mouth, his scent on her skin. She remembered the thrust of his hips and the cut of his blade. But with her healing, resolve had come. Ivan's death had been retribution for his crimes against her.

  Royal looked up just in time to see Dmitry lean over and kiss her lips softly.

  "Lets get the hell out of here, Mrs. Medlov."

  She and her entourage boarded and relaxed as the stewardess seated them and prepared the passengers for takeoff.

  Quietly, Dmitry sent Anatoly a text. It simply read, "From a father to a son, thank you."

  Anatoly smiled as he read it. He sped through the streets of Memphis in his fathers old Mercedes-Benz with a new lease on life and a new woman in the passenger seat.

  "Good Luck, Papa," he texted back. "I hope that you enjoy your new boring life cooking borscht and chasing brats."

  Dmitry smiled and deleted the text.

  "Everything okay, baby?" Royal asked, touching his arm.

  "Everything is perfect, sweetheart," he said, grabbing the champagne off the tray.

  Chapter 1

  Royal screamed a blood curdling cry as Ivan held her down. His large hands were strategically placed on her naked, wounded body. Viciously, he choked her with one hand and fondled her with the other.

  Spit spilled out of the side of her mouth onto his tattooed hands, and she could smell old cigarette residue on his rigid fingers.

  She gasped for breath and tried to fight him, but he ignored her feeble attempts and violently snatched her legs open, scratching her inner thigh with his jagged nails.

  His cold blue eyes stared directly into her own as he penetrated her. There was a look of complete satisfaction on his face as he did.

  Exhausted and defeated, she turned her head to see the sharp, gleaming Glock knife beside her on the bed. The blade was so sharp until it snagged the comforter with its serrated edge due only to the friction. She swallowed hard as she looked at it, posing as a reminder to her of what he would do if she were not completely obedient.

  Quickly, she said a prayer, mumbling the words under her breath as her body involuntarily pushed against the bed under his long muscular frame. He groaned and licked her bloody face.

  The polarized sexual experiences stung through her as much as the pain. Dmitry loved her. Ivan loathed her. She had given her all to Dmitry. She had given nothing to Ivan, yet he took everything. Dmitry had been gentle and loving always every time that he touched her. Ivan's angry thrusts seemed to be for the purpose of impalement with deep and painful stabbings.

  Pulling her face toward him, he forced her to open her mouth. His tongue slid into hers, fleshy and wet. She tried to bit his tongue but felt the knife against her throat as he threatened.

  "Kiss me back like good girl," he ordered.

  Cringing, she screamed out as his monstrous grip loosened around her bruised neck just enough for her to breathe. She was forced to kiss him, forced to taste him. Tears flowed freely down her face onto their skin. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her into his greedy erection.

  "Damn, Royal," he said, hissing hot breath on her skin. "I wish Dmitry could see what I am doing to you. Not just because it would kill him." He grunted and shifted deeper. "But also because maybe he could finally see how it is done."

  Screaming frantically, Royal sat up in her king-sized bed and realized that she was having yet another nightmare about Dmitry's dead brother, Ivan Medlov. Damn him. Damn him to a fiery hell, he had been dead three years now, and yet he frequently visited her in the same taunting ways.

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead and ran her fingers over her neck. Her heartbeat raced against her hand. Panting, she closed her eyes and cringed as she felt the old knife mark from his blade. It had left a horrible scar that would always cause questions if she didn't cover it. However, vanity was the last issue she had. She was grateful for the scar, only because her healed wound meant that she had survived.

  Pulling the many of layers of thick, plush crimson cover from her legs, she crawled out of bed and went to her bathroom. Hitting the lights, she tiptoed across the cold ceramic tile over to the sink and turned on the faucet. The sound of water filled the room, interrupting thoughts of her ghost. She ran her hands through the cold stream and washed her burning cheeks. The water soothed her soiled thoughts, cleaned her sweaty skin.

  "Are you alright?" a deep voice asked behind her.

  She looked up startled and saw her husband, Dmitry, standing in the oversized arched doorway. His blue eyes pierced through her, a frown darkened his fair, beautiful features.

  Royal sighed. "I had another bad dream," she rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine. Where were you, anyway?" Stilling her shaking hands, she turned towards him and leaned against the vanity.

  "Anya woke up and came to sleep with us. I know that you've been trying to get her to stay in her room all night, so I took her back to bed."

  Turning away from him, she reached into the medicine cabinet.

  "Was it Ivan again? The nightmare?" Dmitry asked softly, his baritone voice pained.

  "Who else would it be?" she asked irritated.

  Towering over her in on a pair of silk pajama bottoms, he walked up behind her. His bare, clean shaven chest hovered above her. Tanned to a golden bronze and covered in old world tattoos, it pulsated with concrete muscles that came from too much time in the gym and not enough time in his own bed.

  Dmitry watched her fumble with the medicine bottle and finally drop two pills into her hand. Royal had been on valium for over two years. At first, it had helped her to deal with the postpartum depression after Anya was born. Then, it helped with the depression that had come after her therapy started to get over the rape. Now, it was just because. Plus, it didn't help that he owned the pharmaceutical company that produced her legal heroine; she had it sent to their home
by the bulk.

  Running his large hands down her sweaty back, he tried to soothe her.

  "Come now, I put you back to bed," his Russian accent cut through the silence.

  "I don't want to go back to bed," she snapped. Tears ran down her face. She wiped them quickly. "I want it to stop. Can you pay someone to make that happen?" She watched his face. "No? I didn't think so. Just leave me alone, alright. Like I said, I'll be fine."

  Dmitry's guilt consumed him again for the millionth time as he watched her swallow the hand full of pills and dip her head to the faucet to drink the running water. Her long black hair fell over the sink and into the water. She ignored it, letting it whip against her gown leaving water marks as she stood back up.

  "I wish there was something I could do," his voice sounded desperate.

  "Just leave me alone." She held on to the sides of the water basin and looked down.

  Besides the fact that she had a screeching headache and if she had to look up nearly two feet to eye him she would probably pass out, she also did not want him to see her cry anymore. She was tired of the constant pity and the constant reminder of what had happened to her. She wanted desperately for it to all go away.

  "Are you sure?" he asked, hoping she wouldn't send him away.

  "Yes," she hissed.

  "Alright. Goodnight." He let his hand trail off of her body.

  Turning away with a defeated sigh, he left her in the bathroom and wondered back down the long corridor to his daughter's room.

  Opening the door slowly, he looked on as Anya slept peacefully in her twin canopy bed. He went into the bedroom, closed the door behind him and lay on the floor beside her bed.

  Taking one of her oversized teddy bears from the corner, he stuck it under his head and looked up at the painted ceiling, glowing under pink night lights. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

  "Come in," he said curiously, hoping it was Royal. He sat up.

  "Master Medlov, I heard screaming. Is everything alright?" the muscular butler asked with loaded guns in the holsters under his large arms.