Now, he was feasting his eyes on another gem. Prague was a place fit for kings. And he felt strangely at home here.
The chauffeur had told him that this was the best time of the year to visit because of the snow. Dmitry had laughed when the man said it, wondering if he had heard his accent or not. Russian people were not ignorant of the snow. In fact, they were made from it with ice in their veins and a chill constantly moving up and down their spines. Or maybe it wasn’t all Russians, just him. Regardless, he had felt the statement was lost on him.
It was too bad that this wasn’t a social visit. He would have liked to sight-see, as people often referred to walking around and learning more about a place’s culture. However, he was here presently to topple an empire.
Nasty business.
He sucked his teeth at the thought of what he had to accomplish in the two days
Over the course of the last week, he had made a considerable ally of the respected Vor, Khalid Sidorov, which had not been an easy feat.
Sidorov was an older man, who had built himself up in the ranks of the Russian mob in much of the same fashion as Dmitry. He started out in the gutters of the Soviet Union decades ago and had amassed a considerable fortune.
During his lifetime, Khalid had helped create a core of men who defied the very existence of peace, bought and sold some of the dirtiest politicians alive, taken control of entire industries, hand-picked the world’s deadliest assassins, buried one son, put another son through Oxford, helped topple a country and made an underworld Czar. Such an incredible reputation would never been seen on a resume, but Dmitry had memorized Khalid’s high points in his underworld life by heart.
In fact, this was all why Dmitry had chosen him. He too wanted to be a king, and in order to do so, he had to find a king-maker. Khalid was that man, because even though he had considerable power, he did not wish to be in the limelight. Khalid preferred the shadows, where he could move stealthily and only show his hand when needed. It would be the perfect marriage of power and knowledge, and it would rock the very foundations of the underworld.
But first things were still first. At the moment, he had to meet with Evgeny Smirnov, who had just been informed that the entire board of directors of Hutton Industries had gone down in a horrible plane accident – all saving Brenneman who was still unconscious after an unconscionable home invasion that had left him mangled nearly to death.
Dmitry doubted very seriously that Brenneman would recover to the point of recollection of his assault and if he did, he would be right there to remind him that although he was blind, without use of his tongue, limbless and a number of other unfortunate handicaps, there were still things that he could lose if he gave him up to the cops.
Dmitry couldn’t help but smirk about that too. He rarely enjoyed mutilating a person, but Brenneman had damned near been a treat.
His mind went back to Evgeny.
Very few people in the world had ever laid eyes on Boss Smirnov and many of those people had no clue of who he actually was. In fact, this would be Dmitry’s very first time laying eyes on the man, and he didn’t know at all what to expect himself. Very few outside of Khalid actually knew who he was. It was said that he was a bit of an eccentric, hiring people to pretend to be him for certain meetings and events like he was some kind of a celebrity. And it was rumored that not even one picture existed of him through Interpol, Scotland Yard or even the United States FBI.
He was an elusive man very close to a figment of the underworld’s imagination. He was an idea, a thought, a theory to most. But Dmitry knew that he was real, and at last their paths had crossed.
As he came to the realization of that fact, his limo quickly pulled into the iron gates of the hotel, followed by another car of bodyguards.
Before anyone could notice what he was doing, Dmitry stole a quick look at the beauty that surrounded him. Catherine had taught him early on in their relationship that gawking was not an option for a man in his position. So, even if he was enamored by a building, a person or an object, he had to behave as though he had seen such things over and over again.
It had been hard at first for Dmitry to get used to acting as though he had been born with a silver spoon stuffed down his throat, but lately, he had learned to simply tell his staff to give him a moment to be alone. And when he was alone, then he would study each detail, marvel at each wonderful amenity, allow himself the enjoyment of being utterly bemused by his environment.
“Boss, we’re here,” Davyd said as they pulled up to their destination.
“I can see that,” Dmitry answered, taking his eyes off the window before Davyd could notice his intrigue.
Quickly, a doorman came running from inside the lobby of the hotel to the car as the chauffer parked. He straightened his little hat and then gracefully opened the door for the new guest that all the employees had been buzzing about.
A billionaire would be staying in one of the grand suites tonight - the infamous, young, royal widower currently being examined by all the newspapers in London.
Standing behind the door, the doorman waited as he looked straight ahead, anticipating a glance of the man of the hour.
As Dmitry stepped out of the limo into the cold, winds ripped through the air and froze his statue-like features. Still, he emerged from the black Mercedes limousine looking the part of royalty.
In a gray, double breasted suit that had been tailored for his long, lean, muscular body, a long black wool coat and a pair of black Italian loafers, Dmitry stood like a tower of elegance. He matched his opulent surroundings perfectly outwardly. He was as tall as he was beautiful. As perfectly put together as he was rich.
Feeling the many stares that immediately turned to him, he slipped off his shades and looked around while the other guests who were outside began to whisper.
“Who is that man?” one asked.
“Where did he come from?” another queried
“I hope he’s staying here,” a woman prayed.
“Isn’t that the Medlov man from the papers?” a British man inquired.
Dmitry had grown accustomed to the stares and the whispers, to the women with their naughty grins and the men and their territorial frowns. He had learned to ignore it, move through it, and behave as if no one was around him. It was the only way that he kept his sanity.
A few feet below Dmitry, the short frumpy doorman in a dreadful red uniform with gold trimmings gawked in utter amazement. “Welcome to the Red Square Hotel,” he said in a squeaky voice, swallowing hard. He had obviously never seen a seven-foot man up close, which made it impossible for him to take his eyes off the faultless giant.
“Thank you,” Dmitry answered in a deep baritone, looking down at the man as curiously as he looked up at him. He too had never seen such an odd fellow before. The bellman was fat and awkward, lowly even for his already humble station in life.
Dmitry’s eye twitched as he looked back at Davyd, who rounded the car to escort him inside. He had already grown tired of the exchange. The doors on the SUV behind him quickly popped open and a few well-dressed men in black suits came obediently to Dmitry’s side, flanking around him in a protective shield that could only be recognized by military, law enforcement or any hit man that might have meant him harm. However, to the outside world, it simply appeared that the well-dressed man had a large, brooding entourage.
“What would you like to do first?” Davyd asked formally.
“We have just enough time to change clothes and get ready to meet Khalid and Smirnov,” Dmitry said, looking down at his watch again. “Is Ivan already in place?”
The mere mention of the young man’s name made Davyd stall. “He’s at the farm with the others,” he answered as he scanned his surroundings.
He didn’t want to bother Dmitry at the present with the many conversations he had been forced to have with Ivan over the last day regarding his accommodations. Because while trivial to everyone else, the self-professed underboss was not happy with being exile
d out of his usual lap of luxury, even for the greater good of the family. Ivan grew more pompous by the day - a regular snob.
The help from the hotel moved quickly around them, grabbing luggage and carting it inside. The bodyguards followed Dmitry obediently. However, Davyd had to look around for a moment and take it all in.
The Red Square hotel was one of many upscale boutique hotels in the heart of Prague. Topped with bright, red clay roofing, enchanting old world flavor had been masterfully mixed with new world charm and decadence, this hotel could only be appreciated and experienced by the wealthy.
The Red Square was a compilation of historic gray stone buildings with yellow stucco situated in the historical centre just minutes away from Charles Bridge.
It screamed exclusivity, just the place for a meeting of the underworld’s most notorious boss and the world’s most infamous billionaire.
As Dmitry entered into the main lobby of the hotel, a blonde woman in a conservative blue suit greeted him with a leather binder and a handshake.
“Good afternoon, Monsieur Medlov,” the woman said with a French accent. “It is so good to have you at the Red Square.” There was a pregnant pause as she made eye contact, as if she had seen him or knew him from somewhere.
“It’s good to be here,” Dmitry said, allowing the woman’s hand to touch his own. He looked down into her eyes, certain that he had not met her before.
She lifted her brow and quietly forbade herself from stuttering even amidst her staggering surprise. “I am Manon, the general manager of the hotel. I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to escort you to your suite, ensure that you are happy with your accommodations and make sure that you don’t need anything else to make your stay with us as comfortable as possible.” She ended her introduction by passing Dmitry the leather bound informational packet clutched in her left arm.
Dmitry took it and quickly passed it to Davyd dismissively.
“Mademoiselle Manon?” Dmitry said, unsure if he had said her name correctly.
“Yes, sir?” she answered.
“If you could just give me my keys, then I’m sure we’ll find everything in order.” His eyes narrowed. There was something about her that instantly felt wrong to him.
She nodded and obediently pulled his golden keys from her the satin inner pocket of her suit jacket.
Davyd stepped in front of Dmitry and took the keys from her hands. Without his boss speaking one word, he had already picked up on the strange vibe and did his best to put some space between the two.
“Will that be all, sir?” Manon asked Davyd before averting her gaze back up to Dmitry. There was something in her eyes that said that she knew something that she was not saying.
Dmitry looked down at her again and read her face. He wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but he decided against it, knowing that like everything else, it would come out in the wash.
“Oui,” Davyd answered, moving her out of the way. “If you need to speak with Mr. Medlov, you may contact me.”
Manon nodded confused. Stepping back, she watched the small entourage head in a processional line through the lobby and disappear into several elevators, leaving only a few men behind to stay posted downstairs for the remainder of Dmitry’s stay.
Chapter Two
Ivan ran his hand down the side of his AK47 and sighed. He was bored, deathly so, and could not wait for his brother to finally give them the call that they awaited.
He had arrived with the rest of the team two days before, cased the hotel and surrounding areas and finally ended up at a farm twenty miles north of the city.
Now, they were holed up in a barn the size of his garage in weather meant for polar bears, and according to Davyd they were not supposed to be pissed. What kind of shit was this? Wasn’t he the underboss? He should be there now with his brother, but no. Instead, he was here with the outcasts, waiting like dogs on their master.
Bullshit.
Utter bullshit.
Ivan daydreamed at that very moment of cutting Davyd’s throat with a rusty, dull knife and feeling his old ass bleed out on the barnyard floor. A smile tugged at his lips when he thought of hot, dark blood mingling with hay and mud and the sound of the old bastard’s last curdling gurgles of blood bubbles pouring from his crooked mouth. He had played the scenario out a million times since Davyd and Dmitry had grown so close and while the place always changed, the outcome remained the same. Davyd ended up dead. Only as time had gone on, so did Dmitry.
But maybe he wouldn’t have to lift a finger.
Supposedly, if Smirnov did not give Dmitry what he wanted, their plan was to take out the top man in the underworld. That would be a big order. Ivan had mixed feelings about the strategic move. When he did kill Smirnov, he could say that he did it, not Dmitry. How many people would bow down to him then? But there were other ramifications behind the assassination, like giving his brother more of what he wanted.
Dmitry seemed interested in keeping the conversation that was going to take place today from ending in a gun fight, but Ivan had the taste of blood on the tip of his tongue. He prayed for a blood bath, a way to rid himself of the frustration he harbored for his brother’s fast ascension to the top and the invisible structure that he was beginning to feel around him.
Before when they were broke, their organized crime syndicate was small, chaotic even and completely unorganized. But with more money, Dmitry became more structured. And that was the one thing that Ivan detested. He was more of a man in favor of anarchy. Anarchy ensured two things in his mind: an unstructured organization and unchecked power. And if he was ever going to move ahead of Dmitry in the Vory v Zakone, he would need both.
The words that Emma had spoken to him over two years ago still stuck in his mind. “You will never be as smart as your brother. You will never be as beautiful or as powerful as he will. You’ll never outrank him or out shine him. So, it’s best when you can, to leave and do your own thing. He’s cold and calculating, Ivan. No woman will ever be able to resist him. So if you find just one who thinks more of you than him, marry her. But trust me, dear, if you stay here, bad things will happen. And more than likely, it will be by his hand,” she had said to him only an hour after he had fucked her.
Even now as he thought of the words, he wanted to kill something.
Emma had been right, though he hated her for it, which was why he was so crazy about Arie. Elsa ate out of Dmitry’s hand like a little puppy but Arie would rather be burned at the stake than kiss his ass. Ivan liked that about her. She had a backbone, unlike so many people who came into contact or did business with his brother.
“What are you mulling over?” Arie asked with a clever grin as she pushed her work to the side and made her way over to the corner where Ivan was sitting.
“I’m thinking of killing someone,” he answered with a smirk.
Arie rolled her eyes and slid over on the bale of hay beside him. Dwarfed by his large body, she moved his arm and made it snake over her small frame. Looking up into his eyes, she bit her lip. “Dorian has been watching me like a snake. When are we going to get out of here and fuck? I’m horny as hell, and we haven’t had two minutes together alone since we got here.”
Ivan rested his head back on the exposed wooden wall of the barn and looked up into the rafters. “It’s not snake.” His deep voice vibrated against his own chest.
“What?” she asked, looking over at him with a frown.
“He isn’t watching you like snake. He’s watching you like hawk,” he corrected. His icy blue eyes locked on her. Dark curly locks lined his pale, white face. “And when are you going to stop caring about what your brother thinks, eh? He knows that we’re together. Yet, you behave as if he thinks that you are virgin.” Ivan dipped his head lower and pressed his lip to her ear, hidden under her jet black bob haircut. “He knows that I brutally fuck you every time that I get a chance. So why do you continue to pretend, especially when you like it so much?”
Arie had to fight the
desire to rip his clothes off right there. Instead, she continued on with her rant. “You don’t know what it’s like to have an overbearing brother,” she said, growling. She shot a dirty look across the room at her brother, who at the present time was wearing headphones and listening to something or someone else, but also was reading their lips as they spoke.
“I don’t know what?” Ivan asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He cocked a black, Timberland boot up on the hay and rested his long arm on his knee as he lit it.
“Okay, maybe you do,” Arie admitted. “But at least Dmitry doesn’t try to smother your sex life.”
“Eventually, your brother will give up. If you keep fucking and don’t try so hard to hide it, then he’ll get tired and throw you away.” Ivan said so as if he knew it for a fact, which pissed Arie off even more.
The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One Page 24