Chapter 9
The calming change of autumn was welcomed in Memphis.
The city needed a break from the heat. September
was a transition month, mixed with days of smoldering sun
and cool breezes.
Royal had adjusted accordingly. Sale pieces were moving
fast and being replaced by sweaters and scarves, darker
colors and more layers. Also, the clientele for Dmitry's Closet
was starting to really pick up. Royal had over 2,000 names
on her VIP list for special showings of the new diamond
collection, special trunk shows and private parties. She had
women coming from all over the mid-south to shop and to
be seen in the newest prêt-a-porte clothing from the finest
French, Russian, Italian, Chinese, English and American
designers.
She even had a new billboard on Poplar Avenue that
was creating a wave of new inquiries about the shop and the
owner. Several local magazines had requested interviews
with Dmitry, but he had deferred all media to Royal and
insisted that she be the official face of the boutique.
"Royal‟s been so much different since that morning she
was late for work," Renée said, hanging the new Diane von
Furstenberg dresses that had arrived only hours before on
the front display.
"I know. I‟ve been watching her," Cory said, looking
out for Royal, who stepped out to grab lunch for the trio.
"I wonder what‟s it‟s like to try to have a relationship
with a man like Dmitry?"
"Petrifying, I suppose," Cory answered absently.
"I mean, he‟s beautiful, rich, powerful and sexy. What
could be bad about that?"
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"Trying to figure out how he got to be so rich and powerful."
"What do you think it really is?" Renée asked, setting
down the dress. "I think its drugs."
"I think it‟s a combination of all sorts of organized
crime," Cory said, checking his hair in the mirror.
"Do you think that she knows what he really does?"
"No." Cory turned to her. "But we should tell her.
Don‟t you think? I mean, we‟re supposed to be her friends
for goodness sake." His southern accent came out more
when he tried to be so flamboyantly gay.
"How in the hell do you broach a subject like that?"
Renée huffed. "This woman is still our boss and our friend.
What are you trying to do…hurt her?"
"Save her," Cory said, over emphasizing the "s" sound.
"Royal‟s a great girl. It‟d be a damned shame to watch her
go up in the smoke of Dmitry‟s fire."
"It‟d be a shame to watch us walked out the front door
of this place if we crossed the line with her too."
"Royal would never fire us," Cory said sternly.
"Get real. She‟d make one comment to Dmitry, and
we‟d both be gone."
"You think she‟d talk to Dmitry about something that
we‟ve said to her?"
"Of course. You white boys are so freaking territorial;
as soon as she said something he‟d give us the boot."
Cory ignored her snide remark. "He does look territorial."
"All of you do."
"Please don‟t tell me you‟re one of those black women
who think all white men look alike."
"I know that they all don‟t look alike. You don‟t look at
damn thing like Dmitry. He‟s sort of dreamy, while you‟re
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sort of… I don‟t know. Peculiar. You could be cute if you
wanted to, but the jeans are so tight, I can‟t focus on your
face."
"Dreamy, huh? No, I don‟t get that from him. He
seems, dark and sadistic to me. Maybe it‟s the creepy
bodyguards, the obscene amounts of money he spends or
the trace of Anatoly‟s gun in all of his jeans, but I would
never want to get on Dmitry‟s bad side," Cory said, turning
around in the mirror to examine his butt. "And my pants
are not tight."
"Shut up," Renée said quickly. "Here comes the prom
queen."
Royal walked inside of the boutique with lunch from the
Arcade, the oldest restaurant in Memphis, in white oily bags
full of fried treats. She entered beaming brightly as usual
and wearing a gold silk Dolce and Gabbana sundress, a
denim jacket, white D&G shades with Swarovski crystals
and cultured pearl accents, a matching yellow leather and
white purse and flip flops. All together, she was wearing
about ten thousand dollars worth of clothing and accessories.
The thought made her blush. Dmitry spoiled her
beyond belief now, surprising her with diamonds, pearls,
expensive and exotic gifts all the time.
"Sorry it took so long," she said, taking off her shades.
"It‟s okay. No one has come in since you left," Cory
said, helping her with the bags.
They all made their way to the back office to eat lunch
and watch out for any clients who might pop up. Sitting
around the credenza, they opened the oily bags and set the
table for a hearty meal.
"Did we get anymore calls for the VIP showing of the
Cyrille Gassiline collection?" Royal asked, stuffing her face
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with a large juicy hamburger. She wiped the excess grease
from her mouth with a wad of napkins.
"No, but so far, we are at 150 people with a 175 max
capacity," Cory answered, wolfing down a hand full of
French fries. "Man, a beer would be great with this," he
said belching.
"It‟s barely noon, lush," Renee snapped at Cory. "I
thought gay men were supposed to be refined."
"Stereotypes coming from a black woman? Really?"
Cory raised his eyebrow.
"Enough you two," Royal interjected between the catty
couple. "We only have 25 more people to place before we
close the event. This is a good sign." The thought was
comforting.
It had been hell to bring the trunk show to Memphis.
Royal had desperately wanted to bring the popular Russian
designer Gassiline‟s designs to her shop for months, but she
had been turned down due to tight scheduling. Then, after
a call from Dmitry, things were worked out, and she was
able to bring the hottest trends in Moscow to the Southern
belles of Memphis for fall. When her VIP list of clients
received the invitation, they went mad calling to reserve
seating for them and their friends and family, who would be
flying region-wide to get her shop on October 1st.
Dmitry laughed the night last month when Royal got
the call from Gassiline‟s American contact in the middle of
the night. When the phone rang, they were in her bed
watching reruns of Criminal Minds. She reached over and
answered it, then screamed so loud when she hung up; he
had to cover his ears. "Thank you!" she exclaimed as she
kissed him over and over again on his full mouth. For a
woman who was not at first even a decent dresser, Royal
had blossomed into quite the connoisseur of fine clothing.
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Dmitry had been pleased to help her, pleased to see her
pleased and pleased that in her excitement she would please
him. He quickly seized the opportunity to strip her naked
and turn his attention from the make believe FBI agents to
his real Royal Flush.
"Someone‟s coming in." Renée wiped her mouth with
the napkin.
"Oh, I‟ll get it," Royal said, jumping up from her seat.
"Really. You guys finish eating."
A tall man, nearly the size of her Dmitry stood with his
back turned to her looking at a rack of Chanel dresses as
she approached him. Her footsteps tapped on the hardwood
floors and echoed throughout the empty shop as she
made her entrance, but the stranger did not turn around.
Royal eyed his frame curiously, wandering if he was one of
the NBA locals picking up a something special for a
girlfriend or wife, which had become quite typical since she
opened.
"Can I help you?" Royal finally asked, her voice pleasant
and soft.
"Yes, I‟m looking for Dmitry Medlov," the man said,
turning around to face her. His voice was deep, baritone
and strangely familiar.
"He‟s not here. May I help you with…something?"
Royal‟s eye twitched.
"Ah. You must be Royal," he said, fixing his eyes on
her.
Royal stood stunned for a minute with a waded up
napkin in her hand unable to say anything. She was struck
by his features and his accent. All Russian. All familiar. He
wore the same type Armani black tailor-made suit Dmitry
wore. His face was perfectly chiseled; every line faultless,
free of blemish and full of beauty like Michelangelo himself
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had carved it from marble stone. He was nearly as tall and
definitely as muscular as Dmitry.
However the contrast in the men was undeniable in
their hair, their complexion and their polarized demeanors.
Where Dmitry had heavenly golden locks, this man had inky
black waves that were cut low and highlighted by his
naturally arched black menacing eyebrows and high cheeks
bones. His skin was milky white and completely free of a
tan. He had a faint, stubby beard that etched his breathtaking
features, giving him a rogue quality. But his eyes were
what truly captured her. They were even more intense than
Dmitry‟s. Liquid blue, bold and bright like a clear sky on a
Sunday morning. He looked at her now with a threatening
stare.
"How do you know my name?" she asked, stepping
away. As beautiful as he was, there was something about
him that scared her speechless.
"The magazine article," he said, raising the Memphis
Magazine in his large right hand. He walked towards her
slowly, his long strides closing the distance between them.
"Right. What can I do for you?" she asked, walking
quickly behind the counter to ensure her space.
He chuckled. "If I told you, would you do it?" He
licked his lips.
Royal scoffed and narrowed her eyes at him. "No, I
don‟t think that I would, sir."
"Pity," he said, smiling. "I‟d heard about you, but I had
no idea just how beautiful..."
"Heard about me?" Royal interrupted.
Even in the stranger‟s smile, there was something evil in
his eyes. He propped his large hands on the marble-top of
the counter showing Cyrillic writing tattooed on each of his
fingers and his sprawling frame stretched out like wings as
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it shadowed her entire body. He looked her up and down
before he spoke again, enjoying how she fidgeted in discomfort
at the sight of him.
"Yes, heard about you," he replied, biting his bottom
lip. "I‟m afraid that they didn‟t do you justice. Probably
too fucking jealous." He laughed.
"I‟m afraid I still don‟t know why you‟re here or who
they are," Royal scowled.
"Well, I just recently got to this hell hole. Dmitry
knows why I‟m here. In his own way, because of his nasty
little temper, I guess that he sent for me."
Royal raised her brow at him.
"Anyway, Royal, I just want you to tell him that I
stopped by to see his new property. Trust me, he‟ll appreciate
the irony." He smiled again and looked at her breasts.
The lustful thoughts were evident in his furrowed, black
brows. He looked back up into her eyes again and took a
deep breath as he crooked his head a little. "I can see now
why he broke his pitiful little monk code. You are absolutely
devastating."
Royal sneered at his advance. "His what code?"
"Nothing." He looked around curiously.
Royal followed his glance then eyed him. "Well, if he
knows why you‟re here, then he‟ll know how to find you."
She wanted him out of the shop right then.
"Well, one thing is for sure. At least I know that he‟ll
never be too far here. So, I now know where to find him."
He winked at her. "Take for instance now. I bet he‟s only a
few blocks away. I know Dmitry. He likes to keep his
possessions very, very close to him. He‟s a greedy fuck that
way. Hoarding everything."
"Do I look like a possession to you?" she snapped.
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"Yes, you do actually. The big question is how much
does a woman like you cost?"
"Is that a racist comment? You actually had the balls to
walk into a shop and speak to a black woman about how
much she costs?"
The man smiled, revealing deep dimples. "That was not
racist comment. I was giving you compliment. Would you
like to hear a racist comment? I have many."
"Only if at the end, you go screw yourself." Royal
snapped.
"Oh, I‟d rather fuck you." A smile crossed his lips.
"And I‟m sure that I could do a better job than that anal nut
job of a boyfriend you‟ve got."
She looked into his eyes and saw a stir of something
dangerous. That had hit a nerve. He was a typical chauvinist,
unable to deal with the directness of a confident woman.
He watched her like a vampire as her blood pressure
boiled. The veins in her neck protruded out. The pulsating
rhythm of her body could be seen through deep breaths
that she took making her breasts rise and fall under the
golden silk.
Royal reached below the counter and hit the panic button.
Just in case he was a psychotic as he seemed, she
would need help. Her heart beat so loud and fast; she could
hear it in her ears and feel it pushing out the confines of her
chest. Calmly, she looked back up at him and rolled her
eyes.
Exceedingly grateful when Renée and Cory came out
from the back, she literally belted out a sigh of relief. The
man looked over at her and smirked. Her fear was like
some loud perfume sprayed all around him. Hard to ignore
or escape. He took a deep breath, trying to inhale it all.
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To Royal, his eyes looked liked they belonged to a wolf.
That‟s what he reminded her of, a predator. He looked at
her like he wanted to eat her alive. He turned his stare
from Royal to Cory, who nearly halted in his tracks when
they made eye contact. Renée quickly inched up beside
Royal and stood behind the counter.
"Who is this?" Renée asked, equally intimidated.
"This is… I didn‟t get your name," Royal said, stepping
back from the counter.
"Ivan Medlov. I‟m Kirill‟s replacement," he said menacingly
as he looked over and sized up Cory. "Who‟s the
fag?" he asked.
Royal looked at Ivan in shock. A Medlov? Really? The
similarity was evident, but Dmitry had never mentioned
him. Why? She divulged something as precious as her
sister‟s memory to him, the murder of a perfectly dreadful
man by her own hand, and he failed to admit to having a
living, breathing blood relative outside of Anatoly? She
found his secret cruel. Regardless of how absolutely
revolting Ivan was she still felt betrayed by his careless
omission.
Ivan turned around and caught her curious frown. It
wasn‟t the same angry scowl from a minute ago. He
instantly put the pieces of her puzzle together and smiled.
"You didn‟t know about me, did you?" he asked enjoying
watching her realize his connection.
Royal did not respond.
"You know, if you‟d like to know more…about the
Medlov men, I can take you out for drink. Get us room
and show you …"
"I‟m not interested," she interrupted.
"You sure?" he raised his brow.
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Cory walked over to the counter and stood with Royal.
Grabbing her hand, he smiled. "If we can‟t help you with
anything else, then we‟re going to have to ask you to leave."
"Aren‟t you cute," Ivan said sarcastically to Cory.
"Where‟s your little leash?"
Cory‟s eye twitched a little, but he didn‟t move. "And if
you need to get in touch with Mr. Medlov, you can leave
your number here, and we can pass it on to him."
"A number?" Ivan asked.
"Yes," Cory answered irritated.
"Oh. Okay," Ivan smirked, digging into his pocket.
"I‟ve got a...business card with me somewhere."
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a silver-plated
Glock and laid it on the counter while he dug in his pockets.
"I know it‟s here somewhere?" he continued, sticking
his hands into his back pockets, where he pulled out a knife
and laid it on the counter. "Just give me one minute."
Reaching into the holsters under his arm he pulled out two
more guns and laid them on the counter as well.
Royal stepped back as she looked at her counter, cluttered
with guns. Her heart skipped a beat. Suddenly his bite
appeared worse than his bark.
"There is no need to threaten anyone," Cory said, unmoved.
"I have a pen right here. I can just write your
number down. And you can put your guns away." Cory‟s
voice was even and still, so much so that it calmed the
women visibly shaken beside him.
"No, no. I have one." Ivan pulled out a shiny silver
pen and smiled at Royal. "Told you." He took the paper
and wrote down his number, then slowly put the guns away.
The clock seemed to slow, drawing out every second. It
felt like a millennium before Anatoly walked into the store
from the backroom, but it had only taken him five minutes.
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Five minutes to get from the Mother Russia to the Dmitry's
Closet, and he hadn‟t come alone. Three men were with
him, all wearing gun holsters with shiny, black guns tucked
inside of them.
"Royal, come over here," Anatoly ordered, motioning
behind the men.
Royal looked over at her friends, realizing that she could
not leave them alone, she hesitated.
"Go on," Cory said, nudging her arm.
Royal grabbed Renée‟s hand and pulled her from behind
the counter, where Ivan stood with a sheepish grin watching
them scurry to the back of the store behind the Russian
strangers that Anatoly had brought with him.
Ivan looked back over at Cory and raised his eyebrow.
"Looks like Royal brought some friends," Ivan said
texting someone.
"Evidently," Cory replied nonchalantly.
Ivan put his phone on his hip and yawned. "You know,
for fag…you don‟t squirm much."
"I‟m a homosexual, not a punk." Cory answered.
Ivan smiled. "And you‟re eloquent."
The front door opened quickly and six very large brooding
men flooded in to the store, all standing behind Ivan,
obviously under his command and ready to demolish the
entire place if ordered.
Anatoly did not flinch. He surveyed the room quietly as
his men spread out.
"Royal, I had no idea that you had such a large entourage,"
Ivan said loudly as he moved from the counter to the
center of the floor directly across from Anatoly.
"Don‟t talk to her. Talk to me," Anatoly ordered.
"Who are you here for?"
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Ivan sighed. "How many times do I have to say it? I‟m
here for my brother, Dmitry Medlov."
"Well, you‟re in wrong place," Anatoly was unmoved.
His voice only hardened.
"What‟s the right place?" Ivan asked mockingly.
"You already have information. Don‟t play me for
some kind of fool," Anatoly snapped. "Mr. Medlov will not
be happy that you‟ve come here. Not happy at all."
"I‟m counting on it." Ivan smirked.
Just then, Dmitry walked in the front door of the shop
with the newspaper in his hand, whistling a tune to himself.
Mirroring his brother‟s style in a pair of gray slacks and
black t-shirt and flip flops, he looked up stunned. The door
chimes rattled as the door closed behind him. Everyone
looked over at Dmitry, who looked back with a deadly
grimace.
He took off his shades and looked around, eyeing each
of the men. The entire room calmed when they saw him,
almost stiffening in fear. Their demeanor quickly changed
from aggressive to docile.
"What the hell is going on in my store?" he asked,
searching for Royal.
"You have…visitors," Anatoly informed his boss. He
didn‟t budge or take his eyes off of the men.
"Obviously," Dmitry said, finally eyeing Royal in the
back with Renee looking on confused. He reached out and
waved for her.
Royal huffed. Now she was supposed to go back across
the room to him? She looked over at Renée and let go of
her hand. She knew Dmitry. He was not worried about
protecting anyone but her.
Slowly, she inched through the nearly crowded room
alone, past the beautiful devil named Ivan and clouds of
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armed men to get to get to Dmitry, the tallest and most
fearful of the entire crowd. Her heels clicked on the ground
as she did so. All eyes followed her short silk dress and her
long legs until she arrived at Dmitry, who was now visibly
fuming.
"Are you alright?" he asked, ignoring everyone else in
the room. He took her face in his hands.
"No," Royal said, feeling the tears weld up in her eyes.
"They all have guns."
"I know," he said softly.
"In a fucking dress shop," she continued in a strained
whisper.
Dmitry looked up from her and stared over at his
brother.
"Ivan," he growled, pulling Royal behind him.
"Dmitry," Ivan said, giving a devilish grin. "I see that
not much has changed. You still know how to stop a
show." He turned to face his brother, but did not move
towards him. Even he knew his boundaries.
"I see that you still don‟t know how to make an entrance,"
Dmitry said, nodding his head at Anatoly.
He looked at the men all crowded in the store. He did
not recognize any of the men with Ivan. They were not the
ten men from the file he had received from New York.
These were Ivan‟s personal bodyguards. The thought only
angered him more.
"Do I need to say anything?" he asked softly, looking at
the men disapprovingly. "Because if I do, it will be kill,
mangle, burn, hang and destroy."
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Ivan‟s
men appeared suddenly vulnerable to Dmitry and his
overbearing demeanor that trumped even his brother‟s
pompous temperament.
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"Follow me," Anatoly instructed, turning around and
walking out of the back of the store.
All of the men, including Ivan disbursed quickly
through the back door following Anatoly. They filed out of
the building quietly, but they left Royal shaking in her flip
flops. Tears were forming at the corner of her eyes, but she
tried to keep them behind her long lashes.
When the last man had gone, she looked up at Dmitry
and buried her head in his chest.
"Shh," Dmitry said, kissing the crown of her head.
"Now, now shop girl, it‟s okay."
"That man says that he‟s your BROTHER, but he came
in here strapped like he was ready to kill someone and
asking for ME!"
"He‟s just putting on show."
"Yeah, a horror flick," Renée snapped.
Dmitry rolled his eyes.
"Anatoly had on guns like this is the Wild West. So did
the others, I‟m sure of it. What in the hell is going on in
here? Did I miss something?" She shook her head in
disbelief. Tears ran down the sides of her cheeks.
Dmitry tried to calm her. "Nothing is going on," he
said, smiling at her innocence. "Russians carry guns, especially
Russians with money. And my brother has never
known how not to be confrontational. Plus, you must have
hit the panic button, dah? What did you expect Anatoly to
come over here with – a bat? We protect our own."
"From what? Protect yourselves from what, Dmitry?"
Royal asked.
Dmitry was quiet. He could see that pacifying her
would only make the situation worse. "Can we go in back,
please? We need to talk."
Royal wiped her eyes and stormed into the back room.
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"They aren‟t coming back, are they? Renée asked in a
cracked voice.
"No. There‟s no need to be scared," Dmitry said, looking
over at Cory, who had a strange unreadable look on his
face. "No one is going to let anything happen to you."
He set down his newspaper and checked his buzzing
Blackberry on his hip. Then slowly, he made his way to the
back office where Royal waited.
"Dmitry, um…who is Kirill?" Royal asked Dmitry as he
closed the door. Her hand was propped up on her hip.
"What?" Dmitry looked up with a stone stare on his
face. The ice in his eyes seemed to chill her bones. Royal
stepped back. She could easily see the resemblance of him
and Ivan now.
"Ivan said that he was here to replace Kirill." Royal‟s
voice lowered. "Who is he and why did he have to be
replaced by someone like that?"
Dmitry‟s eyes relaxed and he sighed, tired of the confrontation.
"Kirill died last month. If you recall, I went to
his funeral. Ivan will be taking over some parts of my
company‟s operations," he said, putting his phone back on
his hip in its holster.
"How did he kill himself?" Royal asked, swallowing
hard. She knew that she was treading in very unfamiliar
territory by asking him questions about his business, but
something would not allow her to restrain herself.
Dmitry looked at her. She was shaking, afraid. He
knew that there was no need to intimidate her anymore than
his brother had already done. Carefully, he tried to explain,
making sure to control his growing frustration. "He shot
himself in basement," Dmitry said, grabbing for her hand.
He pulled her to him gently.
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"He also said something about you living by a monk
code. What does that mean?"
"It‟s nothing for you to worry about."
"Then why won‟t you tell me. Why does it always have
to be bits and pieces with you? Answer me!"
"That little shit comes in here and starts babbling like
teenager, and suddenly I‟m supposed to be the one who has
to explain?" Dmitry snapped.
Royal rolled her eyes. "You won‟t tell me, will you?"
"There is nothing to tell. He‟s an idiot."
"The point is that you never told me you had a brother."
"I disowned him years ago. There is nothing to tell."
"But if you disowned him, why is he taking Kirill‟s
place?" she snapped, stumping her foot as she did so.
Her quick response made Dmitry pause. She was
quicker than he‟d given her credit for being.
"I needed someone I could trust to do what Kirill did
for me, but I couldn‟t find anyone…that I could trust. So, I
ended up at least with someone who was mildly competent
and overwhelmingly predictable. That‟s the best answer
that I can give you."
Royal changed gears. "What did Kirill do for you?"
"He traded in very expensive machinery."
"What kind?" Her eyes narrowed.
"All kinds."
"Uh huh. You know what I find odd?" she asked angrily.
"Whatever you are thinking, stop it. Everything is
fine."
"Of course, it‟s fine. There was nearly a gun fight in my
store, but everything is just fine." She rolled her eyes.
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"I‟ll take care of it," he assured her. His voice was softer
now.
"Take care of what? Everything is supposed to be fine.
Remember?"
"It is."
"You keep saying that, but it‟s not true. I know it in my
gut. You said that you would never lie to me…just couldn't
tell me everything. But you‟re lying to me!" Tears ran down
her face.
"Royal," Dmitry looked down at the ground. He
couldn‟t find the right words to soothe her.
Royal looked up at him. She clenched her jaw and
wiped the tears from her face. "You can‟t marry me. You
can‟t tell me anything that‟s worth knowing. You only
move with bodyguards. And everything is fine? Really? Tell
me that I can trust you, Dmitry. Look me in my face, in
my eye and tell me that I haven‟t made some big mistake in
loving you - a man who is supposed to love me so much
but can‟t even give me a straight answer even when my life
is in danger."
Her words cut through him like metal to bone.
"Your life was never in danger. You are overreacting."
"Bullshit."
He raised his brow.
"If you really loved me…" she continued.
Dmitry interrupted. "So now you‟re questioning my
love for you?"
Royal didn‟t answer him, but she did raise her brow,
mimicking him.
"I can understand that you‟re upset," he explained.
"Can you? You seemed almost pissed that I would even
question you about it. I‟m just supposed to follow you
blindly. Is that it? Well, I won‟t. I want a fucking answer."
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He sighed. "Royal, I‟ve always taken care of you. That
hasn‟t changed, because my brother came in here and acted
an ass today. Yes, you can trust me. No, I cannot marry
you, and as painful as that sounds it has nothing at all to do
with what is going on here at this very moment."
"Another lie," Royal said, under her breath.
"Look, certain parts of my life are not your business, like
it or not. I didn‟t hire you to be detective. I hired shop girl.
You let me know when that becomes problem for you.
And we‟ll find something else for you to do."
The tears ran freely down Royal‟s face as his ice cold
words destroyed her. She crossed her arms and looked
away.
"Oh, I‟ll let you know."
Dmitry retracted. He could tell that they were headed
towards an argument. "If you only knew how much I had
to overcome to be with you – you would not…" he stopped
himself. He saw that he had wounded her far too deeply.
"No, you have not made a mistake in loving me, just in
doubting me, which infuriates me so much that I must
excuse myself now."
Fuming, Dmitry turned and walked back out of the office
leaving Royal there in silence and tears. She did not
chase after him. He did not expect her to do so. She was as
stubborn as he was, unable to bend to his will.
Cory and Renee watched as the back door flung open,
and Dmitry glided to the front entrance, visibly brooding
over the concealed argument that had just taken place. He
looked as if he could kill someone. Then suddenly he
stopped and turned towards them stone faced.
"Close the shop for rest of day," he ordered, looking at
Cory.
"Will do," Cory replied.
Dmitry's Closet
129
Then quietly, Dmitry left. The doorbell jingled as the
last of the Russians emptied out of Royal‟s now somewhat
disheveled dress shop.
There was a sigh of relief.
Unable to hold back their curiosity or concern, both
Cory and Renee ran to the back to check on Royal.