tk

by Laddie252

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11. Chapter 11

Chapter 14
Dawn emerged from the horizon, casting a small translucent
glow into Dmitry‟s bedroom. Unable to sleep, he
laid in the bed looking at the fireplace and listening to the
crackling of the embers thinking of all that was required of
him this day.
Royal lay curled under him, wrapped in his embrace,
asleep and protected. He raised her chin to see her glowing
face. She barely moved but smiled as she dreamed. He
rubbed her chin softly and kissed her forehead. Finally,
carefully, he pulled his large body away from her satin-like
naked skin. It was becoming harder and harder to do.
Every morning, when he woke, she was there faithfully
with him. Where he used to jump up and seize every day,
now, he only longed to be with her – his perfect Royal
Flush.
Tucking the silk silver sheets around Royal‟s body, Dmitry
stood naked by the side of the bed watching her sleep.
Had he the time, he would wake her in his usual fashion,
with soft kisses, massaging her long, voluptuous body,
urging her to make love to him so that he could start his
day. But she looked so comfortable that he decided to
leave her there, unbothered until the alarm sounded for her
own day to start.
Turning from Royal, he headed to the shower. As he
turned, Royal‟s eyes opened, and she watched him quietly
walk towards the bathroom door. His long, muscular body
always fascinated her. She wanted to reach out to him and
call him back, but she held her silence.
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Instead she took a long deep breath of his pillow that
smelled of his cologne and turned back into the softness of
the bed to rest.
Royal must have dosed off for quite awhile, because
when she awoke again the alarm was sounding. She reached
over to the night stand and hit the blaring machine. She
laid her head back down on the pillow and watched Dmitry
walk towards the bed, fully dressed. He smiled at her, and
she sat up a little, covering her body with the sheet.
"Good morning," she said, waving as she clutched the
sheets.
"You slept well, dah?" Dmitry asked, standing at the
foot of the bed, smiling back at her.
"Yep," Royal said, stretching her long body. She
yawned. "You‟re off mighty early."
"There is a lot to do." Dmitry pulled the comforter
from the bed and grabbed a hold of the sheet. Pulling it
down to him slowly, he watched Royal‟s body revealed. He
swallowed hard as he looked at her.
She lay with her elbows planted firmly into the mattress,
her long legs crossed at the ankles and breasts exposed.
Dmitry was silent, only talking to her through the sensual
look in his eyes. He pulled the cover to the ground and
reached out for her ankles. Pulling her body to him, he
heard her giggle. He opened her legs and lay in between
them, kissing a trail from her ear down to her neck.
"I should brush my teeth," she said, trying to cover her
mouth.
"You taste wonderful," he said, pulling her hands away.
He could feel her body coming alive with every kiss. She
moaned a little, causing a stir in his pants. He kissed her
shoulder softly then shifted his focus to her pouty mouth.
Sucking at her bottom lip first, he then passionately covered
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her mouth. She kissed him back, lost in his embrace. Her
long hands ran down his chest to his belt and unbuckled his
pants. Eagerly, she pulled his pants down grabbing his
exposed buttocks. His pants hit the ground, pooled around
his ankles. Kicking them off, he crawled fully in the bed
over her body and took off his jacket. Now, only in his
white button down, he kissed her ankles and her feet as he
stood on his knees in front of her.
"I love you," she said sincerely, smiling and looking into
his eyes.
"Do you?" he asked.
"I do," she said, shaking her head. "So much."
"I love you, too," he said, running his hand up her long
leg. "Lift your thighs," he said, focusing on her body.
He pulled her to his growing erection and entered her
softly. Her body arched as he did. She closed her eyes and
opened her mouth. Biting her bottom lip, she reached out
for him. He moved her hair from her face and kissed her
lips again.
"I‟m going to be late," he growled, laughing and rolling
over in the bed with his hands on her hips.
"Well, you should stop now, before you‟re late." Royal
grabbed his face in her hands as she sat up on his thighs.
Her long dark hair wrapped around her like a blanket.
"Not going to happen," Dmitry whispered as he watched
her move on top of him. He held her by her wide
shapely hips and closed his eyes.
"Open your eyes," Royal demanded. "I love to see your
eyes." She adored the ice blue crystals that peered up at her
with so much power and resilience. His look was the one
thing that continued to devour her long after his touch.
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Dmitry opened his eyes and looked at her sensually, his
eyes rolling a little. "If I look at you, I may not be as late I
as I could be."
Royal laughed. "Open them still."
"Alright," Dmitry sighed. He pushed into her body,
holding tightly to her hips and pushing her down against
him. Her hands sat atop his chest, her long legs planted
beside him. He looked at her in sheer amazement. This
creature making love to him was in part his own making.
"One day." He rolled her over and lifted her leg over his
shoulder. "One day, I‟m going to give you my son." He
kissed her lips.
"Anatoly?" she asked, confused.
"No," Dmitry laughed. "I‟ll give you my second son.
Here." He touched her stomach. "What do you think of
that?"
"One day, I think that I‟d like that," she whispered.
"I‟d like that too," he said, kissing her wide inviting
mouth again. "But for now, I‟ll settle for giving you
orgasm."

Dmitry crossed the threshold of his home and closed
the large wooden front doors behind him fully dressed in a
tweed Burberry jacket, a crisp white Michael Bastian button
down, Louis Vuitton jeans and a pair of vintage loafers.
He looked out across his manicured lawn at the foggy,
dark overcast. No sun would greet him to do his business
today. There was no need for his shades or flip-flops. The
weather was changing dramatically covering the city with
cold winds, dreary skies and the closest resemblance of
climate that he had to Moscow.
Mexican lawn workers dressed in old tattered jeans and
red cotton jackets edged Dmitry‟s massive lawn and cleaned
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up fallen leaves on his property while one of his men sat on
the long porch rubbing the guard dog and watching them
carefully. He looked over and nodded at the man, who
immediately stood up.
Dmitry never came out the front door. He normally
went to the garage through the hallway leading from the
kitchen. But today he was surveying -checking out what his
staff was doing and how they were doing it. The maid had
already cleaned up the food from the night before and had
started coffee and breakfast for him when he arrived
downstairs to grab his newspaper and check his emails
earlier that morning. The grounds crew was doing their job.
His man was up and guarding the front of premises.
Overall, he was pleased.
"Relax," Dmitry said, smiling at his guard. "I‟m just
going to my car."
"Yes, sir," the large, graying Russian said, pulling at the
dog‟s chain to walk Dmitry around to the car.
"No need," Dmitry said, opening his jacket just enough
for the man to see his gun. "I remember time when I had
no bodyguards, just balls and gun." He motioned for the
man to sit back down.
Walking along the manicured walkway, Dmitry made his
way across the front of the house, to the garage. As the
doors rose, he quickly jumped in his Mazarati and pulled
out of his driveway.

Royal watched from the bedroom window as Dmitry
pulled out of the gate. She was still naked, wrapped in the
sheets that Dmitry had torn from the bed. Her mind was
now drifting the to night before, when she had come down
the back stairwell in the middle of the night and heard
Dmitry speaking in Russian – screaming at Anatoly, screamLatrivia
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ing at the men that guarded their home with a gun in his
hand.
They all stood stiff as board, evidently afraid of the man
that she adored. She couldn‟t make out what he was saying
to them, but she could hear that it was not good. She sat
near the base of the stairwell as quiet as she possibly could,
wrapped in their bed sheet listening – making out some
words and completed missing others. The one word that
she could understand was IVAN! Once she was sure that
no one had seen her, she quickly made her way back up
stairs, leaving him to his tirade.
Now she was confused about what to say to him about
his brother and her increasingly complicated life. Looking
at her Rolex watch, she turned away from the window and
went inside of the bathroom to get ready.
After a quick shower, she walked into the large walk-in
closet and circled the racks looking for something simple to
put on. Even though she had access to every label in
Memphis, she still liked understated elegance. Hair in a
simple ponytail, she pulled on a black Ralph Lauren turtleneck,
jeans, slipped on a pair of black boots and grabbed
her RL Rickey bag.
Her stomach growled as she headed down the main
stairwell leading into the front foyer of the house.
Quickly, she headed to the kitchen to grab an apple and
found Anatoly sitting quietly looking at CNN on the flat
screen mounted on the wall and nursing a cup of coffee and
a bowl of corn flakes.
"Hi," she said, trying to smile.
Anatoly looked over at her but did not speak. Evidently,
the good feeling of the Thanksgiving dinner the night
before had worn off.
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Royal walked up to the table and grabbed a green apple
out of the bronze bowl. She rubbed it on her pants to make
it shine and sighed.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, trying to start a conversation.
Anatoly looked over at her from the television with a
smirk on his face. Hunched over his food, he ran his spoon
around the edge of the white porcelain bowl.
"Does it have to do with Ivan?" she continued, when he
did not answer.
Anatoly still said nothing.
"Don‟t you think yesterday was a lot more fun. We
should communicate more…like normal people." Her
words fumbled out. She was treading in new territory by
trying to talk to him. He was like a statute most days.
"Everything is fine," he finally said, tired of her whining.
"Now was that so hard?" Royal asked, recognizing
progress, even in small increments. "I‟m headed to the
shop." Turning on her heels, she headed out the back hall
to the garage but she stopped at the doorway. "Have a
great day, Anatoly," she said, turning around to give it
another try.
Anatoly didn‟t take his eyes off the television. "I will."

Lt. Agosto and FBI Special Agent Danny Sorrello followed
behind Dmitry in an unmarked, unwashed black
Dodge Charger as he pulled into the Peabody Hotel valet
parking area. Stepping out his conspicuous vehicle, Dmitry
stretched and looked around, then proceeded inside to have
a meeting with Omar Jackson, a well-known financial
advisor.
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Agosto turned off his car on the hill of the parking area
and got out after Dmitry went inside of the doorway.
Sorrello soon followed, putting away his half-eaten Portobello
mushroom wrap. The two men had been following
Dmitry since he pulled out of his driveway to various
meetings all over Memphis with some of the most influential
bankers in the city. This was the most activity that they
had seen in nearly a year. Most of his meetings were out of
the city and often out of their joint-task force‟s reach,
especially when he chose to meet in London and Moscow.
"Something big is going down," Sorrello said, closing
the passenger door.
"I don‟t get it. He never meets in broad day light and
never this many meetings."
"Reorganizing because of Ivan, I suppose," Sorrello
concluded, pulling his leather jacket to ensure that his guns
were concealed.
"Let‟s take a walk inside and visit our old friend," Agosto
suggested, hitting the alarm to the car.
Dmitry had just ordered a nice early evening meal of
fresh hearts of palm, Great Hill blue cheese and black
truffle casserole, when Agosto and Sorrello interrupted him.
They found him sitting at a small booth on the second
level of Chez Phillipe restaurant nestled comfortably in the
east wing of the hotel sipping on a glass of wine and reading
the newspaper that he had neglected the entire day.
It had taken Agosto and Sorrello showing both badges
and one gun to get into the restaurant in their jeans and tshirts,
since Chez Phillipe only allowed a minimum of
business casual. Plus, it was only five o‟clock and the
restaurant had not officially opened to the public.
Dmitry ate alone, as he often preferred to do. The ambiance
of the soft music, the strategic low lighting, beautiful
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rich fabrics and painting, regal French décor and marble
columns throughout the fine dinning establishment fit
Dmitry just right. Waitresses set down his drinks and
picked up the extra placements quickly, but he never took
his eyes off the newspaper.
Lt. Agosto skipped the theatrics of making a scene and
quietly had a waitress bring both he and Sorrello a chair.
Dmitry finally looked up as she set the chairs in front of his
table. He placed the newspaper on the white table cloth
and sighed.
"If I had known that you were coming, I would have
ordered for you." He motioned at the chairs and invited the
men to sit. "Please bring these men a bottle of your best
wine," he said, sitting up a little from his slouched position.
"You know we‟re on the job. We can‟t do that," Sorrello
said, countering Dmitry‟s offer.
"Speak for yourself. Bring me a glass of your best
scotch. Keep the wine," Agosto said, looking at Sorrello.
He raised his eyebrow and smiled. "What?"
"Nicola, you still are drinking scotch?" Dmitry asked.
"Still doing a lot of the same shit," Agosto smirked.
"You too know each other," Sorrello asked, even
though he already knew the answer.
"Yeah, we used to know the same girl," Dmitry
chuckled.
"That was way back when you first came to Memphis,"
Agosto reminisced. He looked over at Sorrello. "She was a
Grizzlies dancer, very flexible."
"Really?" Sorrello said, suggestively.
"Only, I can‟t remember her name now." Dmitry
looked at Agosto.
"Me either. It was Karen or Keasha. I donno…
something." Agosto shook his head.
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"Miss, please bring him a scotch and water for the other
gentleman," Dmitry said to the petite woman still standing
by the table waiting with pen and pad. The woman scribbled
something and quickly excused herself.
Now alone, the three men convened an impromptu
meeting at the dinner table. It was a strange sight to see.
Each man was comparable in size and all three overshadowed
the small table. They sat trying not to invade the
other‟s space with their overbearing bodies crammed into
the little area.
"I can arrange for us to sit somewhere else," Dmitry
noted.
"Don‟t worry about it. We won‟t take up too much of
your day." Sorrello shifted in the chair.
"An innocent man would want to know what this is all
about," Agosto said, softly. He looked up at Dmitry under
long dark lashes, his brown eyes focused in on his new
opponent.
"My question was just about to be, tell what this is all
about," Dmitry smirked. He looked back at him with an ice
cold stare.
Sorrello let Agosto take the lead considering that he
had an established relationship. He watched as Agosto did
his magic.
Agosto tapped his fingers on the table before he began
contemplating how to convey to Dmitry that he knew more
than he actually did. "You‟re a very hard man to track.
You‟ve been all over this city today, burning gas like its
water. Hell, I had to run three red lights to keep up with
you. I‟m surprised that you didn‟t get a ticket."
Dmitry smiled and took a sip of his wine. "You followed
me here to tell me to slow down?"
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"Come on, man." Agosto laughed. "I came down here
to talk to you man-to-man about some shit going on around
town that‟s got your name all over it."
"Very suspect kinds of things," Sorrello added, eating
one of the rolls in the basket on the table. Dmitry motioned
at his own mouth, indicating to Sorrello that he had
bread crumbs on his chin.
Dmitry looked at Agosto and laughed. "Evidently not
suspect enough for you to make an arrest, or I‟d be in
custody already, old friends or not." Dmitry passed Sorrello
a napkin and raised his eyebrow.
Agosto laughed, revealing deep dimples in this welltanned
skin. "Hey. You know me. I keep going until I get
my guy."
"Who are you meeting here today?" Sorrello asked interupting.
"My financial advisor," Dmitry said, completely relaxed.
"My stocks are in the toilet, but my off shore investments
are doing great. I would like to move around a little capital."
"By off shore, you mean your millions in pharmaceuticals
in Switzerland or medical research in Belgium?"
Sorrello asked, revealing his inept knowledge of Dmitry‟s
private life and financial investments.
"Both actually," Dmitry answered. "Sounds to me like I
should have invited my lawyer, too. This could definitely be
considered harassment, gentlemen. "
"Well now, we didn‟t come here to harass you." Agosto
took his drink from the waitress. "We came here to give
you a heads up, if you‟re not actually a criminal."
"I am no criminal." Dmitry confirmed. "Heads up
about what?"
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"Well, we have received reports that a whore-house full
of Russian beauties is being operated in one of your many
homes in Memphis, and its being run by your baby brother.
What is his name?"
"Ivan?" Dmitry asked, intrigued. This was something
new.
"That‟s his name," Agosto said, smiling at Sorrello.
"Ivan."
Dmitry‟s calm was starting to show a tattering edge. He
shifted in his seat a little. "I assure you that I don‟t deal in
whores," he said, cutting his eyes at Agosto. His prominent
strong jaw was clinched tightly together.
"That‟s what I thought. I mean, you‟ve been here for
every bit of ten years or more. How many times have the
police ever accused you, of all people, of anything? You‟re
a pillar of our community. A charitable, wealthy business
man doesn‟t dabble in human trafficking." His voice was
laced with sarcasm.
Agosto slid him a picture of Ivan standing outside of
one of his rental properties escorting a group of women
inside. He gave Dmitry a smug grin. "So, I keep asking
myself, „what the fuck is this then?"
Dmitry‟s eyes snapped to the photo. His breathing
slowed down more, to a calm even tone. "Gentlemen, I am
afraid that I cannot tell you," Dmitry smiled.
"Mr. Medlov, have you ever heard of a group called the
International Law Enforcement Academy in Budapest,
Hungary?" Sorrello asked.
"I‟ve heard of it a few times," Dmitry sat back and his
seat, still composed.
"Most people haven‟t. It‟s a working group that focuses
on international crime syndicates like the Eurasian trash that
we keep linking to you, and they discuss you pretty often
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along with a larger Eurasian working group that has been
curious about your global operations." Agosto injected.
"Like I said, I‟ve heard of it. It‟s no secret. You can
Google it, you know."
"You know, I worked my entire life because of my
family‟s money and my ethnic background as an Italian
American to disprove all the rumors and assumptions that
because I had a vowel on the end of my name, I had to be
mafia."
Agosto and Dmitry locked eyes.
"You didn‟t like the stereotype, huh?"
"I despise it," Agosto replied. "But you seem to embrace
it and meet all of the expectations of the label, man.
You don‟t care that people look at you like you‟re some sort
of animal."
"When you‟re older, you‟ll realize that they look at you
like that anyway. We are in Memphis, you and I. Sorrello,
you too. Though I get the feeling that you are more of a
blunt object that Agosto." Dmitry smirked and took a sip of
his water. "It‟s doesn‟t matter if you have big millions or
little millions, Agosto. You‟re still foreign to this place, still
different and everything you do, including race-mixing is
wrong. You and I have a lot in common, don‟t we?"
"No, I don‟t think that we do."
"All they‟d have to do is prove that those women are
there involuntarily." Agosto confirmed.
"Well, they are not their involuntarily," Dmitry said
calmly.
"You had better hope that no one says otherwise,"
Agosto spoke under his breath.
"Why are you giving me this heads up?" Dmitry slid the
picture back to Agosto, having immediately recognized the
property.
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"Just want you to get your house in order – that‟s all,"
Agosto said, drinking the entire glass of scotch. He set the
glass down gently on the table and stood up. "We know
that you are a good guy and couldn‟t possibly know what‟s
going on. We just came here to tell you what the rumors
were and to make sure that you had no hand in this." Both
Agosto and Sorrello looked down at Dmitry.
"I assure you that I‟ve had no hand in this. What do I
owe you gentlemen for such a kind gesture?" Dmitry asked,
hands crossed and eyes focused. His voice barely rose.
"Nothing at all. Consider it a gift," Agosto said, putting
his coat back on.
"I will remember this favor," Dmitry said, trying to control
the fire coming from under his collar.
The two men left as quickly as they had come, passing a
black man in a nice business suit, whom they were sure was
Omar Jackson, arriving for his meeting with Dmitry. After
they entered back into the hotel lobby, Sorrello looked back
to make sure that no one was following them.
"That is one magnificently cold-hearted bastard up
close," Sorrello said, checking his cigarette patch to make
sure that it was still on his arm. Suddenly, he was craving a
cigarette.
"It‟s the eyes. They don‟t even look like their supposed
to be on a human."
"Cause he‟s not human. So, what do you suppose he‟s
thinking?"
"Are you kidding? He wants to kill his brother. Put
that tail on him now. He doesn‟t even care that we‟re
following him. He‟s going straight to Ivan after he finishes
with Omar," Agosto said, sure of himself.
"He didn‟t flinch once."
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"Cause he knows that we don‟t have shit," Agosto said,
hitting the alarm for his car. "It‟s a shame. All of this work,
for all of these years, and we still have nothing."
"I‟ve never seen anything like it."
"Me either. He‟s one of the best."
"If not the best…"
"Dmitry has run this whole operation without so much
as one hiccup for years, but we may have hope now because
of his black sheep brother Ivan. As soon as he showed up,
shit went south. I just know that he‟s going to teach him a
lesson, though. He knows that we‟ll barely have a case with
these prostitutes, but now, if Ivan slips and gives us something
on the gun trafficking, we‟ll have a stone clad case
against the entire organization."
Sorrello spat on the ground. "Fucking Vory."