Chapter 22
There was severe winter storm circling Memphis. In
celebration of the weather, Ivan sat on his rooftop in a lawn
chair as the wind and snow beat down on the riverside.
With only a black wool sweater and a pair of jeans on, he sat
with a silver flask of vodka in the silence of his thoughts,
gazing at the blackness of the Mississippi under the heavy
winter night skies. Instead of sitting towards the middle of
the building, he positioned his flimsy chair on the very edge
of the rooftop with his feet propping him safely up on the
flat surface. If he dared slip, he would fall to his death, but
Ivan did not care. He liked the edge and all that it
represented.
He looked down at the quick fall of the snow to the
ground below, where cars lined the front of his condo
nearly four stories down. His men were inside preparing
for a war, and he was outside preparing for his brother‟s
judgment day.
Guns had been shipped and stolen from many miles
away in anticipation of what was to come. Many would still
not do business with them until Dmitry was dead, but they
sent complimentary weapons in hopes that Ivan would be
able to do the job. Most doubted he could. Few believed
that he would get out of this alive. He took in a deep
breath and smiled. The thought of drawing first blood
made his heart skip a beat. The gleeful feeling of crushing
Dmitry under his boot was a far better rush than any drug
could provide. It wouldn‟t be long. A week at most. Now
that he had his plan in action, he just had to make special
plans for Royal.
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A mocha-colored black man walked out on the rooftop
and interrupted Ivan‟s silence. He was bald, tall and clean
cut with very dark, prominent features. His large frame was
covered by gray turtleneck and dark jeans. With him, he
carried two large guns in the holsters under his arms. He
coughed a little, hitting his chest as he did so.
"Люди готовы для вас," the man said in a deep baritone,
offering Ivan his coat. His deep voice rattled the quiet
snow.
"Препятствуйте им ждать, брат," Ivan scoffed. He
offered his brother-in-arms a drink, but as usual the holy
man would not touch it.
Dorian was an old friend who had flown in from Moscow
specifically for Ivan‟s coo. Before he left, he had
confirmed for Ivan that Dmitry was back in their homeland,
then he had quickly come to Memphis to set up shop.
Dorian was an expatriate of neighboring Sochi, Georgia
with a healthy appetite for building dirty bombs. His father
had been from Africa and his mother a quiet Muslim
woman and native of Sochi. Dorian had been a rebel during
many of the conflicts in Georgia and had since his teenage
years, very much like the Medlov boys, been involved in
organized crime.
Ironically enough, Ivan met Dorian through Dmitry,
but not in an amicable way. Over a decade before, Dmitry
sent Ivan to kill Dorian, but when Ivan arrived in the city of
Tbilisi, Dorian paid him well to allow him to keep his life.
The secret was maintained for a couple of years. And Ivan
thought it was all water under the bridge when they left
permanently to work for the Vory in the states. However,
their scandal was still uncovered.
Dmitry later found out that Dorian was not dead and
discovered the $3.5 million American dollars that Ivan was
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paid only after Dmitry came in contact with the man in
New York by chance. Small world.
In retaliation of Ivan‟s willful defiance, there was a
bloody fall out between the brothers that landed Ivan in the
hospital with his neck cut open and his wife dead. Dorian
was smart enough to sneak out of the city and hide away in
Thailand until it all blew over. Now, he was back to ensure
that Ivan‟s final stand against his brother had a fighting
chance.
"You still prefer to speak Russian brother?" Ivan asked,
leaning into the edge a little with his feet.
"I prefer no one language over another," Dorian answered,
looking at Ivan play with death under the slick snow.
"I‟ve been forced to speak the language of the natives
for so long until I sometimes forget who I am and where I
come from. Dmitry wanted to come to the states, but not
me," he said with a sigh. "I would like very much to go back
to Russia when all of this is over."
"For good?"
"I don‟t know about all of that, but for a while, dah."
He pushed the seat back and stood up. "It‟s long way
down, eh," he said, looking over the edge of the building
one last time.
"Yes. So you should not tempt God by pretending that
it‟s not," Dorian said, walking towards the door. "As I said
before, the men are waiting on you."
"And as I said before, let them wait," Ivan said, taking
another swig of his vodka.
The limo pulled in front of Dmitry‟s home at exactly
6:00 p.m. Royal had fallen asleep on Dmitry‟s arm with her
feet stretched across his lap. They were finally alone after
many long hours of low chatter on the plane ride. When
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the driver opened the door, Dmitry rubbed Royal‟s arm and
woke her up. She grabbed her purse and followed Dmitry
to the porch, where the bodyguard sat with his dog.
Nightfall had set in and the large compound was quiet and
still.
"Hey poochie," Royal said, gesturing at the dog, who
came over quickly and kissed her hand.
"He‟s supposed to be a guard dog?" Dmitry asked,
shaking his head. "Are you sure that he even bites?"
"Yes, boss. He bites," the man said with a faint grin.
"Good," Dmitry opened the door for Royal.
While Moscow had been beautiful and different, Royal
could not explain the joy of walking back into their home.
The familiar smell of vanilla and jasmine filled the airy
atrium. She looked around in awe and hugged herself
quietly. Kicking off her shoes, she headed up the staircase.
"Where are you going," Dmitry asked, looking through
the mail on the table.
"To take a bath," she screamed down as she ran up the
stairs.
"You‟re like fish," he said under his breath. "Always in
water."
The driver walked behind Dmitry and placed their luggage
by the door, tipped his hat and left quietly.
Frustrated with the bulk mail he had been receiving lately,
he shuffled through the pile and found a blue envelope
with no return address. He picked it up and flipped it
around, then slid his long finger between the paper to break
the fold. There was a small white note inside the suspicious
envelope that simply read in blue pen, "Call me as soon as
you read this."
Dmitry took a deep breath and looked up the stairwell.
Royal had retreated to her bathroom, where she would
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surely be for hours. He tore up the small piece of paper
and stuffed it deep into his pocket, then made his way to his
study, where he closed the door and went to his desk.
The fire crackled in the darkness, illuminating the large
room.
He sat down and sighed, then dialed the number slowly.
The phone rang twice then picked up immediately.
"Hello." The southern male voice sounded eager.
"How long has your note been sitting on my table?"
"One day," the voice confirmed.
"What is the problem?"
"Your brother is planning to wage a war on you. Two
of your council members are in cahoots with him."
"Which ones?"
"Max and Nicolai."
"Impossible."
"Wanna hear the tapes? They met at Ginger‟s Pub out
in Arlington maybe a day after you were gone."
There was silence on the phone.
"Leave Max and Nicolai to me," Dmitry said finally.
"And your brother?"
Dmitry leaned his large arms over on the table and
crossed his hands. "Use the information that I‟ve given
you, but trust me…you won‟t need it until after."
"About that," the voice sighed.
"Yes?"
"He‟s trying to connect you with over ten whore houses
here, one of which is selling off teenagers. We don‟t have
proof right now. Can‟t ever catch anyone in the act, but he
said that he‟d come in and give testimony against you and
proof this week."
"Teenagers?"
"Yep."
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"My brother has something else up his sleeve. He
would never cooperate truly with the police anymore than I
would."
"Well, he‟s your brother. So, I hope you know him well
enough to know what he‟s up to. You could just put this all
on him and have him sent up to prison for a while."
"No. We settle this among the Vory not among you."
"Anyway you want it, chief. We just got word that
you‟ve arrived back in Memphis. Cops will be there soon
with a no-knock. You better get your house in order."
"Fine. I‟ll call my lawyer." Dmitry rolled his eyes in
aggravation.
"Everything‟s circumstantial right now. You won‟t even
be held for even 24 hours. We don‟t have shit really. The
houses are yours on paper, but there is no direct connect
between you and the girls."
"How could there be? I‟m not the one whoring them
out; Ivan is. Have they been taken from the house?"
"The few that we could find. They‟d been moved and
not one of them is talking."
"I‟ll find out where."
"You don‟t have time. ETA is less than ten minutes."
"Ten?"
"Yeah, so you best be on your way. Make your calls
quick."
Dmitry hung up the phone and reached into his pocket
for the waded up paper with the number on it. Quickly, he
threw it into the fire.
He had to make several calls before the police arrived.
One to Anatoly to gather the council. One to Cory to
watch over Royal. One to the head of his henchmen team.
One to his lawyer. He wasn‟t sure that he had enough to
time. He picked up the phone and sighed. He had to try.
Chapter 23
When the police arrived to Dmitry‟s estate in their heavily
equipped SUVs and unmarked squad cars with their blue
lights flashing, the gate was open for them so that they
wouldn‟t break it down. Regardless of the chaos that he
caused, he despised unrest around him.
The police quickly rushed in and pulled around the long
drive, parking in front of the large mansion in an over
exaggerated convoy.
In anticipation, Dmitry had conveniently opened the
front door of his home, turned on all of his exterior lights
and was having a cigar out on the front porch with his men
when they pulled up.
To the officers‟ chagrin, the element of surprise had
been ruined. Almost as if Dmitry had been tipped off. All
of his guards had discarded their guns and stood outside in
the front smoking cigarettes, eagerly waiting to be hauled
downtown for a quick visit, according to their boss. They
complied obediently, having been trained long ago how to
deal with the shields.
Dmitry had switched cell phones and dumped his computer
files. Everyone had been notified including his
attorney.
He was ready for them.
As they came up the porch steps with guns drawn, he
raised his hands and looked confused.
"What is this?" he asked as they turned him around
against the front door and put the cuffs on him. His rights
were read to him. Politely, he did not interrupt. There was
no resistance. All the planning and gun power was for
nothing.
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A man of very muscular build and bo-legs in all-black
tactical gear and his face covered in a black mask walked up
to Dmitry and noted his cocky smirk.
"Happy New Year," the man said sarcastically.
"Just get this over with," Dmitry said, looking down and
eyeing the man. "You all don‟t have anything on me. I‟ll be
home before morning."
"Did you get the girl?" The masked man turned and
asked another officer not far from him.
"I didn‟t know she was on the list."
The man smiled. "Oh, she‟s on the list."
Dmitry was suddenly enraged. There was no need to
arrest Royal. She didn‟t know anything. She was supposed
to come down from her bath and find them all gone. He
would then return later and inform her of the awful mix up.
But that was the masked man‟s intention. He knew that
Royal was unaware, but he wanted her to know. He wanted
to talk to her, to get in her head, to turn her from her
sanctimonious lover one truth at a time.
The resistance started immediately. Dmitry jerked and
pulled one officer down trying to get into the house to warn
Royal, but the masked-man clashed against Dmitry‟s giant
frame. Their bodies collided and made a loud thunder.
Other officers quickly piled on top of him. He still pummeled
through like a linebacker on a scrimmage line. The
last tackle took him down at the threshold of his doorway.
He hit the ground hard. The thud rocked the marble
floor. With men on top of him and blood in his mouth,
they struggled to get him up off the floor. He spit blood
and shook off his dizziness. He was still fighting. The large
group of men dragged him out to one of the squad cars,
pushed him in and hit the roof of the car, signaling to drive
him off.
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Relaxed and in a tranquil daze, Royal soaked in the water
with her hair up in a bun and the candles lit around her
with the music blasting on her IPod.
Her eyes were closed but every once in while, she would
lift her hand out of the warm water and look at her engagement
ring sparkling in the darkness.
She had never loved diamonds as much as she loved
them now. Maybe it was because she had a whole chest of
them given as gifts from Dmitry on nearly every occasion.
Diamond rings, diamond earrings, diamond watches,
diamond necklaces, diamond hair pins. Diamonds. Diamonds.
Diamonds.
She hummed a soothing tune under her breath. Life is
great, she thought to herself.
At first Royal thought that it was all too good to be true,
but it had turned out to be her big break. She had the
dream job, the dream fiancé and the dream home. She
opened her eyes and grinned at the thought. She had it all.
She was just about to close her eyes again when she noticed
a light shining from under the door. Why did Dmitry
have a flashlight? She sat up in the tub as the door knob
turned slowly.
"Dmitry?" she called out, looking across the bathroom
for her towel. Her heart skipped a beat. She could feel the
constriction in her chest. Something was not right.
The door flung open and four men barged in the bathroom
with their guns pointed in full black tactical gear with
their lights on their guns blinding her in a standard two-bytwo
cover formation. She screamed when she saw them,
trying to both cover her body and prepare to be shot.
Launching a bar of soap, she hit one man in the head.
Her shrieking cry and vulnerable state made another man
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almost lower his gun. Almost. He quickly refocused the
infrared beam on her wet bosom. She was like a deer in
headlights. Tears ran down her face as she screamed for
Dmitry, but he never came.
"Someone call the cops!" she screamed, only covered by
the bubbles in the water. Her lips quivered.
"FBI, maim," one man said, walking towards the bench
where her towel had been placed. He grabbed it and threw
it over to her.
Royal was confused. The FBI?
"Well what the hell are you doing in my bathroom?"
Royal asked, catching the towel. She was too afraid to stand
up and wrap herself, but she was certain that the men would
not turn around and give her a chance to cover up. "Dmitry!"
she screamed again.
"No need for the screaming, maim. We have a no
knock warrant. We need you to get dressed and come with
us immediately," the man ordered. His face was completely
covered by a black mask only revealing his brown eyes.
Royal looked over at him, breathing hard and shaking.
She wiped the water and tears from her face.
"Why? I haven‟t done anything?"
"Get dressed now, maim." The man signaled for the
men to leave the room. He walked slowly out. His footsteps
squeaked against the puddles of water now on the
floor. He stopped at the door and turned around.
"Do you have something in this bathroom you can put
on?"
Royal shook her head quickly. "No, the maid has already
cleaned everything up," she sobbed.
"Where are your clothes? I can‟t allow you to start digging
around in these drawers. There could be weapons."
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"Weapons? Who do you people think that we are?"
She shook her head.
He did not answer.
"I set my nightclothes out," she said, pointing into the
room. "There on the bed. My jeans and my sweater for
tomorrow are on the chaise lounge chair." Her voice
quivered.
The man walked into the bedroom, grabbed her clothes
and her black silk panties and bra and brought them back
inside to her.
She reached up and took the clothes, grateful for his
compassion. Unable to control his virile instincts, he
looked down at her wet naked body in the bathwater. So
you‟re what all the fuss is about, he thought to himself.
"Look, you‟ve got two minutes to get dressed," he said
in a low voice. "We‟ll be right outside. Don‟t take my
kindness for a weakness, Royal."
"I…I won‟t." She was shocked that he knew her name.
With a nod, he turned on the lights and left her alone
in the bathroom.
After getting dressed, Royal was escorted in hand-cuffs
by the police officers from her room, down the long
staircase and out of her home. Angry and ashamed, she
wiped the constant tears from her face and tried to hold her
head up.
"Where is Dmitry?" she asked before they put into a
black unmarked squad car with tented windows much like
the one they had carted Dmitry off in earlier.
"He‟s already been taken downtown to the federal detention
center," the masked man answered.
"Why?"
"Well, we can talk about that once we get you there.
For now, let‟s just get you out of the freezing cold."
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Like something from a movie, the walls were gray; no
windows were in the room and single halogen light hung
from the ceiling. Dmitry found it typical and theatric.
A tall, Italian man with a bald spot in the top of his
head and five o‟clock shadow walked into Dmitry‟s room
finally after looking at him through the mirror for a while,
looking through is his file and comparing notes to the
pictures of the young girls. He closed the door softly, sat
down and took a sip of his coffee.
"Remember me from the restaurant?" he asked Dmitry.
Dmitry looked up from the table and smiled. "Sorrello?
The sloppy Italiano from the Peabody."
"You remembered?"
"I never forget," he sighing."Why am I here?"
"We have reason to believe that you have been trafficking
underage illegal aliens into the United States for the
purpose of soliciting sex for your profit. Here, we call that
pimping. We have you connected to several drug dealers in
the city, very recently preparing to go into agreement for the
shipment of Meth to the Memphis area for distribution.
Let‟s not forget the new chop shops in Binghampton you
just purchased, and if that ain‟t enough, if it ain‟t illegal, it
sure is a shame to have such a pretty girl next door locked
in shackles because of your tricky ass," Sorrello said, taking
a deep breath.
"You don‟t have shit," Dmitry said, checking his Rolex.
"Chop shops, whored-out kids and meth. What do I look
like to you…an Italian? Now, where is my lawyer?"
"You don‟t want to play ball, huh?"
Dmitry sat up in his seat. "I am an upstanding, tax paying
American citizen. I have not done any of the things that
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you have just suggested. You have the wrong man, cowboy."
"So how do you explain how we got your name?"
"Do not answer that," a short, gray-haired man said,
busting through the door in his tuxedo and overcoat. He
was Olich Slovinky, Dmitry‟s lawyer.
Dmitry rolled his eyes. "I was just asking about you,"
he said, scooting back from the table. "You‟re late."
Agosto watched Royal through the glass very carefully.
Something about her said that she was a victim. Although,
he would not go with his gut yet, he was certain after his
interrogation, she would confirm his suspicions.
Sorrello was surely next door botching his investigation
with his hard-hitting Hollywood tactics. Agosto found him
irritating at most, but this was a joint-task force effort. He
had to put his personal reservations aside for the betterment
of the investigation.
The real work would start in this room, maybe not
through her mouth, but most definitely her eyes. Agosto
knew women. He had been married for three years to a
maniac of wife whom he could not help but impregnate for
the hell of it. He would handle Royal Stone with kid gloves
and get enough to put to Dmitry Medlov to jail where he
belonged.
Royal sat in the lonely, cold room with her head buried
in her arms on the table sobbing softly. When she heard
the door open, she sat up in hopes that Dmitry had come to
collect her, but it was just a cop.
With a nod, he closed the door and walked over to the
seat across from her. He cleared his throat.
"Want some coffee?" he asked, offering her a cup.
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"Thanks," Royal took the cup. She wiped the tears
from her eyes.
"Are you alright?" Agosto asked.
"No. I was…" Royal began to cry again. "I was in the
bath tub when they came. Do you know how embarrassing
that is?"
"It couldn‟t be helped. However, I gave you a towel,"
Agosto said apologetically. "It‟s more than I would give to
most."
Royal looked at him and put the cup down. "What‟s
your name, officer?" she asked with fire in her eyes.
"Nicola."
"Nicola, would you ever want your girlfriend to be interrupted
like I was?"
"No. My wife would freak out." He shook his head.
Mrs. Agosto was a firecracker. "She‟d kill the messenger."
"Exactly." She pulled her hair from her face and looked
away from him.
"But I would never put her in the situation that your
Dmitry has put you in."
Royal was silent.
Agosto opened the files and began to place pictures of
young women in front of her. She looked down at the
pictures of the teenage girls in short dresses, lingerie and
some with bruises and scrapes. He did not talk until the last
picture was on the table, lined against the others to form a
collage.
"Royal, how much do you know about Dmitry?"
Royal looked up from the pictures at Agosto.
"Why?" Tears started to form again.
"Do you ever wonder about where he gets all of his
money?"
"His stocks. His businesses."
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"His whores?" Agosto added.
"Dmitry is not a pimp," she said, pushing the pictures
away. Now, he was just being preposterous.
"No, not just a pimp. That is actually a new niche for
him in Memphis. Although, I think he runs a group out of
Eastern Europe that is heavy into the prostitution. You
may want to ask him." Agosto pulled another file out.
"Dmitry would never."
"Maybe. He has been tied to money laundering, extortion,
drugs trafficking, illegal gambling facilities, nuclear
weapons trafficking, precious gems trafficking and a host of
other serious crimes globally. We just can‟t prove it.
Everyone who has ever thought about testifying has been
murdered. Plus, the way that the Vory v Zakone sets up
some of its organized crime syndicate models, you never
really can connect the top guys with the soldiers and the
ground work."
"Are you insane? Listen to you. Listen to what you are
saying." Royal shook her head.
"I know it‟s hard to believe. He seems like a nice guy.
Treats you nice. But who would blame him. Look at you."
"You‟re lying."
"No, I‟m not. There are only a few other people as major
as your man in the Eurasian crime community, and he‟s
worked with and for all of them. He is the true meaning of
connected."
"If that‟s true, then why would he be out on the streets,
just walking around like a normal person? Why in the hell
would he be running a restaurant if he‟s so major?"
"Many crime families run their illegal businesses out of
legitimate business store fronts. Many well-known Russian
crime bosses have run them out of restaurants."
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"Dmitry is just a normal guy. I would know," she argued
as she beat against her chest. "I live with him each
and every day. I would know if he wasn‟t normal." Tears
ran into her mouth.
"Would you? What‟s so normal about Dmitry? You‟re
just used to him, used to his lifestyle. In actuality, everything
about him screams mafia. Love blinds people."
"I don‟t believe you," her voice was hushed.
He passed her a napkin.
"We can‟t prove that he did this, but you wouldn‟t want
him to confirm this for you." He slid a picture of woman
with her neck sliced open, lying on a bedroom floor covered
in her own blood.
"Do you know her?"
"No," Royal said, letting the tears drop down on the
paper. The sight instantly brought back thoughts of her
sister and the man that she had killed as a child. She wanted
to throw up.
"That is the late Mrs. Ari Medlov." Agosto met her
con-fused eyes. He nodded. "Not Dmitry‟s wife. His
sister-in-law, Ivan‟s wife. She was found in New York like
this. No one knows why. Everyone thinks Dmitry did it.
What a temper, huh? I‟ve heard that he can be a real sonof-
a-bitch. You might want to be very careful with him."
"Why are you showing me all of this? Are you saying
that he‟s a… monster?"
"Haven‟t you been listening?" Agosto put the pictures
away. "He‟s the worst kind."
"I want a lawyer," she said flabbergasted.
"You have your rights. They were read to you. I know,
because I did it." Agosto slid a small picture across the
table to her. "Do you know this guy?"
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She picked it up and shook her head. "Yes," she said,
handing it back to him. "That is Anatoly."
"Who is he?"
Royal was about to tell the truth, then she caught herself.
Agosto could see it before she began to lie. "He‟s the
butler or something like it. He does everything."
"Even kill?"
"I‟ve never seen anyone killed." She snapped.
"Have you ever heard of the Vory v Zakone then?"
"No."
"He‟s a member of a very elite organized crime group
that has connections globally. Just remember that."
"I don‟t believe you," Royal said, looking away.
"So, you want to end up like Ari Medlov?"
"No." Royal stood up from the table and walked to the
corner. "He‟s all I have," she said, swallowing hard. "You
don‟t know what that‟s like."
"To love someone? Of course, I know what that‟s like,
but I don‟t think that he loves you. He‟s using you."
Agosto stood up and walked over to her with his hands
balled in the pockets of his jeans.
He was only inches away from her. She turned and
looked up at him. Her face was red, puffy and swollen. But
Agosto still thought that she was striking.
"Maybe you should just walk away before it‟s too late,"
Agosto quietly urged. "A nice girl like you doesn‟t deserve
to be put through this. Find some new place to start."
Royal listened as he spoke barely above a whisper. She
watched his mouth as it moved. She heard his words, but
her thoughts were in a different place.
"It‟s not your fault. You just wanted a job. Just wanted
a family. Someone to love you. You just picked the wrong
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guy. He took advantage of you." They made eye contact.
He was working her.
His dark curly hair looked like silk against the contrast
of his olive-toned skin. Agosto was a knockout, a little
shorter than Dmitry but very well built. His bold Mediterranean
features eased her spirit. He wasn‟t hard to look at
or stand by. His cologne wafted up to her nose. He knew
his charms worked. He moved closer.
Tears fell down her cheeks.
"If you‟re trying to get me to turn on him, don‟t. I
won‟t do it."
"You don‟t have to turn. Just help us out a little."
"Help you?" She scoffed. "Help you how?"
"What‟s the code to the basement of your shop?"
"I don‟t even know that," Royal snapped
"Can you get it?" Agosto asked.
She looked up into his eyes bemused but didn‟t answer.
Agosto almost felt sorry for her situation. He knew that she
did not know anything now, but he was certain that if she
tried, she could dig far enough to get him what he wanted.
Plus, Agosto found Royal incredibly attractive. Although
he was a married man, he was still a man. He knew
what he saw in the tub - a fresh, ripe woman vulnerable and
beautiful.
If he didn‟t have control, he would have kissed her right
then – made her feel what it was like to be truly protected.
But he did have control, a wife and a strong desire to keep
his job. Instead, he smiled at her and whispered, "Get me
the code," as he slipped his business card in the back pocket
of her jeans. His finger trailed on the denim.
Just then, Dmitry‟s attorney barged into the room waving
papers and giving directives. The mood instantly
changed. Agosto‟s magical hold on her was broken, and she
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was suddenly reminded of who waited for her outside of the
door. Slovinky demanded in a high-pitched voice that
Agosto move away from his client. In a theatric movement,
he stood in front of her and wedged his way between the
frantic woman and the cop.
Within minutes, Royal was released and followed her
balding, frail Jewish lawyer as he and his team led her to
Dmitry, who waited eagerly to have his fiancée back.
Keeping his distance, Agosto trailed behind them in a
slow-paced walk as they darted down the hall. He wanted
to keep his eye on Royal, wanted her to know that he was
not afraid of them – not afraid to come after her.
"Are you alright?" Dmitry asked, standing as Royal approached.
"I‟m fine," she pulled away from Dmitry‟s grasp and
looked back at Agosto. He smiled as she did, grateful that
she would even acknowledge him at all.
The two men made eye contact, but Dmitry was too
proud to show his true vulnerability, especially in front of
his future wife. He scowled at Agosto.
"Handle him, Slovinky," Dmitry ordered putting a fur
coat over Royal‟s shoulders. "His presence irritates me."
"This is a fucking detention center. It‟s sort of his
turf," she bit out, walking off from both he and the
lawyer.
Dmitry sighed and followed with his lawyers in tow.