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

by Latrivia Welch

  Moving across the room, he snaked up beside her. A single finger ran down her back to the top of her pants, eluding to his inner desires. She could smell his intoxicating cologne and feel his skin against her. So warm. So soft. Licking her lips, she tried to keep her head about herself, even as the wetness started to flood her silk panties. Damn, how did he do that? Just a second ago, she was angry as hell with him. Now, she wanted him to tear through her.

  “If we go down this road, you won’t make it to dinner,” she warned, eyes closed.

  Anatoly licked her neck with the tip of his tongue, trailing over the dark lines that creased when she moved. He could taste the day’s perspiration on her and the scent of her sexy aroma.

  Putting her small hand over his pants, he made her feel how hard she made him on command. He was a man before everything else. His father had asked him to do a job, and he would keep his promise, but what he wanted at that very moment was to free his wife from the bonds of her thoughts.

  “Then I choose the road we’re on,” he whispered huskily into her ear. His eyes closed, the need oozing out of him in animalistic pheromones. Grabbing her lobe between his teeth, he bit it. Fuck. He wanted her so bad, he could taste it. “I can deal with my father’s son later. Right now, I want you naked and in that bed, ass up and face down.”

  Renee’s big brown eyes flashed open, and she looked over at the bed with images of Destiny in the position he now wanted to put her in. Face down, ass up. Shit. That completely ruined the mood.

  Anatoly could feel the instant change in her demeanor. He had said something wrong again.

  “What?” he asked, stepping back. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. She blinked fast and gave a faux smile. “We can do both. Just not at the same time.” Taking a deep breath, she found her composure and patted his chest. “Dinner at your brother’s restaurant and then dessert here.” She had to accept it. At some point, if they were going to stay in this house, she was going to have to make love to her husband in one or more of the same rooms he had been with Destiny. “We should just pick another room or at least another bed – one that has not been previously shared with another woman.”

  I knew it, Anatoly said to himself. She was sore at him over that fucking bitch, Destiny. If he could take it back, he would, but Renee had seen the video of him and that woman together. Destiny had made sure of it when she delivered the CD to her years ago. It had almost cost him his relationship, and years later, he was still battling with the collateral damage.

  A reasonable man would have simply complied considering his culpability, but Anatoly was not always reasonable. “Renee, that woman meant nothing to me,” he defended.

  “I didn’t say that she did.” Renee rolled her eyes. “Just tell me that you didn’t sleep with her in that bed.” She pointed over to the bed with an accusatory finger.

  Anatoly wanted to lie, but what would be the point? He rubbed the space between his eyes. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “I know you can’t.” She bit down on her lip and pushed up against the dresser to get some space from him. “That’s why I don’t want to sleep in here.”

  “Should I have another room set up for us?” The sexual bubble popped, leaving nothing but the tension between them again.

  She was glad to have it out in the open, albeit uncomfortable. “I’d appreciate it. It’s either that or the floor.”

  “Fine.” He stalked over to the door and snatched it open. With his broad back facing her, he leaned out. “Hey,” he snapped at the guard, who stood up and came over to him immediately. “Get someone to put another bed in here while we’re gone to dinner. I don’t care how. I don’t care how much it costs. Just do it.” He slammed the door shut and turned to her. “Are you happy now?”

  His flippant response made her cock her head to one side. Was he serious right now?

  Renee might have been a patient woman, but she was no one’s floor mat. She tried to bite her tongue and avoid a confrontation, but if he was going to try to play the victim, she had to check him. Crossing her hands over her chest, she smacked her lips at his incredulous statement.

  “You know, it’s bad enough that everywhere we go women throw themselves at you. It was cute at first, but I hate that shit. On top of that, from one day to the next, I don’t know if you’re going to be here in the states or off in some other country half-way around the world.”

  Anatoly was about to say something, but she raised a finger to shut him up. He had been given his chance to talk, and he hadn’t said a word that she wanted to hear. Now, it was her turn.

  “You don’t talk to me. You don’t open up. Hell, I never know what’s going on in that mind of yours. No matter what, I give you the benefit of the doubt, because I love you.”

  She counted out her points on her fingers. “I don’t try to break into your phone. I don’t spy on you. I don’t accuse you. I don’t even act a fool with these hoes out in the street that are always trying to get what I’ve got. But trying to get me to lay in the same bed that you fucked that bitch in is asking too much, and you damn well know it. So, no, Ana. I’m not happy, but you know what, you wouldn’t be either.” Her voice faded into nothingness, but she knew that she had made her point by the dumbfounded look on his face. Grabbing her purse, she waltzed into the bathroom and slammed the door as loudly as he had just done.

  Well, that had been an abysmal failure. “Okay. I fucked up. I’m sorry,” he said, throwing his head back. What did he have to do to catch a break around here?

  He walked up to the door and was about to open it, but decided against it. She might throw something at him, considering how angry she was. Hearing the sound of water running in the sink, he leaned against the wall.

  “Does that mean we’re not going to dinner?” he asked, raising his voice.

  “I said I’m going…I’m going.”

  Anatoly felt guilt. Serious fucking guilt. If he had watched a video of Renee with another man, that man would be dead, but she suffered the knowledge of him being with another woman, and all that she had asked was to relocate. Okay, he had to be sensitive to that. Women liked sensitive. At that moment, however, he wanted to order his men to go and find Destiny, pull her out of whatever penthouse she was living in and put a bullet in her head.

  “Fucking bitch,” he growled aloud about Destiny.

  “What?” Renee said, ears perking up.

  He scrubbed a hand across his face. “Nothing,” Anatoly snarled, walking away. It would be best to let cooler heads prevail before they got into this conversation. Right now, he was sexually frustrated and in need of a drink.

  Chapter Twelve

  Face Down, Ass Up…

  South Point Park

  The Southern Table Restaurant

  R enee had torn him a new asshole over his blunder, but Anatoly had taken her verbal judo like a man with the intention of regaining her faith and his dignity later that night. Once she was dressed, they headed over to the restaurant as planned with no more discussion of Destiny Palmer or the sacrilegious bed that was now being moved out of their bedroom by the guards and maids and taken down to the local Goodwill.

  Instead of an entourage of Russian mobsters flooding the restaurant, Anatoly decided the best way to go undetected by his brother was to drive Renee alone, like a normal couple. Now, he wasn’t foolish about their real existence. He was strapped, but he was light. A gun and knife in his pants leg was all that he wore, but he made sure to have Marat and one of his other men trail closely behind. Plus, there was a minigun in the trunk, just in case they ran into trouble or his wife got pissed off again.

  Man, that argument had been tough.

  However, the further they got from the mansion, the clearer the air was. The music on the radio combined with pleasant evening made them remember that they were finally alone again – no work, no funeral planning, no drama if they didn’t bring it themselves. By the time that they arrived at the restaur
ant, both were in a relatively good mood and anxious to see what the mysterious love child of Dmitry Medlov was like in person.

  South of Fifth Avenue and beyond the reach of cheesy tourist traps, The Southern Table was an eclectic high-end restaurant that was known for its prestigious clientele, creative southern cuisine and backlogged reservation list. Everyone who was anyone wanted to be seen here, not just for its farm-to-table model but also for its ambience.

  “This place is packed, Ana,” Renee said, as they valeted their car and walked up to the front doors. This place was swanky. She looked down at her clothes and frowned. “Are you sure I didn’t dress too casual?”

  “You look great. Stunning.” He held the door open for her to step inside, stealing a glimpse of her voluptuous backside in the process. Damn, he hated he had pissed her off. He still wanted her badly. Face down. Ass up.

  Instead of something with a pricey label, she had chosen her inconspicuous attire carefully for the evening, wearing a denim dress that stopped above the knee and nude red-backed heels. No stockings. Purple thongs. However low-key she tried to be, Anatoly thought her subdued dress only made her stand out more. He wanted to take the little denim fabric belt around her waist and tie her hands with it, make her keep on those nude heels while he punished her for being so combative.

  His imagination ran wild for a second. The loud smack of his hand hitting her bare backside while he ravaged her rang in his ears. Smack. Smack. SMACK!

  “Ana, are you listening to me?” Renee asked.

  Anatoly blinked away his naughty thoughts and pursed his lips together. “Sorry, baby. What did you say?”

  “Did you make a reservation?” she asked again, wondering what had captured his attention.

  “Yeah.” He glanced behind him to see another couple breeze through the door. They were American Pie types – not a threat. The man’s eyes widened at Anatoly’s intricate tattoos. Darting his gaze away, he whispered to his wife, recognizing the Cyrillic words on Anatoly’s fingers. She was about to stare when her husband gripped her neck and made her turn away.

  “The food smells good, even from here. I’m starving,” Renee kept talking, unaware that the couple behind them had turned suddenly and left the restaurant.

  Getting into the back of the long line of people waiting to be seated, Anatoly and Renee both looked for Anil, but so far had only spotted extremely attractive but less-than-gigantic waiters and waitresses in black, long-sleeve button downs and black slacks, hastily working the floor.

  The ambient sound of Bluegrass music played in the background drowning out loud laughter, the dragging of chairs across the hardwood floor and plentiful conversations.

  Feeling euphoric, Renee moved into Anatoly’s wide chest and dipped her head, trying to just be in the moment. His fragrant cologne smelled like sex to her, softening the hard edges of their earlier fight. His body was warm and inviting. This was nice. No one knew who they were, and no one cared. It had been a long time since they had been just a couple on a date, instead of the infamous Medlov Crime Family.

  Anatoly bent and kissed the top of her head. “You okay?” Protectively, he put his arm around her and moved her petite little frame in front of him.

  “Yeah, I’m good.” She chuckled. “It’s good to just be normal for a second.”

  “We should do this more often then,” Anatoly said, glad that she was happy.

  While she was relaxed, he had his head on a swivel, looking out for more than just his brother. They had rivals in Miami who would jump at an opportunity to catch him slipping. But he couldn’t let his whole life revolve around work. Even if it was dangerous, he had to loosen the reigns every once in a while, and let his wife enjoy herself. She liked going out in public and pretending to be an everyday Joe. He liked riding motorcycles in the middle of the night at top speeds. It was basically the same thing – a release.

  “Welcome to The Southern Table. Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked, not bothering to look up as Renee and Anatoly approached the black wooden podium. She had been at this for hours with many more to go before her shift was over. Looking up and giving a full-on greeting each time took too much time and far too much effort.

  “Yes, we have a reservation under Me and Mrs. Jones,” Anatoly said with a smile, pinching Renee’s side. He knew Renee loved that song and would often sing it loudly in the shower when she was in a good mood.

  Renee laughed, catching on immediately. Cheeky bastard. Leave it to him to find a way to get back on her good side.

  It was his voice that caught her attention. Sexy. Deep. Russian. Just the kind of guy she read about in romance novels. The Black woman’s head snapped up, curious to find out if the stranger had a face to match his panty-dropping baritone. He did. Hot damn.

  Blushing, she checked their names off the list – M.E. and Mrs. Jones. “I have you right here. Follow me.” She grabbed two menus and stepped from behind the podium wearing a tight black dress and long, black stiletto heels. So far, her outfit had netted serious gains – a few phone numbers, one date. Hoping the blonde bombshell, M.E., was watching, she made sure to put a little more sway in her hips as they followed her to their table. Just in case Mrs. Jones was someone else’s wife, she would happily put her bid in to be this guy’s main chick.

  Renee cuts her eyes at the woman and shook her head. Some people had no couth. There was nothing tackier than trying to pick up another woman’s man while they were on a date. It screamed of desperation.

  Stopping at the booth to the far-right, left, of the restaurant in front of the bank of ceiling-to-floor windows facing the street, the hostess clutched the menus to her bosom and spoke directly to Anatoly. “We’ve got you in a great spot. You can see the waterway in the distance and all the foot traffic while you dine?”

  Anatoly finally spotted Anil as he emerged from the kitchen with a large tray. Oblivious to his audience, the young man placed the stand in front of the guests waiting on their dinner and then set their plates in front of them. He was carrying on a congenial conversation and smiling, doing his job the best he could in hopes of a big tip.

  “Windows don’t work for me,” Anatoly said, unable to stop staring at Anil. The resemblance to his father was almost spooky. He dragged his gaze back to the hostess to find her gawking at him. “How about a table in his section?”

  “Oh, that’s Anil,” she said quickly, holding back the urge to roll her eyes. “Everyone loves to sit in his section. I think it’s because he’s so big.” She meant that literally. The man had a penis like a horse, but he wasn’t good with relationships or calling a woman back after the first date. Unfortunately, she had firsthand knowledge.

  “Well, I’m not really interested in the man per se, but I like the dark little booth over there were no one can see us,” Anatoly explained. He looked out the window to see Marat parked on the other side of the street in a Black Land Rover, watching their every move and probably cursing at the thought of his boss eating in front of a window like a sitting duck.

  The hostess looked across the room and saw one vacant spot in Anil’s section. This was their lucky day. That rarely happened. Plus, his request made her think that Anatoly was definitely sneaking out on a date with his mistress. “Sure. No problem. Whatever you want.” Leading them back through the seated guests and waiters, she took them to the dark booth. “Better?” she asked, still not addressing Renee.

  “Much better. Thank you,” Anatoly said, winking at his wife. In the shadows of the restaurant, maybe he could convince her to let him molest her a little.

  Anatoly slid into the side of the booth facing the doors, and Renee slipped into the other side.

  “Your waiter will be with you in just a moment,” the hostess said, placing menus in front of them. She almost threw Renee’s down but with Anatoly’s menu, she took extra care to set it right in front of him. The gesture was loaded with innuendo. “Can I get your drink order while you wait? We have a great wine selection.”


  “We’ll be fine. Thank you,” Renee said, unwilling to address the woman’s brazen flirting.

  “Let me know if you need anything at all,” the hostess said, leaning over the table with the menu toward Anatoly.

  The downplayed wardrobe of jeans and a T-shirt didn’t fool the hostess in the least. The stranger was wearing a $40,000 Rolex watch. On top of that, he was sexy as hell with the blonde man-bun and the mafia tattoos. And most important of all, he seemed to like Black women. So, he was rich, sexy and dangerous – the trifecta of alpha males. There was no way she wasn’t going to at least try to see if he was interested.

  He wasn’t.

  Anatoly didn’t like the hostess or her proximity to him. Couldn’t she see that he was trying to give her a way out of being embarrassed? Though she continued to flirt, he continued to ignore her, but now she was making a fool of herself, and he felt a responsibility to stop the exchange immediately.

  “I need for you to run back there and bring a water for my wife. She’s pregnant and this Miami heat is rough, even at night.” He reached across the table and took Renee’s marriage hand in his own so that the hostess could get a closer look at the diamond.

  Renee appreciated the gesture. After the fight at the house, she felt like it would be overkill to address the hostess, but the woman was pushing it. Instead, she opted for something subtler. “This is just the beginning, baby. I want a football team full of kids.” She squeezed his hand tight and ignored the hostess all together.

  “You can have as many as you want as long as I get to help you make them.” Anatoly rubbed his thumb over her wedding band and then cut the hostess an admonishing look to back off.

  She rose directly and glanced over at Renee. Evidently, Anatoly’s words had checked her sufficiently, and now she had to eat a little crow. “Congratulations. Girl or boy?” she asked, trying to fix her blunder with a failed attempt at flattery.