Chapter 12
The Fall trunk shows and VIP diamond and fur shows
had gone extremely well for Royal. She had been interviewed
by all the local television stations and showcased by
The Commercial Appeal, The Downtowner, Skirt Magazine and
the Memphis Flyer. All four were highly visible print media
that promised her an even bigger market share by Christmas.
Business was doing better than well. Dmitry's Closet had
more than quadrupled its profits for the second quarter with
clients knocking down the door every morning for a private
viewing of the newest collections, special orders from Milan
and Moscow and consultations with the new it girl of the
Memphis fashion scene.
Royal was a hot commodity, even more sought after
now due to a very popular local blog that did a high profile
story on her at her $3.5 million home that she shared with
tycoon and sexy business man, Dmitry Medlov.
Since the story broke and all of Memphis had seen pictures
of the two relaxing around town in the hottest night
clubs, the finest restaurants, the most elite of circles; Royal
had become a notorious figure. One reporter wrote,
"It's not just that she's a talented young business woman with a keen
eye for fashion, she's also breathtakingly beautiful. The combination creates
the desire to spend money to look like Memphis' newest princess, Royal
Stone."
Dmitry celebrated their new found success by buying
Royal a new X6 BMW, fully loaded in all black and a
beautiful Tiffany swing necklace. She had no idea that the
platinum chain cost $40,000.
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Royal celebrated by purchasing more ad space in the
same magazines that tooted her store and increasing her
inventory of all things Russian.
She sat reading the newspaper in awe as it boasted
about all the celebrity patrons that she was acquiring. Little
did they all know that she was on the verge of starving at
the first of summer. She closed the newspaper and blew
her nose with roll of tissue on the kitchen table. The
weather had started to change, and in celebration of that
fact, she had acquired a nasty little cold.
Coughing, she made her way across the cold tile floors
on her bare feet to the counter to pour another cup of
coffee. She sneezed unexpectedly. Quickly trying to cover
it, she turned away from the defenseless coffee pot. Germs.
Lots and lots of germs. She rubbed her aching head.
Dmitry walked in the kitchen in his silk pajamas bottoms
and bare-chested with an empty cup in hand. His nose
was red and his high cheek bones rosy. He walked up
behind her and wrapped his arms around her silk silver
kimono.
"Good morning, love," he said, kissing her neck. "I
think you gave me flu. Hopefully not H1N1." He set his
black coffee mug in front of her so that she could refill his
caffeinated beverage. He coughed a little as he rested at the
mesquite-topped table island covered in newspapers.
"No, I think you gave me the flu," Royal said, pouring
him another cup of coffee as well as herself. She walked
back over to the table with their cups and sat down.
"So, what are we going to do today?" Dmitry asked,
picking up the paper that she had discarded. "These people
can‟t get enough of you. This is like the tenth paper that
you‟ve been in this quarter." He pulled the paper to his face
and began to read quietly.
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Suddenly there was a quiet gasp from Royal. He pulled
the newspaper down to see her sitting with her hand over
her mouth looking directly at him.
"What…what is it?" he asked concerned.
"Look, it‟s Woodrow Conners." She grabbed the
newspaper.
"Who is Woodrow Conners?"
She read quickly, placing her fingers on the paper. "It‟s
the guy that I cut with the scissors when I was in foster
care." She looked up at him stunned.
"Oh…that guy. What about him? Did they convict him
of trying to rape some other teenager?"
"He was murdered...in the bathroom of a club…cut
from ear to ear."
Dmitry sighed. "Sounds like karma caught up with
him."
Royal was silent.
"You aren‟t sad, are you?" He sipped his coffee.
"No. It‟s just weird." She shook her head in disbelief.
"This is Memphis. Someone is killed here all the time -
everyday. This is why I tell you to be very careful at shop,
not to get too comfortable."
"I know. I know." She sighed.
"Well, you have done your thirty seconds of mourning.
I do not want to give that pedophile a minute more of my
day."
"You‟re right." Royal pushed the paper away from her.
She redirected. "It‟s Thanksgiving. I think that we should
have a big American dinner together. I won‟t work from
home, and you won‟t work from the restaurant."
"I don‟t work."
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"Well whatever you do." She leaned over the island and
smiled. "Please." She batted her watery eyes and sniffed,
unsure if contagious charm had the same affect.
"You want to have this at the restaurant?" He barely
looked up from the front page of the paper. "If so, I can
call the girls and make them come in to cook."
"No. I was thinking that you and I could have dinner
here. I could invite Renée, and you could invite Anatoly.
We could watch the football game and have some soul food
and have a few beers. You know, celebrate the red, white
and blue way."
"Anatoly lives here. How can I invite him to dinner at
his own house?"
"You know what I mean." Royal took a sip of her coffee.
The hot burn made her aching throat feel better.
"No, I don‟t."
"I mean that you could insist that he come. If I invite
him, I think that he‟ll say no."
"Why would he say no?"
"I don‟t‟ know? I just get that feeling. I think that he
thinks I‟m a pest."
"He won‟t say no. You ask him. This will be good
communication between you two." Dmitry sneezed.
"Shit." He grabbed the tissue and blew his own nose. He
continued. "And you‟re going to fix this American meal?"
"Yep. Renée will help me. I‟ll run to Wal-Mart and
pick up anything that I don‟t‟ already have. But I‟ think that
we‟re good."
"You don‟t have to do this. It‟s holiday. You‟re supposed
to be getting some rest. Plus, you are sick."
"I want to," Royal said, quickly. She walked over to
him and slid between his long legs. Wrapping her arms
around him, she gave him a big hug. "You‟re always doing
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stuff for me. I want to do something for you for a change.
Don‟t say no."
He groaned a little. "Okay," he said, rubbing her back.
He sneezed again and buried his head in her shoulder. "I
feel like truck hit me."
For Dmitry, life was lived through the details. His
home or as he affectionately referred to it, their home was a
mansion full of perfect, intricate details. The very first time
that Royal had been inside it was weeks after their first
sexual encounter. Dmitry had persuaded her to spend the
night and enjoy a nice dinner, cooked and served by him.
The beauty of it stole Royal‟s heart, as it was supposed to.
It was the most perfect date that she had ever been on with
a five course meal, great music, expensive wine and passionate
love making.
That evening, Dmitry walked her through each room
explaining his motivation for his interior choices and
sharing the history or the various cultures behind each piece
like she was at a museum on a private tour.
The seven-bedroom, five and half bathroom monster of
a house was designer‟s dream. He had chosen a French and
Russian theme for the house, complimenting the many tall
arched windows, iron chandeliers, limestone and marble
floors, exotic tiles, beautiful woodwork and masterful
furniture with equally brilliant hues of paint, iron work and
paintings.
The house in its entirety blew Royal‟s mind. It was a
testament to his many travels all over the world, his love for
Russian culture and his growing dynasty.
The back yard was landscaped with beautiful shrubbery,
a large infinity-edged pool and protected by rows and rows
of well-pruned trees.
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The four-car garage was occupied by his favorite Mercedes-
Benz McLaren, a black 7 series BMW, a white
Mazerati GranTursimo that he hardly ever drove and
Royal‟s truck. The entire property was surrounded by a
brick and rod iron gate and two very non-vicious Doberman
pinchers that Royal liked to pet whenever they would
come to her.
His masterpiece would not be complete without a maid,
whom Royal opposed having but Dmitry contended was
necessary. Royal made sure to never leave a mess and
always help with the cleaning still to make a point that she
was not a pre Madonna. In all, his fortress was a dream
that now seemed more complete with his Memphis princess.
Anatoly was outside feeding the dogs, when Royal got
dressed and headed out to look for him. She found him
bent over in the kennel speaking in Russian to the canines.
She was certain that he knew that she was behind him, so
she waited patiently and quietly until he was finished. He
set down the ten-pound bag of Purina and wiped his hands
on his jeans and turned around to face her.
"What‟s the matter, Royal?" he asked, grabbing his bottle
of water off the ground. "You need me to take you
somewhere?"
"Uh…no. Actually, I came out here to see what you
were doing this afternoon."
Anatoly looked at her curiously. "Why?"
"Well, I‟m going to cook a homemade American meal
for Dmitry, and Renée is coming over. And I thought that
it would be nice if we all had dinner together."
Anatoly scratched his stubby beard. "I don‟t know,
I…"
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"Please," Royal said, grabbing his hand. "It would
mean a lot to me."
"Are you trying to hook me up with black girl in your
shop?" he smiled.
"No," Royal laughed. She was taken back by his ability
to have a conversation about something normal. "Why?
Do you like her?"
"Net…no," Anatoly said, shaking his head. "I just want
to make sure that this is not love connection."
"No, this is not a love connection. It‟s just four people
getting together for Thanksgiving dinner." Royal tried to
close the deal. "So, can I count on you?" Her voice pitched
higher. "What do you say? You might have some fun."
Anatoly looked across the back yard as he made his decision.
"I say…okay. How bad can you‟re cooking be, eh?"
"Great!" Royal jumped a little, happy that he accepted
her invitation. "Dinner will be at four, so don‟t run off."
The fall leaves swept across Cory‟s feet as he trotted
down Union Avenue in a pair of blue Adidas breakaway
pants and a University of Memphis pullover. Having the
Thanksgiving holiday off, he celebrated by taking his
coveted 4-mile run near his midtown apartment. There
were dark, low-level clouds blanketing the skies and promise
of a heavy afternoon rain. He only hoped that he could
finish his errands before the storm began.
Stopping at Smoothie Queen on corner of Union Avenue,
he stretched out his legs and went inside to grab a
protein shake. A tall, muscular Italian man in a Best Daddy
In the World t-shirt and a Miami Dolphins baseball cap sat in
the corner of the shop reading a Flex magazine. He and
Cory made eye contact, and the man gave him a nod.
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The shop was empty with only a bald, bulging black
man in a white apron behind the counter. Cory quickly
ordered and made his way over to the table adjacent from
the man.
"You got a tail?" the man asked, turning the page of his
magazine.
"Nope," Cory said, looking out the window.
"Alright. We‟ve got 15 minutes. Give me an update."
"Umm, let‟s see." Cory sighed. "Royal is still living in
Dmitry‟s house. From what I can tell, nothing illegal is
going on over at the boutique, but I can‟t be 100% sure
because of the locked door that leads to the basement.
From what I can tell, Dmitry won‟t let anyone do business
there. The restaurant is where all the big deals pass
through, but they clean it for bugs and check for wire taps
daily. Dmitry‟s still first in charge, and Anatoly is still
second, but Dmitry‟s brother Ivan is closing in. There‟s
some real bad blood between the two of them."
The man looked over at Cory and sighed. Closing his
magazine, he leaned over across the table; his large muscular
forearm was covered in tattoos and a dark tan.
"Hamilton, you aren‟t telling me anything that I don‟t
already know. Hell, I could get that Intel from my kids. We
sent you in to give us the real insight. You gotta find a way
to get deeper inside and get in that damned basement."
"Lou, I‟m fucking trying," Cory said frustrated. He
scratched his head. "I don‟t want to jeopardize my cover."
"I‟m not asking you to do that," Lt. Agosto said, looking
around. "Look, you‟re right. Ivan is definitely making
moves. We‟ve got credible sources that say that he moved
in a shipment of girls to Memphis within the last week to
start up a whore house here. Now, before this, Dmitry
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never dabbled in human trafficking. He‟s a guns and drugs
type of guy. But if he‟s changing his inventory…"
"I don‟t think so," Cory interrupted. "This sounds
more like Ivan trying to carve out a new niche for himself."
"Well, we need to divide and conquer. So, I need them
to go at each other‟s throats. Maybe then, we can get one of
them to give us something more. Fucking Kirill got
popped, and he was our only lead."
"I was close to a confession in the boutique, but they
were talking pretty low. They said it was a suicide that
happened in the basement, but they didn‟t‟ say where."
"Close is no cigar." Agosto patted Cory on the back.
"What about Royal? Does she suspect anything yet?"
"No, she‟s totally clueless. I keep trying to get her to
open her eyes, but she doesn‟t want to. She‟s in love with
him."
"There‟s no way that it could be a cover?"
"No."
"Look, you‟re doing a good job, but what I need you to
do now is help me figure out how to get the ball rolling
between these two. If the blood is as bad as you say it is, it
won‟t take much. We need that to happen."
"They‟re Vor. I don‟t think that they‟ll turn."
"That‟s what they said about Kirill." Lt. Agosto‟s voice
turned to a whisper. "Look, there‟s something else," he
sighed. "We‟ve got a leak."
"What?" Cory rubbed his forehead. "No, no. Lou,
I‟ve got a family, I can‟t…"
"We‟ll find out who the bastard is," Agosto tried to
calm him. "Someone told Dmitry about Kirill. I just have
to figure out whom."
"It could have been a leak with the feds."
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"I‟m not taking any chances, which is why I wanted to
meet you here."
"I see you brought Patton." Cory lifted his brow at the
black man standing behind the counter. "Where is the real
cashier?"
Lt. Agosto smiled. "This is Patton‟s wife‟s store. He
actually runs it on the weekends. It‟s no cover. Can you
imagine someone trying to hold up this place? They walk in
and this motherfucker‟s got two Glocks under the counter
and a bad case of the rages from coming off one of his
steroid cycles."
They all laughed. The man behind the counter gave
them the finger as he sipped on a protein shake.
"Screw y‟all. This shit is natural," Patton said, flexing
his 23 inch arms.
"Okay, we really believe that," Agosto said, sarcastically.
He turned his attention back to Cory. "You worry about
getting me the information, and I‟ll worry about the leak.
Hopefully, we‟re approaching the end of this soon." Lt.
Agosto gave him a small leather satchel. "See if you can
place these in the restaurant or the boutique again. Who
knows? We might get lucky. Also there‟s a jump drive in
there with the pictures of the girls from the whore house.
Memorize their faces just in case they end up at the boutique
for clothes or at the restaurant. Alright."
"Alright," Cory said, taking the satchel. "You know, if
you want to set them up against each other, you might start
by approaching Dmitry about the whorehouse. I‟m sure he
doesn‟t know."
"Okay. I‟ll take your advice on that."
"How‟s my family?" Cory‟s face became solemn. He
missed his wife and two kids.
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"I went by to see them a few days ago. They‟re doing
great. I told Becca that you‟d be home really soon. She
can‟t wait. The boys are being themselves. You know,
being kids."
"Lou, these men are heavy hitters. If they ever found
out about me, they‟d go straight for my family."
"They‟d have to get through all of us first, man. It ain‟t
gonna happen. Patton has a house full of girls. I‟ve got a
family at home too. Ivy‟s working on our third child, and I
don‟t know what I‟d do without them. Look at me; I went
from Armani to Gap, because I can buy everybody‟s stuff at
the same place. Trust me. I know how much they mean to
you. But we watch out for our own. I‟ve got a car on the
house 24-hours a day and tail on kids and your wife when
they leave. We know their every move."
"Thanks." Cory finished his shake and slipped on his
hood. "Till next week," he said, headed back out into the
sprinkling rain.
Royal‟s Thanksgiving masterpiece was nearly ready.
Renée helped her pull her ham out of the oven and put the
garnishes on the plates. Carefully, she carried her dishes to
the dining room, where she had taken extra care to make
sure everything was as festive as possible.
The men sat obediently in the entertainment room
watching a football game and talking to one another.
Dmitry could smell the food wafting through the house.
There were interesting soul food smells, unlike the ones
from his restaurant all around him. His stomach rumbled
loudly, but Royal wouldn‟t let him eat a thing until dinner.
"She‟s going all out for you," Anatoly said, not taking
his eyes off the game.
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"Royal is good girl that way." Dmitry looked back behind
his chair to make sure that no one was behind him.
Then he turned to his son and leaned over. "She saw the
newspaper this morning. Conners was in it."
"Did she know that it was you?"
"No. Why would she?" His voice was nearly a whisper.
"She thinks that I‟m some kind of saint or something."
"I don‟t know. Maybe you should tell her. She would
probably appreciate it – this proves chivalry is not dead,
eh?" Anatoly smirked.
"You don‟t know anything about women. If I told her,
she would go insane."
Anatoly ignored his father‟s concerns about Royal. "I
know a thing or two about women."
"Two things...hardly impressive." Dmitry sat back in
his seat.
"Do you think that she knows yet about the other
thing?" Anatoly whispered.
"No," Dmitry said, looking behind him again. "Enough
talk about her. Let‟s talk about you. Did you give any
thought to what I said to you?"
Anatoly sighed. "I‟m not meant for college, Papa. I
have no desire for it. I enjoy what I do here."
"You really enjoy it?"
"Yes. Don‟t you?"
Dmitry shrugged. "I‟ve excelled in it, but if I could do
it all over again, I would only have my shops."
"You keep shops. I was born a Vor."
Dmitry raised his brow at his son. "Such over exaggerated
enthusiasm would be better used on your girlfriend
not on your tired, retirement-bound father."
"What is all this talk? Where are you going?" Anatoly
sat up in his seat.
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"No where, but everyone has to have plan B, dah? I
have told you this many times."
Anatoly looked at him suspiciously.
Royal walked to edge of the stairwell and smiled at the
men. She was finished cooking her first Thanksgiving
dinner for her first ever pseudo-family. She wore a large,
proud grin and pink apron. Renée stood behind her,
awaiting her announcement.
"Gentlemen, dinner is served," Royal said, clapping her
hands.
Dmitry and Anatoly turned around in their chairs. That
was evidently their queue to head to the dinning room.
Dmitry led by turning off the television and making his way
with his box of Kleenex up the short stairway to her. He
leaned down and kissed her head.
"Show me what you‟ve been up to for half the afternoon,"
he said, a little excited.
The walnut dining table covered in crystal sat under yet
another beautiful Italian-inspired chandelier. Around an
extraordinary bouquet of roses was a full meal of dressing
and gravy, ham, mixed greens, green beans, sweet potato
pudding, warm biscuits, wine and champagne.
Dmitry stood at the head of the table, lost for words
and extremely impressed.
Royal could not control her smiles by this point. She
looked over at Renée proudly, glad that her new friend had
gotten out of the bed and helped her on this very important
occasion.
"Dmitry, do you wanna say grace?" she asked, standing
beside him.
"Grace?" Dmitry asked, a little confused. No one had
asked him that since he was a boy in school.
"Dah, grace?" Royal mimicked.
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"I‟m Catholic. Are you?" Dmitry realized at that very
moment that they had never discussed their religion.
"I‟m familiar," Royal said, bowing her head. She made
the sign on the cross and closed her eyes.
Dmitry looked over at Anatoly, who smirked and followed
Royal‟s lead. He had never heard his father pray
aloud.
Dmitry felt a sudden serge of discomfort. Sure, he did
it in the privacy of his home, where no one would see and
mistake his religion for weakness, but he had not prayed in
front of anyone since he was ten when his mother had been
beaten badly by a john, who left her on their doorstep
covered in blood. He prayed for her then, aloud, so God
would hear him and protect him and Ivan, but not since
then. She died on those steps.
"Very well," Dmitry said, clearing his voice. He made
the sign of the cross and began to pray. There was something
strangely normal and liberating about what Royal had
asked him to do. He prayed aloud the words that he had
whispered near his bed many nights before. He prayed for
his son, for Royal, for himself.
"Amen," they all said, a little shook up by his kind
words, his soft tone, and his humble actions. Royal wiped
her eyes and reached over to give him a kiss.
"Happy Thanksgiving, baby," she said as she pulled the
seat out for him.