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

by Latrivia Welch

  “Hey Mommy!” Alexandria waved when she saw her. “Look, I’m swimming.”

  “That’s good, baby,” Renee smiled.

  Anatoly looked over to his wife, noticing his shirt barely covering her body and grinned. “Hey, Mommy,” he mocked with a wink.

  “Hey,” Renee said, crossing her arms over her chest. The smile she had for her daughter disappeared. This was the place where it had happened. A flash of Destiny’s arms wrapped around her husband’s neck as she rode him in the pool nearly paralyzed her. She could feel her throat tighten and her stomach turn.

  Water splashed over Anatoly’s blonde locks, his face tanned from the sun. Dunking Alexandria, he laughed and said something under his breath in Russian.

  “Are you getting in?” Anatoly asked. “We miss you.”

  “Not today,” Renee said, rolling her eyes.

  “Daddy, I have to pee,” Alexandria said, swimming to the edge of the pool.

  Marat stood up from his chair and went over to Alexandria. Grabbing her by both of her little arms, he pulled her out and took her over to the table to retrieve a towel.

  “I’ll be right back, Daddy,” Alexandria promised, running toward the kitchen door.

  “Don’t run, baby. You might fall.” She bent to her daughter, moving wet strands from her face and kissing her fat cheeks.

  When Alexandria was gone, Anatoly swam over to the edge of the pool where Renee was standing. He looked up at her, blue eyes gleaming in the sunlight, and noticed she didn’t seem pleased. What had he done now?

  “What?” he asked.

  Renee looked over at Marat, giving him his cue to step inside as well. “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Marat had been around long enough to know when he wasn’t wanted. Without another word, he walked inside quietly and closed the door.

  “Don’t tell me nothing. You look like someone just called you fat.” Anatoly put his hands on the concrete, muscles flexing with every fluid movement, and pulled himself out of the water. Standing up soaking wet in a pair of black swim trunks, he wiped the water out of his face. “You feeling sick?”

  “No,” Renee said, trying not to push the issue. She avoided looking at him. “I just…” she sighed. “I don’t...”

  Anatoly frowned at her sudden lack of words. “Spit it out.”

  “You fucked Destiny in that pool,” she bit out quickly. “Okay. There. I said it.” Her heart was racing now. Stepping out of the sun, she sat down at the table under the cover of the umbrella and crossed her legs.

  Anatoly followed. He sat across from her and looked out at the pool. “Alexandria asked last night if she could swim. You told her she could. You knew yesterday what had happened here. Why are you making this a thing?” he asked calmly.

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I guess until this minute I didn’t realize how much I wasn’t over it. Being back here is bringing back these horrible emotions.”

  “It was before we were married.”

  Renee threw up her hands. “It was in this house.”

  “We spoke about it. You nearly left me over it. What do you want me to do?”

  It was a good question, but one she couldn’t answer. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know either.” He rolled his eyes and picked up his pack of cigarettes.

  “Don’t.” She snapped her head toward him. “It will make me nauseous.”

  He put the cigarettes back down on the table and huffed. “Renee, this is stupid.”

  “I know, but I can’t help it.”

  “You want me to get rid of the pool too?” At this point, he would if it would make her happy and end this game of cat and mouse.

  “No, I want to talk about this. You know, talk. Something we never do. I’m just supposed to ignore things, forget about it. Well, somethings are very hard to forget. And I’m not trying to argue with you…”

  Anatoly smirked facetiously. “You could have fooled me.” He stood up.

  “Where are you going?” She pushed to the end of the chair and glared at him.

  “Inside.” He looked down at her and felt guilty all over again. “I don’t want to argue with you.

  “Sit down,” she ordered, uncrossing her legs.

  His head tilted, face stoic. “I don’t like your tone.”

  “I don’t care. Sit down,” she ordered again.

  He did as she asked, fighting the temptation to snap at her. She was pregnant after all. He had to have patience. “Do you want to beat me over the head with this? If so, just go on and do it.”

  She wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “I want to talk. I want to tell you how you made me feel. I want to know more importantly, how you feel.”

  He shrugged his shoulders in frustration. “What does it matter, how I feel? I’m still going to be wrong when it’s all said and done.”

  “Why don’t you open up, Ana?” Renee’s voice strained in a high pitch.

  “Not this again,” he said, dropping his head. Two words he could live his entire life without hearing again – OPEN UP. He ran a hand over his wet hair and gripped the back of his neck. “Renee. I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.”

  “About what?” She pushed him to open up and say something about his own emotions. “Why are you sorry?” She’d take any explanation except one that wasn’t sincere. She was tired of him just telling her what she wanted to hear.

  Anatoly didn’t speak. Keeping his eyes focused on the ground, he shook his head. This was going nowhere fast.

  “Ana…” Renee reached across the table to touch him, but he coiled back.

  He gritted his teeth and clenched his square jaw. “What? What is there to say? Why are you always trying to get me to say something?”

  “Because that is what marriage is about. You need to open up and talk. You need to tell me what’s on your mind. I need to know who is behind those eyes. Emotions are not bad.”

  He waved off her words. “In my line of work…”

  “We are not talking about your fucking job!” She snapped, hitting the table.

  A slow gaze finally landed on her. His face tightened. “Lower your voice.” He looked at the kitchen door. Alexandria was looking out at them until Marat put a careful hand on her shoulder and led her away.

  Renee refused to give up. “For once, we are going to talk about this. We’re not leaving this table until you say something worth hearing.”

  “Talk then,” he sneered.

  “What you did here hurt me.” She touched her chest. “I didn’t realize until I got here, but knowing that woman was with you in the pool that our daughter was just swimming in makes me so angry I could kill that bitch, Destiny. You put the video of you fucking her up on YouTube to kill her career, but in many ways, it has killed me. Millions of people saw that video before it was taken down. And while they don’t judge you, because that’s the way things work, they judge me. They think I’m an idiot. Hell, being here, I feel like an idiot.”

  “No one judges you.”

  “How do you know?” Renee asked, eyes watering. “You know every man I’ve ever been with, but you on the other hand, weren’t so honest.”

  Anatoly might have been a bastard, but he wasn’t an asshole. “I’m not going to lay out in detail who I’ve been with. It’s improper.” Why couldn’t she understand, he would not do it, out of sheer respect for her?

  Renee released her quiet frustration. “A heads up about Briggy would have been nice. I mean, considering she lived in the house with us. Would that have been so improper? Would you have wanted me to keep quiet?”

  Anatoly wasn’t expecting that. He could defend his actions with Destiny, but the live-in maid who then became his cousin’s live-in girlfriend was a different story. He had purposefully avoided not telling Renee about Briggy, and he hoped after she was killed, her secret would die with her. It was a stupid hope to have. Women always found out everything.

  �
��It happened before we were married. I’ve never cheated on you. Does that count?” He wrung his hands, wishing at that moment he had someone to choke.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you had a sexual relationship with her? Why did I have to hear it through Valeriya, who didn’t know that I didn’t know?” She watched her husband shift uncomfortably in his chair. He was finally cornered. Maybe now, she’d get some answers and some closure.

  Anatoly shook his fist. “Briggy meant nothing to me. She was something to do.”

  “Like Victoria?” Renee asked. Oh yes, she knew about her too. The woman who had lived with Dmitry and Royal, been the nanny, drugged Royal, tried to sleep with Dmitry, did sleep with Anatoly and finally betrayed all of them. Royal had told her everything in detail.

  Anatoly twisted up his lip. “Yes, like Victoria.”

  “You have a problem fucking the help.” Renee said, hearing her heart beating in her ears. “You have a problem telling the truth.”

  “I’ve never lied.”

  “You avoided the truth. That’s the same thing.”

  “If that’s what you believe.”

  “What happened to Briggy?” Renee asked, cutting him off.

  Anatoly stood up. “I’m done.”

  “No, you’re not.” She pushed up from her chair and stood in front of him. “What happened to her? One day she’s there; the next she’s gone. Where did she go?”

  “Far away.” He stared into her eyes.

  “Like Victoria?” She asked defiantly.

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to Briggy?” Renee pushed again. “Answer me.”

  “No. I won’t answer you.” He stepped closer. “Don’t push me on this. It’s not your business.”

  “It is my fucking business.” She put her hand on his chest. “You may scare everyone else in this house. Not me. You may tell everyone else here what to do. Not me. You may….”

  Anatoly had had enough. “I keep you safe. I keep you protected. I keep you as happy as I can. I give you everything that you want. That’s enough.”

  “No, it’s not. Money isn’t everything, Ana. It’ can’t buy everything. It’s no substitution for talking and sharing not only your bed but your emotions with me. You owe me an explanation. I’m not some Stepford wife, bimbo bitch. You can’t piss on my head and call it rain, Ana!”

  “Alright.” He leaned in where no one could hear. “Briggy is dead. FUCKING DEAD. Victoria is dead too. I had Briggy’s car blown up with her in it. A leg here. An arm there. A bullet was put in the back of Victoria’s head in a vineyard.” He waited for her to explode, cry or faint.

  Oddly, she didn’t. Her face relaxed. “How many people have you killed?”

  “I honestly don’t know, and I don’t care. Keeping count is not my thing.”

  “Are you trying to scare me or are you being honest?” she asked in a near whisper.

  “You wanted honesty, you got it.”

  “Was that so hard?” She took a deep breath. “Being honest for once.”

  He relaxed his shoulders, unsure how to take her response. “No.”

  “How did those women’s deaths make you feel?” she asked, hoping she was breaking through to him. There was no point in trying to talk about the men he had killed or his life as a mobster, but the personal relationships were a different story and one she needed desperately to hear. “Tell me. How?”

  Anatoly felt like she was getting too close and it scared him. “What does this have to do with me fucking Destiny?” It was a defense mechanism design to throw her off the subject, but it didn’t work.

  She pointed a finger into his chest. “All of your relationships with women end in death with the exception of me and Alexandria. It’s all important. It defines who you are because you won’t talk about it. Your mother is dead. Your…”

  Anatoly narrowed his eyes at her and walked off. He was done with this conversation, done with her analyzing and judging him. What the fuck did she know about anything sitting up in her ivory tower watching the world below? How dare she speak about his mother to him?

  “Come back here, Ana,” Renee called out, tears streaming down her face.

  Anatoly didn’t answer. Pushing through the kitchen door, he disappeared into the house without another word.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Are You an Angel?

  W hat else could he do but walk away? The woman he loved was incensed with him over things he could not change, and in her fury, she had unleashed on him a mountain of contempt and blame. Just going into the house away from her insults had not been enough. He had to flee from her presence all together. So, he did as any man would in his position. He focused his attention elsewhere. As it were, he had pressing business with his brother, and he could think of no better time than to fulfill his father’s wishes.

  Instead of taking a shower, he jumped in his jeans and T-shirt, still perfumed in chlorine, and headed out with his men.

  It was a shame to cut his time with Alexandria short, but he knew if he stayed, she would just witness her parents arguing. Whether Renee knew it or not, he had taken the high road. Sure, he had words for her, words that would shut any wife down, but it would not have truly remedied anything.

  As his SUV pulled up to the front of The Southern Table, Anatoly looked out of his tinted window at the restaurant and then checked his watch. The lunch crowd would be coming in soon, but the manager had been contacted by his men and asked to open a little early for a very influential guest, who wanted to dine alone. Of course, at first there was push-back. But after promising to grease the manager’s pockets upon arrival, an agreement was made.

  Anatoly, in his anger, figured showing up like a regular guy again was pointless. People seemed to prefer brutal honesty, according to his wife. So, that was what he was going to give. The absolute truth. He would let Anil see him as he really was, a billionaire mobster asshole with an invariable chip on his shoulder, and let the young prince come to his own conclusions. If Anil wanted to accept the Medlov family, fine. If he didn’t, fuck him. He had never promised his father the boy would come to heel, all he said was that he’d meet with him. After this, his obligation would be done.

  Opening the door to the Range Rover, Anatoly stepped out in the mid-day sun and stalked into the restaurant with his army of bodyguards in tow. His head was down, brow furrowed, brooding profusely over his argument with Renee. A damp ponytail sat atop his head and his sun-bleached beard itching from dried pool chemicals. In an attempt to be received well, he had splashed on the cologne Renee had just bought him, Tom Ford’s Tobacco Vanilla, but ironically ruined the scent with chain-smoking on the way over.

  An overly tanned, middle aged man in a black polo shirt and slacks was waiting patiently with his hands in front of him, a few staff closely flanking behind him, all curious about their mysterious guests.

  “Welcome, Mr. Medlov,” the manager greeted cheerfully with a car salesman’s cheesy smile. As Anatoly breezed past him without a word, he locked the doors behind the small entourage as he had been directed and escorted Anatoly to a table that had been specially prepared for him.

  Anatoly sat down in the chair and cut through the pleasantries. He had no patience for their hospitality. “Bring out your waiter Anil?” he said without looking at the manager.

  The manager passed Anatoly a menu, which Anatoly snatched and threw on the table. “Give him his money,” Anatoly ordered Marat.

  Without skipping a beat, Marat reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of hundred-dollar bills. He stepped toward the manager, who stepped back hesitantly at the tattooed, bearded Slavic.

  “We were never here.” Marat reminded grimly, shoving the money into the man’s chest.

  “Take the money and bring out the boy,” Anatoly ordered gruffly.

  “Of course,” the manager stuttered, taking the money and stuffing it down into his pocket. Their agreement was more than two-weeks’ pay. For that, he’d give them just about anything
that they wanted. He glanced over at Anatoly. “Anil will take your order and if you need anything, please let us know.” He disappeared with his staff quickly, whispering as they walked.

  A few minutes later, a confused and far less tense Anil emerged from the kitchen area with his notebook in hand, ready to take a food order. The manager had told him little to nothing about this special guest, but when he saw Anatoly, he remembered him from the night before.

  “Hey.” Anil smiled warmly. “You’re back so soon?” he asked, walking over to the table. He glanced at the bodyguards sitting at the table across from Anatoly and raised a brow. “And you brought friends,” he quipped.

  Marat looked up at Anil in amazement. It was as if they had traveled back in time to a younger Dmitry Medlov. They had the same easy smile, the same strong jaw and muscular build. Anil even walked like the old man. Astounding. He was certain that the family would do their due diligence of a DNA test, but some things were as obvious as day and night. This was definitely the boss’s son.

  “Sit down,” Anatoly ordered, pointing to the chair across from him. His words had been more forceful than he meant, so he tried to remove the scowl from his face.

  Anil puts his little notebook in his back pocket and dropped the happy-waiter routine. “What’s this about?”

  “Sit down, please,” Anatoly said again. His eye twitched as he repeated himself. “I just want to talk to you.”

  “Oookay.” This was all very weird for Anil. Nervously, he sat down across from Anatoly and swallowed hard. His mind raced with what the stranger wanted from him. Getting comfortable, he stretched his long legs across the floor and rested an arm on the edge of the table. “What’s going on, man? You didn’t like your food from last night or something?”

  Trying to be coy didn’t come off as impressive for Anatoly. He pulled his seat up closer to the table, scrubbing the wood across the floor as he moved. “I’m not here about the food. I’m here about you.” Tapping the table, Anatoly sucked his teeth, face inscrutable. “What I’m about to tell you is not a lie; it’s not a joke. Don’t ask me if I’m serious, because I am. Don’t do any of that cliché shit. Just listen. Do you understand this?”