Anatoly's Retribution: Book One (The Medlov Men 5)

by Latrivia Welch

  “My pleasure,” she winked. “Anything for you, sir?” she asked Anatoly.

  “No,” Anatoly answered without looking up. Finally, taking his eyes off the fight when she walked away, he glanced over at his father with a half-crooked grin. He knew yet again the old man was jousting with him. It seemed to be his favorite pastime. “Who says that I’m not enjoying myself?” he asked, adjusting his jeans. For a quarter million a seat, it sure was not very comfortable. “Don’t I look happy?”

  Straightening his broad shoulders, he turned to his father very dramatically and gave a sarcastic, full-on smile that would have scared the normal person.

  The gesture caught Gabriel off guard, and he frowned at Anatoly. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he mouthed.

  “I’m happy,” Anatoly mouthed back.

  Dmitry shook his head and chuckled. “You are right. I mistook your happy face for constipation.” He sipped his vodka, knowing that he had made his point whether his son acknowledged it or not. If he had taught these boys anything, it was that in life one worked hard to play harder.

  Anatoly lightened up a little. Maybe the tension of the fight was starting to weigh on him more than he realized. Sitting back in the seat, he rolled his shoulders and tried to relax. “You want to see me really smile? Catch me after this fight.”

  Dmitry pushed closer to him so that he could hear him better. “After this damn fight, I’m going to meet with our new friend and then retire for a massage. We’ve been in this city of sand and dreams for too long. The heat is starting to be a bother.” He watched as Klenchvenko’s powerful right hand connected with the left side of Dominguez’s face. “He can take a punch. I’ll give him that.”

  Anatoly’s brow shot up. “I don’t care if Klenchvenko knocks his soul completely from his body. Just as long as he doesn’t fall, we win,” he said, eyeing his bodyguard, Marat, standing in the aisle way on security detail.

  Marat put his finger to his earpiece, listened and responded. Glancing back over to his boss, he touched his watch and nodded.

  “Showtime,” Anatoly said with a genuine smug smile on his face. His father could have this fight. It was already in the bag. Now it was time to chase some new money.

  “Three rounds into the bout of the century and now it’s Showtime?” Dmitry uncrossed his legs and sat up in his chair as Anatoly stood. “What have you been watching this entire time?”

  The Medlov’s guest had finally arrived from the private airstrip. A small detail of bodyguards escorted them down from the foyer through the crowd.

  Right beside Anatoly, opposite his father, were two empty seats reserved for one very important Ethiopian billionaire and his personal aide. From what Anatoly had been told by Gabriel, the Ethiopian was an ardent fan of boxing, so they had purchased the half a million dollars-worth of seats as a good gesture, but what they hadn’t expected was the jet’s delay.

  Oh well. It would just have to be wasted money tonight. The return on their investment from this guy would dwarf that number a hundred times over.

  Two Ethiopian men in inconspicuous dress made their way down the stairs to the front aisle. As they approached, all three of the Medlov Men stood, which brought nearly as much attention to the floor as the men who were fighting in the ring.

  “So very nice that you could make it,” Gabriel said, shaking the men’s hands one by one.

  He hovered over them as he glanced toward Klenchvenko, who had unexpectedly started to take a beating from Dominguez.

  First a swift right hook.

  Then a powerful uppercut.

  The crowd went wild, rocketing from their seats in unison. The commentators on the side were screaming as they called the fight, play by play, and the trainers were on either side in the corners were nearly bouncing off the ropes.

  It was pure and utter mayhem.

  “We appreciate the invitation!” Aman Heile, the new software king of Ethiopia, said, trying to talk over the roaring crowd. It was virtually impossible to do, but he tried anyway, ignoring the vibration in his chest from the thunderous audience.

  Making his way to the designated seats, Aman shook Anatoly’s hand last and gave a wry smile. “Forgive our tardiness. We flew directly in from business in Hawaii,” Aman apologized. “At first, I thought we might miss everything, but I see we are only in the third round. This is lucky for us.”

  Anatoly leaned into the small-framed man as to not be heard by anyone else. “No worries on the tardiness,” he said, covering his mouth from the nosy cameras. “But you did miss the fight.” He grabbed Aman’s arm to keep him from sitting and wrinkled his nose as a warning. “Trust me. You don’t want to waste your time by sitting. We won’t be here much longer. Just stand and enjoy the finale.”

  Aman was confused. “But the fight is going on as we speak.” He turned as Gonzalez cornered Klenchvenko right in front of them. Talk about great seats. The referee was on their heels watching every single move. Involuntarily, Aman’s mouth flew open. This was amazing, surreal even. The power of the blows could be audibly heard. Sweat and blood bounced off the men in high definition. It was bone crushing bone.

  “No, my friend, this fight is as good as over,” Anatoly said, turning his eyes to the ring.

  Just as the words left Anatoly’s mouth, after a barrage of jabs, hooks, and crosses between the two men, the all-powerful Russian adversary took a final jab to the face that made his hairy legs buckle and his lean muscular frame fall from the heavens and bounce hard against the ring floor.

  The echo was unmistakable. There would be no recovering from that blow either emotionally or physically.

  The undefeated Klenchvenko had just been knocked unconscious for the first time in his pristine 37-0 career. His body was splayed out on the ground among an arena in disbelief while Dominguez jumped up and down for joy only inches away.

  Everyone froze with shock, everyone except the Medlov men and the referee who bent down to call the fight and resuscitate the Russian.

  TKO!

  The crowd went from silent to insanely loud. No one could hear the person beside them for the screams.

  The commentators at the table across the way put their fingers over their ears as they tried to listen into their earpieces and give a reaction. Cameras flashed repeatedly around the arena. Bookies pulled out their phones to text. Whores rushed to the exits to get ready for calls from their johns.

  Aman was speechless. Slowly turning back to Anatoly, he raised a suggestive brow. He wouldn’t dare say what his mind proposed. He knew that the Medlov men were powerful, but this was unfathomable…

  “As I said, there is no need to sit,” Anatoly said as his bodyguards moved people out of the aisle to make way for their exiting bosses. “Did you bring the package?”

  “Yes,” Aman answered, eyes still on the chaos in the ring. “It’s with my men, just like you instructed.”

  “Good. Let’s head over to our penthouse then, to discuss the details. Follow my father and cousin. I’ll be over directly.” Anatoly put his hand on the man’s back and urged him to quietly follow his entourage.

  “That will be very nice. Thank you,” Aman said, turning to make one final request. “Do you think I could possibly meet the new champ before we go?”

  Anatoly shrugged. “We’ll have him come over and meet you after we’re done, da.”

  “That would be amazing. Thank you,” the man said, eyes bright with promise.

  “Don’t mention it,” Anatoly said, giving him a wink.

  There were currently fifteen African countries involved in war or experiencing post-war conflict. In West Africa, there was Cote d'Ivoire, Guinea, Liberia, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, and Togo. In East Africa, there were Eritrea, Somalia, Sudan, Uganda, and Ethiopia. Dmitry Medlov was involved in all of them except Ethiopia, up until this point.

  Their newest client was prime for the picking. Having begged for an audience with the Medlov Men after a bloody border clash with Eritrea that had awakened old gia
nts in the region and stood to interrupt business for him and his family on a permanent and detrimental basis, Aman was ready to pay the $25 million fee for their services tonight and more if needed.

  Aman’s father was a general in their military and had utilized his son for the transaction with Dmitry Medlov because he could not officially do so himself. Dmitry had agreed to meet Aman here, tonight, to discuss how they could work together…quietly of course and after making full payment. After that, Gabriel and Anatoly would take the ball and run with it.

  So far, Anatoly had to admit that things were off to a good start. If Aman was impressed with throwing a boxing match, he’d be damned speechless by what they could do with a developing country. But that had become his motto in life – under promise, over deliver.

  ***

  After the arena was emptied out, Anatoly stayed back, per his father’s instructions. Sitting in his seat quietly by the ring with his men standing guard, he waited patiently for his next meeting. Now that the place was empty, it seemed larger and with the house lights down, much less exciting. In the dim light, he could hear the workers’ conversation echoing through the hollow space while they cleaned up the mess left by the masses and prepared for the next day’s event.

  After a long day of continual noise, the silence seemed to ease his mind and allow it to drift from business in Las Vegas across the ocean to family in Moscow. The last time that he had spoken to his little sister, they had gotten into an argument over him trying to send her money. Instead of having enough food to eat and a nice apartment to live in by taking just a little money from him, she preferred the funk of Kapotnya and the scraps that came from her menial job as a maid in a local hotel.

  Anastaysia had always been difficult. Her morals and her Bible told her that he was a bad man and when they spoke every so often, she made sure to remind him of his sins.

  However, something compelled her to still check in with him and accept his calls when he had time, up until recently. The calls had become fewer and fewer until they were no more. He was starting to get worried about her now and had sent several men over to her home to speak with her, but she had not come to the door.

  A neighbor said that she had moved, chasing a new job opportunity. The problem was; however, she had not left a single trace of where she was. He had put fillers out in the city a few months ago. So far, nothing had come back, and he had long since stopped talking to his middle brother Arseny, and his baby brother Immanuil was nearly out of reach altogether after he joined the Russian army.

  It was a shit storm and his gut wouldn’t let him rest. Somehow, he had to find her and make sure that she was okay.

  The ringing of his cell phone brought him back from his thoughts to the present.

  “Hello,” Anatoly answered quickly.

  “Hey. He’s ready for you. You’ve got five minutes with him before he’s escorted to the hospital for follow-up,” the man whispered over the phone.

  Anatoly scratched through his beard and yawned. “On the way.” Standing up and hanging up his phone, he shoved it in his pocket and motioned for his men. “Let’s go.”

  As the doors leading to the dethroned champ opened, Anatoly breezed into the crowded room like the devil come to collect his due. All eyes zeroed in on him, wondering why he was there.

  Klenchvenko looked up from the floor and nodded at Anatoly. “Leave us,” he said to his entourage as he lurched into a stupor under a blood-stained towel.

  Everyone in the room did exactly as they were told, exiting out of the room into the long, hollow hallway were Anatoly’s men stood guard.

  “I’ve been told I have five minutes,” Anatoly said, sucking in a breath.

  “At this point, who the fuck cares if it’s five minutes or five hours.” Klenchvenko seemed broken. Unwrapping his bloody knuckles, he threw the tape on the floor and flexed his hand.

  “The first loss is hard for everyone,” Anatoly said, pulling out a passport. He walked over to the boxer and offered it. “But not everyone gets a consolation prize.”

  “It was the first time in my life I ever cheated.” Klenchvenko took the passport and opened it. A picture of an older man with gray hair and wiry eyes glared back at him. “My father was a good man. He was not an enemy of the state the way that Russian government says. He just hates the president, and because of that and his desire to use the same free speech Americans take for granted, he was sentenced to die in prison. He already has stage two cancer. He should be with family now, not locked up like a fucking animal for wanting a full, true democracy.”

  Anatoly didn’t need to be convinced about any of the details regarding the man’s life. He had gotten what he wanted, and now it was time to reciprocate. However, he did enjoy giving good news from time to time. “Government is a shame. And I agree that no man should be persecuted because of his beliefs, especially imprisoned. That’s why he’s already here.”

  “Where?” Klenchvenko asked, eyes watering. He could not believe the words to be true, but if they were, these men had pulled off an impossible feat that would leave him indebted to them for the rest of his life.

  “You did as we asked,” Anatoly said, walking closer to the boxer. “Don’t worry. There will be another fight, an even bigger one. We’ll sell more tickets; we’ll make more money. And the victory will be up to you this time. We’ll never ask you to cheat again. Ever.” That was as much hope as he could give him under the circumstance.

  Klenchvenko didn’t care about any of that now. “Where is my father?” he asked again. “How did you get him out of Russia undetected?”

  Anatoly knew that sickening desperation. He had felt it for his cousin Gabriel, his sister Anya, his father and even his stepmother. In truth, he had felt it for everyone he had ever loved. He would not toy with the man’s feelings. “He’s at a private cancer treatment facility right here in Las Vegas resting up. When we recovered him, he was pretty bad off. So, after the flight, we took him somewhere where he could be taken care of for a while.”

  “On a scale of 1-10, how badly have they hurt him?” Klenchvenko asked.

  With a shrug, Anatoly let the man read between the lines. “I’m a murdering bastard, so the scales are relative,” he said, avoiding the conversation. He didn’t want to get into just how badly the old man’s state was when they paid to have him pulled out of the infirmary at Black Dolphin prison, but it was positively repulsive, even for him.

  Anatoly’s mouth twisted as he tried to move along the conversation. “He was asking for you when I left him. He didn’t care about the fight; he just wanted to know that you were okay.”

  “Even with everything he’s been through, he’s still worried about me. I imagine he’ll be disappointed when he finds out that I finally lost one.”

  Reaching over, Anatoly put his hand on Klenchvenko’s shoulder. “What we do for family is always worth it, eh? No matter the cost. Your father will understand.”

  “Thank you,” Klenchvenko said in a near whisper as he nodded back hot tears. Gripping the passport, he heaved a sigh of relief. “Please tell your father and cousin, thank you.”

  “No thanks needed,” Anatoly said, looking at his Rolex. “My five minutes is up. The name and address of the medical complex is in the back of the passport. Good luck.”

  Walking out of the locker room, Anatoly felt his phone buzz again. “Shit. Hold on,” he told his men.

  Moving off where no one could hear him, he answered when he saw that it was his wife, Renee, who was in Atlanta taking care of her sick grandmother.

  “Hey, baby,” Anatoly said, missing her immediately.

  It had been a crazy day and for a few hours there, his mind had been in other places, but just the thought of her reminded him of why he had possibly been in a bad mood. Being gone from her for too long caused that in him.

  There was a sniffle on the other end of the line followed by silence.

  “Hello,” Anatoly said again. He frowned. “Baby, are you alright?”r />
  “She’s gone, Ana,” Renee whimpered. “Big Momma is gone.” She sounded helpless and afraid.

  Though he would never admit it, he knew that it was only a matter of time. Her grandmother had been sick for nearly a month with no real recovery in sight. Still, the reality of her passing made him sad, especially for their daughter.

  “I’m sorry, baby. When did she go?” he asked, biting his lip.

  He had always liked Big Momma. She was a sweet old woman with more love in her heart than he had seen in anyone outside of his own mother. She was always taking in strays and trying to help someone out. A pure saint.

  “About twenty minutes ago,” Renee sniffled again, wiping her runny nose as she leaned against the cold hospital wall. She was fighting a migraine. “I don’t know what to do. I guess I’m supposed to feel relief that she is not suffering anymore, but I’m too selfish for that. All I feel is pain. I just want her back.” She made eye contact with Boris and looked down at the linoleum floor.

  Anatoly felt her urgency without seeing her face. “Where are you now?” He looked at his watch and counted the hours it would take to get to her.

  “At the hospital,” she replied, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m here with Boris. He keeps mugging everybody, making folks uncomfortable.” She sniffled again and turned her back to her bodyguard.

  “I’m on the way,” Anatoly promised.

  “But I thought you were in Las Vegas for the fight,” Renee said, hoping to God he would come anyway. What she needed at this moment was not just to hear his voice to be near him.

  Anatoly didn’t make her wait long. “The fight is over. It’s a short flight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “I love you,” Renee confessed.

  “I love you,” Anatoly replied softly. “I have to go.”

  Chapter Three

  When in Rome…

  Miami Beach, Florida

  Fight Night