St. Petersburg, Russia
Admiralteysky District
Four Seasons Hotel
Two Days after the Shooting
H e was the last to arrive of all the families – fashionably and intentionally late. As the convoy of bullet-proof cars pulled up to the front entrance of The Four Season’s Lion’s Palace, guards quickly jumped out and took their positions, standing on the opposite side of their vehicles toward the traffic with their machine guns drawn, while a sluggish Dmitry Medlov slowly stepped out of his vehicle and looked up at the grand hotel.
The last time he had been here, it was still a 19th century imperial palace open for museum visits, but now it was luxury hotel - pimped out to the highest bidders for afternoon tea, spa treatments and special events. Pity, if he had known the place was for sale, he would have bought it years ago.
Popping another handful of pain pills in his mouth, he straightened his suit jacket and proceeded up the stairs past the historic two marble lions guarding the yellow portico and Russian flags flapping in the wind into the hotel for an emergency meeting of the international council.
It had been an excruciating trip over from the states, after being smuggled out of Memphis in the back of an 18-wheeler and borrowing a second-amendment, Republican, gun aficionado friend’s jet in Arkansas. Upon entering international airspace, he had finally spoken with a few of the council members and gotten details on the meeting and managed to call Simeon Kurdin to have someone receive his wife and family in Siberia.
Regarding the emergency meeting with the council, they were told because of the heightened tumultuous relationship between the United States and Russia after the Helsinki debacle, to maintain a low profile upon entering St. Petersburg, and under no circumstances travel with a large armed entourage to the hotel where American diplomats were staying for the week.
But Dmitry had not adhered to the advice. Fuck the diplomats and fuck the low profile. After all, they were not the ones who had been gunned down a few days before in a parking lot, he was. So, not only did he bring an entourage with him, he brought an arm for all to see.
Dressed to the nines in a ten-thousand-dollar suit and wearing his customized guns under his jacket in their holsters, he breezed into the richly-decorated lobby perfumed by the hundreds of flowers and steeped in elegance, flanked by his son and nephew along with Boris and Marat, drawing the eye of every onlooker within view.
Their sinister appearance combined with the sheer number of suited gangsters behind them stunned most of the guests into silence. Some were smart enough to leave, others were smart enough to stay out of the way.
“This is nice fucking place, eh?” Boris said to Marat under his breath as he cast a quick glance up at the ornate ceilings.
“You can visit on your holiday, you fucking moron,” Marat admonished his friend under his breath. “For now, pay attention.”
With a harp playing in the corner, the sound of kitty heels clacking against the shiny marble floors was almost comical.
“Izvinite. Izvinite. Excuse me. EXCUSE ME!” a dainty, bell of voice said through the crowd, shoving her way forcefully through.
A young black-haired female assigned to handle hotel VIPs darted across the lobby to receive Dmitry, circumventing the need to check in with the concierge or scare more guests. With a black leather binder clutched to her chest, she moved in between the tall marble pillars trimmed in gold, and the table of multi-colored hydrangeas to stand in front of Dmitry.
“Welcome to the Four Seasons. My name is…Natasha,” she stuttered, eyes widening at his enormous size. Good God! She swallowed down her nervousness and forced herself to maintain a level of professionalism. “We have arranged several suites for your party, Mr. Medlov, though I’m not sure now, if they were enough.” She fidgeted with a wild strand of her hair in her face. “If you’d like to go there and put away your things before the meeting…” And stop scaring the guests with your guns, she thought to herself.
Dmitry raised a large hand, silencing the screeching sound of the girl’s voice. It seemed to elevate an active with each second that passed. “We won’t be staying in your hotel tonight, Natasha,” Dmitry said, pulling off his shades. His ice blue eyes landed on her, cutting through the pleasantries and further paralyzing the surprised employee. “Where is the meeting to be held, young lady? I would not like to be late.”
“Net, of course not, sir.” Taking a step back, she motioned toward the granite staircase leading up to the first floor. “Right this way, sir.” She glanced behind him, seeing more security flood the common area. How many guards did he have? She blinked fast and looked back toward the manager standing cowardly in the corner, but the man refused to approach.
“Is there a fucking problem?” Anatoly asked, snapping his fingers to get her attention. Was she deaf or just dumb?
What he did not realize that while he was used to his father’s size and overpowering presence, not everyone had seen a giant mobster up close before.
“No, no.” She answered Anatoly quickly, pausing at his brooding handsomeness and his similarly brilliant eyes. “No problem.”
Trying to ignore the beautiful Gabriel’s pensive stare under mossy green eyes or the violent accessories that completed his mafia-clad ensemble, she turned her back to him completely. Who were these people? Where did they come from? “Will your entire party be attending the meeting?” she asked Dmitry.
“All of us?” He looked behind him at the 15 guards and then turned with a grin on his face. Without a doubt, he had definitely brought the most men. “Yes. All of us will be attending.”
“Very well,” the young woman tried to smile.
“Would you like their names?” Dmitry asked with a smirk, toying with the woman.
“That won’t be necessary,” the girl laughed nervously. She didn’t want their names or to know anything more about any of them. This was just a job to pay for college.
Gabriel scanned the room, smirking at an older woman with a small dog in her embrace who scooted across the lobby when she saw the guns in his holster. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t bother with a jacket to conceal his weapons, fearing the extra layer of clothing might get in the way if they should find themselves in a gun fight.
“Lead the way, then,” Dmitry urged the young woman.
The woman halted at the elaborate wooden double doors of the board room where the council was meeting, refusing to go a step further. She had been told explicitly by the manager not to go into that room under any circumstance and now, she knew why.
Mobsters, all of them, she thought to herself, heart racing in fear.
A few guards protecting other families lounged in the hallway that had been blocked off from everyone else with a red velvet rope looked toward Dmitry but did not make contact with him or his small army who stood in a line that started on one side of the hall and ended at the other. With their weapons out, their faces forward, their suits immaculate, they made the other men who were not guarding Dmitry look shabby.
Taking a deep breath, Natasha looked up at Dmitry and waited for any further instructions.
“They are in there, sir.” Her voice trembled. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Inwardly, she prayed he would give her her leave, so she could run back downstairs and gossip with her coworkers.
“No. You may go,” Dmitry answered.
As the girl ran off, literally, Anatoly prepared for battle. “You need to be ready for anything when you open those doors,” he said to his father. “You know Popov is in there, waiting for you. But the only edge we have over him is that he doesn’t know that we know it’s him.”
“That’s not the only edge I have over him,” Dmitry said, thinking of Zoya. “Besides, he won’t deny putting the hit on me here. He can’t.”
“Why don’t we just walk in there and shoot him?” Gabriel asked, annoyed with the pageantry that came with the higher ups in the organization.
Anatoly grunted. “Because they would kill our family. During a meeting convened by the council, no blood is allowed to be spilled in the host city or the entire family is automatically killed. Women, children, grandparents, dogs…everyone.”
Gabriel sniffed derisively, not surprised that there was yet another loophole to jump through to get what he wanted.
“Let’s go inside and have a talk, shall we.” Dmitry grabbed the brass knobs and swung the doors open forcefully, finding the room occupied by the entire council as they sat casually talking and eating from the large spread brought up earlier by the wait staff.
One woman was present, the granddaughter of one of the elders on the council who was charged with serving the men for the duration of the meeting. She glanced up at Dmitry as he entered, her blonde tendrils braided in two plats that were pinned to her head. In a blue pants suit and soft pink top, she smiled at him and went to prepare a tray of beverages for the last person on the agenda before the meeting could formally begin.
“Ahh, Dmitry Medlov,” the oldest man Andros Stepanov said, tucking a hand to his tie as he started to stand. As he did the other men followed suit.
“Please, don’t get up,” Dmitry said respectfully, motioning for the other members to take their seats.
“It’s good to see you,” Andros said, sitting back down. The balding man gave a sincere smile after a sweeping look over his young protégé. “And good to see you looking well after your debacle.”
When the guards closed the door behind them, Dmitry took a seat at the circular wooden table situated in the middle of the room under a large crystal chandelier with Simeon Kurdin to the left of him and Maksim Gruzinsky to his right- both were long-time friends who had already been briefed by Dmitry on the situation.
“Well, you can’t keep a good man down.” Dmitry winked at Erik Popov.
“As it seems,” Andros said, hand shaking as he picked up his coffee cup. “Let’s call this meeting to order.” With his word, the guards took their places to ensure there would be no further interruption.
“Lock it down,” the head guard said over his earpiece as he stood at the doors with his automatic weapon out.
Gabriel and Anatoly already knew the deal. Only members sat at the table, everyone else stood around the walls or took a seat in the corner like the peons they were. Sticking together, they chose to stand against the wall with the other adjuncts directly behind Dmitry, eyeing Erik Popov the entire time. If anything popped off, he’d be the first person they killed.
Anatoly sucked his teeth and stared the man directly in the eyes, crossing his arms across this chest and heaving a sigh. While Gabriel propped his boot firmly against the wall and slipped his hands in his pants pockets.
Casually, Erik rolled his eyes at their posturing and went back to sampling the caviar.
“For you sir,” the young girl said, placing tray with a glass of water, a glass of juice, a cup of tea, a cup of coffee and sugar and cream packets in front of Dmitry. “Would you like for me to prepare you a plate?” she asked, head down subserviently.
She motioned toward the center of the table, adorned with a large flower arrangement and littered with silver and porcelain trays for a fine Russian caviar degustation, blinis, an assortment of cheeses, Zakuski, bowls of bread, several bottles of top-shelf vodka, Olivier salad, beef tongue, smoked salmon bites topped with Philly cheese and capers, salted herring and a thousand other foods for the men to enjoy.
“Thank you,” Dmitry said graciously, pulling off his jacket as his stomach growled. “The food won’t be necessary.”
Anatoly went to his father and helped him, knowing the pain from the gunshots were nearly unbearable. Draping the jacket over his arm, he kept his eyes on Erik as he moved to the background quietly.
“Are you sure?” Andros asked. “After your travels, you must be famished.” It was not a suggestion but more of a directive. His granddaughter had slaved over the menu for hours trying to decide on the best selection. He didn’t want all her hard work to go unappreciated.
Dmitry understood the old man’s meaning. “Just a light portion then. Thank you,” he said to the girl. He smiled toward the old man willing to give in a little to keep from offending him. The long dimple in his face showed as he gave a smile. “I have to admit, I am extremely hungry after the flight, but I didn’t want to prolong things any more than I already had.”
Andros smiled and shook his head. In a calm voice, he glanced around the table. “Nonsense. We insist. Put something on your stomach.”
The girl quickly made Dmitry a hefty plate and placed it in front of him with a caviar spoon and other flatware, then disappeared into the corner where a chair sat before behind a large brooding guard.
Andros got right to the heart of the meeting without any further formalities. “All the members are here. Thank you for allowing us to intrude on your business and vacations for this specially called meeting.” He put his coffee cup in front of him and placed his liver-spotted hand on the smooth table.
The men sat, backs erectly pushed against their leather chairs, watching Dmitry carefully, trying to find just one weakness in the wounded predator. But Dmitry showed no pain. Wiping his face with a handkerchief before his perspiration could become evident, he masked his pain with the promise of devouring Erik Popov by the end.
He had already deciphered how the meeting would go. With ten members, Erik Popov and himself included, there were two members who were two on the council who were much too old to get into the politics of internal squabbling – Andros Stepanov and his best friend Geni Belyakov who sat beside each other at the table now. Both were old men, well in their late seventies and more resigned to the perpetuity of the organization than the protection of all its current members. Still, in their late age, they also knew every rule front to back and sought to enforce them at all costs.
Dmitry’s closest allies were Simeon Kurdin, Maksim Gruzinsky and Pushka Kovalenko. All of them had served at some point at Vladimir Central and had practiced the fine art of murder for hire under Alexander Popov. Deemed the wretches of the group because of their less than stellar starts in the Vory, each man had built his empire on his own sweat and guile instead of it being passed down to them by their fathers.
While Erik Popov congregated with the three members who had not served hard time in the gulags – Oleg Rabinovich, Lev Yakushev and Renat Sherkov. Minus Erik, they were alright guys, but all four of them were legacies who had never lifted anything heavier than their own dicks for the entirety of their lives. Their fathers sat on the council as would their sons as a result, their understanding of what was at stake, at times, was slightly skewed.
“The reason we are holding this meeting instead of Dmitry, who has been chosen by the council to serve as the head of the international council for the next two years, is because he is at the center of the discussion,” Andros explained. “There was an assassination attempt on his life two days ago in Memphis, TN. It was very well orchestrated with the killing of one of his son’s mothers to even cause him to be at the location, the subsequent danger of his entire family and the infiltration of spies.”
Erik Popov released a heavy sigh. If they knew that much, then they knew who did it. Fuck it. He planted his arms on the table and looked across the table at Dmitry.
“However,” Andros continued, “the assassin was less than competent.” He raised his hand to emphasize. “Thank God for it. However, we now must come to the full understanding of this matter and reach a consensus.”
Erik sucked on his teeth and laced his fingers together. Tattoos showed on his hands with his white sleeves rolled up to the forearms. “Enough,” he said sternly, interrupting Andros. He raised a brow at Dmitry. “I had the hit put on him.”
The room immediately exploded in low rumbles. Sitting back in his chair, Erik waited to see if Dmitry would lose his cool, but he was sorely disappointed.
“Tell us something we don’t already know,” Dmitry said, voice calm.
“Something that we don’t know?” Erik asked incredously, making a gesture around the room. Huge beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Why don’t you tell them why I tried to have you killed,” Erik snapped. Before Dmitry could answer, he stood up and pointed toward his enemy. “Because he had my brother killed over a financial dispute. Didn’t you, you rat fuck?” Spittle flew from his mouth as he clenched the end of the table. “Alexei is dead because of you and your greed!”
Again, the rumble exploded, but Dmitry remained in his chair.
“Sit down, Erik,” Andros directed, determined to get control of the group.
“Fine,” Erik said, tugging at his black vest as he plopped down in the seat. “Never mind his transgressions, just keep it down. Is that right?” he seethed at Andros.
Andros raised a hand to quiet the room. “Is this true, Dmitry?” Shock prevented the old man from saying more. He could not, nor would not believe Dmitry capable of such an egregious act toward someone on their sacred council.
“Partly,” Dmitry answered. His left eye twitched. He turned to the old men to give them an explanation. “I had no choice but to kill Alexei, but it was not over money – not really.”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Erik said, interrupting as he tried to sway the room. “You have more money than anyone else on this council, especially more than the Popov family. So, how did money become a reason to kill your own brat?”
Dmitry licked his lips. “Alexei knew that one of his subordinates was holding my son’s sister hostage. Instead of offering her to me as a kindness, he told his lackey to charge me $50 million for her. This man, Ryan Colt, had turned her from a quiet little mouse where he found her in a church in Kopotnya to a whore in Miami where he was allowing abominable things to happen to her. Even after he found out who she was to me, he would…cooperate.”
Anatoly bristled at the brutal memory, turning crimson red in the face but refusing to speak. His breaths heaved in his chest to the point where Gabriel had to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.
“So,” Dmitry continued, tapping his fingers on the table, “after I had to go to Miami to get her myself with my son and others to kill this Ryan Colt, I knew that Alexei will not admit to his wrongdoing, but instead go after my family, my boys and my livelihood. I just made the first move. After all, I did not get where I am in this life, sitting on the sidelines waiting for shit to happen,” he said, motioning toward Gabriel and Anatoly. “While he was in China doing a drug deal, I had him killed. It was that or allow him to kill one of mine or me. He had already broken one code. What was to prevent him from breaking another.”
Pushka sat up in his chair and eyed Erik Popov. “Let’s not forget, drugs in China mainland are mine – as divided by this council. If Alexei was there, he was encroaching on my territory. I pay a fucking arm and a leg for distribution.” Anger started to boil in the middle-aged man. “How long have you been making money over there under my nose, brat? For that matter, who else are you infringing upon?”
Erik shook his head. “Wait. Wait.” He looked around the table at the men. “To my knowledge, we have never done business in China. Our business is with cars and credit cards in London along with our joint businesses in Russia and Kyrgyzstan, you know that,” he lied.
No one was convinced. It was known that Alexander Popov was against drugs and did not want the family involved in the business, but it was also known that Alexei and Erik were eager to move away from his father’s old-world philosophy and were not truly hurt by his passing recently.
“We are at an impasse, it seems,” Geni Belyakov finally spoke up, tired of the argument. Years of experience had taught him this was not going anywhere. His voice croaked as he handed down his verdict. “There are several major offenses here. Alexei Popov was never to cross another member of the council in such a way, especially when it comes to family and money. It is forbidden. Dmitry Medlov was never to kill a member of the council. It is forbidden. Erik Popov was never to try to assassinate a member of the council. It is forbidden.”
“What isn’t fucking forbidden with you people?” Erik snapped. His father might have bowed down to these old, archaic beliefs, but he did not.
“Do not disrespect the council,” Dmitry growled to Erik. “Your issue is with me. If you continue, your issue will be with all of us.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen my issue,” Erik promised, turning back to Dmitry. “If you think you were worried about my brother, you should really be shitting in your pants over what I’m going to do to you, to your fucking sons behind you, to that black bitch of a wife of yours and those half-breed brats.”
Dmitry smiled, the hate gleaming from his pores. Clenching his square jaw, he kept his voice event. “Call the council to a vote, Andros,” he said, pearly white teeth showing. “Because the Medlov family officially declares war on the Popov family as of now.”
“And the Popov family accepts,” Erik answered, ready to escalate things immediately.
The room went silent. Some were very aware of Dmitry’s skill at war and his ability to strategized but others would need teaching. Andros and Geni, however, were not in the dark on their young friend. This feud would be an epic bloodbath that they wanted no part of.
Andros called the vote, but before that he made his position and the rules clear. “There will be no blood spilled in my previous city of St. Petersburg. The consequence of such action will be death for the entire family who transgresses. As for myself, I recuse my family of the war. We shall take no place in it.”
“Neither will the Belyakov family,” Geni agreed.
“That leaves us with eight out of the ten families who have not taken a position. Who else will recuse themselves from the war between Erik Popov and Dmitry Medlov, unable to join either side with resources of any sort until its end?” Andros asked looking around.
Maksim Gruzinsky raised his hand first. “I want no part in this from this day until this war ends. My family has too many irons in the fire,” he said apologetically to Dmitry, whom he regarded with much respect. “And we have too much loyalty to Alexander Popov; God rest his soul.” He would not comment on his feelings toward his wayward sons.
Surprisingly, Lev Yakushev, one of Erik’s truest friends raised his hands as well. “I concur. This is not something that my family wishes to engage in. I’m sorry, Erik.”
Erik snarled at him. “Coward. You hate the Medlov family as much as I do.”
Lev shook his head. “Not as much,” he said honestly, turning his gaze toward Dmitry. “I admit, his presence on this council at times has been a burden, but I do not wish to war with him, not over your dead brother.”
Andros continued before they got too down in the weeds. “That is six men total who have stated their sides or neutrality. Who will stand by Erik Popov?”
Both Oleg Rabinovich and Renat Sherkov raised their hands for Erik for everyone to see. Silently, they landed their deadly gazes on Dmitry.
“That is two families with Erik Popov.” Andros nodded toward the secretary. “Who will stand by Dmitry Medlov?”
Both Simeon Kurdin and Pushka Kovelenko raised their hands, giving Erik and his allies the same deathly scowl. “We are with our brother, Dmitry,” Simeon said with a smirk. All the heated rhetoric was lost on him. He was a man of action.
“That makes ten, if I can count,” Erik said sarcastically. He batted his eyes toward Dmitry.
“Then it is settled. The council will not convene again with these parties who are active until the war is settled. As in prison rules, the first man to die loses.” That was a direct snub at Erik Popov. Andros moved through the next part quickly, almost irritated by the situation. He signed a document placed in front of him by the secretary. Scribbling his name, he didn’t bother to look across the table at the men. “Each party who had agreed to neutrality can have no further contact upon leaving St. Petersburg with the warring families or thereby forfeits their seat and their property. And both the Popov and Medlov families must turn over the rights to all their illegal territories as per our charter until the war ends before the end of the business day. The man who dies, or both men if that be the case, will forfeit all properties upon his death to the council and lose his seat for his family at the table. The man who wins will retain his assets and a share of the loser’s assets. All agreed say Aye; all opposed say Nay.”
The entire council agreed. “Aye.”
“The Ayes have it.” Andros stood from the table, leaving his plate of food to be thrown away. He turned to one of his aides in the corner of the room. “Bring the uneaten food up to my suite.” As a man who came from the gutter of Moscow, he had always shied away from wasting food, even though he was now a multi-billionaire.
“Yes, sir,” the aid said, walking up to the table to whisper a message to his boss.
Andros leaned over to listen, then nodded. “I’ll be there in just a minute,” he said as the chatter started to rise. “Gentlemen,” he said, raising his voice slightly. “Please leave the city within 12 hours unless you have voted neutral. God bless you and may he keep one of you.” Leaving the younger men to their business, both Andros and Geni excused themselves with their guards in tow without any further pleasantries.
But Dmitry stayed behind. He had one final thing to say to Erik Popov before departing, and it was not meant to be heard by the old men.
Standing slowly from his chair, Dmitry leaned over the table toward Erik as the others exited. Slowly blinking, the vein in the middle of his head thudded with blood like an angry river. He refused to scream at Erik, to raise his voice and show his true emotion. Instead, he gave the man some pearls of wisdom. “You dare threaten my family in my face and think your pathetic grand posturing is going to save you. You think these little boys who voted to stay with you are going to save you? A hundred to one they cut and run before we really get to the real war.” His face tightened around his words. “I’m going to rip your fucking soul out your asshole, Erik, and then I’m going to shove it down these two suka’s throats who foolishly stand beside you. On my soul, to God, you will regret the day you ever crossed my path. When I’m done, there will be no traces of a Popov anywhere, ever again.”
Erik grinned. “I don’t think so my friend. I’m not my brother. Hiding my hand after throwing a rock is my style. You should be worried about your own family.”
Anatoly approached Dmitry to help his father with his coat, but Dmitry snatched away and pointed across the table man at the room, nearly touching him. “I’m not going to throw a rock at you, my friend. I’m going to throw the whole fucking world.”
Gabriel approached the table to pull Dmitry back, but he snatched away from him as well with laser sights on Erik’s throat, thinking of that moment at biting a piece of his jugular out. “Do you hear me?” Dmitry asked, hitting the table with such force it knocked the vase in the middle, and the glasses around it to the floor. Like an earthquake the room rattled and Erik instinctively jumped back.
Dmitry’s nostril’s flared, eyes beaming with enough heat to singe. “I’m going to fuck you up!” he screamed, standing up straight.
“We’ll see,” Erik taunted as he got his wits about him again. “But if I were you, I would watch my back every step to the airport.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t even go back to London,” Dmitry snarled.
The smug grin on Erik’s face quickly dropped. How did that son of a bitch know he had been in London?
Putting a hand on Dmitry’s shoulder, Gabriel pulled his uncle’s attention from his adversary. “Not here,” he said, ignoring Erik. “This bitch is just full of talk. He wants to get you wound up, so you do something stupid.”
“Da, da, papa,” Anatoly said, fighting the urge to come across the table as well. “We go now. We’ll see him later.”
Dmitry looked down and saw that his wound was leaking as he walked out of the door. Slipping on his jacket, he advanced toward the elevator with some men following and some taking the emergency stairwell.
Simeon stood holding the elevator door open for him. As Dmitry, Gabriel and Anatoly stepped inside, he let go of the button and straightened his jacket. “You almost let him get under your skin, eh?”
“No, I let the others see how scary he is. He jumped, because he’s a bitch, scared of doing his own dirty work,” Dmitry said, eyes straight forward. “A man can’t hold a line if he can’t even hold his composure.”
“And you wanted to kill him,” Simeon jibbed.
“Very much,” Dmitry nodded with a grin on his face. “I thought about it, but it wasn’t worth it, yet.”
“Well, let’s get you back to your family, so we can plan adequately.” Simeon looked at his watch. “I promised your wife, I would visit as soon as I returned. I would hate to disappoint her.”
Dmitry looked down at Simeon. “How did she look? Was she…okay?”
Simeon turned up his lip. “She was worried. They all were, but they are safe.”
“Well, let’s get back to them. Mind if we hitch a ride back on your jet?” Dmitry asked. The other one is headed back to the states.
“Not at all,” Simeon said as the elevator doors opened. “What are friends for?”
Two Days Later
The Royal Chateau
Siberia, Russia
“Kids stop running through the house!” Royal screamed, picking up Maxim’s jacket from the living room floor. Cursing under her breath, she sat down on the sofa and turned the television back on. She had been trying to focus on something – anything all day. But her mind was racing about where Dmitry could be.
Crawling under the chenille throw, she wiped a tear from her face before it could fall. It had been too long. Where was he? Flipping through the channels, she threw down the remote and stood up. Pacing, she tried to remember if Dmitry had ever accidently said something that might help her pinpoint where he could be.
“Are you okay?” Valeriya asked, looking down from the wooden balcony above.
Royal looked up at her friend. “No,” she said, bottom lip trembling.
“Want to talk about it?” Valeriya offered.
“No,” Royal said, shaking her head frantically. “I just want my fucking husband. I want to know he’s alright. I want a call…” Tears started to stream down her face again. Wiping them quickly, she put up her hand. “I’m sorry. I just…I need a minute.” Darting from the living room up the flight of stairs that led to the bedrooms of the house, Royal ran into the master bedroom and closed the door. Walking into the large bathroom, she stood looking at herself in the mirror.
“I can’t be this weak,” she admonished herself. “I have to be stronger than this.” Flashes of Dmitry’s bloody body on the concrete flashed in her mind. She could hear her own screams in her head, feel the heat on her skin as bullets whizzed past her. Putting a hand on her head, she paced back and forth until without explanation she went to the drawer and pulled out a pair of long, sharp scissors.
Grabbing her hair and pulling it down from the ponytail roughly, she leaned over the sink and began to cut right below her ear. Long black strands fell into the black sink bowl and onto the floor. With each movement of the shears, she found herself feeling better. It felt like she was shedding her fear, her doubts, her pain. She cut until it was all gone – all the bullshit.
Standing up straight, face covered in a stream of tears, hair cut off, she dropped the scissors on the marble floor and stared at herself again, this time with blankness until the door knob went to turn.
“I’m in here,” Royal called out, trying to wipe away her tears and the makeup smudges under her eyes. The knob turned again. “I said, I’m in here. Who is it? Anya!” she snatched the door open to see Dmitry staring back at her.
“Dmitry!” she screamed his name, crashing into his chest.
“Baby,” Dmitry said, holding her tight, despite the pain. He kissed her forehead and hugged her as close as he could get her, taking her scent in, feeling her hot skin.
“I thought I would never see you again,” she cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”
“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me.” He pulled her out of the bathroom into the bedroom. “I should be apologizing to you.”
“For what?” she asked, wiping her face and sniffling.
“Being away from you made me realize that I was stupid for giving you a hard time, because you wanted a baby.” Dmitry made her sit with him on the bed. “I was selfish.”
“No, I was selfish,” she said, cutting him off. “You are right. There is so much happening, and I just…” She exhaled a breath. “I was…”
Dmitry watched his fretful wife in her new short hair, standing in front of him in her black tights and white tank top, breasts bulging out of her bra, discarded strands of hair stuck to her arms, beautiful brown skin glistening. Her vulnerability was driving him insane. It begged out from her aura to be taken. She wanted to be free of worry and only he could free her from it.
Pulling her to him, he kissed her mouth, drowning out any doubt he had placed in her head before. He searched instead as he sucked on her tongue for a way to forgiveness. She tasted of honey and truth and sunshine and everything good he had ever witnessed in his life. He made her feel like he was floating.
Royal kissed him back, gleeful to have him near her again. He smelled of sandalwood, felt like chiseled muscle. “Does it hurt?” she asked, avoiding his chest.
“No.” Dmitry kissed her deeper, pulling at her pants to get them off. “I’m high as a fucking kite right now on pain pills. I shouldn’t feel anything for at least an hour. That should give me long enough.”
Royal’s eyes closed. “Time to do what?” she asked as his mouth trailed a kiss down her neck, making her smile.
He finally managed to get her pants and panties completely off. “Time to make a baby,” he said, looking up into her eyes as she crawled on top of him. “Do you still want to?” He hoped and prayed she would say yes.
Royal didn’t know what to say. Yes, she really wanted to, but did they need to? “What about all of this? All the things we are dealing with?”
Dmitry ran a hand under her shirt and placed his cool palm over her stomach. “You and my children may be all that is left when this is over.”
Royal opened her mouth to say something but found nothing would come out. She had never heard him be so direct about death before. “I can’t live without you, Dmitry. So, don’t you dare go anywhere.”
“I can’t live without you,” Dmitry whispered. He swallowed hard. “Let me make up for the other night, eh. Let me give you my child.” He licked his lips. “I want to.”
The words made her sex constrict, unable to fight his virile request.
Coming to him, Royal unbuckled his pants and pulled them off as he slipped back in the bed, pushing up against the headboard. With his blue dress shirt still on, she crawled on top of him and felt as he guided his hard shaft into the wetness of her body.
Back arching, she felt him grab what was left of her hair in his hand and pull her down on him completely. Her mouth flew open, but he quickly covered it with a kiss, using the other hand to grab her ample rear.
“Dmitry,” she whispered.
“Royal,” he answered.
It felt so good to have her husband back home, back inside of her where he belonged.
Even injured, he moved his hips slow, watching her in the dimming sepia sunlight coming in from their windows. The colors of the world flashed over her body in a wave of surreal tranquility.
She moved on top of him, pushing against the pressure of his snake-like sex. Raising her arms and holding on to the back of the headboard, she finally said it. “Yes, give me a baby.” Looking into his blue eyes, she gave herself over to him fully.
TO BE CONTINUED