* * *
Full dressed in a tailored tuxedo, Dmitry sat in his suite with his son drinking a glass of vodka in the silent calm of luxurious ambience. Everything was ready, and now it was time to wait.
Anatoly watched his father carefully. Something was off. Clearing his voice, he broke the silence and uncrossed his legs.
Dmitry looked up from his distant thoughts and peered at Anatoly under blonde eyelashes. He moved the glass from his hand. The dim lights flickered off of the diamonds in his Rolex.
"I'm sure that they'll find her," Anatoly assured his father.
They had only found out a couple of hours earlier than Royal was missing. Dmitry was silent when he first found out. The wheels of his mind turned over and over until he finally spoke, informing them all that she was in the city. Anatoly found it odd, almost impossible. How did she find out? But Dmitry was certain and if he was certain, even if he was wrong, in their world it was the truth.
"Let me worry about Royal," Dmitry said finally. He smiled revealing his long, deep dimples. His eyes sparkled. "Victoria should be preparing to go over to the art gallery to make the final payment. Has she been properly instructed?"
"Yes." Anatoly sat up in the chair a little straighter. Would his father ever stop grilling him?
"You know, if you care for her at all, you should send one of the other men?"
"Care for her?" Anatoly smirked. "I told you… "
"Listen to me. You send pawns out in the field—people who you do not care if they don't come back. You don't send anyone you care about."
"Papa, she'll be fine."
Dmitry didn't smile. His voice was low. "No one is safe tonight, especially anyone involved in this deal. She could go to jail. She could be kidnapped. She could be killed. Are you ready to accept that?"
"Shell be fine," Anatoly stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out at all the people moving around on the streets below. It was like New Years in New York.
"You don't have much time to change your mind," he heard Dmitry say from behind him. His voice sounded worried—worried about a woman who had betrayed him and his wife.
"My mind is made up."
"Moving on then," Dmitry put down his glass on the table beside his chair and planted his elbows on his long legs. "I don't want you at the ball. I need you on the yacht. Once the deal is made, I have a feeling that the only way they're going to get the shipment out of the city is by water."
Anatoly hadn't thought of that, but it sounded like a good idea. He nodded. "Alright." He turned around to face his father.
Dmitry looked at his watch and stood up. "You know regardless of what happens tonight, I am very proud of you, and everything that I've done, I've done for you." His father stood to his full height, revealing the giant he was in stature and life. He gleamed with intelligence, power and success. It was his look that captivated the masses. It was his strength that dominated the underworld. He walked over his to son and placed his large hands on his shoulders. "If you don't learn anything else from me, I hope you've learned that I've always known what my priorities are."
"I know, Papa. And I appreciate it, from the bottom of my heart," Anatoly said. "Thieves-in-Law."
"Thieves-in-Law," Dmitry said as he let his son go. "Now, go on. Get to it. If God is willing, I'll see you at dawn." He hugged him tight.
"Damn. You're packing heavy, eh?" Anatoly observed feeling the large bulge under his fathers clothes.
Dmitry smiled and pointed at the door. The men standing at the door opened it and moved out the way as Anatoly headed out. Dmitry gave his lead man a nod as he watched his son leave.
* * *
Royal zipped up her long black gown and twisted it around on her body. Adjusting her cleavage, she pulled out the diamonds Dmitry bought her to cover up her scars, placed on her four-carat diamond earrings, slipped on her wedding ring and slipped her credit card and ID inside the corset of her dress.
She had just enough time today to purchase a gun in the raunchy hourly hotel she was holed up in almost an hour away from Downtown Sochi.
She had traded her watch and iPod for it. Totally worth it. She could hear the prostitutes working in every room around her and the smell of damp, mildewed walls nearly choked her, but she breathed it happily knowing that it was to save her family.
The filth and grime was like second skin to her. It was only a few short years ago that she was an orphan in the ghetto of Memphis getting banged around by men who only wanted to harm her. This was nothing. This was temporary. In fact, it fueled her tonight.
Face made up and heels on, she slipped the gun under her dress, dropped her backpack in the garbage can and headed out to meet her future.
* * *
Royal was right, Anatoly showed up like she said he would at Victoria's hotel door with what looked like a football team behind him of armed bodyguards. He came in alone, slipping through the door in a tuxedo and looking like a million dollars.
Her breath caught in her throat as he moved towards her. She didn't remember him looking quite so handsome. His eyes burned like fire through her, glimmered like blue waters against a white beach.
"I had to have you," he whispered in a husky growl. "Couldn't wait a second longer."
"Me either," she gasped. "Don't ruin the dress though."
"Fuck the dress."
Slipping his hand behind her head, he pulled her into his kiss—sweet and intoxicating. She could not deny it. In fact, she longed for it, although it had only been a day. She wrapped her arms around him and felt him pick her up as he bruised her mouth with his lips.
Carrying her to the bed in his arms, he had a sly grin on his face. Devious mischief was on his mind. He threw her on the bed and pulled off his jacket, revealing shiny silver guns in their forbidden holsters.
She pulled her dress up to her hips as he reached for her panties. He pulled them off slowly, drinking her body through his eyes. He kissed the folds of her long legs down to her black heels and dropped his pants.
Knees in the bed, he skipped the condom and fell down into the depths of her warmness. She let out a sigh and closed her eyes. Back arched, she felt his cold hands slip behind her and pull her to him. He wanted to feel every part of her body against him.
He grunted as he pushed through her with hard, powerful thrusts. His voice was a rumbling growl as he felt her wet flesh tightened around him. Breathing through her nose, eyeing him as he devoured her, she gripped his firm ass and licked his smooth neck. He bit her, leaving a mark on her shoulder.
A strangled scream erupted as he slipped a hand in between her legs and found her pearl. He brushed against it making her body throb from within. Her body was on fire, burning as he speared into her with eager jolts of lava-like lust. He begged for more as he searched her, probed her body as sensations of climatic eruptions began. Suddenly, she hoped this wouldn't be a quickie.
Chapter 21
Victoria's job was the first wave of the deal. After she had freshened up, she headed out of the hotel with a small entourage behind her. For once, she could understand the haughtiness that Royal picked up living this kind of lifestyle.
All eyes were on her as she walked in a convoy of good-looking, well-dressed mafiya men, escorting her through the crowd to the limo awaiting her at the door. She had an adrenaline high before she made to the lobby.
People moved out of her way as she passed. They looked curiously. She could see them whispering to their friends. "Who is that? Is she famous?" She could hear them say. Yeah, bitches, I am, she thought to herself. A small grin crossed her glossed lips as she lifted her head little higher.
Two motorcycles led the limo and two followed it. She sat back in her seat as her heartbeat raced with excitement.
Her thoughts went back to Royal for a moment. She hoped that she was okay, but Royal had told her not to call unless something was wrong. So far, everything was going right. She looked out the window at the foreign city and bright lights.
When she arrived at the art gallery, the mood changed. Suddenly, she was not the only star. There were so many limos lined outside of the posh, upscale building until she couldn't count them.
People stood outside in formal gowns and tuxedos and bodyguards stood by the cars with earpieces in their ears. The man in the front of the limo looked back at her, then got out and opened the door for her.
She swallowed hard and got out. Escorted through the crowd, she clutched her purse and flashed her invitation as the doors opened for her. A tall blonde woman was waiting for her. She had very distinct Russian accent.
Smiling, she lifted her left hand and motioned towards the back. They walked pass all the crowds, down a long, dimly light corridor all the way to the back to a room guarded by huge white bodyguards peering at her with an evil stare.
The men moved out of her way as she and her men entered the room. She was glad for her bodyguards as she looked around. There was only one piece of art. No artist. No crowd. No people. A single computer sat on a small black table in front of the bust that Victoria assumed was the $550,000,000.00 art.
"Please come this way," the woman said, walking up to the computer. She lifted the monitor and smiled. "Enter you account number here and then… we wait."
"Alright," Victoria said, taking a deep breath.
She walked over the computer and carefully put the numbers that Anatoly had made her commit to memory in. She heard the click of her nails against the keyboard. When she was finished, she folded her arms against her and looked over at her bodyguards.
The blonde woman stepped in front of the computer, typed something very quickly into system and then put her hand on her earpiece. A few minutes passed and then she smiled.
"We've received confirmation," she said, looking over at her bodyguards.
"Good. So, I'm assuming to you'll send the bust to the address provided," Victoria said, ready to leave.
The woman stopped smiling. Her pale face showed lines around her mouth as she bit her lip. It was obviously a continual facial expression.
"No, I don't think they deliver where you'll be going," she said, pulling out her gun.
* * *
"It's almost over now," Dmitry said to his men as he led them out of his suite.
He had just received word that his son was safely in the car and headed to the yacht. The bankers had confirmed that the transaction was complete. Now, he could handle this last bit of personal business. Buttoning his suit as he walked, he bypassed the elevators and took the stairs with his men down to the gala floor. He heard the beautiful music playing. Violins rang in his ears. How beautiful that God would let him hear his favorite instrument before the battle of his life. It gave him strength.
Dmitry's foot touched the final step when his men pushed the doors opened for him. They entered into Mezzanine level of the hotel and walked into the ball, where women swayed in beautiful dresses and men led in handsome tuxedos. He was undeniable in this setting. People looked on entranced. Who was the tall giant? He was so stately. So beautiful. The luster of the attention had worn old many years ago for him. He ignored it all.
Concentrating, he scanned the room for Russian military types. There was only one. A slender man with a pointy little nose and high cheek bones in military dress uniform. He stood with a group of other men, obviously bodyguards.
It was customary after a deal had been made on this scale for the heads of the organizations to meet once in a amicable setting. The ball was the perfect place. Lots of people. No cops.
They made eye contact, and the small man nodded at him. Dmitry made his way over with his men, and they all left through the back doors that led up a few flights of stairs to a private room overlooking the city.
"I've been waiting for two weeks to meet you," the man said, offering his hand. "And finally."
"Finally," Dmitry said, looking around. "So, I've heard that you're retiring."
"Posle mnogih let," the man said, tilting his head proudly.
"Well, Dolgaya zhizn'dlya vas," Dmitry said, offering his hand.
"You know, this is where the night gets interesting. I could walk right out of here and not tell you what's coming, or I can tell you everything, and you stand a chance to stay alive."
Dmitry's face did not change. "I'm listening."
"I only tell you this because the man, my liaison, has not been paid his final fee, and it is a hefty one. So, I stand to gain something if he were not around to collect. Also, even though he is efficient, he's not Russian. He's a Pushkin. Black men still seeking upward mobility," he laughed.
Dmitry did not.
"A black man? His name wouldn't be Dorian would it?" Dmitry asked.
"It would. I'm not sure what he's planning, but I can assure you that it's not going to be good for you."
"No, I don't think that it will be." Dmitry slipped his hands into his pockets. "Well, it was nice to have met you, but as you said, you probably shouldn't be here when he arrives."
"Good luck," the man said, waving his men to collect him. "And a pleasure doing business with you."
* * *
Dorian walked through the large crowds in the masquerade ball with his mask, scanning the room for threats. One could never be sure who all was with Dmitry, but he had an idea that his numbers were large tonight. He and his crew of ten slipped into the back when they saw their client leave, smiling from ear to ear and talking to his men. They gave a final nod to each other as they passed.
When they walked into the room, Dorian expected Dmitry to be surprised to see him or at least alert, but Dmitry sat on a lounge chair drinking another glass of vodka and talking to his men with his legs crossed and his jacket open.
His man closed the door behind them when they had all filed in. No need to include the outside world in old world business.
"Dmitry Medlov," Dorian said with a kind of condescending smile. "It's been what… years?"
"At least three," Dmitry said, not bothering to stand. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, raising his glass.
"I don't drink. You know that."
"Right." Dmitry put down his glass on the table. "The whole holy man act. Won't drink alcohol. Won't curse. Won't eat certain meats, which you are missing out on by the way. But will have a married woman up to your hotel room for 37 minutes and 12 seconds." Dmitry clenched his jaw and uncrossed his long legs.
"You are thorough, Dmitry. Always have been… and long winded. So lets keep this short and simple."
"Lets." Dmitry stood up. His men stood with him, guns visible.
"Are we going to continue a war that's older than your beautiful, young wife, or are we going to move on?" Dorian asked as his men assembled around him.
"Depends. Have you done anything at all besides speaking with my wife that could endanger my family?"
"No."
"Sure about that?" Dmitry tilted his head. "Nothing at all?"
"No," Dorian answered flatly.
"You know, meetings like this are the kind where someone doesn't leave alive," Dmitry reminded Dorian. He pulled his jacket open to reveal his guns. He was doubly strapped with two desert eagles.
"This is true, brat."
"I. Am. Not. Your. Brother." Dmitry said, pointing at him with a heart stopping scowl.
* * *
Royal arrived at the will call and picked up her ticket marked Ms. Stone and headed into the ball. Under dim strobe lights and loud music with people dancing around her, she looked on confused about where to go.
Dorian told her that they would be meeting in a private room. She wondered if she was in the right place. Closing her eyes, she drowned out the music and tried to remember his words, his voice. Then suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. A short man in a Russian uniform smiled at her.
"There in the back, dear," he said, pointing towards the exit sign in the back of the room. "I'm sure they are waiting on you."
She smiled and clenched her fists. Mouthing thank you, she slipped through the cro
wd before Dmitry's men could get to her and ran through the corridor, up the stairs to the back room. Grasping the cold knob, she opened the door and entered.
Dmitry stood on one side with his men and Dorian stood on the opposite side with his. The men at the door looked on confused. Obviously, they were with Dorian.
"Royal," Dmitry said unsurprised. "Come here. I was hoping that you would miss our little party tonight."
She looked over at Dorian.
"Come here!" Dmitry shouted, making her jump. "Now!"
"No," she said, standing at the door. "Dorian promised a truce. If you would just forgive him for the past." Her eyes were wide and naïve.
Dorian smiled. "A truce," he repeated.
"There can be no truce," Dmitry said, raising his hand and motioning for her to come to him. "There is no truce."
"Please, Dmitry. Please," she begged. She walked towards the middle of the floor.
"Do you see his unwillingness to compromise?" Dorian taunted, walking toward her.
"Make one more move, Dorian," Dmitry said calmly. "One more."
Dorian stopped in his tracks only inches away from Royal.
Unexpectedly, Dmitry snatched off his jacket. Everyone looked over at him. What did he expect to do? Fight for her? There was more at stake than her honor.
Dmitry pealed out of his white dress shirt to reveal a bomb strapped to his body. It barely covered the many Vory tattoos and the rippling, angry muscles, covered in venom-pumping veins.
The room was a silent roar.
Check mate.
"Recognize anything familiar, Dorian?" Dmitry asked, pulling his knives from his side, ready to do battle.
"No, Dmitry!" Royal said, trying to run towards him. The men stopped her. "What are you doing?"
"This is the kind of man he is, Royal," Dorian explained. "If it cannot be his way, it cannot be… period! He would rather kill us all—kill you. He's an animal."
"This is the bomb you placed on my plane to kill my family just yesterday," Dmitry explained more for Royal than Dorian. "I have decided… you will not have her, rape her, harm her. I allowed it to happen once. It will not happen ever again. Before she is ruined, I will kill us all. And most of all, you will not have the chance to get to my child!" Dmitry screamed.
Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen Page 18