Anatoly Medlov: Complete Reign

by Latrivia S. Nelson

  Dressed in designer black and looking more regal than anyone else besides Anatoly in the entire church, they made their presence known. The whispers quickly turned into a low rumble by the small crowd as the pseudo-royalty proceeded to the very front with such audacity, it was perceived as pure entitlement.

  Anatoly could feel the scowl on his brother’s face, even without turning around, but how he enjoyed it. Even the priest stopped talking and looked on baffled. The seven-foot tall, blonde notorious boss of Moscow slipped into the pew behind his son with his family and members of council in tow and sat down, while his twenty-man crew disbursed around the church.

  Leaning forward and ignoring the attention, his father put his hand on Anatoly’s shoulder.

  “Sorry that we are so late. Forgive my interruption. There was delay with my jet,” Dmitry said gracefully. He looked down the pew at his son’s brother and gave him a how-dare-you-look-at-me scowl and then turned his attention back to his son.

  Arseny quickly averted his startled eyes to the front of the church again as his heart pounded out of his chest. He had never once seen the Boss in person, now to be so close was surreal.

  “It is no interruption, papa,” Anatoly said, patting his father’s hand. “I am happy that you are here.” He turned and looked at the man in his face. He wanted his father to know his sincerity.

  “What did you expect? We support our own, especially during bereavement.” Dmitry did not say it, but he knew that something had gone awfully wrong in his absence, and he intended to rectify any misperception that he would allow any disrespect of his son or the Vory v Zakone.

  “Hi, Anatoly,” his little sister Anya waved, unable to hold her peace. “Can I sit up there with you?”

  Anatoly smiled. He was relieved in ways words would simply not describe. “Da, come here,” he said, reaching for her. Picking the small three-year-old up, he pulled her across the pew and put her on his ap. She rustled around in her black lace dress and put her brother’s arms around her. Resting her head on his chest, she ran her small fingers up and down his arm and kicked her legs happily.

  “Be good, Anya,” Royal warned barely above a whisper. “Remember what we talked about in the car. This is your brother’s time...not yours.” Dmitry’s beautiful young wife’s Southern American English accent drew even more attention.

  It wasn’t enough that she was a breathtaking black woman dressed to the hilt with an air of entitlement that rivaled Putin’s, but she also flickered with every turn due to the many diamonds that her husband had adorned her with.

  “I will, Mommy,” Anya answered obediently. She bent to her brother’s ear and whispered. “Mommy brought you a present to make you feel better.”

  “Did she?” Anatoly humored her. “Well, we’ll get it after, eh?”

  Anya nodded her head and turned her attention to the priest.

  Suddenly, Anatoly did not feel alone anymore. His real family had finally arrived and in undeniable style.

  ***

  At the burial site, as Anatoly came to grips with final thoughts of his mother, he wiped his tears and looked up from the lowering casket to see his father with his eyes planted on an individual across the small crowd.

  Because of Dmitry’s height, he could see over the people directly to one man of comparable height across from them. Their eyes were deadlocked on one another with menacing stares – a conversation taking place without words. He looked around to see Dmitry’s men making their way to the man, slowly and undetected by the others. A sense of sudden urgency overwhelmed him. A sense of anger filled him.

  Was he not even allowed to grieve, to just be a regular person at his own mother’s funeral? Was there ever a day that he could just be? The answer was obviously no. There was nothing normal about a Vory, especially a boss.

  As the priest told them to go in peace, Anatoly’s thoughts went to the gun in its holster under his suit jacket. He motioned for his men to follow his father and was mildly angry that he had not spotted him on his own.

  The crowd disbursed, and Anatoly’s estranged family moved quickly from his presence and disappeared into the cars lined up along the cemetery road. He did not even get a chance to say goodbye. It would have been frivolous anyway. Instead, he followed his father, who bolted across the burial site to the man and grabbed him by his arm.

  “Who are you,” Dmitry demanded in a low deep growl.

  The man looked up with a mischievous smile. He didn’t have to look too far up, because he was almost Dmitry’s height and size. He lled away carefully and cleared his throat.

  “Gabriel,” he said in an American English accent.

  Gabriel’s men gathered around, along with Dmitry’s men and Anatoly’s men. They were making a spectacle, preparing for war.

  Royal, Dmitry’s wife, grabbed her young daughter and was escorted by her bodyguard, Davyd, back to her car. She knew a problem when she saw one after many years of being married into such a complicated family.

  Dmitry looked back as his limo pulled away with his wife. Clever Royal. He smiled, relieved that his wife knew his place and relieved because in her absence, his cuffs were off.

  “Gabriel who?” he said, pointing for the man to walk as they talked. Their small entourage followed behind them.

  “Medlov,” the man answered. “Gabriel Medlov.” A smile colored his lips. With a twinkle in his eye, he turned on the Medlov charm.

  “Impossible,” Anatoly scoffed, looking up at the man.

  “Hardly,” Gabriel answered Anatoly. His voice was a deep, hollow baritone that carried in the wind. He stopped and turned towards the two confronting men. “My father was Ivan Medlov...your brother, I believe.” He looked at Dmitry. “And your uncle,” he said, looking at Anatoly.

  Dmitry stopped and looked the young man in the eyes. They were mossy green with sparkles of deep blue hidden under long, dark lashes. His hair was wavy, short black. His skin was pale, only colored by the redness of irritation. He had striking features like his father – prominent cheek bones, a wide chiseled jaw, a perfectly slender nose, thick, naturally arched black eyebrows and perfectly white, sparkling teeth clenched under full lips that narrowed at the bottom. A hint of freckles colored his face. And most shockingly, he had his father’s smirk.

  Dmitry believed Gabriel. He believed that he was looking at his nephew, at his brother’s son, even without proof, but he went through the formalities. It would be just like some police agency to send a look-alike to infiltrate his organization.

  He stepped back a bit and looked at the man, sized him up. The boy was about six feet, seven inches tall. He had a wide, bulky frame that he hid under a black, tailored suit. And he had the Medlov stance – confident, cocky, unmoved.

  “Why haven’t I heard of you before?” Dmitry asked.

  “My father didn’t think that it was smart to tell you about me,” he said, looking at Anatoly. “Wow, the apple truly did fall far from the tree that time, didn’t it?” He looked at the shorter, stocky blonde boss and suddenly felt a bit of superiority. Anatoly was barely six-feet tall. To call him a Medlov was almost blasphemous.

  Anatoly grinned. “I’ll have your head for dinner if you say one more fucking word.” Opening his coat pocket, he flashed a shiny blade. “Your papa ever show you how one of these works? You put in to the neck and slice.”

  “Easy boys,” Dmitry said amused. He turned to Gabriel. “Why are you here?”

  “I heard that the family had a loss. I’d never really laid eyes on you. I couldn’t help it. I had to come. I was already here on business.”

  “What business are you in?” Dmitry asked.

  “Are you serious?” Gabriel asked.

  “Boy, do not think that I will cut you this much slack,” Dmitry said, putting his thumb and index finger together. “Now answer me.” His voice was firm. “What is your business here?”

  Dmitry’s men prepared to pull their guns. Anatoly’s men had already pulled theirs.

  Gabrie
l looked around and decided to defuse the situation. There was no sense of dying on the first meeting. He looked at his men and lowered his hand, ordering them to put away their weapons.

  “Down, boys.” He turned and looked at his uncle. “Primarily, identity theft. But I’m dabbling now in guns and...” he laughed. “Meth.” He hunched his shoulders. It was known that the Medlov’s did not deal in drugs or human trafficking.

  “Bad cocktail,” Dmitry said, shaking his head. “Where are you based?”

  “New York,” Gabriel answered.

  “Fucking Liar. If you were there, I would have heard about it,” Anatoly said appalled.

  Gabriel looked at Anatoly and raised his brow. The guy had a real chip on his shoulder. “I’ve been there for quite a while, but we don’t run our operations like the old Vor – no disrespect or anything. All of my men have college degrees and professions outside of their professions, if you know what I mean. No one is doing it the old way. We’ve found a new cover, and it works better. It keeps the...cops off of us and our product.”

  Dmitry didn’t blink. A million thoughts processed instantly. A college degree? He’s always wanted Anatoly to go to college. He was glad that someone had been able to do both. Relaxing his tense shoulders, he looked over at his son and smiled. “Do you have dinner plans tonight, Anatoly?”

  “Da,” Anatoly said snarling.

  “Cancel them. You’re going to have dinner with your cousin tonight,” Dmitry ordered.

  “What about me? I’ve got plans,” Gabriel said interrupting. He had his father3">? Hewit.

  “No, you don’t,” Dmitry said, turning back around to Gabriel. “And if you don’t check out tonight by seven with my men, your smart ass won’t leave this country alive.”

  Gabriel swallowed hard but wiped the smirk from his face. “Oh, I’ll check out. Call New York. They refer to me as college boy. They’ll tell you my whole story.” He slipped his balled fists in his pockets. “So where’s dinner, unc?”

  Dmitry’s eye flinched at Gabriel’s statement. “My hotel. Seven.”

  “Okay. Where’s that?” Gabriel asked, pulling out his Blackberry to type in the address.

  “If you’re running shit like you say that you are, you’ll find it on your own and be there on time. If not, I’ll find you, and I’ll be there,” Dmitry said, turning to walk away with his men.

  “Nice meeting you,” Gabriel called out as the men left. He could not help but grin to himself.

  Chapter Five

  Dmitry ran his hand over his wife’s bare stomach and kissed her navel that poked slightly out above her bulge. Trailing the dark line from her belly button down midway of her lower abdomen with his fingers, he curiously stared at the young being developing safely in her womb.

  In his mind, Dmitry hoped for a boy. It was one of his sincerest dreams to have a young man that he could raise from birth, instead of only having a chance to influence his seed after adulthood, like he had done with Anatoly. Plus, he already had a perfect little girl. His Anya was asleep now in an adjoining room, dreaming of unicorns and lollipops.

  Royal lay in the bed topless with a smile on her lips watching her husband as he marveled at his newest creation. He seemed to be fascinated by their pregnancy and even more fascinated by her ever-changing body, even though this was their second child. She found it ironic that a man so accustomed to taking life was equally obsessive about giving it. For that, she was thankful.

  Nuzzling her head deeper down into the pillows, she giggled when she felt him tug at her panties.

  “Didn’t you say that you had a meeting with your new nephew?” she asked, raising her hips obediently.

  He carefully removed her black lace underwear and licked his lips. It had nearly been a full day since he had felt the warmth of his young wife. He needed her now.

  “Da. I have meeting later,” he said gfly, concentrating on her body. “I don’t know. I think pregnancy becomes you. Maybe I keep you pregnant for a while. You need to give me a few more sons and a few more daughters.”

  His dreamy, blue eyes flashed towards her and caused a skip of her heartbeat. She bit her lip as his finger slid in between her steaming thighs.

  “The job of populating the Medlov ranks is not so bad, you know. I enjoy my responsibilities.” His thick, Russian accent sounded even sexier when he was aroused.

  “My goodness, Dmitry. You’re such a freak. And the fact that you would abuse a pregnant woman makes you even more of a deviant, you know. ” She closed her eyes and moaned as he fondled her.

  There was a part of Dmitry that quietly appreciated the fact that her statement didn’t bother her. He remembered a short time ago when discussing sex, abuse and pregnancy, even jokingly, would have had a serious and disturbing reaction that would have instantly drudged up old memories of his long-dead brother, Ivan.

  But over time, his beautiful Royal had healed from her emotional wounds and now allowed herself the ability to have fun.

  He smiled at the thought of finally getting through that dark portion in their marriage. “Au contraire. I am not a freak. I am master of all freakdom,” he corrected in a husky baritone. “And you are my willing slave.”

  “Careful with that slave stuff,” she said laughing. “You forget that I’m sensitive about my heritage.”

  He shook his head and grinned. On his knees, he pulled off his dress shirt and undershirt and threw them on the floor beside the bed. “Before I make you remember why you are my slave and why I am master of all of freakdom, can I ask you question?” His voice changed. A hint of serious concern laced his words.

  “Yes,” Royal said, now up on her knees helping him unbutton his pants.

  “I told you what happened between the two boys today. What do you think about it?” His belt jingled as she tugged at it. “You never said. And you always say.”

  Royal stopped and looked up at her husband. His muscles rippled through his torso under the many tattoos that colored his massive body. His cologne intoxicated her. His hands made her quiver and turn to clay. Dmitry was the sexiest man that she had ever laid her eyes on, even as an older, more seasoned gentleman. But conversations like this could ruin any mood regardless of beauty.

  “What do I think?” she finally asked.

  “Da, what do you hink, zhenshchina?” He looked down at her with a raised brow. His question sincere, he awaited an answer from his trusted wife.

  There was a tense pause in the room.

  Royal removed her hands from his black trousers that barely hid his steely erection only inches from her face and sat back in the bed against the headboard. Pushing her long hair from her face, she pressed her bare lips together and pulled the sheet over her exposed breasts.

  “I just don’t trust him. Gabriel, I mean...not Anatoly. And I don’t think that you should trust him either, Dmitry. I can see it in your eyes even though you’re trying to hide it. You’re excited that there might be one more opportunity to fix things between you and Ivan, because you loved him so much, even though he was rotten bastard. My opinion is this...if that boy is anything like his father, it’s best that you just kill him tonight and save yourself the trouble. No one will think ill of you for it. I know that I won’t. In fact, I would be proud of you.”

  Silently, Dmitry watched her with an unreadable look in his crystal blue eyes that were accented by tiny, intricate crow’s feet that were truly pronounced now as he slightly furrowed his brow.

  He was shocked at her candid advice, but grateful for her truthfulness.

  Since the incident in Memphis and the incident in Sochi, Royal had become more guarded than ever before. She was starting to be as cold and calculated as he, only without being involved in any illegal activities. This fact reminded him to tread carefully with his wife, his new equal.

  Sitting beside her in the bed with his knees up, he planted his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling.

  “Ahh...you know me well. When I saw him, I did have a hopeful.
..I was hopeful,” he stopped his sentence. Turning to her on his elbow, he grabbed her caramel face and ran his thumb over her pink lips. “Have I really made you so jaded, Royal Stone?” His minty breath tickled her nose.

  “Da,” she answered with an equally stone face. “I only hope that I haven’t made you soft.” Running her hands through his blondish, gray locks, she leaned in to receive his kiss.

  Hungrily, he pulled her to him with one hand and tore his pants off with the other. Opening her legs and balancing his weight as to not hurt her, he pushed inside of her warm body with one long, vicious, coiling stroke.

  “As you can feel, my love, I don’t know the meaning of soft,” he whispered into her mouth as he devoured her.