The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One

by Latrivia Nelson

  “Six feet even without heels,” she said, putting her black stiletto out. “Six, six with these on, I suppose. Is it intimidating?”

  “No, it’s umm…distracting.” He looked at her legs again, then slowly ran his gaze up her thighs, passed her flat stomach, up her perky breasts to her long neck, then to her mouth and finally to her eyes. It was a long trip.

  “Well, then if they are distracting, I’ll remember to wear flats tomorrow,” she said humbly.

  “If you do, I’ll fire you on the spot,” Dmitry said, stepping back away from her. He tried to cool the growing heat burning at his collar. “Let the butler know if you need anything. His name is William, but I call him Willie. He hates that.” He winked at her.

  Elsa smiled. “Where are your bedroom quarters? Are they on a different floor?”

  Dmitry nodded no. “I’m the big one at the end of this hall.” He pointed at the double doors guarded by candle light and statues on both sides. He looked at it and then back at her.

  “It looks very stately. Fits you,” she said, opening her door.

  “You should come and check it out sometime,” Dmitry said, raising his hand. “No pressure. Just a thought. What I do need from you, however, is breakfast at six. I can familiarize you with my businesses before you head to school tomorrow and after you return you can get me ready for my first board meeting.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said, holding on to her door. “Good night, Mr. Medlov.” Her brown eyes spoke the words that her lips would not say, but still she knew that he understood.

  “Good night,” Dmitry said, scratching his brow. Inwardly, he debated on if he would truly let her sleep unbothered the night through. Shaking his head, he decided to grapple with that later.

  As Elsa’s door closed, he turned and headed back down the stairs with a pep in his step that he had not experienced in many months, and it was all because there was a young, beautiful woman upstairs only seconds away from his bedroom. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something electrifying about the idea that he had been given such a gift as Vladimir had called her.

  Even Dmitry was shocked by his change in attitude, because even if Elsa were rich, he doubted that she was worth as much as he, and he also doubted that she would have signed over her fortune to him as Catherine had done, and yet, he felt intrigued for once, captivated by her presence and her mystery. She was the fresh breath of air that he so desperately needed, and he inhaled her happily.

  As his leather-soled foot hit the bottom marble stair, he came to one conclusion about his new found emotions and over how he seemed to be healing so quickly behind Catherine’s death; money simply could not buy everything.

  “Down here, lover boy,” Ivan said from down the hall.

  Dmitry turned to his brother standing in the dimly lit corridor. Pulling his composure together, he headed towards him. The team had evidently been briefed.

  “It kills you to see anyone in a good mood, doesn’t it, brat?” Dmitry asked quietly as he walked up to him.

  “Not anyone…just you,” Ivan joked, pointing into the door. “They are ready for you.”

  Dmitry walked into the solarium to find four people waiting on him. Three men and one very sinister looking woman. Shabbily dressed in cargo pants and black t-shirts, they stood among his dead wife’s flowers looking like field weeds. He smirked, remembering when he looked the exact same.

  “Which of you are paramilitary?” Dmitry asked, slipping his fists into the pockets of his slacks.

  “I am,” the tallest and most muscular of them said. Even in his gigantic stature, he appeared petite beside Dmitry.

  “And who are you?” Dmitry asked the man.

  “Dorian,” the man answered. “This is Mikhail, Hussein and my sister, Arie.”

  Dmitry’s eyes stopped at Arie. She was a short woman with pitch black hair, pale white skin, fire-red lips and mossy green, Asian eyes. Her hair was cut into a perfect bob that stopped at her bejeweled ears with heavy bangs that hid her forehead but only brought more attention to her scornful glare. She was tragically beautiful in a Eurasian sort of way.

  It only took a minute to know why his brother had assembled this team. It had nothing to do with their competence but everything to do with the femme fatale in front of him.

  “And Arie, what is it that you do for your brother, Dorian?” Dmitry asked, looking over at Ivan.

  Ivan looked back with a charged stare, unsure of how his brother would handle the woman.

  “I’m into all types of wet work, but I specialize in the knives and hand-to-hand combat,” she said confidently in a distinctive Eastern European accent.

  “Knives?” Dmitry asked intrigued. “Do you have a record, anything on your finger prints?”

  “I’m clean,” she said, grinding her teeth. “I’m very critical of my work, Mr. Medlov. If I leave a fingerprint behind, then I’m not very competent.”

  “No, you wouldn’t be,” Dmitry said smiling. He turned his attention to Dorian. “And what do you specialize in?”

  “IEDs, dirty bombs, syntax, other explosives…” Dorian answered. “And I too am very good at my job.”

  “All of their references check out,” Ivan said interrupting. “They’re the best.”

  Dmitry hardly ever went on knowledge alone. He depended on his gut, especially for important things. At that very moment, he wanted more than anything in the world to dismiss the misfits that Ivan had assembled and start from scratch. However, his mind was battling with his heart. In the corner of his eye, he could see his brother looking at him, looking to him for approval. What would it say if he sent Dorian and his troubled gang away? Was he not supposed to trust his brother and had he not given him the task to complete?

  With a quick glimpse at Davyd, who quietly shared his concern, Dmitry decided to bet on his brother. Shaking his head at Ivan, he gave fair warning. “We don’t give second chances. Do exactly as you are instructed. And just for the record, my word is the last the word.” His eyes landed on Ivan. “If there is a conflict in communication, your best bet is to refer to Ivan or Davyd. I don’t deal in squabbles; we always make good on our promises and our debts.”

  Dorian stood planted in front of Dmitry with a look of seriousness and devotion. “The same applies for us. My team follows me. They are thorough, and they are professional. We will not disappoint.”

  “Good,” Dmitry said, turning to the door. “Until this business is done, you’ll stay here in the guest house. Be ready in the next couple of days to discuss the follow through on any hits that I’ll need.”

  As he passed his brother, Dmitry stopped at his ear and spoke quietly. “Keep it in your pants, brat. At least until this is done.”

  “You do the same,” Ivan slowly casting his own deadly gaze at his brother.

  Chapter Five

  Hutton Industries board of directors as an internal director and vice president of the company for over thirty years. Most of the other board members regarded him as a permanent fixture and took his counsel as gospel.

  A seasoned business man mid-way of his sixties, he was a cut throat millionaire who had made a considerable amount of money for the Hutton family and for the company that he had been trusted to oversee. And up until a week and a half ago, he felt very confident that his hard work over the years would be justly rewarded that was, however, before he heard that in Catherine’s last days, she had signed a document that would jeopardize everything that he had ever done for the multi-national business.

  As he read through his confidential report on the twenty-three year old billionaire whom he’d only laid eyes on once, he was dumbfounded. Dmitry Medlov was nothing more than a hoodlum. Evidently, there was a debate on if he was even supposed to be out of prison. However, with the fall of the USSR and more than a dozen hands greased by Catherine Hutton to keep the Soviet prison officials quiet, his record had been blacked out and specifics had been indefinitely lost.

  Outside of Dmitry’s seriously shady p
rison stint, there were also allegations that suggested he had ties to the Vory v Zakone. On several pages, Dmitry had been referred to as not only the muscle for a local thug named Kirill in Moscow but also called specifically “the butcher.” God only knew that he had done to get that name.

  Closing the file, Brenneman looked up from the papers and smiled. He had enough ammo to get the young man exactly where he wanted him. Dmitry had no formal educational training outside of secondary school, which he never finished. It would be easy to suggest a reasonable buy-out and remove him from his seat as president. It was more than likely that the young thug didn’t even understand what owning 58% of the Hutton Industries meant – so, as long as no one told him, by the time that Dmitry did learn of his power, it would be gone.

  A quick knock on the door preceded its swift opening. “Mr. Brenneman, we’ll escort you up to the board room in ten minutes,” his assistant said, standing in the entrance of his executive suite. “Would you like a cup of tea while you wait, sir?”

  With beady eyes and a wicked smile, the balding, fat man wrapped in a dark, blue business suit waved away his young, eager male assistant. “No,” Brenneman said in a snobbish English tone. “I have everything that I need right here.” Rubbing his plump hand over the manila file, he licked his thin lips. He relished in the thought of taking complete control over the business and literally getting Dmitry kicked out on his seven-foot ass.

  Brenneman had in Catherine’s absence over the last few months been standing in to handle most of her business requests and had gotten quite used to running things. He’d even given himself a few generous bonuses that no one was brave or bold enough to contest. His next move would be the absolutely essential to getting to where he wanted to be and a check-mate for his ascension to the top of Hutton Industries.

  ***

  Dmitry could barely stay awake as he rode in the back of his black Bentley with Elsa from his vast, countryside manor to the bustling streets of downtown London.

  Hidden behind dark shades, he closed his eyes and rested his head back on the leather headrest, allowing his thoughts to travel to mother Russia, where he was certain Alexandria still was.

  He tried to picture what the boy, Anatoly, must look like, how old he would be now. Each and every time that he imagined him, his face and features were different, but the essence of the boy remained the same. He was a Medlov. The thought sent chills through his spine. If anyone of importance ever found out about him, the boy would surely be in trouble. After all of this was done, he’d have to go to Alexandria and make some sort of arrangements for the boy, if he was truly his.

  “You may want to keep your eye on the ball just until your meeting is over. Then you can think about anything that you bloody-well choose,” Elsa said, snatching him out of his thoughts.

  Slowly rolling his head over to look at her, Dmitry swallowed hard, causing a jump in his bulging Adam’s apple. “How can you tell that my mind wasn’t in the game?” he asked, not denying her accurate observation.

  Elsa gave a smile that Dmitry had become very familiar with in the last four days - self-assurance. She looked down at his hands, resting on his large thighs. “Your fists are balled up. You only do that when you’re not thinking about work.”

  Dmitry looked down at his hands and chuckled. “I can’t believe that I have a tell-tale,” he said, looking back out of the window. “I suppose that I am human after all.” The thought gave him hope. Some involuntary part of him wasn’t a monster.

  Elsa bit her lip. “Indeed, sir…you are all man,” she said with barely any inflection in her dream-like voice.

  A small smile crept across Dmitry’s lips. And in return, something naughty flashed behind Elsa’s eyes. This was a constant exchange between the two. Flirting. Insinuating. Waiting. Now was obviously not the time to even discuss attraction but it was there, thickening the air like a heavy cloud and choking their thoughts regularly.

  For the last several days, Dmitry and Elsa had spent long hours studying his position in the company, the strategic moves it would take to keep him there, and the possible threats on the board of directors.

  Elsa had identified one threat in particular. Oliver Brenneman. He had the most to lose from Dmitry taking an active role in the company and had been the most vocal in the past about leadership and the stakeholders’ interests.

  The only good thing that was in Dmitry’s favor was the unique bylaws of the private corporation. Unlike public corporations, only 50 stockholders existed with Hutton, and in the bylaws it was stated clearly that the chairman of the board would always be a Hutton or the spouse of a Hutton, which eliminated the possibility of Brenneman taking over.

  The only way that he could take over permanently would be in the event of Dmitry’s death. Until then, Brenneman had only filled the position in a temporary capacity. And with Dmitry taking on his active role as chairman today, Brenneman would be forced back into his normal capacity as Vice President of Hutton Industries and a normal member of the board.

  Elsa had also pointed out to Dmitry that the chairman had the power to fire the board even though he could not take away their stocks – another unique tidbit of the bylaws that was put in place during the company’s inception.

  Hutton Industries had managed over the years to function with this unique structure in order to protect the financial investments of the main stockholder – the Hutton family.

  Because of the information that Elsa had shared with Dmitry, they had spent their time prior to this meeting reaching out to everyone who owned stock in Hutton Industries outside of the board. Elsa had assured Dmitry that it would be necessary in order to carry out his plans.

  However, Dmitry had also assured Elsa that any opposition by the board would be met with quick and swift defensive tactics, none of which he was free to discuss with her. She assumed that it must not have only been clandestine in nature but also illegal - as was the nature of men of his stature.

  She looked over at him now, resting back, languid with exhaustion and brimming with sexy energy that made her want to claw out her own eyes and felt a twinge of sympathy for the young billionaire. To be so fully and abruptly immersed into this lifestyle couldn’t be easy, yet he took it on without even the slightest resentment.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” Dmitry asked without taking his eyes off his window.

  “I just wonder if you’re ready for this,” she said, masking her true emotions of pure admiration.

  “I can always tell when a woman is lying to me. Do you know how?”

  “No,” she said, turning to look out of her own window.

  “It’s the change in your tone, the way that you twist your words with determination.”

  “So what am I thinking about?” Elsa asked, almost hoping that he would guess.

  Dmitry took a deep breath and sat up as they pulled up to the 33-floor skyscraper that he now owned. His eyes casted a jaded glare over her body before he spoke. “I’ll tell you when we get out of this meeting, eh,” he said, stepping out as the chauffeur opened his door.

  ***

  As soon as the gold, revolving doors to Hutton Industries whirled Dmitry inside of the elaborate marble and glass lobby, he realized the magnitude of his position. The building was a testament to European grandeur mixed with the Hutton classic style. It was hard to swallow at first. I own this? he thought to himself. He tried not to look around in amazement, but Elsa could clearly see his fascination. In fact, she could not help but marvel herself.

  Waiting on him was Dmitry’s executive assistant, whom he did not know that he had, a crowd of VPs all vying for his attention with updates and reports he had never asked for and a press corps with a hard-on for a picture of the city’s newest billionaire. Lights flashed his way as people screamed out his name. He felt like many of the athletes and stars he had seen on television who were often attacked by the paparazzi.

  “Step back,” he said, extending his arm to give himself some space.
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  The people stepped back in shock at the size of the giant. He cast down a serious stare, threatening people through his icy eyes.

  Elsa quickly took control of the situation, informing the Hutton staff that all requests were to come through her to be filled, then ordering the doorman to get an elevator open for Mr. Medlov immediately to get him up to the board room right before she demanded to know where the on-site marketing or public relations designee was.

  The reporters all pushed their microphones up as far as they could toward Dmitry asking him if he planned to sell Hutton Industries as a whole or break it up into little pieces. Elsa soon jumped from the employees to the reporters and informed them that Mr. Medlov had no comment at the moment, but a statement would be released after today’s board meeting. With that, she escorted Dmitry into an empty elevator and saved him from a PR disaster.

  As the doors closed, they both finally breathed.