Dmitry’s

Redemption:

The Complete Book

The Medlov Men Series

Latrivia Welch

Dmitry’s Redemption: Book Two

Copyright © 2019 by Latrivia Welch

RiverHouse Publishing, LLC

1509 Madison Avenue

Memphis, TN 38104

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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www.latriviawelchbooks.com

www.riverhousepublishingllc.com

For Medlovian Akiba Bayette Martin…

May you rest in peace.

Acknowledgments

A special thanks to my team at RiverHouse Publishing, LLC, my loving husband, my wonderful children, my entire family, my dear friend Karen Moss and every Medlovian who was patient and supportive through this publishing process.

Table of Contents

Dear Reader

Synopsis

Warning

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Prologue for Book Two

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Order to Read Medlov Books

All Books by Latrivia

Contact Latrivia

Dear Reader

T his is a momentous occasion. Yet again, we are wrapping up another series with the original Russian organized crime family of the bwwm interracial romance genre, the Medlov Crime Family.  Dmitry’s Redemption: The Complete Book is the culmination of Dmitry’s rise from an 18-year-old convict fresh out of Vladimir Central Prison to a Czar in the Russian mafia.

During this story, you will get a chance to revisit with some of your most beloved characters, and unfortunately, you will also say goodbye to several.  While you might be sad, excited and shocked, through this very long journey that you are about to begin, what I hope most is that you are entertained.

I thank you for your support and your love over the last ten years.  I can promise you that there is so much more to come.

Forever yours,

Latrivia Welch

Founder of the Bratva/Russian Mafia Romance Genre

Synopsis

F or every alpha, there is an omega – even for the famed Dmitry Medlov.  The story of Dmitry Medlov and his crime family began with an 18-year-old convict who narrowly escaped a twenty-year bid in Vladimir Central prison eventually become one of the most powerful Czars of the Russian underworld.

However, with such victory and success comes many sacrifices, born of choices that have haunted the beautiful, blonde giant and all whom he loves.

In the last installment of the Medlov Men Series, Dmitry must contend with a fellow council member, Erik Popov, and his ambition to overtake their organization.  Popov not only wants complete control, but to end the Medlov Crime Family and its entire blood line, and he’ll do anything to complete his task, starting with an assassination attempt on sworn Bratva brethren.

Forced to flee the confines of his normal life, Dmitry and his family take refuge in the mountains of Siberia, while he wages an international war that will set the course for his family and their future.

Read the ultimate story of adventure, love, sacrifice and loyalty about the Romance genre’s original Russian mafia/Bratva family in Dmitry’s Redemption:  The Complete Book.

Warning

This fiction novel contains extreme violence, sexual contact, vulgar language not meant for anyone under 18 years of age.

Chapter 1

Vladimir Central

Moscow, Russia

Winter, 1989

I t seemed as though the weather was always at its worse when death was on the horizon. At least for Dmitry Medlov.  Every time that he heard the rumble of angry thunder in the distance, he wondered what trouble was lurking around the corner for him.  Unfortunately, tonight was no different.

Near midnight as heavy rain beat against the red brick walls of Vladimir Central and strong winds shook the power lines to the point of constant flickering, while the vicious prison dogs slept soundly in their metal cages, and the guards played cards and turned their attention from the festivities, a battle of epic proportions was preparing to unfold.

The testosterone-filled collective roar that boomed through the empty, underground halls of Korpus 3 was deafening. Pure pandemonium had erupted in anticipation of a break from the typical monotony of prison life.

Alas, blood sport was on the menu, stoking the ever-palpable tensions between the Russian underworld hierarchy and the plebs forced to serve sentences among them.

Tonight, the designated gladiators were an unlikely pair - Dmitry Medlov, an 18-year-old soldier of the Vory v Zakone, was opposite Yuri Orlov, a 34-year-old dock worker.

Both had been convicted of murder, thus their current sentence in one of the country’s most notorious prisons, but there was only one-real killer of the two.

Involuntary manslaughter had led Yuri Orlov to prison after his temper got the best of him one night in an alcohol-induced rage.  In a fit, he killed two co-workers at a local bar during an argument.  The next morning when he woke, he did not even remember the fight, only that he was in jail, covered in blood, and accused of a heinous crime that left two families without providers, two wives without husbands, and six children without their fathers.

However, murder-for-hire was the only profession Dmitry Medlov had ever known outside of being an involuntary pimp for his mother.

While other boys who were Dmitry’s age were busy with school and girls, he had lorded over an entire district with brute force and unforgiving discipline, working for the Russian mafia as a henchman of sorts.  It did not take intimate feelings for the teenager to use his blade – only opportunity.  In fact, even at this point in his life, he had never killed for personal reasons, just money, power, and respect.

Now the two men found themselves in a make-shift arena of crumbling, white tile, leaky shower stalls filled with mold, unflushed toilets, and thick steel bars surrounded by a mob of sweaty, stinky inmates in a preordained fight to the death because of inflammatory words exchanged over the lunch hour in the convict mess hall.

But the words had not been spoken by or to Dmitry, nor had he even been present during the exchange.  In fact, Dmitry had been in another Korpus altogether, getting stitches from an unrelated debacle from the previous day, when Yuri had spoken out of turn against a highly respected underworld boss of the Vory v Zakone brotherhood, Alexander Popov.

Yuri had called the old man a has-been, suggested Alexander and his brother, Peter, were relics with no real power, except that which had been given to them by the child-like prisoners, who naively held the two old men in regard akin to Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny.

Even as Yuri spoke, loud and taunting, hoping Alexander would hear him at the table across from him, other more sensible prisoners warned Yuri to tone it down, let it go, stop before his words took root, and his fate was sealed.

But Yuri was angry after seeing the old man get preferential treatment by the cafeteria staff.  While other convicts ate non-descript slop from silver trays like animals, Alexander and his brother were served choice-cut steaks and fresh vegetables on real plates.

“This is shit!” Yuri had exclaimed, face reddening.  “We’re all convicts.  That old fuck is no better than me!” he had shouted, beating his meaty chest to add weight to his already heavy words.  “You all treat him like he’s a king when he’s going to die in here like the rest of us.  His power is only what you give him.  But you’re all too foolish to understand he’s been stripped of his life like we’ve been stripped of ours.  Fuck him and his brother!  I am a man too!  Bring me a fucking steak!”

Alexander Popov didn’t like to be taunted, and he didn’t want to be questioned, especially by a dock worker with no tattoos, no history, and no place.  So, as men did in his position, he sent a message – one that could be heard loud and clear.  He’d show not only Yuri Orlov how much power he held within these walls but also anyone else who might be thinking of rebelling against the Vory.

With a word, Korpus 3 was transformed into a pop-up fight club - the guards deaf to the sounds coming from it - and Yuri was left to stand on his own two feet, facing the brotherhood with one chance to not only save his honor but his life.   If he won, he would never be bothered again. If he lost, he wouldn’t have to worry about Alexander’s steak and vegetables or anything else for that matter, because he’d be dead.

True, there had been other avenues that could have been taken to resolve the matter.  One of the Vory soldiers could have simply slit Yuri’s throat; one of the prison guards could have shot him for trying to flee or set the dogs on him and offered him up as a late afternoon snack. However, by having the over-confident Yuri assassinated, Alexander would have martyred him.

In a fight to the death, however, Yuri would be a tool, a public service announcement for the rest of the prison, reiterating the fact that the Popov brothers were not only the underground lords in the streets of Moscow but also the real rulers of Vladimir Central.

And to add insult to injury, because of the jibe about Alexander’s age, he sent a boy to fight Yuri, the youngest in prison and the deadliest of all the convicts.

Alexander had handpicked a Vor of superior competence in the arena of death, a man who had lived up to the nickname he had earned on the streets – the butcher.

The boy had served under him for three years, learning how to lead instead of follow and how to kill smarter, quicker, more effectively.

And Dmitry had been a loyal pupil to his liege.  He served Alexander faithfully and without question. When he was told that he would face Yuri Orlov tonight, he only nodded his head – no words needed after his orders were dispatched.

One would have thought that news of his skilled adversary would have scared Yuri or at least sobered his thinking.  But he was a man who held his own council and felt himself an equal to all men.  With hands laden with calluses from working the docks at a local fishery and muscles in his arms the size of boulders, his reputation preceded him not only as a murderer but a street fighter, ready to brawl when his limited education prevented him from using his words.  And because of his vanity, he found it laughable that he’d have to face a mere child in the arena instead of someone more seasoned.

In contrast, Dmitry Medlov was a quiet young man, never one for many words or boisterous theatrics.  He killed as quietly as he spoke.  With swift, powerful movements, he had already dispatched well over 20 men since he had arrived at Vladimir Central.  Some had been beaten to a bloody pulp by his large hands by the decree of his captains, but others had been neutralized with a simple neck snap or the crushing of a man’s fragile larynx with an aggressive squeeze.  He didn’t like to kill gruesomely, feeling it allowed the act to become too personal.  Instead, Dmitry made murder as painless as possible – quick and to the point.

Most were taken aback when they saw Dmitry for the first time.  He was nearly seven feet tall without shoes, packed from neck to ankles with hard, lean muscle, and was as agile as a lion.  But it wasn’t just his gigantic size that was intimidating.

The boy was unnaturally beautiful, angelic even.  His skin was kissed with a glowing tan, his hair a mass of feathery golden strands, before it was shaved off, his eyes a startling diamond-like blue hue.  He had a full, lush, wide-set pink mouth, high cheekbones, a perfect nose – unbroken amazingly even after all his fights, a dimple in his chin, and squared jawline that looked to have been carved by God himself.  His voice was a deep baritone that captured everyone’s attention when he spoke, and he had a serpentine grace that was noticeable even when he was led through the prison halls blindfolded and bent in a stress position as he was escorted by guards with weapons and dogs.

But even as powerful and skilled as he was, Dmitry never underestimated an opponent – he gave each of them respect, even when he killed them.  After all, he might have been just a gutter rat, but he didn’t have to behave like one.

Now at the behest of Alexander Popov, Dmitry stood barefoot in the corner of the shower stalls of Korpus 3, naked from the waist up, wearing only his black-and-white striped pajama bottoms below, donning all the hard-earned tattoos that spoke to his impeccable underworld pedigree with a pointy shiv in his right hand, eyeing Yuri Orlov with one thing in mind – evisceration.

All the halogen lights hanging above the stalls had been unscrewed except for the small ones that dangled from a wire in the middle of the room, creating an ominous ambiance for the fight.

With everyone else in the background, hidden by shadows and darkness, one man emerged into the illuminated center to set the stage.

He licked his dry, cracked lips, and took a deep breath.  “You know the rules, gentlemen,” the appointed referee, an older trustee with a twice-broken nose said, extending his hands to calm the excess chatter as the fighters approached from their designated corners.  He stood, frail and bony, in between the two hulking warriors.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife – common man against Vor – principles against precept.  All it would take was one wrong move for all to erupt in a bloody fight to the death among them.  But none would move just yet.  They all waited, watching each other with untrusted glares.

For a second, there was complete silence with only the sound of water dripping from the faucets.  The old man’s voice echoed with a raspy, authoritative boom as he elevated it so that all who fell under the sound of his words could hear.  “You, Yuri Orlov and, you, Dmitry Medlov, have been selected to fight for the honor of our home.  This fight will be recorded for the valor of one side or the other. No men are allowed to fight tonight in this place, but you two.  Anyone who aids either man or creates unapproved violence will be killed immediately and fed to the dogs.”  He glanced around the room at all the eyes planted on him.

Those who were selected to keep the order flexed their muscles and revealed their weapons – knives, shivs, pipes, and chains.

When the trustee was sure that he had secured everyone’s attention, he continued, “In this fight, everything is fair, except running. You must stand; you must fight; one of you must die.  First man to die…loses.  First man to kill…wins,” he said in Russian.

Dmitry knew the prison rules well.  He had been in more than his fair share of fights in this room before – and none had been lost.  A wicked half-grin was painted across his face, but his enchanting eyes were hollow, void of emotion.  He felt nothing inside.  There was no excitement, no urgency, no nervousness.  He had no thoughts on the matter that had caused this.  All he focused on was winning.

The trustee cast a quick glare up to Dmitry, who stood in a trance, and then over to Yuri, who was sucking his stained front teeth and mocking the young boy with a contemptuous smirk.

“Nod, if you understand these rules,” the trustee ordered, taking his job very seriously.

Both men nodded at the same time, and as the referee stepped back and dropped the white rag to the floor, he shouted a thunderous declaration.  “FIGHT!”

Immediately, the crowd exploded again, chanting, clapping, and waving their fists.  Crawling over each other like rats spilling out of a barrel, they jabbed and elbowed to get a better view.

Some hoped that Yuri, the underdog, would prevail for the common man; while the Vory in the room screamed for Dmitry’s success and the continued reign of their Czar.

Right out of the gate, Dmitry swung, his blade making a swishing sound through the air as its shiny tip aimed toward Yuri’s bald, sweaty head.

But Yuri dodged the swing and countered with one of his own, barely missing Dmitry’s exposed abdomen with his knife.

Seeing the move before the man could even make it, Dmitry jumped back, sucking in his abdomen, feeling the heat of the crowded bodies behind him, as he barely  missed blade in front of him.

As he moved away from the weapon, Dmitry relaxed his lithe body, used his narrow hips to generate enough force, and then swung a sturdy, perfect right hook, connecting with Yuri’s leather-like, most-unattractive face.  His hard knuckles shattered the brawler’s glass jaw, breaking bones and creating permanent damage as he followed through with his sculpted right arm.

The crowd gave a collective moan.  That had to hurt!

Yuri’s head suddenly spun around, brain-rattling around in his skull from the trauma.  Fighting his body’s natural urge to go into a temporary state of paralysis, he tried to push back the doubts that suddenly emerged in himself about his chances of winning.  After all, fortune favored the bold!

But the young Dmitry had seen the same response a thousand times in his adversaries when he unleashed the fury - denial.  They all ignored the hemorrhaging of their brains and the concussions he had caused.  All ignored the physical warning signs their bodies gave before he mentally broke them and finally killed them.  No one wanted to accept that a boy of his age was capable of such treachery.  But it wasn’t his fault that they were foolish.

One should never underestimate the person standing in front of them. It wasn’t a new concept – Master Sun had taught that. ‘He who exercises no forethought but makes light of his opponents is sure to be captured by them.’

Consider yourself captured…

Dmitry’s evil smirk widened in satisfaction, even as he bobbed and weaved like a seasoned boxer, awaiting Yuri’s next amateur move. What next?  Scratching?  Such an inexperienced brawler used to other inexperienced opponents should not have talked so loudly to Boss Popov, a man whose life’s work had been to perfect the act of violence.

In the sparsely lit bathroom drowning with stench and noise, Dmitry’s diamond blue eyes sparkled like a wolf stalking his prey.  In this wretched place, he was indeed at home – in his element, comfortable and relaxed.  He could have pounced right then, or he could have landed a temple blow just a few seconds before to knock the desperate man out, but Dmitry felt it would be poor sportsmanship to end the bout in the first two minutes.

His audience deserved a show courtesy of the Vory v Zakone.  So, he’d give them one they’d never forget.

Knocked backward a few feet, Yuri spit out two bloody molars and shook off the pain as best he could. Fucker!  He quickly squared his shoulders again, fists up in front of him as he stood in a protective stance.  His adrenaline spiked as he planted his feet, determined not to look like an ass in front of all his peers.  Death would be better than humiliation.

“That all you got, boy?” Yuri taunted in mock indignation, biting down on his bruised bottom lip.

Men huddled body-against-body in the small space, excited for the fight that many had bet on throughout the day, waiting to see who would reign as the victor.

But tonight was not an underdog success story in the making. Most came to the fight knowing who would win before the towel dropped.  However, others would soon learn.

I have to get in his head, Yuri strategized, realizing the boy’s strength was beyond his own. His dark brows furrowed in thought.

“How does it feel to know that you’re going to die for a feeble old man who isn’t strong enough to fight for himself?” Yuri spit another mouth-full of blood on the floor.  Blade tight in his hand, neck muscles protruding out; he made one more unsuccessful swing.  Another blow to his masculinity.  Still, Yuri continued with his taunting.   “I bet you’ve never even had your first nut, and you’re going to die for a man who has no balls!”

Dmitry’s right eye twitched at that emasculating statement, but he didn’t bother with words.  The energy he would spend to form a complete sentence would be better spent killing Yuri.

“Back up!” the trustee screamed at the crowd, pushing men away from the fighters.  “Give them some fucking room, or I’ll run every one of you through!” he screamed, pulling a knife from his striped pajama pants.

Yuri had already sized Dmitry up.  He was a tall boy, still growing even though he was already obscenely gigantic, and because of that, Dmitry was awkward in his movements.

Yuri knew it was impossible to reach Dmitry’s face with a lucky jab, but the boy’s long, carved core was another thing altogether.  There, he could put in work and possibly break the giant down.

With each unsuccessful punch that was not landed in front of the dick-measuring crowd who commentated from only a few feet behind him, Yuri learned Dmitry’s unorthodox fighting style.  There was no rhythm to the teen’s madness.  He was a Southpaw, quick on his feet, even quicker with his hands.  His weight didn’t hold him back, and he seemed to have no fear.  In all, it was best to take him by surprise.

Yuri hated the boy – though he did not know him - hated him for his beauty, for his youth, and his allegiance to Alexander Popov and all his Vory.  He hated being here in this infested, disease-ridden hell hole away from his family.  Hated the food, he was forced to suck down along with his pride.  Hated the oppression not only by the guards but by the gangs.  Hated not being able to smell the wind off the shore, hated not being able to make an honest day’s wage, hated not being able to breathe in fresh air, free air. Hated the control he had lost because of ONE FUCKING NIGHT!

Killing Dmitry would be the ultimate victory.  Killing this symbol of underworld supremacy would prove that he and the other men not claimed by Alexander Popov’s autocracy were no less than the Vory v Zakone brotherhood locked in these walls.  Emotions consuming him, Yuri’s face reddened more as his thoughts assailed him.  Snarling like a dog, he lunged wildly toward Dmitry, knife pointed, ready for anything.

“Aghhh!” Yuri screamed as he barreled toward Dmitry in a sprint.  His battle cry rumbled like the thunder outside the prison, beating at its impenetrable walls, mingling with the quaking cheer of the men.

Dmitry’s unnatural eyes widened, realizing he would have to take the impact of the man’s blow.  His body tensed, making his muscles more elastic has he planted one foot forward, the other squarely behind him.

Yuri crashed into Dmitry with the force of three men – determined to take him out quickly.

“Now I’ve got you, you son of a bitch!” Yuri screamed, unsure if he believed his obnoxious rhetoric.

Dmitry looked down at the man, watching Yuri’s wild eyes, his teeth clenched together, sweat pouring from his bald head as they fell backward.

Still, Dmitry did not say a word. Although, they both grunted loudly in their vicious struggle.

The crowd parted, afraid of the retaliation from the trustee and his men.  No one dared touch the pair.

With all his barbaric strength, Yuri pushed Dmitry into the wall behind them, knocking the air from Dmitry’s young lungs.  Pinning the boy against the shower stall, he tried to press his sharpened knife into Dmitry’s tender flesh in between his thickly muscled abs and his deep belly button. If he could just strike the boy there, he’d own his ass.

No, the young man said to himself, invoking mind over matter.   Trembling as he held Yuri’s weapon at bay only inches from his stomach, Dmitry caught Yuri’s wrist before he could follow through with his shiv and pulled the man’s knifed hand away from his belly button out into the air, extending Yuri’s muscular arm and rendering him useless with his iron-like grip, until finally, Yuri was made to drop the only weapon that gave him an edge.

Seeing a momentary opportunity presented, Dmitry buried his mouth into the column of Yuri’s exposed neck.  No rules.  No mercy.  His teeth clenched down as hard as he could on Yuri’s sweaty skin like a mad pit bull.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!” Yuri screamed in pain.

Hearing the man yelp in broken agony, Dmitry took a large chunk from the man’s flesh in his mouth and snatched it away.

Spitting the mass of flesh on the floor, disgusted by the rank taste of hot blood and iron that mingled on his tongue, Dmitry watched as Yuri’s eyes, as big as grapefruits, flitted in surprise.

Instinctively, Yuri stepped back with blurred vision, putting his hand over his gaping wound.  Blood from his injury dripped from the young boy’s mouth like a vampire after feeding as he advanced.  Suddenly, Dmitry took on his pure form, a killer without restraint.

What kind of monster is this? Yuri thought to himself.  Were there no depths of deprivation this animal would deny?  Who ate the flesh of an opponent?

Quickly, Dmitry raised his right leg and kicked Yuri squarely in his chest, sending the dock worker backward onto the hard, dirty floor.

The thud of Yuri’s large body clanging against the hard surface was audible, even above the men’s moronic cheers.

They did not care that they were bearing witness to a man dying for his singular belief.  They did not care that an impressionable teenager was forced to kill to please his elder superiors.  They did care for mercy on a confused convict at all or the right and wrong of things in the larger society in the least.  They simply celebrated Yuri Orlov’s demise, because, in his death, it proved that someone indeed had power outside of the Russian government and those who denied them freedom inside of these fucking walls!  They celebrated the power of the Vory v Zakone, just as Alexander Popov had intended.

Yuri slid across the slick tiles, blood gushing from his neck like a newly plucked geyser. He could see the faces of men above him who screamed for him to get up and others who screamed for Dmitry to finish him off.  His hands were covered in his own blood, drenched the warmth of his life as it exited his body.

Oh God, I’m going to die, Yuri thought to himself in fear.  I’m not ready!

But it was too late for the loudmouth newcomer.  Some lessons could be taught, but others had to be bought.  And Yuri’s bill was due.

With electric blue eyes intense and soft pink lips pursed, Dmitry strode over to the man, his heavy footfalls echoing.  Still, not a word had been uttered.

He picked up Yuri’s knife from the floor, grabbed Yuri by his large barefoot, raising his stocky body to a 90-degree angle like a pig for slaughter. And in one quick motion, without the slightest hesitation, Dmitry Medlov swiped the serrated blade meant to kill him across Yuri’s Achilles heel, cutting through tendons and flesh and preventing the older man from standing.

The blood from the wound spirted out over Dmitry’s chest.  Warm and wet, it colored the tattoos across his mountainous chest.

“Mercy!” Yuri screamed out, realizing for the first time, that he was truly unmatched.  “Have mercy on me, please!”  Bile rushed up from his empty stomach, choking his plea.  Yuri gasped in milliseconds that in all the chaos of the fight that he had not heard the killer’s voice even once.  Not one word.  Not one thought.  Not one sound from Dmitry Medlov but the utterance of grunts to keep him at bay.

It was a horrid thing to die in such a way, to be defeated by someone who was so cold.  “No!” Yuri pleaded once more.

And at that moment, the dockworker who had killed two men and hurt two families because of his drunken rage was regretful of actions in that bar. He was remorseful for everything he had done and everything he had said.  He just wanted to go home; he wanted a do-over.  He tried to take back the words he had spoken to Alexander Popov.  And he wanted to never lay eyes on the boy everyone called The Butcher.

Yuri choked on his blood and at the same time, looked up at the teenage boy who held him in his clutches.  Pushing a palm against the cold surface, Yuri fought to get free, but Dmitry used his injured foot to flip him over on his chest.

It was clear that the fight was nearly over before it could start.  The crowd’s roar lowered to an uncomfortable grumble as Dmitry planted a knee in Yuri’s broad, meaty back. Without theatrics, he gripped the man’s bald head with one hand and pulled it back where his throat was exposed.

Eyes averted to the men who stood only feet from him, Yuri accepted his fate but begged one final time again. “Have mercy, boy.  Have mercy on a poor fool…” he managed to gurgle.

Yuri wondered if the men he had killed had begged for the same as flashes of his life danced in front of him.

But Dmitry was as numb to the man’s words as he was to his own cruel but necessary actions.  This was his job – nothing more.  This was how he stayed alive.  This was how he kept faith that he would see his baby brother, Ivan, again.

Dmitry leaned into Yuri’s ear, allowing him to hear his voice for the first time.

“You mean like you were going to have mercy on me?  Make no mistake, old man. Every man, regardless of status, begs at the end.  And you are no different from any of them.  Die now.  Go in peace and forget this life, for I have taken from you,” he spoke into Yuri's ear.

Mechanically raising his right hand up in the air, Dmitry came down and planted the sharp blade in the back of Yuri’s neck where his spinal cord started and where Yuri’s pain ended once and for all.

Just to make sure the deed was done per the rules and Alexander Popov’s explicit orders, Dmitry pulled the knife from Yuri’s back and sliced his throat.

Crimson, hot blood splattered on the floor, making a murderous mess.

The small room fell utterly silent as Dmitry rose from the corpse.

They finally realized the result of their bidding.  Some were happy. Most were sickened.  This was what this placed had turned them into – bloodthirsty animals.

Dmitry cast a glare out at the spectators, face, and body covered in his chaotic sin.  As far as he was concerned, they were as guilty as he by bearing witness.  They wanted this.  They fucking begged for this!  His blue eyes blazed with years of fury and reflections on the life he had been unfairly given.

Dmitry’s broad chest swelled with each heaved breath.  Still, he said no words to them – though they expected at least some recognition by him of his victory over Yuri Orlov.

Dmitry would not give them that.

They deserved no glory for his dastardly deed.

Stepping away from Yuri’s body, he wiped the blood from his large, reddened hands and nodded toward the other Vory in the room. It was done.  They could get word to Alexander Popov that his will had been carried out.

The free-thinking man who demanded equality was dead.

The referee emerged from the corner and called the fight. One man had died.  One man had lived.  “The butcher has won again!” he screamed, voice breaking on his declaration.

Everyone cheered even though they were in shock, except Dmitry.  He looked down at the limp body on the floor and felt bored.

Death was never exciting or even creative – it was always final.  No one rose from the dead.  No one ever managed to flee from his clutches successfully.  They all met the same end – no matter what.   He had been killing for years now, and not once had it brought him any joy, not once had it been exciting.  In the end, they all lay with dead eyes toward a bleak, non-future, shocked, scared, and remorseful.

And he always walked away feeling nothing but completion.  This was simply the work that he had been forced to do because he had no other skills.

Had Dmitry been born to a higher station in life, he might not have ever known the brutality and finality of being a killer.

But that was not the cards he had been dealt, and so here he was.

The referee raised Dmitry’s bloody hand like they were in an arena fit for gladiators to officially declare him the victor and to many, whose witness to his was the closest they would ever get to the real thing, cheered him on with sincere admiration.

Fools, Dmitry thought to himself.  They applauded a boy for killing a man, and they applauded self-pride over subservience.  They applauded that yet another man had met his untimely fate at the teenager’s hands, not because of the conflict between the men, but because he was the best the brotherhood had to offer.

They deserved to be lorded over by the Vory v Zakone.  At least his brotherhood understood their choices.  If he had to be made to pick a side, he definitely would not pick one that functioned on autopilot.

But no matter the other men’s idiocy, there was something else that bothered Dmitry.

He was a killer.

That grim reminder was slowly killing him inside.  God knew his heart, though he wasn’t worthy of his attention.  Dmitry Medlov didn’t want to be this for the rest of his life.  He was more than just THE BUTCHER. Wasn’t he?

News arrived to Alexander Popov, and his younger brother, Peter, of their newest success before Yuri Orlov’s mangled body, could be properly disposed of – a process which included hacking up the remains into tiny pieces and feeding them to the guard dogs in a special gravy stew.

Dmitry Medlov, in all his glory, had won yet another bout in the name of the bratva, and he had done so flawlessly – with barely a scratch on him.  Right now, his name was on every convict’s lips in prison, and their stories would elevate his rank even higher than it already was.  It was a dubious distinction to be exalted, especially when the act that led to that praise was commissioned by such high-ranking officers of the Vory.

After the guards had left upon delivering their message, the two brothers sat quietly, relishing in the fact that they remained on top of the prison food chain uncontested by the larger mass of commoners who outnumbered them.

Both men were pleased. It was hard enough to manage their own men, but to lose the favor of the commoners and thereby their collective fear, would place the older members of the Vory in a compromised position. However, they had little time to enjoy their triumph.

Along with the news of the fight had come word of a more disturbing development outside of the prison walls.  The Popov territory in Kopotnya, one of the most impoverished areas but most profitable of their Moscow purview, was being poached by another crime family.  If something was not done soon, all they had worked for would be threatened, and all the money that they still depended on would be gone.

It was what every imprisoned crime lord feared – to be dethroned by the absence of his presence.  And a war over territory was never good.  It pulled too many soldiers off their posts on the street and disrupted regular business, thus impacting cash flow, which was why the Vory v Zakone looked down on internal conflict. Plus, few men would enlist to fight for the Popov empire now that they were incarcerated.  What would be the incentive?

Alexander had sent a communication to his men in Moscow via the guards to expect orders soon, but he knew that his message would have to be just as powerful as the one he had sent to Yuri Orlov – may be more powerful – in order to keep his respect.  Weakness could not be tolerated – not at any rank, not at any time.

In an overcrowded prison filled with cells packed with double occupants forced to sleep on the floor or makeshift cots, the Popov men were assigned a clean, quiet cell to themselves.  Listening to the radio, they mulled over their situation and shared a tray of mini-breads and pickles, nearly immune from the horrific treatment and rigors of prison life.

“I have an idea,” Alexander said to his brother as he clipped his toenails.   How he wished for a pedicure after so many years inside this place.  The sound of thick alpha-keratin cracking under the pressure of the stainless-steel clipper filled through the room with its distinctive clicks.  He wiggled his toes and curled his legs inward to get a better view of his feet.  “About that situation, we have with Sacha.”  He clipped again, this time releasing a sigh when the middle nail appeared jagged.  There was a time he had a girl to do this.  She would handle all his hygiene needs, among other things if so ordered, but now he was relegated to doing his own tasks; and the older he got, the harder it was.

“I’m listening, brat,” the salt-and-pepper haired Peter answered in a calm voice from the top bunk as he inwardly snarled at a picture on the front page of Gorbachev kissing the German hardliner Erick Honecker at the 40th-anniversary celebrations for the G.D.R.

It was heresy as far as Peter was concerned.  The Popov men had always been old school.  They still remembered World War II and usual Nazis soldiers trying to storm the country.  Time had not healed that wound. The Germans were mad dogs in need of muzzles, and Mother Russia was falling apart under her premier’s leadership.

The only reason he and his brother were here in this rathole was because of the KGB – fucking government, fucking police. The KGB had first offered the Popov brothers a chance to leave the country with exit visas to Israel under the guise of releasing Jews (even though they were not), which then would allow them to immigrate the U.S. – a land of milk and honey unprepared for the likes of their brotherhood.

It was all part of Gorbachev’s scheme to rid the Soviet Union of its organized crime element.  The deal would allow them to start anew as long as they let a Soviet spy to go with them, pretending to be a cousin, in order to advance the country’s other pursuits.

But neither of the men wanted to leave their country or the businesses that they had built.  And neither of them wanted a spy embedded with them for the rest of their lives – reporting back to the Kremlin like the snakes that they were.  It violated their very principles and, more than anything else, their code.

After all else failed, the KGB found a way to bring them up on charges, ironically convicted for the same practices that had helped keep the country viable for years.  Alexander was sentenced to life for his part in the organization.  Peter received twenty years.  Ten were still left on his bid.

Clueless to his brother’s silent agitation, Alexander continued with his hygiene regimen, even as a discarded toenail shot across the room and landed on the floor.  He grunted.  “What we need is a real show of power, something that others think to be impossible,” Alexander said, a grin tugging at his lips.  “It’s clear that some of our brothers and most of our enemies feel we are out of sight, out of mind.  But if our name is ever to carry the power it once did, we cannot allow this to happen.”

No shit.  Peter was not in the mood to hear the obvious stated and prayed his brother had more to offer.

“Tonight’s victory has given me a great revelation,” Alexander said with hope.

With sudden animation, Peter sat up against his pillow and closed his paper.  “Go on,” he urged, giving his full attention.

“It’s clear that Dmitry Medlov has promise, but if he does every year that the Kremlin has given him, he’ll be an old, used up man by the time he sees anything outside of these bars.  And let’s be clear, by then, he won’t be of use to anyone – not even himself.”  Alexander stopped cutting his nails and averted his eyes toward the top bunk.  “What if we arranged for him to get an early release and go take care of the problem in Kopotnya?  We would prove to those who might question our authority that we still have the power to rule and to those who would move against us…”

Peter raised a brow and finished his brother’s sentence, “We still have the power to reach them.”   The idea was genius.

“Exactly,” Alexander said, proud of himself.  “Now, this could be our only play, but it’s a powerful one if done right.  There is no possible way that the prison board would confuse either one of our cases. I’m here for life, and you’re here for another 10 years.  But if we were to arrange for someone else to be accidentally released, it wouldn’t garner the attention of the Kremlin.”

“Dmitry is useful, but if he is released accidentally, he cannot stay here to do our bidding,” Peter warned.  “A man like that won’t stay under the radar for long.  He can’t help himself. He’s too ambitious.”

“Then, let us use the wisdom of our captors.  We get him a ticket out of Moscow…out of Russia, but first, we have him fix our problem.”  Alexander stood up and stretched his legs.  Leaning against the top metal cot, he smiled at his brother.  “Dmitry’s talents are wasted here.  We have a hundred men willing to die for us, but he has a particular set of skills that could be very useful on the outside.”

“Especially since I am to be released in 10 years.  I would hate to come out to receive a kingdom that was more fit for a popper than a king,” Peter said, weaving his fingers together into a steeple.  “Yes, brat.  Your idea is clever.  You’ve found a way to keep us in play after all.”

Alexander raised a brow.  It felt good to be in charge again of something more than what happened behind bars.  It made him feel young and relevant.  “And put a workhorse out on the streets.  He’ll be a great earner.  I can feel it.  Wherever his feet land, his allegiance will be our success.”  He was sure of it, and even more confident now that Dmitry had killed Yuri in such sublime fashion.  A man like that could be useful.  A man like that could be Czar!

A few days after Dmitry’s fight, he was finally summoned to meet with Boss Popov and his brother in a face-to-face meeting.  After cleaning himself up in the same shower that he had killed Yuri, he followed three guards, known for doing the Vory’s bidding, down a quiet hall to the last cell on the block that housed his bosses.

He had met with the Popov brothers before, but only a few times and never in their cell. In those brief meetings, he had been given strict instructions and then ordered away, but this time, the atmosphere was much different.

The tall boy with blonde golden locks, piercing blue eyes, and an angelic face emerged around the corner with his hands in iron cuffs wearing a black and white uniform that itched his skin and irritated the back of his neck.  Lowering his body to fit into the cell, he took a seat in the corner and sat on while the guards uncuffed him and left him alone with two older men.

He looked around, impressed.  Their cell was bigger than the others, and while no one else could have so much as a picture from their former life, these two men had real goose-down comforters on their cots, Persian rugs on the floor, leather-bound books and real bookshelves, radio, and television and other amenities that spoke to their power.

Rubbing his wrists absently, Dmitry waited quietly out of respect for one of the men to speak to him first.  He knew that they were appreciative of his deed, but it wasn’t like it hadn’t been done before, which led him to surmise that he was not here for a congratulatory pat but a new assignment.

Alexander Popov, a man who had grown accustomed to the effect he had on his inferiors, was the first to speak.  “You did well the other night,” he said, sitting on his lower bunk.  Being in the room with the butcher, even though he controlled him, was a bit intimidating.  The young man took up room, sucked all the air from space, just by walking into it.

“Thank you,” Dmitry said, eyes still cast low.

Alexander looked at the tattoos on Dmitry’s hands.  They were new, still reddened and puffy.  “How many men have you killed for me since you arrived at Vladimir Central?” Alexander asked, scrubbing a hand across his silver beard.

“Seven…teen,” Dmitry answered, a barrage of faces flashing through his mind.  He tried not to think of them – his ghosts - but every once in a while, they escaped from their entrapment and ran amuck, haunted his memory.

“How many have you killed for yourself?” Peter asked, feet dangling off the top bunk.

Dmitry took a deep breath before answering that question, having to make a quick mental tally.  “Three.”

“You’ve served the brotherhood well.” Alexander used the point as a Segway.  “Things can be hard, damn near impossible when you have to do them on your own here, but this is true of life in general. When you have the brotherhood behind you, nothing is impossible.  But it comes with a cost.  The other side of the coin is that you’re always a target.”

“I am,” Dmitry answered truthfully.  Since he had arrived, he had been the target of many altercations.  Some wanted to test his reputation.  Others simply did not like such a young man in their presence.  Still, he had bested all of them – their reasons were inconsequential.

“If you stay here, you’ll be fighting for the rest of your life.  And eventually, even though you are quite the specimen, someone will outsmart you, outmuscle you – kill you.  What if I could offer you something more than just a fight in a bathroom stall?” Alexander asked.  “What if I could offer you freedom?  No special treatment with the guards or extra food with the servers but real freedom, a chance to do it all over again?”

Dmitry’s head popped up. Making eye contact with Alexander, a pronounced frown line danced over the top of his blonde brows.  He didn’t speak, but his face spoke volumes.  In all his time here, three years to be exact, living in the dark recesses of the forgotten, he had never imagined a chance to escape his most vivid nightmare.

But the idea of a second chance sent chills up his spine. He had a brother waiting on him, who needed him, who would not survive without him. He had made a promise to his dead mother to raise Ivan and to be there with him until his last day.  That promise haunted him at night.

“He’d like that,” Peter said, voice humming.  “Very much.”

Dmitry blinked fast but kept his wide-set mouth closed.  Swallowing hard, he made his beating heart calm in order to keep his ears focused on their next words.

“We’d like to offer that to you,” Alexander said, getting up from his cot.  These were not words meant to be spoken from a seated position.  “Not many men will ever get the opportunity.  I know I won’t.  I’m serving a life sentence on the back of that suka Gorbachev and his promises to eliminate the Vory v Zakone.  My brother won’t see the light of day for another ten years.  But you…”  His mouth quirked.  “You might just see the world before it has time to change.”

“Anything,” Dmitry whispered.  He couldn’t hold the words.  They leapt from him before he could think.

Alexander knew that he had the young boy right in the palm of his hands.  He could see the desperation lingering behind his mesmerizing eyes.  Hope was a thing that drove men to do the impossible, and right now, he needed a man capable of just that.  With two strides, he made his way over to Dmitry and put a hand on the top of his head as if to knight a villager into his cause.

Dmitry’s eyes closed.  Clinging on with faint hope, he waited for Alexander to speak, to tell him what he needed to do to make that dream of freedom a reality.

“I need you to kill again,” Alexander said, gripping Dmitry’s head.  “I need you to send a message to anyone who might question my authority on my streets, just like you did with Yuri.”

“Anyone,” Dmitry promised without the slightest expression.  He looked up at his ward and felt a kinship to him at that moment that he had never felt with a man before him.

Alexander stated his case.  “Sacha Karpenko is moving in on our territory.  Since my conviction, he has been very busy usurping me, and in my absence, he stands to be the most powerful man in the Moscow underworld.  My brother and I have never believed in using women or drugs to advance our cause, but he is using both, destroying our women, destroying our families, destroying our legacy.  If we cut him down, we will be doing more than protecting our territory.  We will be protecting what our brotherhood has stood for since its inception.”

Peter jumped down from his cot and walked over to Dmitry as well.  His charismatic hubris was starting to show.  “We want you to kill him, Dmitry.  You worked for Kirill many years before your conviction.  He has been loyal to us for many years. Work for him again on this job.  Fulfill our wishes. He’ll handle the logistics, but you’ll need a second man for the hit. Do you have one?”

Dmitry thought of his young brother – a wild, impulsive hooligan who was always ready for anything.  “I do,” he said emphatically.  “Someone I can trust.”  He and his brother had done a hundred deals together since they were kids. Many had ended in blood; all had ended in success. If it was a hit that Alexander and Peter wanted, he and his little brother could pull it off.

“Can you trust this person with your life and this mission?” Alexander asked.

Dmitry looked between Alexander and Peter, admiring how cohesive they were.  He hoped in the years to come, he and his brother would be not only as powerful as these two but as loyal to each other.  “My baby brother, Ivan.  I can trust him with anything.”

“As I can trust my brother,” Alexander said proudly.  “Do this thing for us, and you will have your freedom.  I may not have a chance to get out of here, but my brother does, and I need him out there, not only protecting my interest but also my two sons.  One day, they will lead the brotherhood, and a way must be paved for them.”

“I’ll do it.  You have my word,” Dmitry promised.

Peter put his hand on Alexander’s shoulder and nodded.  They had picked the right man for the job.  “Well, little butcher, pack your things.  You’re about to go on an adventure of a lifetime.”

Chapter 2

Vladimir Central Prison

100 miles from Moscow, Russia

Spring 2018 (29 Years Later)

I t had been nearly thirty years since Dmitry Medlov was accidentally released from prison and had escaped to a better life abroad after fulfilling Alexander Popov’s wishes to kill his enemy. Much had changed since then.  But the red-bricked fortress of Vladimir Central Prison stayed frozen in time – at least in its physical form. This place - where Stalin’s son once was held captive, thousands had met a tortured, murderous end, and over a million more had been sentenced in its 228-year existence - remained a constant, gloomy reminder of dreams deferred.  Such was its macabre design.  Such was its ultimate purpose.

While the rest of the world evolved, experiencing the boom of technology, the pain of wars, the rise of democracy, and the fall of morality and humanity in all its recesses and corners, Vladimir Central stood unwavering.  It was still just as imposing as when it was first erected, especially for those banished to its iron clutches for life.

Guards still paraded its emasculated convicts around in black and white uniforms with shaved bald heads and little sailor hats, handcuffed backward, bent over in the stress position, and blindfolded.  The infamous monster Caucasian Shepherd dogs the size of bears still barked in demand of human flesh and terrorized the grounds under the careful watch of their handlers when they were not pacing around their steel cages like lions.  There still was no prison yard for men to even gain the slightest hope or view of the blue skies above them.  The food was still slop – a mix of tasteless soup and bread, void of taste or enjoyment.

And Alexander Popov still drew breath in a solitary cell where he was allowed his expensive comforters, Persian rugs, leather-bound books, television, and radio.  The television, of course, had been upgraded along with the radios, but the cell size was still the same.  The walls had been painted to hide the blood splatter and dirt, and the electrical wiring fixed to prevent fires, but it still was a dingy, dark place.  The air was not as dank with the removal of lead walls and leaking ceilings wrought with mold, but it was still void of the smell of freedom.

And since his brother, Peter, had been released nineteen years ago, the persuasive, bold, leadership, Alexander had sought out and killed to protect for his family had dwindled.  All his amenities had become a cruel joke over time.

All his dreams of running an underworld empire from his imprisoned walls had turned to heavy burdens and nightmares.  Now, he was a feeble, rickety, old man who had lost most of his brilliantly silver hair due to stage-four cancer.  The taste of fine foods smuggled in for years was lost to his feeding tube.  Glaucoma filled his blue eyes, and the loss of his hearing in one ear had led him to nearly scream when he spoke.

Still, like the prison that had become his home, he remained.  Most days, he waited for the angel of death to come calling but did not pray for him.  Defiantly, he held on to what little life was still inside of him, energized by the letters that came from his sons and the messages and pictures sent by his brother.  They were the last hues of gold and yellow in the twilight of his life.

In truth, Alexander Popov was afraid to die, like many who had chosen the same road before him.  Because upon his last breath, he would have paid for his crimes against man, but upon his death, he would have to pay for his sins against God.

Three guards with the clinking metal of AK-47 weapons hitting against their camouflage uniforms and a guard dog out in front of them on a heavy chain escorted Lt. Guard Kuznetsov, the warden of the supermax prison, toward the last cell on the long corridor of Korpus 3.

Kuznetsov was a petite man in stature, only made authoritative in physical appearance because of his distinguished, well-pressed, green uniform boasting medals and insignia and his customized boots with two-inch lifts that barely made him five-feet-five-inches tall.  Beady green eyes glared out under wire-rimmed frames situated on his pointy nose that overshadowed thin lips and a weak chin.  And an unsightly mole on his right cheek added to his homely and unfortunate features.

Plagued with a Napoleon Complex, he often delved out severe punishments to convicts who dared make jokes about his size and used excessive force to put fear in others.  Others being anyone who was not a former Russian oligarch.

With his bird chest poked out and his shoulders squared, he waited as the guards entered Popov’s cell first to ensure their superior’s safety.  When all had been checked, he turned into the cell and eyed Popov, who was lying on a wooden bunk bed that was pushed up against the wall with an IV attached to his right arm.

Popov’s left hand, tattooed and wrinkled, sprinkled with liver spots, was resting on his chest.  His nails were long and yellowish now that he was unable to trim them. He rested quietly, even though the dogs had made a fuss, refusing to acknowledge them or their handlers. But when he felt a presence close, his eyes flashed open to find Kuznetsov standing directly over him, looking down with quiet judgment.

“Are you well today, Popov?” Kuznetsov asked, pulling the wool throw up around the man’s mid-section.

Popov grunted but managed to speak in a gurgled tone.   A breath escaped his mouth with a foul odor.  “I am.”  He tried to sit up, but Kuznetsov stopped him.  “What brings you to see me?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid,” Kuznetsov answered.  Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a folded letter.  “Your son, Erik, asked me to read this to you verbatim instead of just sending a message.  Because of the nature of it, I felt inclined to agree.” A tone of underlying enjoyment betrayed the frown lines on his face.

When he was first assigned to the supermax prison twenty years ago, Kuznetsov had been fearful of Alexander Popov.  It was said that he ran all the most dangerous criminals on the campus, and his reach outside its walls was even greater.  So, he had treaded carefully with the crime boss – done Popov’s bidding, turned his head to retribution delved out by the Vory v Zakone, treated the old man with the utmost respect.  But over the years, younger and more ambitious men dethroned the former underworld boss – both inside the prison and out in the world.   More dangerous and influential crime lords were sentenced to prison, and the power struggle began among the men.  Alas, when all the smoke cleared, Alexander’s supremacy was only a glimpse of what it once was, and his influence diminished to a lack-luster status.

Now that Popov was dying, Kuznetsov relished in the man’s weakness.  He waited daily for reports from the nurses hoping for the man’s demise.  The only reason he had come today was not out of loyalty or respect to Alexander, but to watch as the last hope and life as it drained from the man’s face.

Unfolding the letter, Kuznetsov cleared his throat, making his large Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed down a gloat, he raised a brow. “Are you ready for me to read your communique?” he asked, rather formally.

The slow batting of Alexander’s eyelashes alluded to the fact that he knew the words were going to be his death sentence, but he held his composure.  He nodded, hearing the monitors beep beside him.  “Yes, I am ready, boy.  Read your words and be done with it.”

“Father, your firstborn, my older brother, Alexei, is dead.  His murder was ordered by Dmitry Medlov after a disagreement over territory. It was carried out by Chinese Triads to add injury to insult. Our family has been wounded.  Our name has been slighted.  The man that you honored with your blessings while in prison has dishonored us all with his betrayal.  Because of Dmitry’s status on the Oligarch Council and as acting-Czar of the brotherhood, no action can be taken without your expressed approval.  But while there is still life in your body and power in our name, I need you to avenge Alexei’s death. Sincerely and with deep regret, your son, Erik.”  Kuznetsov folded the paper and put it back in his jacket, then bowed his head.

The world was spinning out of control for Alexander.  It was no mystery that over the years, his sons had not always gotten along with Dmitry, but the idea that the man he had given a second chance was responsible for cutting down his firstborn was unfathomable.  WHY?  WHY? WHY?

Questions erupted in his mind, and tears, hot as volcanic lava, rushed down his cheeks.  His heart raced.  His hands trembled.  Visions of Alexei as a child, a baby, swaddled in his arms, almost choked him.  Why would Dmitry betray him?  Why would Dmitry take from him in such a way?  All that he had ever done was for family, for brotherhood.  He had taught Dmitry to do the same, and yet the man he had trusted and elevated had turned on him like a mad dog.  Well, there was only one way to handle mad dogs.  They had to be put down!

“What word would you like for me to send back to your son?” Kuznetsov asked, pleased with the effect the message had on Alexander.  He pulled out a cell phone to record the message so that it could be smuggled back to Erik.

Alexander, with his last breath, raised his head and looked directly into the lens of the phone.  His eyes were red now, his voice stronger for the moment.  “Kill him,” Alexander seethed.  “Kill Dmitry Medlov.”  Body giving out, his head fell back on the pillow, and the monitor behind him blared.  Nurses could be heard running down the hall toward his cell.  There was nothing else to live for, nothing else to dream about.  His eyes averted to the ceiling, and he allowed himself to release his soul from his body, uncaring of who came to claim it.

Kuznetsov ended the recording and put his phone away, moving out of the way as nurses ran in and started to work on the old man.  A smile pulled at his lips as he turned and walked out of the cell.  Alexander Popov was no longer a problem for him.  Too bad, he couldn’t say the same for Dmitry Medlov.

Chapter 3

Memphis, TN

The Medlov Compound

Two Days Later (4:00 p.m.)

I n the serene silence of his opulent home office, Dmitry stood facing toward the panoramic windows behind his credenza that gave a perfect view of the back of his vast estate.  The manicured grounds, a testament to his wealth and admiration of natural beauty, was decadent in design.  It donned plush green grass tended to daily by a team of professional gardeners, exotic flowers from all over the world planted in very intricate gardens of the most precious stones, large hedge bushes cut into quirky designs to amuse his children, bird ponds picked out by his wife, concrete statues of the saints dedicated to his Catholic faith and a general personality of warmth and happiness that all in his home enjoyed.

Every day, he would stand here in this window and admire it all; thank God for all that he had, ponder on all the tasks before him and think about his life. Sometimes he was catapulted by cruel memory back to the years before when heartache and loss had crippled him.  Other times, he was able to think of the joys of his life like his darling children, his brave son, and nephew, and the triumphs of his existence.  Regardless of where his thoughts took him, every day after he had pondered for a while, he came to one singular conclusion - he did not deserve any of it.

But while he knew that he was not deserving of all that he had amassed, he was unwilling to give it up.  He had fought long and hard to arrive at this place in his life, and nothing short of death would take it from him.

As he stood today, the glow of the late afternoon sun had just half an hour before fed his grounds and bathed his estate in its golden hue, but now a storm was on the horizon, carrying with it dark, heavy clouds and the rumble of angry thunder. A hollowing wind ripped through the air, and cracks of lightning flitted through the sky, blotting out the sun and bringing the promise of rain.

Dmitry’s glimmering blue eyes were affixed to the coming storm, watching it with care as he picked up his violin.  A song was in his heart.  It had been lingering there for several days, playing a somber tune inside of him.  Unable or unwilling to fight it any longer, he had pulled his instrument from its black leather case and decided to play in hopes that after the dread he felt deep inside might finally go away.

With the sleeves of his tailored blue dress shirt rolled up mid-forearm, exposing the intricate mafia tattoos he had been given decades before, he placed his shiny violin just below his collar bone, cupped it under his stubborn chin, making sure to keep it horizontal and angled to the left of his straight forward position, and picked up his bow.  Turning his wrist slightly, he gently glided the bow across the strings of the violin, hearing her come alive in his embrace.

Ahh, what a beautiful, magnificent sound she made.  Exhaling a deep breath through his nose, he closed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, and played.

The two lowly guards standing in the hallway immediately perked up, like dogs to a whistle, when they heard the strange sound, but alarm quickly dissipated when they realized the origins.  Boss was playing again.  Very rarely did he do so, but when he did, it was understood that he was not to be interrupted.  They glanced over at each other with a knowing stare and then resumed their protective stance on either side of the double-door entrance.

The impending storm was steadily approaching even as Dmitry serenaded his haunting memories, bringing with it a trepidation that was not yet willing to reveal itself.  The sky had turned dark with a blanket of gloom.  Silver bolts of blinding lightning streaked across his grounds before finally a heavy rain fell, beating against his windows.

Still, Dmitry kept his eyes shut.  Swaying as he played, the recess light above him shining down on his blonde and gray mass of curly hair, he belted a tune that was so powerful it seemed to consume everything around him, even the guards who stood outside his doors.

It was as if he played to fight away the melancholy, to fight against the pain inside of him, to fight against the anxiousness that stirred him out of his sleep for the last few weeks, to fight against the memories that tried to cripple him with guilt.  He fought it all with a bow and a violin.  He fought against the tears that dared to drop from his eyes at the thought of his brother, Ivan, when he was just a young innocent, beautiful boy running up and down the streets of Moscow playing kickball, at the thought of his young mother fixing borscht in their small apartment when she wasn’t turning tricks to feed them, at the thought of his best friend, Davyd’s boisterous laugh after a dirty joke, at the thought of his late wife Catherine when she tried to learn how to box atop their king-sized bed in London before she started to truly battle with the cancer, at the thought of his ex-girlfriend Elsa frolicking down an Angolan beach after dusk, at the thought of his son Anatoly finally revealing himself as his son at Mother Russia Restaurant, at the thought of his daughter’s birth into this world and later her abduction by his own sister, at the thought of him kneeling before his wife on the snowy streets of Moscow to ask for her hand in marriage and then the thought of Ivan raping her, even as she carried his first child.  He thought about having to kill his mentor’s son because he knew that if he did not, Popov would have come after him and all that he loved.  He fought it all.  So many thoughts.  So many memories.  So much pain.  So much betrayal.

By now, the storm was right on top of his estate.  Furiously, it poured itself atop of his mansion, drenching his beautiful grounds, filling him to the brim with something akin to agony.  Hot tears streamed down his face.  Gripping the bow, he played harder.  His melody poured out of his office, down the hall, and into the house.

The maids stopped to listen.  The butler stopped to wonder.  The guards stopped to think.  The children stopped playing their game of hide and seek down the hall.  The world stopped…

Dmitry had drifted into another world.  He had stepped back in time and was floating among his memories.  It drew him into its center even as the flashes of people long lost to this world danced around him like a tornado.  He could see them all looking at him, judging him, crying out to him – foe and friend, family member alike.  He played for them now, crooned a melody of desperate longing and departure.  His chest swelled with emotion, and for a second, he felt it nearly impossible to breathe, but he allowed himself this vulnerability for just a second, because he knew this storm on top of his house was a sign.  Trouble was coming yet again, and there was nothing he could do about it but fight.

Resigned to that fact, he finally lifted his chin from the violin and removed his bow from the strings.  He dropped his arms to his sides and looked directly into the storm.  Tilting his head, he wiped his face just as a massive clap of thunder rocked the house, and then a white dove came crashing into the window in front of him, and the family photo of all of his children and Royal fell face first on the desk.  He watched as the small foul fell to the concrete outside and fluttered before dying.

Blinking slow, he slumped his broad, muscular shoulders and lowered his head.  It was a sign, an omen.  He would have to kill again very soon or lose his family.

As Royal hung up the phone in the kitchen after her call, she looked toward the arched doorway that led out to the hall, hearing her husband’s violin.  She couldn’t even remember the last time she had heard him play.  Wiping her hands with the towel on the granite countertop, she twisted up her lip.  If he was playing that violin, he was evidently in no mood to hear the news she had just received, but there was never a good time to announce death.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Anya asked, sitting at the island bar eating a snack while watching the Disney Channel on her tablet.  Glancing up at her mother, she read Royal’s body language and knew that something wasn’t right.

Royal raised a brow and tried to smile, but her expression betrayed her.  “Nothing, baby.  Just grown-up stuff,” she managed to say with a heaving breath.  Leaning her back against the counter, she tried to control her breathing

“Why is Daddy playing his violin?” Anya asked, the innocence gone from her striking blue eyes.  She was ten now, but so much older emotionally.  Narrowing her gaze on her mother, she waited for an answer.

Royal put a bowl of mandarin oranges in front of the girl.  “Sometimes, Daddy just likes to play,” Royal answered.  Anya made her uncomfortable when she asked too many questions.  Her daughter was too inquisitive, too aware of the world.  “Eat your snack.  I’ll be back, okay.”

“Are you going to go and check on him?” Anya asked, pushing her tablet away from her and grabbing an orange.

“Yes, I am, nosy,” Royal said, pulling off her apron.  She was right in the middle of cooking dinner, right in the middle of trying to be normal.  Damn it to hell. Glancing over in the corner, she nodded toward Marat, who was quietly watching the exchange and had already picked up on his cue to keep Anya busy while she was gone.  Striding out of the kitchen, she moved past the help who tried to busy themselves when they saw her.

The walk down the long, limestone hallway seemed to take forever.  She could feel her husband breaking through the music.  It ripped through her, making her want to sprint toward the door.  But instead, she kept her head up, her stride slow and her face unreadable.

Halfway down the hall, the music abruptly stopped, and a loud clang of thunder rocked the house, making the lights flicker.  That was odd.  Nothing ever seemed to disturb their electricity.

Arriving at the door, she moved past the guards, who dared not stop her and grabbed the brass knob.  Opening the door, she stepped inside to find Dmitry staring out of the windows with the violin in his hand.

His stance was wide but not aggressive, more defeated than anything.  Still, in his dress shirt and dark blue slacks from a meeting earlier, he had been in this confounded office for hours.  She watched him, gigantic and beautiful, breathing heavily with his back to her.

He didn’t have to ask who it was.  There was only one person in the world who entered his office with more command than he did.  Slowly, he turned to her and swallowed hard.  The look on her face was ominous, making him prepare for the worse.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a deep, thick Russian accent, putting the violin back in its case.

Royal walked up to his desk.  “The doctor called.  Anil’s mother won’t make it much longer.  She’s suffering…badly.  They think it’s time.”

“Time to what?” Dmitry asked.

Was it not apparent?  Her frown was instantaneous though she took care of her tongue.  “To let her go,” Royal said, clearing her throat.  Since she had been taking care of her husband’s son’s mother, she had grown close to the woman.  She had come to love her, even though not a single word had been spoken between them.  So, the news that she was delivering was not easy for her, but she tried as the mistress of this house to have some dignity.  “It’s time to pull the plug and let her…” her voice strained, “go with God.”

Dmitry picked the picture of his family back up from where it had fallen and placed it carefully against the base of the lamp on his desk.  Nodding, he tried to avoid eye contact with Royal.  “Very well.  I’ll tell Anil.”

Royal put her hands on his desk. She knew that he had not loved the woman, but surely the news was painful for him in some way.  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, looking at Dmitry.

Dmitry lifted his head and looked down at his wife.  He almost grinned at her fury.  She was so full of life and love and passion and never able to control how it controlled her.   How could he explain something to her that he didn’t even know himself?  Why worry her?  It was clear she had enough on her plate.  Reaching across the desk, he ran a hand over her soft brown cheek.  “Nothing, love.  I’m fine, just have a lot on my mind.”

Royal could see the redness still in his eyes from where he had been crying, but she had learned long ago that the best way to be his wife was to keep him steady, not to break him down.  Her voice softened as she put her hand over his.  “Dinner will be ready in an hour.  Why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower?  I’ll send for you when it’s ready.”

Dmitry smiled at her in appreciation.   She was always trying to take care of everyone. “I should go and talk to Anil first.  Then I’ll come to dinner, da.”

“Okay.”  Royal nodded and stepped back.  It was clear that he needed a few minutes alone.  Besides, she had said what she needed to say.  “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”  Pausing at the door before walking out, she turned and looked back at him.  She wanted to pry, to find out what was going on inside of his head, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.  Instead, she did the only thing she could do – comfort him.  Her voice was soft now, like a gentle breeze to cool his heated temperament.  “I love you, Dmitry.”

Dmitry sat down in the chair behind his desk and scrubbed a hand over his mouth.  With his long legs cocked open and his back pushed against the chair, he swept a gaze over his wife in her black yoga pants and T-shirt and felt a sudden urge to take her.  She was most beautiful when she didn’t try, most beautiful when she was busy being a good wife.  “I love you always, Royal Medlov,” he said sincerely.  Waving her off, he tried to make his voice more chipper. “Now, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.  Go cook your dinner before I think of something else for you to do.”  A naughty grin crooked at his lips.

Royal blushed and shook her head at his innuendo. Maybe he wasn’t as sad as he first seemed. “You’re a hound. You know that?”  Grinning, she left the room and closed the door behind her.

Dmitry was smiling until the door closed, but as soon as he was alone again, he felt the dread return.  Pulling out his cell phone, he sent a group text to his son, Anatoly, and his nephew, Gabriel.  Both were out of the city doing deals, but he wouldn’t be stupid enough to ignore the omen.  Something was coming, and the only way he could protect those he loved was to keep them close.

Stop what you’re doing and come home now.  I’ll explain when you get here.

As soon as he put his phone down, it rang again.  He started to ignore the call, but then he noticed who it was from.  Zoya, a young spy he was using to do some very clandestine work.

“Hello,” he answered.

“I finally made contact…well, sort of.  He noticed me today.  I’m sure I’ll have a conversation with him by the end of the week,” she answered.

It was just the news Dmitry needed.  Despite his internal alarms warning of danger, something was working out as planned.

Chapter 4

Budapest, Hungary

District V

78 József nádor tér

The Golden Bull Restaurant

A  stone’s throw from the breathtaking view of the ancient Danube River and ideally situated on the public square in the city’s centre, the high-end restaurant, The Golden Bull, known for its excellent cuisine and upper echelon patrons was finally getting ready to close for the evening.   After a full day, a successful wine tasting and a private birthday party for a very needy diplomat, the staff patted themselves on the back for a job well done as they ushered the last of the patrons out into the night air.

“Jó éjszakát,” the hostess said, bidding a jovial goodnight with a bright smile as she held on to the brass handle of the large oak door leading into the restaurant.

It was good to see them finally go.  It was even better to know that she’d be in her bed studying her books soon, after being on her feet for six hours straight.  But first, she had to hurry back inside and help clean up the dining room.  A gentle breeze came rushing from the west and danced through her asymmetrical auburn bob.  Taking a moment to enjoy its coolness, she tucked a wild strand behind her ear and glanced down the empty walkway toward someone who seemed to draw her attention supernaturally.

A man was stalking toward her in a determined stride.  He was covered by the shadows of the evening with only glimpses of his tall frame as he passed the romantic iron lamps attached to the buildings.  With a briefcase in his left hand and his head down, he seemed to take up all the space around him.  There was something menacing about his presence, and as his head finally lifted to reveal black-as-night eyes that landed on her, she felt him to be a threat.

The hostess nodded his way and prepared to step back inside, but he quickly caught the door with his large hand before she could safely take her leave.  The abrupt action stirred her senses awake, making her eyes widen.

She hesitated at first and then tried to apologetically retreat.  Her fingers gripped the handle harder, making her knuckles turn white.  Pushing back against the door, she planted her petite feet on the ground and looked up at the man.   “I’m sorry, sir.  We’re closed now,” she managed to say, green eyes flashing with a tinge of fear at the man’s dark, brooding glare.

He looked her up and down, unimpressed.  She was skinny, wearing a short black skirt and black pantyhose with black leather flats and a crisp white button-down.  Finally, his eyes landed back on her own.  “I’m here to see your chef,” he said, Russian accent thick and unmistakable.

“Is he expecting you?” she asked, looking just beyond him as the drunk diplomat and his entourage pulled out of their VIP parking spaces and headed down the pedestrian street.  They didn’t even notice the exchange she was having with the stranger.  Alas, she was alone and even more vulnerable now.

“He won’t turn me away once he finds out that I’m here,” the stranger assured.

She nodded her compliance.  “If you would just stay here, I’ll go and call on him,” she said, letting go of the door handle as she darted away from him into the restaurant.

The man was tall, strong, and unwilling to take orders from a young, skinny girl.  Walking in behind her, he looked around the small establishment.  “I’ll wait at your bar,” he said, closing the door and locking it behind him.

Her eyes went to the lock and then back to him.  “We don’t have a…bar,” she said, motioning toward the nearest table.  “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll be right back with the chef.”  Passing the other wait staff as they cleaned, she headed toward the kitchen, where she found Chef Farkas speaking with the sous chef.

“Sir,” the waitress said, voice high-pitched from distress.

Farkas glanced up at the girl as she entered and paused his conversation.  Turning to the woman, he frowned.  “What’s wrong?”

“There is a man here to see you,” she said, glancing back toward the kitchen door.  “He said once you knew who he was, you wouldn’t turn him away.  He insisted on coming in…wouldn’t wait outside.”

“Okay, what’s his name?” Farkas asked, walking toward the door.

“He didn’t say,” the hostess answered, voice trembling.  “I…forgot to ask.”

Farkas opened the door to the kitchen and looked around the small restaurant to see a familiar face perched on a chair toward the door.  Glancing back at the hostess, he rolled his eyes.  “Have everyone clear out of here.  They should arrive two hours early tomorrow to prepare for lunch.”

Nodding, the girl and the sous chef went immediately to tell the staff, while Farkas stepped back out into the dimly lit restaurant and made his way to the man.

“Leave us,” Farkas ordering the staff cleaning up the dining room.  On command, they quickly left their boss alone with his guest and the half-swept trash in the middle of the floor.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” the stranger said, standing up from his chair and straightening his suit jacket. A wide smile crossed his lips as he raised a dark brow.  “You’ve done well for yourself.”  He looked around theatrically to make his point.  “Very, very well.”

“Thank you.  It’s good to see you too, Yuri,” Farkas said, stopping only a few inches from the stranger.  His gaze landed on the briefcase.  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not just passing through?”

“I’ve never just passed through.  I’m here on business.  Time to call in that favor,” the stranger said with a nod.  “Straight from Old Man Popov.”  He tapped the briefcase.  “It was his dying wish, but don’t worry, you’ll be well compensated for your trouble.”

Rubbing his temples, Farkas let out a sigh.  “So, he’s dead?  When?”  In another life, he had worked for the Popov family as muscle, doing wet work of a particular kind when they didn’t want to get their hands dirty.  He thought all of that was behind him, but evidently, he was wrong.

“Old Man Popov kicked the bucket a few days ago after he found out that Alexei was dead.  Everyone thinks it did him in.” Yuri answered. “He’s finally gone to a better place.”

Farkas seriously doubted that, but he didn’t bother to comment on the matter.  It was typical, however, that the old man’s dying wish would be to kill someone.

“Who’s the target?”  Farkas asked, unbuttoning his white chef jacket.  It was clear that for the moment, he would have to put his restaurant and his new identity on hold.

“Dmitry Medlov,” Yuri answered, watching a varied reaction wash over the man’s face.  He expected such.  Even he was taken aback when he received the orders.

Farkas’s gaze narrowed.  “The fucking Czar?”

“The one and only.”  Yuri turned and opened the suitcase.  “Four million in Euro, upfront, and untraceable.  I’ll deliver the other four once it’s completed.  There is only one chance at this. If you don’t kill him the first time, you won’t get a second chance.  Our recon team has done the leg work.  We’ve been watching him for a few days.  His estate is impenetrable – too many guards, too many guns, too many variables.  His movements are unpredictable, for the most part.  He always moves with a team of men.  From what we’ve been able to determine, there is only one place he’s truly vulnerable.  We’ve made arrangements in advance to ensure he is there for you to do the job.   All of the details on the location and times are on this.”   He held up his right hand and revealed the small drive.

Farkas walked up to the table and looked at the money.  It was enough to pay his loan off where he would own this building free and clear.  “And if I do this, my debt to the Popov family is paid?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Yuri.

“You do this, and your debt is paid, and your name is forgotten.  You can go back to being 3-star Michelin chef Bandi Farkas, and never hear from the brotherhood again unless we really do stop by to have a meal.”  Yuri squared his shoulder and waited for a response.

Farkas’s left eye twitched.  Something inside told him to turn down the job, but when a man came with cash on hand and the specifics of a high-profile hit, you either took the job or died.  “When does it need to be done?” he asked, voice croaking.

“You leave tonight, headed for Memphis, TN in the United States.  We have a handler for you.  She’s waiting at the Ritz Carlton down the street.  Room 605.  Code name, Cox.  Meet her as soon as you close up tonight to go over everything before you board the jet.”

Reluctantly, Farkas closed the briefcase and took the jump drive from his old friend.  For a short time in his life, he honestly thought he had gotten away from this shit.  That had been stupid of him to believe life was that easy.    “Consider it done,” he said, facial expression unreadable.

London, England

Billionaire’s Row

The Popov Estate

Life was supposed to be great right now. Erik Popov had avoided being implicated and carted off in exile with other Russians after the English witch-hunt to identify those responsible for poisoning of Russian spies; his legal companies were showing considerable profits for the quarter despite the looming trade discussion between the U.S. and China; his illegal businesses were growing despite the uptick in Interpol investigations, and his new marriage to a 23-year old underwear model from Belgrade had not fizzled yet – like the five marriages before her.  For all intents and purposes, he was living on easy street.

However, everything paled in the wake of the news that his brother, Alexei Popov, had been killed by that overblown, egomaniac, Dmitry Medlov.  It was both a moment of pure celebration and infinite anxiety for Erik.  Celebration because Alexei had always been his father’s favorite son, even though he was a complete idiot.  Celebration because now the family solely belonged to him, and he no longer had to deal with a continuous power struggle.  Celebration because he could now wage war on Dmitry Medlov with legitimate reason, and once he was gone, become the most powerful man in the Russian underworld.

But the news also filled Erik with anxiety, because if this hit was not done with absolute precision, if the head was not completely cut off the snake, then the snake would turn more into a mythical hydra, rising from the ashes with five-times the power and five-times the problem, especially since there were at least five families on the global council who backed Dmitry’s every play.

This hit simply had to be done right, and he had gone to great lengths to employ the most covert and skillful sharpshooter he could find.  Now, all he needed to put his plan into action was a simple yes or no answer from his captain, Yuri, who had been personally sent to handle the details in Budapest.

Impatiently, Erik Popov sat in his favorite winged-back chair looking out of the bullet-proof bay windows of his second-floor study, watching a young blonde walk her dog down the street or instead allowing her dog to walk her.  She glided down the walkway like she owned it, nose high in the air, lips parted in deep thought.  Her presence immediately struck a chord – a small tremor of attraction zinging through him even as his paranoia kicked in.  She was incredibly tall and shapely, ass firm enough to bite, breasts humongous enough to palm like basketballs, long sculpted legs of an athlete, diamonds in her ear, designer heels on her feet, and a seductively little outfit that mirrored her desire always to be the center of attention — just his type. Not a day over 25, again another prerequisite for his wayward shaft.  She screamed sex – utterly fuckable and entirely out of place.

For many neighborhoods, the sight would have been nothing short of a commonality, but in one of the wealthiest communities in the world, her domestic task was not only beneath her but curious for him.  People on Billionaires’ Row had the help do everything for them, including walk their damn pedigree dogs.  But every night, around the same time, this blonde fuck-bot ventured out with her pet on a leash, prancing around like she owned the place.

Just as he was about to move the curtain to get a better view as she walked out of his sight, he caught her looking up toward the window directly at him.  Shit!  Pushing back in his chair to avoid being caught, he glanced at his watch and heaved a frustrated sigh.  Budapest was only an hour ahead of them.  The restaurant surely had to be closed by now.  So, what the hell was the holdup?

He stood up from his chair, knocking over the small ottoman in front of him as he darted over to the piano and grabbed a crystal tumbler of scotch that he had left their minutes earlier.  He hated being nervous.  It made him pace.  It made him pissed!

“What’s got you rattled this fine evening?” a voice asked from across the room.

Erik turned to find his uncle, Peter, standing in the doorway with his fists buried down in the pockets of his slacks.  Turning up the glass, Erik sucked down the expensive spirits before answering his only elder.  Placing the glass somewhat roughly back on the piano, he tried with no avail to hide his impatience.  “Nothing, just waiting on a call.”

“It must be a very important one to have you pacing.” Peter entered the room, knowing without asking that his nephew did not require or want his attention at the moment.  Still, there had to be a discussion, and it needed to be in private and away from all of Erik’s other counselors.  “There is a rumor that you’re going to assassinate Dmitry Medlov.”

Erik almost choked as he drank the scotch.  Holding back his cough, he felt his eyes water.  With a strained voice, he continued, “Who the fuck told you that?”  He was incensed by the leak, that someone would betray his confidence as head of the family, but that tended to happen when there were two leaders.  Someone always felt more loyalty to the other boss.  Now that Alexei was finally dead, he’d remedy that problem once and for all by systematically killing anyone who wasn’t exclusively loyal to him.

Peter walked up to Erik, eyeing the fidgeting man under his glasses.  “You know that I would never tell you anything to hurt you…”

Erik interrupted the wanna-be kingmaker before he could get on one of his long lectures.  He had suffered them since his uncle had been released from prison and had come home to consult him and his brother many years ago.  That time had now passed.  “No, buts…” Erik said, pouring another helping of scotch out of the canter.  As he pointed toward his uncle with a long index finger as a warning; the alcohol sloshed over the brim onto his hand and the piano top.  “Not tonight.”

“But…” Peter began in defiance.  “This is a terrible idea.  I know Dmitry.  It would be better for you to have a conversation with him to find out why he and Alexei were at war with each other, rather to assume.  After all, Alexei never mentioned anything about Dmitry to us.”

Erik’s gasp was audible. “Maybe he never got the chance.  For your information, I sent a letter to my father informing him of Alexei’s demise at the hand of your Dmitry, and he sent a message via video demanding the man’s head.”  He blinked fast at Erik, daring him to argue against his father’s wishes.

“What message did you send?” Peter asked. “Why did you not allow me to read it or see it?”

Erik would not be questioned by a relic. It was time to set some boundaries. “He may have been your brother, but he was my father.”  He pressed a hand to his own chest.   “I didn’t have to consult with you first.”

“Alexei was like a son to me, but I don’t think Alexander was aware that he was dabbling in drugs and prostitution.  These were things that we did not believe in. It was not what we built this family on.  How are we sure that Dmitry was not at war with him because of these things?”  Peter could see that Erik was hiding something.  It was imperative for him to be honest in order to help him.

But Erik laughed at the idea.  He felt no reason to reveal himself to a man who had long become irrelevant.  Instead, he chose to use this opportunity to remind his uncle of his place, not only in the family but the organization.  “Guns and whores keep this house afloat.  They keep our accounts overflowing with money.  It is because of my decision to move away from my father’s archaic ideas of community in order to keep us from being slaughtered and discarded by our brothers and the fucking competition.  Regardless of the business model, my father made his will clear.”

“But was he misinformed?” Peter pushed.

“But!” Erik gasped.  “But is my brother not dead?  But is my duty not to defend my family?  But am I now the head of this family?  It has been a long time since I discussed what this family does to stay a part of the global council.  The point is that we have a seat at the table because of me!”

Peter squinted as his memory sent him back to his days with Dmitry at Vladimir Central Prison. Even then, as a young boy, Dmitry had always been intentional in everything that he did.  To underestimate him now after years of experience would be a mistake. “I know this man.  He is reasonable, especially toward his brothers.  If we…”

“Uncle, I love you,” Erik said, back erect, eyes blazing with fire, “but if you take up for Dmitry Medlov over my dead brother and my dead father, I swear I’ll have your head tonight.  And I would hate to lose another family member so quickly.”  He glanced over at the old man, seeing Peter debate if the advice he wanted to give was important enough to die over.  What a bull-headed old fool he was!

Peter wasn’t surprised at his nephew’s threat, nor was he shocked at his actions.  Erik had always carried a chip on his shoulder. He was always looking for a reason and a way to prove himself, always wanted to be in control.  The fact that Alexander had divided the power of the family between the two brothers had always infuriated Erik, and if he were frank, he doubted that his nephew sincerely mourned his father or his brother’s death.  This was a power play.  This was a move toward checkmate.  He was power-hungry, and more than that, he was vindictive. More than likely, Erik had lied to Alexander to get approval for that hit, and he would twist the truth to make it what he wanted it to be in order to serve his purpose.  So, if Erik had gone that far, it was likely that he would kill him if he said another word in defense of Dmitry.

Pity.

Realizing that it was better to live another day, Peter digressed.  Dropping his head, he rested his case. “When you’re ready to talk to me about this, just know that I’m here,” Peter said, nodding toward his nephew. “I’m always here for you.” His voice was broken, not in just the defeat of the conversation, but the eventual fall of their house.  If Dmitry Medlov was assassinated, it would be the end of their family, his boys would see to it, but that was a factor that Erik had not considered, among other things.

The cell phone in Erik’s pocket buzzed.  Pleased with his uncle’s acceptance of defeat, he lightened his voice and mood.  “And I appreciate your support,” Erik said sarcastically, “but I’m more than capable of handling my shit.”  He pulled out the cell phone to see that Yuri was calling.  Turning from his uncle, he put the cell phone to his ear.  “The answer better be YES,” he growled.

Yuri walked back to his hotel room from The Golden Bull with his head on a swivel, trying to make sure that no one was following him. “The answer is yes, boss,” he said cryptically, glad to be able to give Erik good news.

“Finally, something I want to hear.”  Erik hung up the phone, whirled around, and raised it in his right hand in triumph.  “You see that, old man.  It’s handled.   In a few days, Dmitry Medlov will be a fucking memory, and the Popov family will be at the top of the food chain where we belong.”

Peter raised a gray brow.  Over the years, he had witnessed many men with ambition who had prematurely declared their reign before being impaled on the thorns of their own vanity.  Killing a seating king was not a fool’s task.  He hoped his nephew would be wise enough to understand that usurping Dmitry Medlov would not be as easy as making a phone call, but there was nothing that he could say to prove otherwise.  This was one lesson Erik would have to learn on his own.

“Well, then, I will excuse myself and leave you to your business,” Peter said, voice void of emotion.

“You don’t seem happy,” Erik countered.  He walked back up to his uncle and searched his wrinkled face.  “I’m fulfilling my father’s dying wish. I’m protecting our family, and yet you stand here like I just told you that your dick fell off.”

Peter had always been a quiet, calculating man.  In fact, it was his disposition that had kept his late brother, Alexander, in control for all those years.  He was not about to lose his cool now, just to assert his own pride.  Reaching over, he patted his nephew’s shoulder.  “I’ve lost so much, so many.  I just don’t want to lose you too, Erik.  You’re all I have.  You are all that is important anymore.”  It wasn’t a lie.  Peter had no children of his own, no family to go to outside of the men who served him.  No matter their path, he had to stand with Erik now.

Erik wanted to argue with Peter’s logic, but how could he? The old man had found a way to win the argument without arguing. Glancing up as two of his security men came to the door, he ended their futile conversation. “Go to bed, Uncle.  Get some rest.  Tomorrow, when you wake up, you’ll realize what I’ve done for you.”  As he watched his uncle leave the room, he waved his security in for a brief conversation.

“There is a blonde bitch who walks her dog every night.  Have you seen her?” Erik asked, walking back to the window to look out of it.  There was no sign of her now, but he knew that she had to live nearby.  It shouldn’t be hard to find out where.

“Yes, boss,” one of the men spoke up.  “We’ve seen her.”

Erik sucked on his bottom lip and made his way to the piano to pick up his glass again.  “Find out who she is, where she’s staying, and what her story is.”

The guard was confused.  Scratching his cheek with his thumb, he raised up on his heels and frowned, showing his deep Slavic features.  “You want her for girlfriend, boss?”  he asked in a thick Russian accent.

Erik boiled with irritation.  Did he have to spell it out for these numbskulls?  “No, I don’t want to fuck her, you idiot.  I want to make sure she’s not a fucking spy!”  He threw the scotch in his tumbler in their direction, showering their perfect suits with liquid.  “How many women do you know walking their dogs this time of night in this community?  How many women do you know who do anything for themselves here?” His voice rose, and the vein in his neck protruded as he glanced between the two well-dressed guards in disgust when neither gave an answer.  With nostrils flared, he tempered his anger for the second and lowered his voice.  Flicking the scotch off his own hand onto the hardwood floor, he shook his head.  “It truly surprises me that you two have a brain between you. Get out,” he ordered, turning his back to both of them.  “Bring me back answers, or don’t come back at all.”

As they left his presence as quickly as their feet would take them without running, Erik rolled his eyes and went back to the window.  “Fuck her?” he said incredulously.  In a fleeting thought, he rolled his neck and twisted up his lip.  Maybe he would fuck her once he made sure she wasn’t a spy, but for now, he had to be careful.

Zoya allowed her Pharaoh Hound to lead her down the street on his diamond-encrusted leash while she followed closely behind, red-backed six-inch heels clicking on the concrete, hair flowing in the wind.  She had made the walk down this same stretch of over-priced neighborhood for 20 days straight, but today was the first time that she was confident that she had gotten Erik Popov’s attention.  At last!

She hated to be Captain Obvious, but when she walked on previous days in her jeans and T-shirt or her workout clothes, not even the guards outside the home seemed to look her way.  So, she decided to take it up a notch, sporting a short designer skirt, a low-cut blouse, newly bleached hair, and full make-up.  Her heels were killing her, but she breathed through the pain, sure that her newly hatched plan would work, and if not, she has to do something a little more blatant.

But Erik Popov had noticed, and that was all that mattered.  Like any red-blooded man, he had a routine.  Late evenings were meant for some form of reflection, and he usually did it on the second floor of his Georgian-style 12-bedroom mansion, looking out of his window while getting sloshed.

The mission was simple.  Make contact.  Seduce and usurp his current flavor of the month wife, get in his head, get in his bed, and become a spy.  While she was still miles away from embedding herself in his life, she was confident that after that small recognition in the window, it would only be a matter of time before the man himself came from his perch and found a way to talk to her.

Heading back to the mansion only a few properties down from Popov, she pranced up the stairwell to the double doors of the Victorian mansion where she was playing house with famed billionaire and Silicon Valley mogul, Vince Layne, getting ready for her palate’s session with her trainer.  But first, she had to make a call.

As she breezed through the doorway into the white-washed foyer, her young live-in sugar daddy was grabbing the keys to his Maserati off the entryway table. There was a pause when he saw her, liked he had gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar.

“Hey, babe,” he said, leaning over to peck her cheek.

“Hey, you,” she said chipperly.  Her eyes scanned his appearance. Usually, he wore shorts, flip flops, and ridiculous plaid button-downs, but today, he was wearing a suit and real shoes.  “Where are you headed?” she asked, beginning her interrogation.

“Out to meet some friends for drinks.”  He saw her expression darken, worried that she was being left out. But she was.  Zoya was arm-candy, designed to impress his friends and clients.  But tonight, he was meeting some serious business contacts, and he didn’t have time to spend every moment devoted to giving her attention as she preferred.

“Want me to go with you?” she asked with a faux pout.  Handing off the leash with her dog still attached to the maid, she quickly kicked off her shoes to drop to an even six-feet tall, still much taller than her American boy toy.

Vince held in an irritated huff and denied himself the right to stomp his own feet.  Damn it.  If he had only left five minutes earlier, he would have missed her.  He was expecting an argument as soon as he rejected her offer, but he’d have to deal with her later.  Time was wasting.  “No, babe.  Not tonight.  Plus, I thought you had plans.  Don’t you have a workout session or something?”  He checked his watch impatiently and looked toward the front door like it was a million miles away.

Zoya feyned an eye-roll. “I could cancel for you,” she insinuated, eluding to the fact that he could do the same.  “We haven’t been spending enough time together lately.”  Pressing up against his thin chest, she trailed her fingers up to his shoulders and massaged them.

“When I get back, we can do whatever you want,” he placated to her momentarily all the while side-stepping her to get to the door.  “I really have to go.”  He glanced up into her enchanting face and felt a smidgen of pity for Zoya.

She was a beautiful girl, great in the sack, but he was growing tired of how needy she continued to be, even though he had increased her daily allowance and gifted her a new Bentley just last week. She was smothering him, something he never thought would happen when he was introduced to her by Dmitry Medlov at a Christmas Party in New York last year.  Dmitry had championed the match, saying that she was low-maintenance and quite engaging.  It turned out, she was precisely the opposite.

Zoya narrowed her gaze on him, pursing her glossy, collagen-filled lips in protest.  “Well, how long are you going to be?”  Her whine clawed at his nerves.

“The sooner you let me go, the sooner I’ll be back,” he said, walking to the door.  Grabbing the knob, he felt her eyes burning through his back.  “Three hours max,” he finally answered.

“Good. I’ll be waiting,” she said, watching him hurry out of the door, happy to get out of her clutches. “Have fun.”

Vince nearly ran down the stairs toward his sports car, parked on the curb.  It was definitely time to put his new toy back on the shelf before she gave him an ulcer.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she almost laughed aloud like one of those evil witches in children’s bedtime stories.  The one thing rich men hated was to be inconvenienced by their trophy girls.  And she prided herself on being increasingly needy when she was ready to end a relationship.  It would only be a matter of time before they had the space conversation, just in time for her to set up shop a few houses over.

Hiking up the long staircase to her private bedroom barefoot and happy, she went into her luxurious quarters and locked the door.  Grabbing her cell phone, she dialed a number under the contact, Mr. Big, and waited for an answer.

“Hello,” Dmitry Medlov quickly answered as he sat behind his desk.

There was no need for an introduction; sure her caller would recognize her voice.  “I finally made contact…well, sort of.  He noticed me today.  I’m sure I’ll have a conversation with him by the end of the week.”  Zoya stuck out her hand and looked at her manicured, nude nails, ignoring the five-carat diamond that her boyfriend had placed on her finger when they first met.

“Well, Zoya, you’ve never failed me.  I doubt you will this time,” Dmitry answered with a smooth sheen on his voice.  “I’ll deposit a little bonus in your account if you can escalate things by the end of the week.”  He knew that his secret weapon only spoke one language – money.

Zoya loved her life.  Rich men paid her to do what other girls did for free. “I love it when you talk dirty.  The end of the week is my new focus in life.”  She dropped her hand and leaned into the phone.  “Have I ever told you what a great boss you are?” she asked with a giggle in her voice.

Dmitry smiled coolly, immune to her wicked charms.  “Show me.  Get Popov where I want him, and you can write your own ticket, my dear.  Have a good evening,” he said, ending the call.

Zoya hung up the phone and fell back into the plushness of her canopy bed, already devising ways to get Popov’s attention.  She was a skilled professional with a bag of tricks that rivaled any Harry Potter character.  Now it was time to do a bit of her own magic, something that might make J.K. Rowling blush.

Chapter 5

Medlov Estate

Memphis, TN

B eing the patriarch of a massive crime family was a capricious thing, but if one focused too long on how heavy the damn crown was instead of the obligations of that station, nothing would ever get done.  In other words, there was no room as a leader to feel sorry for one’s self, especially a leader who was responsible for a $40 billion empire and a father who was responsible for countless lives.  So, after deep contemplation and a few necessary calls and texts, Dmitry decided his precious time was better spent with the family tonight instead of playing the violin and sulking.

The ferocious storm from earlier had subsided and given way to a cloudless evening sky bright with distant stars. Now, the crickets were chirping loudly, and a calm breeze danced over the grounds cooling off the security team posted outside.  Alas, it seemed that Mother Nature was adjusting herself, and it was time for him to do the same.

Standing up from the warmth his black leather chair, Dmitry straightened his clothes, ran a hand through his blonde locks, and then made a B-line toward the door. No more stalling. With every step he took, he shed all appearances of weariness and transformed back into the confident giant everyone had come to depend on.

As soon as the double doors swung open, his guards perked up in nearly telepathic synchronization while assuming their position – heels together sharply online, eyes straight and focused on the walls across from them, and shoulders squared.  So formal was their military posture until they had to stop themselves from giving a salute.

Dmitry stepped out of his office and closed the doors tight behind him. The click of the locks connecting echoed down the hall.  Releasing a sigh, he looked from left to right at his new men, glad of their willing obedience to be seen but not heard, especially after such a tortuously long day.

But the men were more than happy to serve their liege. After all, the man was a legend.

Dmitry Medlov was not only their boss but also the head of the Medlov Crime Family – an organization that employed over 3,000 people worldwide and had gained the reputation as being the fiercest and most savage of all the Russian Organized Crime syndicates.  Such a feat was already worthy of innovative praise, but he was bigger than that because of his position plurality.

Since the day the infamous blonde “butcher” had emerged from one of the world’s most dangerous maximum-security prisons at the age of 18, Dmitry Medlov had become one of the top leaders of the underworld, the reigning Czar of the most prominent Russian-based crime families on the planet, and the “authority” on weapons trafficking and jewels trafficking in the Western hemisphere.  However, he was bigger than just weapons and jewels; he also dealt with cars, money laundering, extortion, and his favorite – third-world destabilization through military influence.   For a guy who did not have a college education, he had proved to be a genius when it came to economics and political influence.  He was a student of all currencies and the U. S. stock exchange.

In combination with his major streams of illegal income, which were vast and diverse, he also owned several legal businesses including Hutton Industries – a London-based conglomerate of small tech starter-ups and cancer-research-related biomedical companies, an incredible number of multi-million-dollar real estate properties sprinkled on every continent, several factories in nine countries producing everything from glass, spirits and make-up to prosthetic limbs and veneer teeth, and most recently, an ammunitions business with U.S. government contracts, based right in Memphis.

On top of all his unique business savvy, Dmitry had managed to evade even the most strategic and ambitious law enforcement agencies both domestic and internationally.  Because of his political, business, and banking ties, he had managed to become untouchable to the outside world.  Every investigation was eventually squashed.  All the Interpol working groups managed to dissolve or drop his name from their cases.  And it was all because of too - too many senators had been greased, too many prime ministers had been spoiled, too many ambassadors had been courted, too many banking CEOs had stakes in his interests.

A man of his means could take down whole countries if he failed, and so more often than not, officials turned a blind eye to his dealings.  But the one thing that Dmitry Medlov was absolutely the best had nothing to do with business, whether legal or illegal.  He was greatest at human resources.  He made people feel invincible.  He created loyalty. He allowed others, those who worked for him, who were loyal to him, to become independently wealthy.  And he did it all without disrespecting them or making them feel inferior.  Few had his talent, even fewer understood it.

The only real vulnerability, outside of his family, Dmitry had was to the organization he served dutifully – the Vory v Zakone.

He had taken a solemn vow always to serve the Bratva.  That promise and obligation guided him on a daily basis. And while he was loyal to the brotherhood, he was no fool, which was why he only hired the best of the best to guard both he and his family.  All his guards were former Spetsnaz or top-notch assassins.  They had been handpicked to serve based upon their resumes and their references.

One could equate their jobs to that of a secret-service agent to the President of the United States. To even be in Dmitry’s presence was an honor.  To be handpicked by his council to work in his home was a privilege.  To be privy to his movements was remarkable.  But to be so close to him, guarding his office door was unbelievable.  However, both of the newly recruited guards kept their fanboy appreciation tucked away behind their consummate professionalism in hopes of one day impressing the boss enough to be promoted up the ranks.

Everyone knew Dmitry Medlov took care of his people.  Vasily, one of the Medlov Crime Family council members, had been a lowly guard once.  Boris and Marat, the duo that everyone wanted to emulate because of their favor with the family, had started as nameless soldiers.  It was apparent that loyalty was rewarded handsomely.  All three men were multi-millionaires now, and still, Dmitry allowed them to live under his roof and relieve themselves of unnecessary expenses.  To work for him was a dream come true for men of ambition, and now he was standing outside the door of his office between the two new guards who were both young and eager to please.

Dmitry stood at least a foot taller than both men, even they were of exceptional build, as were all the Medlov guards.  Still, even in his larger-than-life kingly position, he never missed an opportunity to acknowledge his guards or anyone else who worked for him.  In truth, it kept him grounded. To hold normal conversations with those who had less than him made him feel alive.  If they could respect him as an equal, then he had not allowed himself to become the egotistical bastard he had always loathed.

“Gentlemen,” Dmitry said in a deep baritone voice, as he breezed by, making a sharp right turn to head down the long corridor.  His cologne lingered between the guards – a fragrant smell of sandalwood and spice.

“Sir,” both men acknowledged, voices rigid but full of conviction.

He headed down the hall in a near sprint.  She’s going to be pissed, Dmitry thought to himself of Royal as he barreled toward the foyer in a long, determined stride.

There was one thing he had learned over the years as a married man.  Happy wife.  Happy life.  Once the Mrs. put things into motion, one didn’t simply just change the plans without prior authorization. However, tonight was different.  It couldn’t be helped.  Still, he had to have her buy-in to make the evening a success.

Inadvertently, Dmitry had painted himself into a corner. Instead of an intimate dinner for five like Royal was currently planning, they would be feeding over twenty.  And there was no way to walk back his decision.  He had already texted Anil and asked him to come straight home from class.  The boys, both Gabriel and Anatoly, were headed back on the family jets from their interrupted meetings, and his other council member, Vasily, was headed back to the mansion straight away from a meeting in Nashville.  In just a few hours, it would be a full house.  Better to give Royal a heads-up now rather than later.

As he came to the elaborate, white, arched entryway that led to the foyer, something caught his eye.  A maid, newly added to the staff, was filling an oversized crystal vase with water as she did every evening.

When she saw Dmitry approaching, she expected him to move past without even seeing her. But instead, he stopped.

Reaching across her, Dmitry plucked a single hot pink rose, full of bloom and rich with color, from the arrangement.  A rose by any other name is just as sweet.  Shakespeare rang in his ears as an idea formed in his head of how to soften the news for Royal that her plans had been abruptly changed.

Immediately, the petite maid froze, unsure if she had done something wrong to cause his attention.  Was he not happy with her work? Was she dressed inappropriately?  She waited for a reprimand, refusing to release even the slightest breath.

Do not draw his wrath; the woman instructed herself quietly.

All the house staff talked about Mr. Dmitry about how powerful he was and how rich.  Everyone was grateful to work for him because he paid a good wage and only hired illegal immigrants fresh off the plane because they had not had contact with the American world yet.  But few of the staff ever really had an opportunity to speak with him.  When he was home, he kept to himself or spent time with his family. The guards were like hedges around him, making it impossible for him to be approached.

So, what did he want with her?

An absent smile crossed Dmitry’s full lips as his ice-blue eyes landed on the maid.  How interesting.  She seemed like a nice young girl, even though she trembled now under his gaze, but that was normal in all of his subordinates. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked, lifting the rose in his hand.  He fancied regular conversations every once and a while with his staff. It let me know he was not the monster of legends that he was so often purported.

A gasp escaped the woman.  “They are very…beautiful,” she stuttered.  Her eyes locked on the flower and then trailed over to the handsome giant.

He could hear his twin boys in the distance, laughing as they played hide-and-go-seek.  They were bigger now, almost four years old, and very rambunctious.  If they were near, so was Royal.  “Is my wife still in the kitchen?” he asked.

The young woman, dressed in drab blue nurse scrubs and white clogs, blinked fast, a pregnant pause delaying her answer.  “Si, in the kitchen,” she finally managed, pointing toward Royal’s direction.  “Do you want me to get her for you, Mr. Dmitry?” her Bolivian accent thickened in her nervousness.

Big brown eyes peered up at her grand seigneur in amazement.  She had been working for the Medlov family for nearly six months, literally since the day she arrived in the states, and no one outside of the staff and security had spoken to her accept Mistress Royal.  But now, she was face-to-face with the master of the house and found it to be extremely intimidating.

“No, you don’t have to do that.  I just don’t want to hike all over this monstrosity of a house to find her,” Dmitry explained with ease.  He lifted the rose to his nose and smelled it.  “I think I’ll give one these pretty things to my wife.  Do you think it’s the same as going to a store to get one or having them delivered?”  He shifted his stance and dropped his shoulders.  “You know, does it have the same effect for a woman?”

The maid shrugged.  Was he really asking her advice? “Yes, sir.  I think so.” There was not much more she could say, considering she had never had a man to bring her flowers before.  “It’s always the thought that counts.”

“Are you really stopping to smell the roses?” A voice asked from a few feet behind him.

Dmitry turned around to face his son, Anil.   “No time like the present,” he answered, glad that the boy had heeded his command and come straight home.

“What’s going on?” Anil asked, backpack hanging off the side of his right arm.

Dmitry could hear the patter of little feet behind him. The maid quickly removed herself from their presence, happy to be relieved of a conversation with her boss.  He sucked on his teeth and motioned for Anil to join him.  “Let’s go over to the media room.  I’ve been in the study all day.  I think I’m going stir crazy.”

Anil scrubbed his fingernails over his chin.  Something was amiss.  Narrowing his gaze on his father, he followed him across the large marble foyer toward the media room quietly.  He knew his father well now.  If he wanted to have a private audience with him alone, then whatever was going on was about him personally.

“Is it bad news?” Anil asked as Dmitry made his way to the sofa.  He wasn’t sure that he wanted to sit if it was.

“It’s about your mother,” Dmitry explained.  He pushed back on the seat and waited for Anil.  It was never easy to tell a man that someone he loved was going to die but telling his own son of Sanaa’s impending doom nearly took the breath from him.  He could feel his chest constrict, and butterflies erupt as Anil drew closer.

“I just saw her this morning before I went to class. The doctor said there was nothing new to report.” Anil’s hostility began to rise even before his father could speak.

“That was this morning,” Dmitry said, following Anil with his gaze until he came to sit beside him.  When Anil finally sat down, Dmitry laced his fingers together and propped his arms upon his knees.  “Tonight, she took a turn for the worst.”

“How can that be?” Anil asked, blue eyes darting across the room.

It was too painful to look directly at his father, too painful to accept.  Sure, he knew this day would come, but he had run from it like a scared little boy. Even though his father had insisted on him seeing a psychologist since he arrived in Memphis to deal with his mother’s cancer, he still denied that he would lose her – not really.  His mother wasn’t like other women.  She had been invincible once – a genuinely courageous woman full of life, and that’s the way he wanted to remember her, not like this.  Now, there was no place to run and no way to hide.

“Is she gone?” Anil asked, voice breaking.  There were a few times tonight during class when he felt his stomach tighten, and nausea overtook him, but until now, he didn’t understand why.  It was the bonds of their earthly relationship breaking as she prepared to transcend to a higher plane.

Dmitry pulled his son out of deep thought, glad to give some good news.  “No, she’s not dead, but she’s in a great deal of pain.  If she makes it through the night, then we really need to consider other measures tomorrow.”  He had gone through this before, when he stood by his late wife Catherine, during her last days.  He knew the despair that wrangled at a man’s soul at the idea of being so helpless, but this was a journey that many people had to take.  And until someone found the cure for cancer, many more would be forced to take it.

Anil bit down on his lip and frowned.  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to repress the need to sob.  “What if she’s better tomorrow?”

“Then we are blessed,” Dmitry said with a nod.  It was his job as the boy’s father to teach him to be strong, to face things head-on.  To give him false hope at this point would do no one a service.  “But if she is not better tomorrow, the doctor thinks it is best for us to say our goodbyes and allow her to go to rest.”  He laid his large hand on his son’s leg.  “It will be time to pull the plug.”

Anil popped up from the sofa.  Shaking his head profusely, he cursed under his breath. “Damn it.”  A tear dropped from his eye and dangled on his long lashes.  “Why…how did it turn so bad?”  Just this morning, the doctor had spoken of how well she was doing, and for just a moment, he had hope.  “Someone had to have done something.  Something had to have happened.”

It was reasonable to look for someone to blame, but Dmitry had only himself.  “I can’t give you that answer.  But I want you to know that we’re here for you.  I’ve sent to your brother and cousin.  They are on the way home.  I was hoping we could all have dinner tonight as a family and prepare for tomorrow.”  Dmitry stood up from the sofa but did not go to his son.  Space was a good thing, especially times like this.  “We want to be there for you, Anil.  Will you allow us to be?”  He wanted his son to understand that it was his choice.   Nothing would be pushed on him under the guise of keeping his best interests at heart.

Anil turned and looked at the man who had become more than just his father over the short time that they had gotten to know each other.  “I really think that I need you to be there.  I can’t do this on my own.”

Anya watched her mother as she toiled over bundles of fresh vegetables on the kitchen island with severe resignation. Everyone always treated her like she was a baby, never telling her what was going on in the house.  Now her mother was acting like all was right as rain in the world, as her beloved Davyd used to say, even though since that mysterious call earlier that night, Royal seemed extremely distracted, which was usually an earmark of a disaster unearthing itself in the Medlov household.

However, over the years, the young girl had learned to extract information out of her overprotective parents by covertly inserting herself into consciousness by seeming clueless.

Trailing her gaze back to her iPad adorned with a pink silicon cover, Anya shifted on her barstool and chomped down on a piece of broccoli rationed out to her in lieu of a chocolatey snack.

Anya’s soft, sweet voice permeated the air as she spoke.  “I want to be just like Meghan Markle when I grow up.  I want to marry a real prince and have a huge wedding with the world watching on, and I want a white dress designed by Vera Wang with diamonds and crystals in my veil and glass slippers like Cinderella.”

Royal listened to her daughter, imagining the image of her child as a woman, with an equal mix of pride and sadness.  If she could keep her daughter innocent and childlike forever, it wouldn’t be long enough, especially since she had seen first-hand what this cruel place was capable of.

“You are already a princess.  Whomever you marry will be a prince, but it takes a real man to be a true king.  You have to love him for more than his title,” Royal said, chopping cilantro on her large wooden cutting board.  She glanced over at her daughter with a smile.  “You really like Meghan, huh?”

Anya had been ensnared by all the media coverage of the untraditional royal couple, mostly because Meghan Markle was also multiracial. She was seeing an American girl who had captured the world with her incredible smile and her brilliant intelligence had made Anya realize her own capabilities.

“I love Meghan,” Anya said with bright eyes.  An idea hit her.  “Do you think I could meet her?” She put her tablet down and glared at her mother.  “If I could meet her, then I would be the happiest girl in the world.”

Royal smiled at her cunning child.  “You never know.”  She had learned long ago never to promise Anya anything she couldn’t deliver, but now she would most certainly try her hardest to make the little girl’s dream come true.  After all, it was very rare that Anya asked her mother for big favors.  That was typically reserved for Dmitry.

“You and Daddy can do anything,” Anya pushed.  She raised up on her chair and leaned on the island.  “No one says no to Daddy.”

Royal felt her left eye twitch.  As hard as she had tried, she still had not managed to have as much influence over her daughter as Dmitry had.  It was his charm, no doubt.  He had entranced Anya long ago.  She was a daddy’s girl, utterly devoted to her gentle giant, as were many who met him.  But Royal wanted the same devotion, and normally she was able to derive it from all her children when they were infants.  Unfortunately, none of her three children were arm babies anymore.  Anya was in the throes of pre-adolescence, and Maxim and Konstantin were busy battling each other for pre-school domination.

“Daddy isn’t the only one who can make things happen,” Royal said with a raised brow.  A flash of all the things she had managed to accomplish pushed to the front of her mind begging to be touted, but she wouldn’t be boastful.  This was a new challenge Anya was putting in front of her, something that would shift a bit of power in the family structure.

“So…you can do it?” Anya asked, eyes widening at the thought of meeting her idol in real life. Her friends would just die of envy.

“Like I said, I will try,” Royal said, determined to make her daughter’s dream come true.

They had woken up early on May 21st to watch the wedding when it started.  With a full breakfast and adorning tiaras of their own, Royal and Anya sat in the media room, huddled up on the sofa in front of the television for hours, dissecting each piece of the royal ceremony.  That day had been one of the best for Royal.  She felt that she and her daughter had bonded beyond the riches of their lives.  And since that day, Anya had been living on cloud nine.

“Oh, Mommy, if you could do that, I would just die,” Anya said, pushing back in her chair and averting her eyes to the ceiling.

Royal laughed.  “I don’t want you to die now.”  Putting her vegetables in a large porcelain bowl, she glanced up to see they were not alone.

Dmitry lingered in the doorway, watching both Medlov women with noble pride.  A grin tugged at his lips as he noted in his mind to exert all his influence to ensure his daughter a private audience with Her Highness, but his true thoughts were with his wife.

“Hey,” Royal said, resting her slender hands on the island when she noticed that she and Anya were not alone.  “Dinner will be ready in just a little bit.  Want a snack until I’m done?”

Dmitry stepped into the kitchen and inclined his head.  “Well, the boys will be back from their meetings in a few hours.  I was hoping we could all have dinner together…for Anil.”  He shrugged, refusing to elaborate in front of Anya.  She had grown very close to her brother and knew intimately the struggles he faced with his dying mother.  Still, he didn’t have the strength to tell her tonight about his loss.

“Is it Anil’s birthday?” Anya asked, whirling around in her chair to glance up to her father for an answer.  She could hear something in his voice, the same trouble that had been in her mother’s voice.

“It is not his birthday,” Dmitry answered, crossing the room to his precious daughter. After the day he had, nothing felt better than to be with the two women in the world who meant the most to him. “But everyone deserves a special night.  Tonight, Anil gets his.” He bent and kissed the crown of her head.  She smelled of innocence and strawberries.  God, if anyone ever tried to hurt her again…

“Dinner for everyone?” Royal frowned, chewing her bottom lip and tapping the countertop.  That was not what she had planned.

“Is that okay?” Dmitry asked her as he picked his daughter up in his arms like she was still a little baby.  Cupping her bottom just above the curve of his massive arm, he bounced Anya.  She was light as a feather, even though she threatened to grow into a young woman one day.

Royal huffed audibly but did not protest.  “Yeah. Sure. I can arrange it.”  It was not worth mentioning that she had been working on dinner for hours.  If her husband wanted to expand their dinner plans from five people to 23, she would not deny him.

Dmitry could smell the food cooking in the ovens and was sure without asking that his request had inconvenienced her in some way.  Extending his hand, he offered the rose in his hand to Royal for her affability.

“Thank you,” he said as she took the rose with a modicum of appreciation.  “Isn’t Mommy the best Mommy in the world?” Dmitry asked Anya, hoping to get in his wife’s good graces.

Anya grinned and kissed her father on the cheek, following the conversation better than either of them knew.  However, she was happy to play the part.  “Oh, she is, Daddy,” the girl proclaimed with sincerity.  “The very best.”  While her father would always be the apple of her eye, her mother would always be Super Woman.  To make her happy, she put on a good show like a good little girl even though her thoughts were focused on why Anil needed a dinner. Had he done something?  Was he going somewhere?

Royal put the rose to her nose and smelled its fragrance.  How could she say no?  If Anil was coming home, a family dinner might help his spirits.  And the needs of the many came before the needs of the few. Looking back at her stoves, she twisted up her glossy lips.  “I’ll call in the staff, and they can prepare a full dinner for everyone.”

Quietly and without being told to, Marat, who was still sitting quietly in the corner watching television, excused himself to go and get the head chef with directions to start a full dinner for the evening.

Royal watched her guard leave and then turned her attention back to her husband with a distant smile.  Black lashes swept down toward her high cheeks.  His brutal handsomeness was hard to battle, especially when he came bearing gifts.

Dmitry knew that he was a powerful man, but there was one person who had more power than him, even if the world did not know it – Royal Medlov.  His queen, his partner, his soulmate.   She had made a believer out of him.  But for years, she had always put her own interests behind her family, and for that, he had loved her more than any other person in the world, possibly even more than their children.  She could have protested, could have made him feel bad for all the work she had put into their dinner, but instead, she had been virtuous, yet again.

“Your name fits you, you know,” Dmitry said to Royal as he sat Anya back on her chair.  It wasn’t his daughter he wanted to be close to now.

“Really?” Royal asked, walking over to the baker’s rack to retrieve a bottle of wine to self-medicate her inner irritation.

He walked over to the kitchen drawers and pulled out a corkscrew.  Taking the bottle from her, he opened it and passed the bottle of Chardonnay to her.  “Yes, really.  You are a queen.”

“You’ll say anything to get what you want,” Royal chided with a hint of sensuality in her impish grin.

“Only with you, my dear.  I’ll say anything that you want,” Dmitry whispered as he nudged her chin up and bent to kiss her lips.

He lingered there for a moment, enjoying the lushness of their splendor. Royal grazed a finger over his barely-there five-o’clock shadow as she kissed him back, lust burning across her nerve endings as she caressed his well-defined chin.  There was no doubt that there was a secret bond between them. It had been hours since he had felt her enchanting straddle, but he knew before the night’s end, he would have her at least once again.

After over a decade, Royal still enjoyed the smoothness of her husband’s sensual mouth.  She kissed him passionately, trying to sate the hunger that grew in her belly for him.

“Good grief.  Get a room,” Anya said flatly as she rolled her cool blue eyes in mock indignation.  Picking up her tablet, she turned her attention from her parents back to the replay of the royal wedding to watch it again for the hundredth time.

Amused by the girl’s shrewd observation, both Royal and Dmitry had to laugh.  Their little girl wasn’t as infantile as she seemed.

“That could be a good idea.”  Royal bit on her lip, almost glad she didn’t have to cook tonight.  There were always better uses of her time, and she could think of one, in particular, that would be both gratifying and needed at the moment.

“Now, you’re talking.”  Dmitry grabbed Royal and pulled her to him.  Happy to have any reason to feel her close.  Nuzzling his nose behind her ear, he smiled at his daughter and felt suddenly much lighter.  They had a way with him, an ability to do what no others could – make him happy.  He squeezed Royal tight and had a fleeting idea as the endorphins rushed over him like goosebumps.

“Hey,” he said, getting Anya’s attention.  “We have a chateau not far from where the new Duchess of Sussex is building their family house.  Why don’t we make a trip across the pond by the end of the year?  I could arrange something for you, especially considering I still technically have an official title myself.”  He would do anything to make Anya happy, but this was something he really wanted.  Meghan had become something of an icon for Anya because of their mutual multiracial background.  He encouraged her continuously to be proud of that.

Anya’s eyes lit up. “You mean I’m going to meet Meghan…I mean the Duchess?” It would have been in poor form to admit she had posed the conversation knowing full-well that one of her parents would eventually cave, but she felt completely comfortable showing her gratitude.

Dmitry chuckled.  “Da, da, baby.  You’re going to meet her.  If it’s the last thing I do, you’re going to get a chance to work on that curtsey you’ve been practicing in your dress mirror at night.”

How did he know about that? Anya asked herself.  It didn’t matter right now.  What did matter was that her daddy was going to make this happen?  Dmitry Medlov’s word was as good as gold.  Everyone knew that he never ever broke a promise.  So, if he said it was going to happen, it did.

Anya raised her small arms toward the ceiling in pure adulation. “YES!” she exclaimed.  Victory was in hand.  By spring, she’d be the most envied girl at her school, especially after she flashed a few selfies of her and the duchess.

Despite her sincere joy from her daughter, Royal could feel the air suddenly knocked out of her sails.  She would not have been more breathless if Dmitry had punched her in the stomach.  That little favor he was imparting right now was supposed to be her thing.  But again, Dmitry has stolen her thunder.  And he did it by doing something Royal hated.  Promises were not meant to be given lightly.  But he had just promised their daughter something.  She knew he didn’t mean to, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Pulling away from her husband abruptly as she bristled to his promise, Royal fought to hold on to the weak smile across her lips.

“What’s wrong?” Dmitry asked, confused.  Just a minute ago, everyone was happy. What the hell had happened in a millisecond?  What was he missing? “Baby…”

Royal tried to play it off.  “Oh, nothing,” she said with a shrug.  “I just thought about the fact that I promised Valeriya I would help her with something.”

“You just thought about that?” Dmitry asked unconvinced.  He had been with Royal long enough to know that she was lying, but he didn’t want to push her to say what was wrong in front of Anya.

“Want me to go with you?” Anya asked, putting down her tablet again.  “I haven’t seen her all day.”

“Why don’t you two stay here, turn off my ovens. I’ll be back in just a bit.” Royal walked toward the entryway, dragging her pride behind her.  She could feel both of them looking at her, quietly demanding an explanation, but she couldn’t turn around and face them in fear that her real emotions might show.

Chapter 6

Heavy is Her Crown, Too!

W ho said money could solve all the world’s problems?  Royal had found that even though she had more money than most of the people walking the earth, there were very few familial problems that could be remedied through a monetary transaction.  Even as she walked through this palatial retreat that she had the privilege of calling home, as she passed art and furniture and roamed under first-class architecture, there was no answer to the question that lingered that had a dollar sign attached to it.  At the end of the day, people were just people, no matter how much money they had.  And the only currency that was genuinely priceless was understanding.

Will I always play second fiddle to my husband when it comes to her?  Royal asked inwardly as she stalked toward the East Wing, where the other Medlov women were.  There was no doubt in her mind that her question was a selfish one, but she also could not deny that the answer haunted her.

Anya was her crown jewel.  She would do anything to make her happy, but the relationship that sought between her daughter and herself was based on more than just what she could provide.  For nine months, she carried that precious little angel in her belly.  The little kicks and movements were always welcomed.  The pain she endured to bring her into this world was a small price to pay to be able to hear the pitter-patter of her small steps or the jingle of her voice.  The blood she had spilled to get Anya back when she was kidnapped was worth the sacrifice.  Everything she had done up until this point and everything she would do well beyond it was all for her family, for her baby girl.  But in a way, she felt like she was eventually going to lose her – not to death or to some tragic act but to her husband.  Anya could be anything when she grew up.  But the love that little girl had for her father, even more so than for her mother, made her worry that Anya Medlov would grow up and be the Czar that her father never could be.  And Royal just did not want that for her little girl.

Playing the strong, silent type, simply didn’t always get the job done.  Right now, she needed comfort – the kind that a husband couldn’t give, and a child could not understand.  It was also times like this when she was genuinely grateful for Dmitry’s decision to house the entire family together in the same complex.

The adage, it’s lonely at the top, was one of the most accurate statements she had ever heard after becoming the wife of the underworld Czar. Considering their riches and their status, making friends outside of their circle was nearly impossible. There was no meeting a yoga classmate afterward for coffee or happy hour after work.  They were not millionaires, like most of the wealthiest two percent of Memphis.  They were multi-billionaires – a completely different animal. People at their level were paranoid and with good cause.

Nevertheless, having the women of the family in the house with Royal allowed her an opportunity never to be lonely.  The women of the Medlov family were more like sisters than other titles.  After all, they had gone through together, and before they met, they understood each other – the struggles, the rules, the vision – all of it.  And together, they helped each other keep the peace. They also had formed the Medlov Women’s Council in an effort to help the men of the family understand just how much power the crime family had and how they could do a bit of good even during the course of their illegal activity.

True, it was not an easy task to manage so many families under one roof.  But Dmitry’s estate was no regular roof.  Over the years, he had purchased several of the mansions around their own and used the space to expand the property well beyond the mansion she had first visited when they met.

The sprawling space kept everyone from feeling as though they were living on top of each other, but it also ensured everyone’s safety.

Their sprawling estate had become a small world for them to all occupy without the prying eyes of the public or the worries of attack on their children.

Dmitry had spent millions to fortify their property.  He had paid high-ranking military officials, contractors, and assassins to survey every inch of their home to look for weaknesses, and when breach points were discovered, he immediately had them remedied, no matter the cost.

And she had loved him for it, even though she was angry at him at the moment.  The kids could play carefree on the grounds, often with the staff’s children.  The garden was a true place of reflection where people went all the time to unwind.

And when the space still wasn’t big enough, they all had plenty of other real estate to sneak away to when they needed privacy and time alone.

But today, she did not need space.  She needed her friends.  It was time to vent, and in the entire world, there were only three women she trusted to truly do that unabashedly: Renee, Lily, and Valeriya.

However, her bestie, Renee, was pregnant with her stepson, Anatoly’s second child, and resting in her private quarters before she began her late evening nausea.  Lilly was tutoring Dylan in math in the second-floor library.  It seemed the logical choice to speak with Valeriya about her problems.  Not only was she wise beyond her years, she was also the least bias and prone to telling Royal the blunt whole truth when asked.

Valeriya Nenya had changed dramatically since the day she had become Valeriya Medlov.  Before she was a warrior, fighting for the revolution and freedom of Ukraine and its people.  Now, she was a mother.  The thought still blew her mind.  Never in a million years did she ever think she would live long enough to not only find love but to create something bigger than herself – not through violence but through hope.

But somehow, even though the former certified badass was short-sighted about her own life’s expectations despite her transcending vision for her war-torn country, God, he blessed her with something more intimate than all other relationships in the entire world.

Twins.  One boy and one girl.

After all the heartache she had been forced to endure, including the loss of her parents and her big brother, after being betrayed by a man she trusted with her life and would have died for, after almost losing her soulmate to the Nazi regime, and after finally being removed from her country – a place that did not even recognize her enormous contribution because of her skin color, her truest dream had come true through divine redemption.

Alas, Valeriya Medlov, was now a mother.  It was the most coveted title in the world of women, the world over since the beginning of history.  That title transcended all languages, religions, socioeconomic debates, or reasons. A mother was a gift to humanity. Without it, mankind would cease to exist.  And somehow, she had been chosen to serve among the ranks.  Who said fairytales were not real? Miracles happened every day.  She had survived all her trials with one brother still safe and alive, and through her husband, Gabriel, she had inherited a new family who loved her despite her many shortcomings.

It was a blessing.  One that she didn’t feel worthy of but surely appreciated.

Andrei, named after her late brother, slept in his bassinet in the corner. Stroking a thumb over her daughter's, Emma, cheek as she held her in her embrace, she watched the precious little being suckled on her nipple.

It was nearly time to take both babies off the breast and convert them to whole milk.  And while she was grateful physically, she stressed at the idea of losing the bond she shared with them.

Emma had placed a soft hand on the globe of her mother’s breast as she fell into a deep sleep.  She tugs on her mother’s nipple became sporadic as she moved in and out of a dream state.

“My sweet little baby,” Valeriya said with a smile. Running a hand over the child’s head, she bent and kissed her cheek.  “That’s it.  Go night-night.”  If she could get both of them asleep at the same time, she could actually get some things done tonight, including her newest letter to the U.S. ambassador to Ukraine about the adoption agencies and orphanages in Ukraine who were blocking American families from acquiring multiracial children.  She had been advocating from afar since she left, hoping that with her husband’s political influence, she might actually be able to curtail their current biased practices.

In the corner, Andrei moaned in his sleep as she shifted to his side and grabbed his teddy bear.  For a second, Valeriya snapped a glance over to make sure he wasn’t waking up.

Please let him rest for a few hours; she prayed quietly.

Royal had explained when the twins were born that the best way to get them to rest was to feed them back-to-back no matter how sore her nipples were in order to get a few minutes of peace.  Considering her new-found friend had done so with her own boys, Valeriya had taken heed to the advice, and so far, it worked most times.

“Trump and his tweets are going to get us bombed to hell,” a woman said as she pointed toward the screen.  The smartly dressed black woman from one of the country’s most respected newspapers appeared to be infuriated as she spoke. Her perfect bob haircut jerked with her strained head motions.

The news of the day was focused on North Korean dictator Kim Jung Un and his cancellation of the summit meeting with the current U.S. President.

Valeriya raised a brow as she slowly trailed her gaze from the corner of the room, willing her son with her mind to stay asleep.

“Is it so hard for Trump to stay off Twitter?” the woman asked.  “He is the President of the United States.  I mean, doesn’t he have something else to do?” she asked sardonically.

Valeriya had to admit that the woman had a point.  Unnecessary war was never the answer. After all, she hadn’t survived bullets and mortars in Ukraine to get blown to bits in the comforts of a mansion in Memphis, Tennessee, by a North Korean dictator with a Napoleon complex and an obvious obesity problem.  At the rate that the current president of the United States was going, he would incite a nuclear war not through improper negotiations at an official summit, but through divisive Twitter usage during one of his late-night rants.  What a trip?

“Why should Rocket Man set the terms of this summit,” the opposing guest asked, tilting his head as he glared into the camera with a reddening face and a possible impediment in his left nostril.   Aside from his dried snot, he was neatly dressed in a drab blue suit, a red tie, and an American flag pendant.  He was a middle-aged white man with dark brown hair plugs and too much makeup.  She had seen him before, spewing his madness.  A few weeks ago, he was demanding NFL players kneel for the American flag or else in a country that touted the First Amendments like Catholics touted confession.

“Well, in that same spirit, why should our duly elected President, who only won because of an archaic law that was imposed to oppress slaves, be allowed to provoke a war that he clearly won’t have to fight himself?” the woman countered.

Ahh, the drama.

In between her nightly feeding, Valeriya faithfully watched the American news on the television mounted across from their king-sized bed.  Even though she wouldn’t admit it, she had gotten addicted to the propaganda.  It was very dramatic, like a Latino soap opera with all the theatrics.  It was full of sound bites and half-truths that very few citizens chose to fact-check themselves.

Commentators screamed at each other on television, attacking policy and politicians in an effort to glorify their political preference while those on the Hill filled their coffers with lobbying money, book deals, and the like.

For entertainment, she often jumped from CNN to Fox News to see how different reporters covered the same stories.  The stark difference was amazing.  The bigotry was even more amazing.

In truth, it made her feel right at home.  Ukraine had been a nightmare since well before the first bomb was dropped by Putin, and being in a place with so many faults made her breathe the air a little easier.  At least here, there was no chance of the President declaring his loyalty to the Russian president and running to hide under his red iron skirt.

She paused in thought.

Okay, maybe that was an overstatement. But the point was while the United States was not perfect, it was still Disneyworld in comparison to any other place on the planet – at least for her, a woman who had never really known anything but pain before falling in love with her royal-born, millionaire.

A soft knock on the door drew her attention from her show.  Who could that be at this time of night?  Getting up with reluctantly with the baby still clutched in her arms and donning a white cotton nightdress, she walked over to the door and opened it to find Royal standing outside.

The look on her face said a million words.  She needed to talk.

Royal was a beautiful woman, stunning to most, breathtaking to others.  When she dressed up, her style made other women feel shabby to be in her presence. Men pined after her.  And her husband, alpha as he was, still worshipped at her feet.  Most days, she was a diva – veins full of ice, the poise of a queen.  But on the occasion when she was having an off day, the statuesque beauty could never hide her poker face.

As she stood at the door, long black hair pulled up in a bun, makeup flawless, Royal had a sister-girl twisted lip and narrowed eyes that said one thing.  She was pissed.

“Hello,” Valeriya said in a hushed tone as she stepped to the side to let Royal inside.

“Hey,” Royal said, equally as quiet as she stepped inside her black leather flats, making little if no sound with her light footfalls.  There was no doubt that she was interrupting, but she appreciated her friend giving her an audience anyway.  “You got a minute?” she asked, admiring Emma from afar.

“Of course,” Valeriya mouthed.  She knew that tone.  They had all had it at some point.  A Medlov woman in distress was hardly indistinguishable.  She nodded and put her index finger over her lips.  “Follow me.”

Royal nodded and followed Valeriya obediently through the dark, spacious room.  She remembered this space when it was just an extra guest room for VIPs, lacking in personality and warmth.  Now it reminded her of sneaking into her sister’s bedroom when they were kids to steal her lipstick when she was gone.  It was familiar – more than that, it was home.  Even though it wreaked of ostentatious wealth with the expensive furniture, vaulted ceilings with chandeliers, and artwork, there was still a hint of shea butter and coconut oil.  Suddenly nostalgic, she felt like eating sour pickle and braiding someone’s hair.

Those were the good times, Royal thought to herself.  She might have been poor back then, but she was still proud.  Oddly enough, even though Valeriya was from another country, whenever she was around her, she reminisced about yesteryears when Mary Jay Blige blasted on the radio in the dorm, BET was on a continuous loop on the television, and all a girl had to really focus on was keeping her GPA on point.

Carefully walking over to the bassinet in the opposite corner from her son’s, Valeriya laid the baby down and tucked her aching breast back inside her low-cut blouse.  Shit, she didn’t even remember that it was out when she went to the door, but she knew Royal would forgive her for the unintentional blunder.

“Let’s go in here,” Valeriya said, pointing to the door that led to the media room of their large suite.  They would be allowed to speak freely without waking up the babies, and she could finally order something up from the kitchen to eat.

As soon as the door was closed and Valeriya turned on the baby monitors to hear the twins, Royal went to the bar in the corner and poured herself a drink.  “Am I ungrateful?” she asked, eyes locked on the tumbler in her hand.

Valeriya sat down on the sofa in the corner under a portrait of Gabriel’s mother and tucked her feet under her.  “I’ve never known you to be,” she answered truthfully.

Royal huffed and put the glass to her lips.  The taste of Tennessee whiskey would generally have made her gag considering its long history, but tonight, she didn’t give a shit.  Social justice be damned.  She needed something to take the edge off, and Jack Daniels knew just how to oblige.  The smooth spirit slipped down her throat, easing her disposition just enough to explain herself.

“Dmitry has always been good to me.  Even though he doesn’t always tell me everything, he’s definitely not a liar. And he’s barely aged since the day I met him.” She shrugged at her statement as her gaze locked absently on the line of bottles on the bar. “Seriously, ten years, and he’s barely changed.”

Valeriya knew that this was supposed to go somewhere, but she wasn’t sure of the destination.  “So, you’re ungrateful because he’s handsome?”

“No,” Royal whirled around.  Her long thick ponytail shifted over her shoulder.  She took another sip.  “I’m ungrateful because even though he gives me everything, I still feel at times like I have to compete with him.”  She knew it sounded foolish, but there it was… the truth laid bare.

“In what way do you compete?”

“Over Anya,” Royal blurted.  “I want to win her over.  I want her to look at me the way that she looks at him.”

Valeriya nodded but gave a knowing smile.  “That will never happen.”

Royal was expecting something else.  She frowned, brows furrowing as her face contorted into a grimace.  Her back was suddenly erect.  “Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t call them daddy’s girls if they were not truly so.”  Valeriya eyed Royal’s glass in envy.  While she’d miss the bonding time with the twins, she would be happy to have a nightcap again.  “I was the same way about my father.  In my little life, the world revolved around him, right up until the day that he was killed.”

Royal waved a hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to bring up anything that will have you emotional for the rest of the night.”

Valeriya cut her off. “Nonsense.  I’ve recovered from my father’s death.  And I’m more than happy to explain how it works.”  She had a thought, one that she hoped Royal would take the right way.  “It’s because you didn’t have a father growing up that you cannot understand her right now.  But trust me, Anya adores you.  She just gravitates to her father more because you are the disciplinarian, and he is the knight in shining armor.  Later, when she’s older and dating, the roles will change.”

Royal had never thought about how her own experience as an orphan and finally, as late-adopted teen might have jaded her view about Anya’s relationship with Dmitry.

She leaned against the bar and dropped her head.  “God knows I never had a daddy like Dmitry.”

“Who did?” Valeriya joked.  She pulled the throw blanket over her legs and yawned.  “Royal, you are a wonderful mother.  You are a wonderful wife.  Maybe you're too hard on yourself.”

“Tonight, Anya asked me to set up a meet and greet with the Duchess of Sussex,” Royal said, walking over to the sofa to sit beside Valeriya.

“Who?”  The name didn’t ring a bell for Valeriya.

“Megan Markle.”

“Oh.”  That name was very familiar.  She was on everyone’s lips these days.

“Yeah. And even though I told Anya that I wouldn’t promise anything, I knew that I was going to work every angle I could to set up a meeting so that my baby girl would think that I was the bomb for once instead of Dmitry.”  She knew she sounded like a child who was being forced to share her favorite toy, but at least with Valeriya, if she was going to be admonished, she knew it was coming from the heart.

The air conditioner kicked on and blew hard out of the vent above them.  Valeriya threw the throw over Royal’s legs as her friend slunk up beside her.  “But I’m guessing that’s not the way it turned out.”

“Exactly.  Dmitry waltzes in being king Ding-a-ling interrupts the conversation. Within five minutes, he promised Anya that he could set up a chance to meet the new princess by the end of the damned year.  Oh, and I forgot,” she drank a hefty portion of her whiskey, leaving residue on the sides of her mouth, “we’re going to the chateau that he and his first co-habituated in for over two years before she kicked the bucket.”  Royal rolled her eyes and wiped the side of her hand over her mouth.

There was so much Valeriya could say about that last statement until she went into mental overload.  Deciding against speaking about any of it, she moved past the old/dead wife and focused on the situation at hand. “So, he stole your thunder,” Valeriya sympathized, putting her hand on Royal’s back.

“Yes.  He always does,” Royal said, slouching – something she always got on to Anya about when she was pouting.  “She is my only daughter.  I want a special relationship with her.”

“You already have one,” Valeriya assured.  Everyone knew how crazy Royal was about that little girl. “But even still, I don’t see enough in that story for you to come running to my room in the middle of the evening.  What else is going on?”

“I’ll give it to you.  You are perceptive,” Royal admitted.  She took a deep breath and wrenched her hands.  There was no way she was going to tell her that there was something wrong with Dmitry.  That was too premature.  She had to do some digging on that herself before she jumped to conclusions.  Staring at her gigantic diamond wedding ring, she finally confessed something else that was weighing on her.  “I want another baby.  The first three were all just in the heat of the moment, but I want one that I requested.  You know, an on-demand baby.”

Valeriya laughed. “And what makes you think he won’t give you one…” She raised a hand. “Wait. Why do you want this baby?  Is it just a fleeting idea, or is it something that is like…deep in your soul?”

“It woke me up last night.  I obsess over it.  I know for a fact that I only want one more, and I want this one to be my choice, my time, my request.  Anya was born right after we were married and after one of the most tragic events in my life.  The twins were conceived under a tree by the lake in Prague while it was raining after Dmitry threatened to kill my former nanny.”

Valeriya raised a brow.  That sounded kinky.

“I want this one just because I said so.”  Royal looked back at her friend and smiled. “I know it sounds crazy.”

Valeriya had heard crazier, especially being a part of this family.  “No, it doesn’t.  I want another one, eventually.  This time planned.  Medlov men seem to be geniuses at planning everything but their children.  It would be nice for us to change the precedent.”

Royal laughed in agreement.  “I know that’s right.”  She bit down on her lip and waited for her friend to give her advice.  “So, what do you think I should do?”

“Let Anya love her father and you in her own way.  You’ll appreciate it later.  She’ll be stronger because of him.”  Valeriya laid an arm over the armrest. “And as far as the baby.  Ask him.  Dmitry has always given you exactly what you want, just as you said.  I doubt things will be different with this.”

“I hope you’re right.”  She leaned over on Valeriya’s shoulder.  “Thank you for being my friend.”

“Same here.”  Valeriya kissed the top of Royal’s head.  Since they had become family and even before, Royal had always been there for her when she needed someone to talk to.  It felt good to return the favor.

Finally, feeling better about getting those things off her chest, Royal’s mind cleared.  “Oh, by the way, the boys are headed back home.  Dmitry’s having a late-evening meal for the entire family.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Anil’s mother is dying.”  Royal could feel the tears welling up in the corner of her eyes, but she ignored them.  “He wants to do something to make him feel better before we put her to rest tomorrow.”

Valeriya was taken aback.  “Tomorrow?” Sanaa’s situation must have escalated dramatically since last week.

“Doctor doesn’t think she’ll make it much longer.”  Royal bit down on her lip.

Valeriya knew Royal cared deeply for Anil’s mother. At least once a week, since they had brought her here from Miami for cancer treatment and hospice care, Royal went to the facility to check on her and bring flowers to the room. It was odd that suddenly, the poor woman had become an afterthought.  She nudged Royal’s shoulder.  “And you didn’t think to start the conversation with that?”

Royal answered honestly. What could she say? She was losing it.  “When I got up here, I guess I just vomited.  Whatever was near the surface just came up first.”

There was a long silence as the two of them sat there thinking.  So much death in this family.  So many bad things.  Sometimes, it was hard to process.

Changing the mood that had somehow become incredibly depressing, Valeriya pushed a breath out of her mouth.  “I change my mind.  You are selfish,” Valeriya joked.

Royal laughed, feeling much better than when she first arrived at Valeriya’s door.  “Yeah, I know.

Chapter 7

Two Hours Later

Medlov Estate

Memphis, TN

W hen the giant iron gates of the Medlov Memphis estate creaked opened, Anatoly Medlov’s convoy of armored SUVs proceeded quickly down the winding driveway, bringing the prince of the Russian underworld to the front of the white plantation-style mansion that he and his entire family called home.

Ahh, …it was good to be back, despite what had brought him here so abruptly.  Glancing out of the tinted windows of the black-on-black Land Rover, he spotted an unusual sight.

His cousin, Gabriel Medlov, was sitting on the concrete steps that led up to the mansion’s porch in a tailored, black suit pants and a crisp, white button-down, talking to Vasily Kavlov, the other member of their tight-knit council.

It seemed he was the last to arrive, which normally meant he would be the last to know what was going on.  The family, not the council, had a strange way of communicating with each other about a crisis, which normally consisted of word-of-mouth from one woman to another until the entire house, including the staff, knew everyone’s business.

Based upon how chummy Vasily and Gabriel were as they spoke now, it appeared the women had struck again.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said aloud as he grabbed the shiny handle of his back-seat door before his guard could jump out and do it for him.  Damn, he hated being waited on hand and foot.  As a perfectly capable 29-year-old man, it felt ridiculous to have guards trying to do everything for him.  Just opening the door for himself felt liberating, but he didn’t bitch aloud or even direct them to back off because everyone needed to make a living.

Anatoly stepped out in his usual “work” uniform of dark denim jeans, brown leather boots, and a simple black T-shirt.  Since coming back from Miami, where he was forced to wear three-piece suits and color his hair, he had happily grown out a blonde buzz cut, a matching, lengthy blonde beard, and shed all clothing that could not be washed and worn straight out of the dryer.  After all, what was the point of being rich, if he couldn’t dress as he pleased.

“Well, look who finally showed up late to the party,” Gabriel quipped.  “I guess we can officially start the evening now that his Highness has graced us with his annoying presence.”  His voice boomed in the quietness of the evening, wreaking of his New York City accent and his arrogant, aristocratic air.

Even in the dark cover of night, Gabriel Medlov was a striking man.  Over the years, his allure had become known across many countries as he closed deals on behalf of the Medlov Crime Family.  He was the suave young Medlov equipped with an exhaustive vocabulary, who always came with concrete numbers bound in blood, guile, and style that could court even the most dangerous or astute arms buyer.  Women swooned.  Men hated him but wanted to be him.  But no matter what, he always got the job done.

His ink-black hair cut perfectly to show thick, winged brows inherited by his psychopathic late father, intense mossy green eyes that broke women with his first glance, unnaturally long eyelashes and a chiseled, menacing face that made the new father and husband appear to be elegant and regal, were all a ruse designed to make people feel comfortable around him.

However, if one looked closely at the angelic creature, they would see a cut-throat businessman and consummate killer, who valued very little outside of the Medlov name.  The thick, intricate muscles bulging under his white shirt, veiny and tanned, were more a testament to his lion-like grace than his elegance.  Mafia tattoos earned through trial by fire hid under his stylish uniform, only threatening to show themselves when his work became messy.  He was a cruel man, made so by the world around him.  He was a hard man, made so by his experiences.  But he loved his family – Anatoly Medlov especially.  They were brothers instead of cousins, sharing in the glory and the pain of their assigned station by the great and powerful Dmitry Medlov.

The corners of his mouth curled up suddenly.  “What the fuck,” Anatoly growled, pushing a breath out of his mouth.  He sat down beside Gabriel, who was cleaning the dirt out of his manicured nails with the tip of a long, serrated blade, and threw off the leather satchel he had worn across his chest.

The clink of the custom-made Glock in his bag made a distinct sound as it hit the concrete and fell clumsily over his foot.  “It took me weeks to set up that meeting, and then at the very end…this shit.”  He pursed his lush lips together and grimaced.  He truly hated surprises.  In their line of work, everything either went as planned or ended up going to hell.  And he had learned that through the very man who was currently throwing a fucking wrench in his job.

Casually, Gabriel closed his knife and slipped it back in his pants pocket.  “Yeah, same thing I said.  I was in the middle of closing a deal with the Benelli brothers when I got the text from the old man.” He wouldn’t say so, but very much like the Medlov women, he couldn’t wait to gossip.  With such a close circle of people who had to double as business partners and family, there was no one else to converse with about his day.

Anatoly glanced across the manicured lawn and extended his thick arms over his knees.  “I was with Alverez.  You know how cheap that bastard is.  I damn near had to shoot him to get the numbers papa wanted.”

“Did you close?” Gabriel asked, rubbing the lid his left eye with the tip of his finger.  He remembered a time when he would have just been getting started for the evening, but with the new babies, he was always spent.

“Barely,” Anatoly answered, yawning as he stretched his legs.  It had been a hectic trek back to Memphis from New Orleans, but the urgency and directness of his father’s text had pushed him to make haste.  “Either one of you find out what’s going on with him?”  He looked in between Gabriel and Vasily. He knew it had to be something terrible.  Dmitry didn’t ever leave money on the table.

“Anil’s mother is on her last leg,” Gabriel explained sympathetically.  “The doctor doesn’t expect her to make it through the next few days.  I think he wanted us home to be with him.”

“Damn.”  Anatoly dropped his head – sorry for his complaints.  It was worse than he thought.  The edge on his voice dissipated as he focused on the scrapes of his boots.  “Anil said she was doing better.”

While Anil was his half-brother, he still couldn’t make himself go up to the hospice center to see her.  It brought up too many bad memories of his own loss.  It had been years since he’d gone to his mother’s funeral, but he still could smell the perfume they had sprayed on her body for the viewing.  If he thought about it now, his stomach still knotted.

“We all thought the same,” Vasily said, rolling up the sleeves to his dress shirt.  Still not used to the harsh late spring weather of Memphis after years of being here, he could feel his body perspiring under his clothes.  “Lily and I went up there three days ago, and she looked like she was just resting.”  But what did he know?  He wasn’t a doctor.  Neither was Lilly.

“That’s the way it always seems to happen.”  Gabriel thought of his mother, Emma, at the end of her cancer struggle.  One day, she appeared to be getting better, and the next, she was gone.  There was no warning, just a glimmer of hope before it was snatched away from him. A devastating reality rushed over him.  “I hate cancer.  All the money and resources being pumped into finding a cure, and still, no one can find one.”

“I don’t believe that,” Anatoly said quickly.  “Someone knows something.  It’s just too profitable to give a cure when the sickness makes everyone so much money.  Think about it.  It’s like world peace for men like us.”  He shrugged his broad shoulders.  “We’d be broke if that ever happened.”

Vasily smirked.  “You are one morbid son of a bitch.”

Gabriel laughed, glad for a little levity.  “He really is.  Always with the conspiracy theories.”  Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he glanced over at Anatoly, secretly concerned for his cousin.  “Are you going to be alright?”

Anatoly could instantly feel his cousin trying to mother him.  He bristled to the attempt and changed the conversation.  “Where is Anil now?  I should probably go and talk to him.”

Vasily yawned.  Placing a hand over his clean-shaven face as his massive body trembled.  It had officially been 24 hours since he felt the comfort of his bed or his wife.  He was ready to break his fast on both.  “Anil went back to spend a little more time with his mom.  He said to text him when dinner was about to be ready.”

“Dinner?” Anatoly frowned.  “Who is having dinner this late?”  He glanced at his watch.

“The old man is preparing a feast,” Gabriel said, slapping his arm as a mosquito snacked on his forearm. Turning his elbow to look at the reddened spot on his skin, he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate. “And he wants everyone there.  No exceptions.”  Standing up, he put his phone to his ear and walked down the steps, leaving Anatoly and Vasily alone.

“So, Papa’s here?” Anatoly asked Vasily.

“Da da, downstairs, hitting the iron in the gym.”  Vasily knew that when Dmitry was in the family gym in the basement, the best thing to do was to leave him alone.

“How long has he been down there?” Anatoly asked.  A gentle breeze blew past them and rustled the oak trees above.

“For a while, he was there when we got here.  Marat said he was in one of his moods.”  Vasily stood up, ready to go and see his wife and son.  “What’s your plan?  You want to go and see him.”

Anatoly stood and rolled his neck.  Even he knew that when Dmitry was hitting the iron, he didn’t like ever to be disturbed.   “I know my father.  Anil’s mother dying is a family issue.  He would never pull us off three different deals just because she was on the way out, eh.”  He looked over his shoulder at the porch to make sure only the guards were standing over them listening.  “What could we do to make her better?  What the fuck could we do period?”

Vasily raised a brow.  “I thought the same thing.”

“Yeah, well.  We’re all thinking the same thing.  Something else is going on.  We need to find out what.”

An hour later, the entire Medlov family gathered in the formal dining room in front of a late-night feast fit for kings.  Royal had ordered the staff to mix a combination of southern fare with Russian cuisine and to load up heavily on appetizers and alcohol.

The older kids were assigned to the children’s table in the corner, left alone to their own devices, and the adults convened their impromptu gathering at the large table in the center of the room.

Royal and Dmitry sat at the head of either side of the table.  Gabriel sat beside Valeriya, Anatoly beside Renee, Vasily beside Lilly.  Marat, Boris, and Peaches always sat at the end of the table towards the door, and Anil sat quietly on the left side of his father.

A new development that had sprung up since the debacle in Miami eight months ago was that Nadei always sat beside Anastaysia.

However, Anatoly never acknowledged that something could possibly be going on between his sister and his guard.  Instead, he chose to act like it was commonplace that they never left each other’s side.  He rationalized it as loyalty, but everyone quietly saw it as a possible love connection.

Even though dinner was much later than usual, the general feeling was that of good cheer or at least grateful to be with each other.

The large party ate and talked among themselves while Dmitry surveyed the room in approval. There was a small table full of beautiful children.  The adult table was filled with his closest confidants.  And his home was happy, despite the pain he was sure Anil was feeling now.  But given time, the boy would heal, just as they all had.

He remembered a time when he used to sit in this drafty room alone, eating his expensive meals and fine vodka under candlelight, imagining what it would be like to have a real family.   Those days were lonely – not for a woman in his bed, but a woman who shared his soul, not for the people around him – but sons and blood who understood what it was like to be a Medlov – not for those depending on him, but for children who deserved to bask under the shade only he could provide them.

Now, he didn’t have to imagine because he had an extensive family.  And he would do anything to keep them safe, happy, and fulfilled.  It was the least he could do after all they had provided him.

Glancing down the table, he caught Royal’s covert glance.  She was a lioness stalking her prey.  Her brown eyes were affixed to his, as though she was attempting to read his dark mind word for word.

The abrupt departure from the kitchen flashed through his mind, and he wondered what he had done to trouble her.

Trailing his eyes over to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, he noted the time and resigned himself to the fact that he would have to probe her later tonight when they were finally alone for answers about today, among other things.  Royal always needed a good probing.  It helped keep her in line.

Watching her glossy lips as she slipped them down the gold-plated knife, he felt his manhood stir awake under the table.  An exhilarated grin crossed his regal features.  If she only knew what he was thinking right now, she might have very well choked on her dinner.

“If you don’t mind, father, I’d like to make a toast,” Anatoly said, standing.

Everyone looked over at him, surprised by his sudden gesture.  Anatoly was never the formal type and never sentimental in plain view.  So, to see him try to be such right now was quite curious.

Anatoly turned toward his brother, Anil, and raised his glass.  “This isn’t something to celebrate, the loss of your mother.  Trust me. I know.  I lost my mother to cancer, and so did Gabriel.  And I think Vasily was born from a pack of wolves, so there is no way to know.”

Everyone laughed, including Vasily.

“What I want to express to you is that I’m not celebrating her pain or her impending passing, I’m celebrating the fact that she held on to this life, regardless of how painful to make sure that you had someone here for you after she was gone.  I’m celebrating her victory, her strength, and her courage in her absence…if you don’t mind.”

Anil nodded at Anatoly’s brotherly affability and smiled.  While he had not known his big brother long, he understood this to be a very genuine gesture.   Clearing his throat, he pushed back salty tears.  “Thank you, brother. I’m sure she would appreciate you.  I know that I do.”

“To family,” Anatoly said, raising his glass, and Renee grabbed his free hand from where she sat.  She looked up at him, glowing already from their pregnancy, due to end next week and felt herself tear up.

“To family!” everyone said in unison while they toasted.

“To my family,” Dmitry emphasized just a few seconds later as he toasted again before drinking his champagne.

There was no doubt.  He was proud of his boys.  They had become everything that he had wanted between him and his own brother, Ivan.  But that had not been their path.  In the end, one of them had to live, and one of them had to die.  And be that as it may, he prayed daily that the same tragedy never be revisited on his own children – those he had borne and those he had simply taken in.

Being a billionaire meant that he could buy nearly anything he wanted, but there were still some things that were not for sale.  Family was one of them.

When the children had been put to sleep, and the adults retreated to their suites to lick each other’s wounds, Royal found herself face-to-face with Dmitry in the darkness of their master bedroom.

Standing over her with his lording presence, he was more like a benevolent despot than a doting husband.  Still, the way he looked at her like he wanted to lick her skin off with his tongue, sent chills up her spine and wetness down between her legs.

Dmitry lifted his thumb to her chin and brought it up where he could see her eyes. “Earlier today in the kitchen, what was wrong?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

God, don’t ask me that right now, Royal said to herself quietly.  She swallowed hard and tried to keep a straight face. “Nothing.  I just…”

Dmitry exhaled a breath out of his nostrils in protest of her lie.  He was not a stupid man and hated to be treated as one.  “What was wrong with you?”  he asked again, this time more forcefully.  His blue eyes, sparkling like prisms, glared at her, demanding a real answer.

Royal rolled her eyes and dropped her shoulders.  “It’s ridiculous.”  Now that she had been allowed the opportunity to get her feelings out with Valeriya, she didn’t want to revisit them with her husband.  He had enough on his plate.  There was no room for squabbles.

But Dmitry wouldn’t leave the issue alone. Royal was far too important to him to be ignored in any way.  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of what is ridiculous,” he said, squaring his shoulders.  “Go on…”

Royal had learned over the years to be a pretty good negotiator herself, especially when it came to her husband, who lived his daily life in a state of quid pro quo.  If he wanted something from her, then she wanted something from him as well, but as she glared into his hypnotizing eyes, she realized something else, something far more sinister.  “Are you really trying to handle me right now?”

“No,” he denied vehemently.   Refusing to blink for fear of giving himself away, he furrowed his brows.  “I’m trying to find out what is going on with my wife.”  Of course, he was trying to handle her.  Happy wife.  Happy life.  If she went on for days with an attitude from hell, he’d never be able to focus, but he couldn’t tell her that. She’d just find a way to blame him for being selfish.  Yet one more thing that money did little to fix in his life.

She ignored his faux outrage, keeping her face tight with contempt as she raised a pointed finger toward him.  “You know I don’t like to be handled, Dmitry.”

Did he ever.  Dmitry softened his face, refusing to lose this small battle. “Baby, this is me,” he crooned.  “I just want to know if I did anything wrong, or I said something wrong.  Just like you don’t like to be handled, I don’t like to be in the dark.”

Royal put her hand on her hip.  He was convincing, even when he was full of shit, but she also knew that she had nothing to gain by trying to prove he was lying.   So she tried something else.  “Okay, I’ll tell you what was wrong with me only if you tell me what’s got you locked in your office playing the violin in the middle of the evening.”

Dmitry cracked a grin.  Stealthy little thing, she was just waiting for an opportunity to pounce on him. This was why one should never underestimate the cunning of a smart woman. “Fine.  You tell me first, and then I’ll tell you.”

“FINE.”  Stepping back, she cocked a finely arched brow.  It was possible that after she told him the truth, he would just make up something to keep from telling her what was wrong with him, but she had given it a try.  “I was jealous that you promised Anya the meeting with Meghan Markle.  That was something I wanted to try to do.  When you offered to take her to the chateau that you and your late wife lived in to set up some meeting with our baby’s new icon, I was upset. I felt like you were usurping me.”

Dmitry had never even considered how that might have made Royal feel.  He blinked fast, accidentally showing his surprise.  Shoulder’s relaxed, he walked over to the bed and sat down.  “Well, I could see how that might…upset you now that I think about it.”  Slowly, he pulled at the top button of his shirt.

Royal shook her head.  Like she said, it was stupid.  And now, seeing how regretful he appeared, she hated that she’d made a big deal of it, especially in front of Anya.  But what was done was done.  “Let’s just forget about it.”

“No, no, you’re right.  That was thoughtless of me.  I should have never suggested it.”  He kicked off his dress shoes.  “I’m sorry.”

Royal’s head snapped in his direction.  “You’re forgiven,” she said suspiciously.  Closing the distance between them, she stepped between his long legs.  “Now, your turn.”

Dmitry’s fingers lingered at the buttons just above his belt.  Should I really tell you? he asked of her in his mind.  Raising his head slowly, he met her eyes.  A humorless grin crossed his lips.  “It’s a funny story, really.”

“Well, tell me so that I can laugh too.”  She was not convinced that what she was about to hear was going to be comical in the least.

Dmitry placed his hands on her hips and slid them down her sides.  Releasing a sigh, he decided the best decision was to be completely honest.  “I’ve got that feeling again, like something bad is going to happen.  It’s been bothering me for a few weeks now, making me paranoid.”  He pulled her to him and made her sit on his lap.  “Do you remember the man who I told you was like a mentor to me while I was in prison, the man responsible for getting me out.”

“Yeah, Popov.”  Royal had heard the story several times over the years and committed it to memory.  After all, this mysterious man had been the only reason she had met her husband. If she ever met Alexander, though she doubted she would because of his age, she would make sure to thank him for all he had indirectly done for her.  A thought crossed her mind, and she put a hand on her chest.  “Oh, no.  Did he die?  Did someone kill him?”

Dmitry was deflated before he could even explain, seeing the admiration in his wife’s eyes.  There were no two ways about it.  She was going to be disappointed in him, even though he was certain that he had done the right thing.  “Ryan Colt reported to Alexei Popov.  He was one of his underlings.”

Ryan fucking Colt.  She rolled her eyes in irritation.  Why was she not surprised to hear it had something to do with that asshole?  His name still made her nauseous.  Ryan had single-handedly taken years off her stepson, Anatoly’s life when he abducted his sister and turned her into a prostitute down in Miami.  Thank God he was finally dead.

Absently, she raked her nails through his blonde locks as she recalled.  “I remember his name from Miami.  When we were planning Anastaysia’s rescue, you told us that he was Ryan’s boss.”  She frowned.  “But I just assumed the two families were not connected, especially since you didn’t make any mention of it. Popov is as common in Russia as Smith here in the states.”  She slowly started to put the pieces together.  Suddenly, she stopped stroking her hair.  “Who was he to Alexander?”

“His son,” Dmitry answered.

Royal’s eyes bucked. “His…”  Her words drifted off.  “No, Dmitry.”  Her back went erect.  While she wasn’t an official member of the Vory v Zakone in any way, she was familiar with the laws.  Killing one of the five families of the international council was a form of high treason.  Standing up, she paced the floor.  “When did you have Alexei killed?”

Dmitry started to unbutton his shirt again.  “Shortly after we got back.  I knew it had to be done, Royal.  It was either him or us.  I chose him before he could choose my family.”

Her voice strained as she fought to keep her calm.  How in the hell did they get back here!  It hadn’t even been nine months since the last war.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not crying over spilled milk or questioning your decisions as the Czar.  I know you have to do what is necessary to keep this family safe, but…”

“Why didn’t I tell you?” Dmitry finished her sentence as he peeled out of his shirt, revealing a wall of chiseled muscle and intricate tattoos on his meaty chest.  He was about to explain, but she cut him off with an impatient, dismissive wave of her hand.

“I know why you didn’t tell me.  You didn’t want me on high alert for the rest of my natural life.”  She stopped pacing and turned to face him again.  “Why did you just kill him?  If you were worried that they might retaliate, why didn’t you kill them all?”

The question shocked Dmitry.  There was a time when Royal would have fought him tooth and nail to save a life, but now it seemed she was possibly deadlier than he was.  God, I have created a monster, he thought to himself.

“That’s what you’re worried about, right?  Retaliation?”  She urged an answer from him.

“I wasn’t concerned until a few weeks ago.  None were the wiser about my actions.  The body had been handled.  The deed was done.  I thought it would just be another skeleton in my closet.  Then, one of the triads who had assisted me in getting rid of Alexei while he was in China came up dead.  His body was discovered in a Russian container outside of Beijing.  Evidently, he had been tortured, more than likely for information regarding Popov’s whereabouts.”

“It could be a coincidence,” Royal reasoned.  “Just because your guy showed up dead doesn’t mean that it had anything to do with Popov.  He could have pissed someone else off.”

Dmitry smirked.  “There are no coincidences in this world, Royal.  You know that.  And you don’t just kill a triad, even a low-level one without having some real power behind you.”

“Have you heard anything?”  Royal asked.  “By now, someone would have talked if you were connected.”  She walked back over to him and sat on the bed.  “You are the Czar.  This is the Medlov family.  If one of the five families wanted to start a war with you, this wouldn’t be a quiet thing.”

Dmitry put his hand on his wife’s back.  He appreciated her support and her desire to calm his paranoia, but there was little that anyone could do until he got some real answers.  “I have people I trust making inquiries, but they cannot be formal ones.  If I am found to be asking around and no one had already connected the pieces…”

Royal nodded.  “They would after.”  It made perfect sense.

“To answer your first question.  I didn’t want to kill the entire family.  Alexander Popov was like a father in some ways when I was a boy.  Having him murdered as he lays dying in prison is unimaginable.  Peter Popov has always been dear to me.  He’s old now too.  He survived prison, the fall of our country, and the reign of his idiot nephews.  To strike them down would have been a stain on my reputation and my character.”

“Will they feel that way about you should they find out?” Royal asked.

“Neither man condoned human trafficking, prostitution, drugs… they were old school.  We dealt in the real Vor principles.  If they knew that I killed Alexei because he was holding my son’s sister hostage instead of simply ordering his underling to turn her over, then I think they would understand.”  He shook his head and backtracked.  Wishful thinking had no place in this conversation. “No, no.  They would not.  I made that mistake with Khalid.  I thought he would have chosen our brotherhood over his son, but he didn’t.  It almost cost me my Anya.”

“You mean like you chose your brotherhood over your father?” Royal sympathized.  Once, long ago, Dmitry had been a purist, but no one can be an island forever.  Eventually, he took a wife and made a life.  When a man in his position did that, he would forever be vulnerable.

“That was a long time ago, and in truth, I think I chose my brother over my father, not my brotherhood.”  But Dmitry didn’t want to talk about Ivan now or ever in Royal’s presence.  He had caused her enough pain.  “People have tried to hurt my boys, and I’ve made them pay.  You can’t expect treatment different from what you give in this life.  I’m working on getting inside of Alexei’s brother’s camp.  If I can get my person close to him, I’ll know more about his movements.  For now, we wait.”

“Then, we wait.”  Royal leaned her head into his chest.  “No matter what, Dmitry, we’ll handle this together.”

Dmitry smiled despite his current predicament.  His wife was sweet, loving, and understanding.  He didn’t deserve her, but he loved her.  “It’s my job to protect you from this world, little Czarina.”

“True, but it’s my job to protect you from yourself.”  Royal felt him kiss the top of her head with an innocent peck.  Looking up at him, she raised a hand to his cheek and pulled him closer. “Kiss me like you mean it,” she whispered.

Dmitry’s right eye twitched.  He bent to her slowly, realizing the mood had gone from anxious to erotic.  Pressing his mouth to hers, he speared his tongue into her velvety orifice.  She was warm and sweet, like walking into a cottage after fleeing a blizzard and being offered a cup of hot tea.  Her kiss thawed his senses and dissolved the chill on his mind.

“If you want me to show you what I mean, it will take a lot more than kissing,” he countered as he pulled her from her seated position on the bed to straddle him.  Running a finger under the edge of her blouse, he traced his tips over her bare skin and marveled at her brown nipples.

Royal leaned into him and kissed his lush mouth again, this time teasing him with her tongue, flicking it against his as she rotated her round hips on his growing manhood between them.  She wanted this…right now.  She needed it.

Dmitry pulled her blouse off in one fluid motion, tossing it to the floor, and then cupped her ample bosom, pulling her into his erection as he planted his lips on the top of her breasts and started to kiss them slowly.  His tongue traced over the top of her lace bra. His teeth raked over her skin.  His hands gripped her and held her in place while he toyed with her.

Royal arched her back, pushing her breasts further into his face, hoping his tongue would find its way below the lace where her aching nipples begged to be sucked.  Grabbing the back of her head, she jutted herself forward and felt him latch on to her brown pebbles.  Her body constricted, and a current of electricity shot straight between her thighs, making her clitoris swell with anticipation.

“Yes,” she whimpered, hearing him suckle her hungrily.  His large hand reached behind her and popped the snap on her bra.  Freeing her from her lingerie, he cupped one breast while still attached to the other.

Picking her up as he stood from the bed, he felt her legs wrap around him as he turned and laid her down.  “You’re badly in need of a proper fucking, Mrs. Medlov.”  The glimmer in his eyes was unnerving as he unbuckled his pants.  Dropping them to the floor, he stepped out of his slacks to reveal long, carved legs as wide as tree trunks, covered in a sheet of blonde hair.  His penis, a foot-long veiny creature that rose from the depths of his leg out toward her, awaited entry.

Royal lifted her butt to pull off her pants, but he grabbed them when she reached her thighs and took them off himself.  A simple pair of black thongs stood between him and his prize.  He ran his hand from her calf up to her knee, then pushed her legs open wide enough to see the slick wetness forming at her center, pooling out around the delicate edges of her underwear.

“Are you wet for me, baby?” he asked, voice so sensual it made her sex clench.

“Pouring,” Royal answered, watching his every move.

Dmitry moved his hand slowly down the inside of her thigh, stopping when his palm was planted on the top of her mound.  He rubbed his thumb in the crease of her panties, separating her lips as he applied just enough pressure to make her moan.  She was so horny right now, he was sure he could bring her climax with only one digit, but what would be the fun in that?  Deciding against teasing her too long, he yanked her underwear down her legs, relishing in her thick thighs and the way the fabric stressed against them.

Crawling over the top of Royal, back muscles flexing as he advanced, he grabbed the top of their headboard and angled his rock-hard penis directly toward her throbbing center. Eyes closing, she felt the tip of him.  The smooth round head pressed through her delicate flesh gently, inching inside of her with the greatest care.  Grabbing his back to hold on, she shuttered in ecstasy as the all-too-familiar exhilaration of being taken by Dmitry returned.  He filled her to the brim, stretching her sensitive skin as he worked his hips.  The sound of her wetness harmonized with the smack of his sex hitting her own.  Like a drum, he played their instruments, creating music of a very particular kind.

Dmitry could feel himself hardening more as soon as he glanced down at Royal.  Her breasts bobbed in the air as she lay pressed to the bed by his larger-than-life form.  Something about her submission was driving him insane.  Her pheromones gripped him into a madness that had him thrusting into her with so much power until it caused the lamp on the nightstand to flicker.

Breathless, she opened her legs wider, shifting her butt upward so that he could enjoy all of her.  She took the blows from his hips, took the weight of his body, took the thrusts of his steel-like penis all while holding a climax at bay.

Just a little while longer, she begged herself.  Don’t climax too quickly.

Gripping the headboard to the point of his knuckles going white, Dmitry grunted loudly – relieving himself of all his former easy charm and allowing the animal to emerge. His deep voice echoed in the room against her feminine moans.  Every cell in his body was attuned to his wife’s pleasure.  His broad, hard chest, corded with muscle, now dripped with sweat and strained with veins that stretched across his tanned skin and under his tattoos up to his neck.  Dark, hungry eyes glared at her.  Biting down on his lip, he slammed into her body entirely, making her take all of him.  All seven feet, 307 pounds of Russian hardware.

“That’s it,” she chided, clenching her pearly white teeth.  “Give it to me.”  Sweat dripped from his body onto hers.

Face reddened, he felt himself slipping into that place of joy where he zoned out and allowed their bodies to shed all civility.  Letting go of the headboard, he pulled her legs up and placed them on his chest while he sat on his knees and pinned her in place.

“No, Royal Stone, you give it to me,” he growled, filling her again, this time much rougher.

She might have been demure outside of the bedroom, but in here, she was something far more dangerous.

Grabbing a hand full of her hair, he pulled her head up where she had no choice but watch him pump in and out of her body over and over again.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“Is this?” He thrust harder.

“God! Yes!” she screamed.  The excitement in her brown eyes began to build.

He drew ragged breath, panting as he grabbed her by her calves and nearly had her dangling upside down in the air.

Pushing her palms against the headboard, Royal could no longer hold on to her orgasm.  Her mouth flew open, first unable to form sound as an intense wave that started deep in her belly and drew itself down to her clitoris.  Trembling violently against Dmitry’s bucking hips, she heard her voice carry as she climaxed.

Dropping her to the bed, Dmitry flipped her over to the side and pulled her back to him.  Her sex was soaking wet now, slick with her own released pleasure.  Slapping her sweaty, silky brown buttocks, he guided his penis back inside of her and grabbed her by her hips.

Throwing her head back, her hair spilling over on the gray comforter, she looked back at him and bit her lip.  She could tell by the intensity in his eyes and the laser focus of his movements that he was close.  Pushing against him, she pressed her hands into the comforter.  It could have been the four glasses of wine she had with dinner or the emotional roller-coaster she had just been on with him about Popov, but whatever it was, she allowed herself to ask for what she really wanted.  “Give me a baby,” she said, just as his eyes closed and his hips started to move faster.

Dmitry could feel the surge of semen getting ready to leap forth.  His eyes flashed open, growing impossibly wide when he heard her words.  Already shuttering, locked to the hilt inside of his wife, it registered what his wife wanted almost too late.

Pulling out right before hot seed exited his body, he slapped his snake-like member on her hip and pushed down against her.  Thick, white orgasmic residue ran down her side like a river, pooling on the comforter and dripping over her belly.

Royal looked on with disbelief and fury.  He had never done that!  She pushed him off of her and grabbed his $500 shirt to wipe his mess from her body.  “What the hell was that?”

Dmitry tried to catch his breath.  Rolling over on his stomach, he looked up at her in confusion.  “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

Naked, Royal stood beside the bed.  “I want a baby.”

Dmitry wiped a hand over his face.  “After everything we just talked about, you want a baby now?”  He swallowed hard and grabbed a pillow.  Pushing it under his head, he dismissed the idea.  “Now is not a good time.”

“Did you just ask me when was a good time, when I had your last three?” Royal argued.

“Baby, we might be in the middle of a war.  I can’t…” He huffed.  “I do not want a child right now.”  His voice was colder and sterner than he meant for it to be, and instantly, he wished he had not said it.

Royal felt like he had just spit in her face.  Throwing his shirt in his face, she wiped a tear that threatened to fall to her cheek.  “Get out!” she screamed.

Dmitry got out of bed without another word.  “Can I get something to wear first?”

Bending down, Royal snatched his slacks and threw them across the bed to him.  “Get out NOW!”

“I’m sorry,” Dmitry said, slipping his pants on.  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”   The jingle of his belt buckle interrupted him.  “Please, be reasonable, Royal.”

With her arms now across her chest, Royal stood in silence, refusing to even look at him.  “I will not say it again.”

“I won’t force you to,” Dmitry said, ducking his head.  Great.  He was in the doghouse again.  Grabbing his phone from the floor, he walked barefoot to the door.  “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Royal kept her back to him until the door was closed shut.  Hearing his heavy footfalls moving down the hallway, she fell on the bed and cried.

Women!  Dmitry thought to himself.  One minute they were ready to die for you; the next, they were ready to kill you.  In a walk of shame, he headed down the back stairs of their wing of the house to the first floor.  As he came around the corner, he ran into Marat while he was making his rounds.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” Dmitry growled, whizzing past him.

Marat dropped his head and kept moving.  It didn’t take a genius to know his boss had just gotten tossed out on his ass by Royal at 2:00 in the morning.  And while he was the head of security, certain things just were not his business.

Looking through his phone, Dmitry had come to one conclusion.  At least one thing about today needed to be under his control.  He would start with the Popov situation.  Instead of hoping that Alexander Popov didn’t find out that he had killed his son, it seemed the best course of action was simply to tell him and let him decide how he wanted to proceed.  Fuck it.  He was looking for a fight after being mind-raped by Royal.

Hitting a contact number, he waited for Alexander’s overseer to answer as he stalked down the limestone hallway past the guards, who ducked their heads to keep from making eye contact.

“Yes, Mr. Medlov,” Kuznetsov answered as he sipped on a cup of coffee and read the newspaper in his office.  It was 10:00 a.m. in Moscow, and already, the day was off to a hectic start.

“I need to arrange a word with Alexander Popov,” Dmitry said, arriving at the doors of his office where his guards stood.  He pressed his thumb against the reader and then grabbed the brass handle to open the doors as soon as he heard the lock open.

“I’m sorry, that’s not possible,” Kuznetsov said rather smugly.  He put down his paper and pressed his pointy elbows against the wooden desk.

Dmitry really wasn’t in the mood for games right now.  “Why is that not fucking possible?” he asked, slamming the door behind him.

“Because Mr. Popov died a week ago.  I would have thought someone would have told you.”

“Did someone kill him?” Dmitry asked, stopping in the middle of the floor.

“No,” Kuznetsov answered.  “He succumbed to his illness.”  There was no way in hell the man would tell Dmitry Medlov the truth.  He had been paid handsomely to keep the secret that the man’s dying words were used to place a hit on Dmitry’s life.

“Fuck!” Dmitry screamed, hurling the phone across the room.  It shattered as it hit the wall, splattering into pieces across the floor.

Wiping a hand over his face, he walked over to the sofa in front of the fireplace and plopped down. All he wanted to do was get some damn rest.  After that, he’d figured the rest of this out.

Chapter 8

Collierville, TN

Crown Suites

Room 235

D r. Owen Lewis.  It had taken eight years to gain that title.  Thousands of hours of study and research.  It took working at night, doing odd jobs, saving, and even living out of his car.  It took student loans and ass-kissing and praying when he was certain his own will wasn’t strong enough.   As he gazed across the small hotel room at his white smock, the black letters of his name embroidered below the company logo, he assessed all that he had sacrificed to get to this point and felt strangely hollow.

“Are you still with me, baby?” a woman asked, propped between his legs on her knees as she tried to summon a full erection.  She had been down there so long that her legs were starting to numb, and her mouth ached at the sides.

Owen trailed his gaze from the smock down to the face of the young woman he had paid to give him service before work.  Her brown eyes had a hint of irritation in them.

“I’m trying,” he apologized.

“Well, let me keep trying too,” she said sympathetically.

Watching her lips run down his shaft again, he let go of a frustrated sigh and gently pushed her away from him.  Fuck!  “What’s the use?  I’m just not up for it today. Pardon the pun.”

The redhead raised from her position and grabbed a hand towel to wipe her mouth.  In her profession, it had not been the first time that she’d had a client who couldn’t perform, but it was the first time that Owen had not been able to.  No skin off her back.  He was still being charged for the full hour.  “Don’t worry, hun.  There’s always tomorrow.”

Owen dragged a hand over his clean-shaven cheek.  What the hell was wrong with him?  He hadn’t been able to get a hard-on since his unfortunate encounter with those Russians.  He had tried everything – porn, prostitutes, even his wife.  But nothing worked. In a last-ditch effort after abusing himself in the shower for thirty minutes this morning, he had texted a pro and told her to meet him at their usual meet-up place to see if a little assistance might change his condition.

Rochelle was one of his favorite girls, hand-picked because of her close resemblance to the girl in undergrad who had dumped him for the quarterback of their college football team.  They could have been twins – his ex and Rochelle.  When he felt inadequate or inferior, he always used this one to take out his frustration on.  She could always get him going, no matter the mood, no matter the time.  But this morning, he just couldn’t make himself, and neither could she.

Resting his head back on the king-sized chair situated in the corner of the hotel room, he looked up at the ceiling.  “Your money’s in the envelope by the bed.  I put a little extra in there for the short notice.”  He didn’t even want to look at Rochelle right now.  She might have been the paid help, but it was still embarrassing.

Rochelle stood up, knees reddened and dimpled by the carpet, then shamelessly shimmied her heavy breasts back into her low-cut top.  “You want me to go?” she asked, picking up her cell phone from the end table beside the chair to check the time.  He still had 15 minutes; what he chose to do with it was up to him.

“It’s up to you if you’re ready to leave or not.  The room’s paid for.  I have to go, though.”  Standing up, he dressed quickly, snatching angrily at his clothes as Rochelle went to retrieve her money.

“Call me if you want to hook up later. I have some time.  We can pick this back up,” she said, walking out of the door.

Left alone, Owen sat on the edge of the bed and slipped on his loafers.  The sun shined into the room from the open windows, scantily covered by a sheer white curtain.  It was nearly nine now, time for him to be walking in the door of the hospice center to make his rounds, but for the first time in his life, he was dreading stepping foot into his job.

A text had already come last night.  Today was the day he was supposed to finish off Sanaa Baptiste, a terminal patient of his who up until a week ago was showing signs of improvement.  He had been working hard on her case, trying medicines and trials that had started the reversal process of her cancer.  The treatment was working, and he planned to use that research to advance his own career, become a leading oncologist as he’d always hoped.  But then, a fatal error on his part occurred.

After drinks with a few friends at a bar downtown, he picked up a strange girl he had been flirting with at the bar and took her down to Tom Lee Park for a little late-night quickie.  She was young, the way he liked, slim in the waist like his wife used to be before two kids, bubbly and dumb, the way he needed as a married man.  Without hesitation, she mounted him in the driver’s side seat of his Land Rover after he slipped on a condom and, without asking, started to ride him into the promised land.  But half-way into what was turning out to be a good end to his long day, a camera flashed several times, then his door swung open, and he and the girl were snatched out of his vehicle by two very intimidating Russians.  The girl was underage. The flash was from a camera, and the blackmail was complete.

One of the men had given him an ultimatum right there beside his vehicle with his pants still half-mast and his pride brutally beaten.  He could stop treatment on Sanaa Baptiste and start giving her medicines that would make her sick, or he would be turned in for sex with a minor.  His reputation would be destroyed.  His license yanked. His wife would divorce him.  His kids would hate him, and he would eventually be killed.  The alternative was to accept the one million dollars they were offering and arrange a meeting with the woman’s family for a final reunion before pulling the plug on her life support.

In other words, either murder that poor woman or murder himself.  After working so hard to build a life for himself, after coming from the trailer park in Bartlett and arriving at being a member of a local country club and a rising star in the oncology world, there was no way in hell he was going to kill his dreams, while they still had a chance to come into fruition.

Unfortunately, Sanaa was going to die – eventually.  If the treatment didn’t work, she would die.  If she didn’t receive the treatment, she would die. She was dying before she came to him as a patient.  Her fate was set.  All he was doing was moving the process along a little at the behest of his new employers, right?  It was a hard decision to make, but he felt he had made the best one for himself and his family.

However, after that encounter, every time that he tried to have sex in any situation, he always pictured that young girl on his lap and the decision he was forced to make because of his insatiable sexual appetite.  The end game was that he was a flaccid murderer who was a million dollars richer.

His cell phone buzzed on the bed.  Picking it up, he read the screen and felt his stomach constrict.

Get your ass here.  This happens today.

He dropped his head and sobbed quietly.  Over the years, he had lost more patients than he cared to count, but he had never killed one.  Now, his hand was being forced.  The Russian had sent a woman to work for him the day after his encounter.  She was to work with Sanaa as his assistant until the job was done.  Like a hawk, she had watched his every move, given all the medicines under his supervision to bring Sanaa to an untimely end, and threatened him daily behind closed doors with death and exposure, if he changed his mind.

“What the fuck did I do?” he asked himself aloud, tears running down his face.  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Memphis was a hell-storm of humidity and uncompromising heat.  When Bandi stepped off the jet with his small entourage, fully briefed on his new target, he immediately remembered why he had left the assassination business.  No one he had ever been hired to kill ever was in a charming locale like the Caribbean Islands or the south of France.  The sun cooked the ground below without a cloud in the sky to provide any cover, which meant he was going to burn like a piece of meat on the grill for the rest of the afternoon.

“I’m going to need some sunblock,” he told his handler as he loaded into the SUV waiting on them.

“Anything else?” the woman asked, making a note of his request.  She ducked into the vehicle as the guards closed the door behind her.

Bandi sat beside her and slipped on his shades.  “Nothing else outside of what I already told you.”

They were going straight to the scouting site from the airstrip.  No hotel.  No food.  No fluffing.  He was brought directly into the country with one goal in mind.  Kill Dmitry Medlov.

“When your job is complete, take the motorbike provided to the Winston hotel about eight miles away from the hospice center.  Room 614.  We will be waiting to take you back to your plane and get you home,” the woman said as they headed out onto the two-lane highway toward Memphis.  “Before we drop you off, we’ll show you where the hotel is in relation to the job.”

Dmitry Medlov had spies everywhere, especially at the private airstrip in Memphis, where he jets were housed.  To keep from being discovered or to raise suspicion, they had opted to fly into the smaller airport for the casinos in Mississippi.  It was only a 30-minute drive into the city and much safer for everyone involved.

“Is there a second rally point, just in case?” Bandi asked, studying the satellite pictures of the hospice center.

“What would you suggest?” the woman asked.

“A crowded public place.”

“Beale Street,” the woman answered quickly.  “It’s a tourist spot, always crowded.”  She had never worked with Bandi, thus the reservations about his touted skill, but she did know of Dmitry Medlov.  “As we said before, this has to be executed flawlessly.”

Bandi pulled a stick of gum from his pocket and slipped it in his mouth.  “Why do you think that Popov brought me from fucking Budapest? I guarantee it was not to give Dmitry Medlov a fucking manicure.  He wants him dead.  He’s dead.  It’s that simple.” His eyes narrowed at the woman and her snide comment.  What a bitch.  He’d snap her neck for free right now if she was not integral to the mission.  “If I’m not up to your standard, you can always fly me back home now.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, looking straight forward.

Dmitry snored lightly in his study after a long night of tossing and turning.  His long legs hung over the arm of the sofa, and his mouth was wide open.  It had been a long time since he had been banished to the sofa from his wife’s bed, but last night, she reminded him that he was not beyond reproach.  As he shifted uncomfortably to turn to his side on his make-shift bed, he caught a glimpse of someone watching him.

His eyes flashed completely open, and he quickly sat up to find Anya standing right beside the sofa with a coffee mug in her hand.  She was wearing yellow pajamas with the brown poop emoji tiled in patterns all over and sporting very poofy pink slippers.  Her hair was braided into two ponytails that made her look like a doll, but her face wore a maturity fit for a woman instead of a child.

Anya watched her father carefully, noting he was only wearing his slacks.  No shirt or shoes.  He looked like he had been in a fight instead of an argument.  “You got in trouble last night,” she said, offering his liquid breakfast.

Dmitry threw his long legs over the side of the sofa and planted them on the floor.  “I got in big trouble,” he confirmed, taking the mug.  “Spasiba, princess.”

“What did you do?” Anya asked, sitting beside him.  Although her parents were mostly happy people, it was not out of the ordinary for them to have a disagreement from time-to-time.

“I made Mommy mad,” he said, taking the entire blame for last night.

Anya knew her father would not tell her what he had done.  That wasn’t his style, but whatever had transpired between her parents, she refused to believe that her sweet father had been entirely at fault.  “I’ll tell her to take it easy on you.”

Dmitry chuckled at his daughter’s wishful thinking. “If you’re smart, you’ll leave it alone.”  He grunted as he pulled the pillow from behind him to get more comfortable.  “Your mother is a very reasonable woman once you let her cool off, but if you poke the bear,” he bucked his eyes at her and growled jokingly like an animal.  “She’ll bite you.”  He hoped she would heed his warning.

Anya giggled. She didn’t affectionately call her mother, Mommy Bear, without cause.  “Maybe you’re right. There is no reason for us both to get in trouble.”  She watched her father’s face crease with thought.  “Everyone is up already.  They are eating breakfast in the kitchen.  Maxim is biting people again, and Konstantin ran across the top of the table and knocked down Gabriel’s plate.”

That was typical.  His boys were a force to be reckoned with, only reined in by his mother’s constant paddling or his stern voice.  “So, everyone else gets eggs and pancakes, and all I get is coffee,” he said, twisting up his lip in envy.

“Looks that way.”  She turned to her father seriously.  “Mommy told me about why we have to go see Anil’s mother today.”  Death was no longer mysterious for her.  She was only glad that instead of murder, their newest loss would be because of illness.  Still, she wished her father had been the one to tell her.

“I wanted to tell you last night, but I didn’t know how to broach the matter.”  Dmitry sipped the coffee, wishing for a little whiskey to put in it after such a torturous night.  He could feel his daughter’s glare burning through the side of his temple for an explanation, but he could not give one.  It was good to have a wife who knew how to talk to his daughter about the complicated things in life. She did it much better than him. “How do you feel about it?”

“I’m sorry for him,” Anya answered sincerely.  She shrugged and huffed after long contemplation on the matter.  “But that’s life.”

Dmitry cut his eyes at his daughter.  The cup paused at his lips.   “I hope you don’t say that to your brother.  It would hurt his feelings,” he admonished.

“Come on.  I’m not a monster,” Anya said, standing up.  She finally brought herself to what Royal had sent her today.  “Mommy wants you to get up and get ready.  She sent me to tell you.”

He nodded, figuring as much. “I’ll be there in just a minute.  I need to get my thoughts together first.”  Raising his chin, he allowed his daughter to peck his cheek.  “Love you,” he said with a wink.

“Love you too,” she said, heading out of the study, feeling better about the day now that she knew her favorite person was okay.

Kids.  Each one was different.  Each one was complicated.

Dmitry checked his watch and stood up from the sofa.  Stretching his long body, he extended his arms toward the ceiling and let out a monstrous roar.  He never slept this late.  Maybe he should sleep here more often.

Making his way over to his desk, he opened his laptop and took a seat to read his emails and check the news before he embarked on putting Sanaa to rest.  The thought made him nauseous.  It was going to be a long day, and although it had just started, he was already dreading it.  However, he was the head of the family.  They needed him now, especially Anil.  He knew his son would embark on a loneliness that he had never experienced once his mother was gone, and he needed to be there to help him through it.  Losing a mother changed things for a man.  He either closed up for good or opened up to new possibilities – there was no in-between.

As he read threw his various reports from those appointed to run his various businesses internationally, the office doors burst open again. This time Anatoly came in, fresh-faced and full.  He gave a sardonic smile as he closed the doors behind him.

Dmitry pushed back in his chair and threw up his hands.  His muscles flexed under the tattoos that covered his broad chest.  “Why do I even have a fucking door for this office or guards for that matter?  I should just have the contractors come in and cut a hole in the wall, so everyone can just come and go as they please.”

Anatoly strutted over to the chair in front of his father’s desk and took a seat.  “Sounds like a good idea to me.”  He was used to his father’s smug comment when he wanted to deflect, but that wouldn’t derail him from his current task.

Dmitry rolled his eyes.  “What do you want?” he asked, giving up.

“Good morning to you, too.”  Relaxing in the chair, Anatoly shook his head at his father.  “You look like shit after spending all night on the sofa.  Trust me.  I know.  Renee has sentenced me to the bad place a thousand times.”

“Ahh, shit.  Does everyone know?” Dmitry asked, annoyed, but not surprised that everyone in the house knew his private business.  Such was one of the drawbacks of keeping everyone under one roof.

“Yep.”  Anatoly tapped his fingers on the leather armrest of the chair.  “I have some concerns.”

Dmitry looked up from his computer.  “About?”  His blue eyes like diamonds in the sunlight.

“The thing today.”  Anatoly’s left eye twitched.  He had a bad feeling – one that didn’t need to go unappreciated.  “I think we should bring Sanaa here, instead of taking the entire family to the center.  It’s a security risk.”

Dmitry yawned, tasting last night’s dinner still on his tongue.  He needed to brush his teeth and take a shower before he could think straight.  Planting his elbow on the desk, he looked across at his son.  “Explain.”

“We should have her brought here in an ambulance or something.  To take the entire fucking family and the council members over to pay their respects is dangerous.”  Anatoly knew he sounded cold-hearted, and he knew that Marat was now over security.  But he couldn’t help but revert to his old job as chief of security.

Dmitry wouldn’t hear of it.  He put a hand over his mouth and yawned again, trying to protect Anatoly from his bad breath.  “So, you want me to put a woman who is already on life support in an ambulance and have her trek across the city to our home, running the risk of complications that could lead to her death before your brother can properly say goodbye because you feel uncomfortable?”

Anatoly blew off his father’s bad mood and the over-explained hypothetical scenario.  “It’s not smart to put the entire family at the same time in a place that we don’t have complete control over.  You’ve asked us all to be there.  And I think we should, but it’s dangerous.”

Dmitry pushed his son to think deeper.  “What other suggestions do you have?  Bringing her here is not an option.”  He rubbed his temple, feeling a headache starting to come over him.  He hadn’t even had breakfast, and he was already entertaining meetings.  Damn, could they all just give him a minute?

Anatoly belched, now full of a bountiful breakfast.  Hitting his balled-up fist against his chest, he sat up.  How could he make this clear?  “Okay, how about going in shifts.  The women and children first with Vasily and Boris.  Then the men with Marat.  Everyone can see her and pay their respects, but it doesn’t leave us open to an attack where everyone gets killed.”

Dmitry noted his son’s concern, but this situation was uniquely different from most. “Royal is not going to allow us to pull the plug on Anil’s mother without her there to see it.”  He had various reasons why that was the case and a few theories on the matter, but he would speak on none of them.

Anatoly shook his head in frustration.  “Fine.  She can stay in the room while we rotate.  The point is there is a security risk involved.  We need to plan accordingly.”

Dmitry quietly agreed. “Fine.  You work out the logistics with Marat and the security team.  But first, run it by Royal and make sure she understands your plans.  I don’t want her throwing one of her epic fits.”  Dmitry didn’t question his power over this family or his status in their lives, but he also didn’t want to make his wife any angrier than she already was.  If she was not adequately apprised of their plans, she would swear it was all done in retaliation of last night. And Anatoly, while meaning well, could not help him in that department.

“I’ll be happy to tell her,” Anatoly grinned at his father.  “She’s not mad at me.” He laced his fingers together over his chest and kicked up his feet on his father’s desk. “So, what landed you in the shit house?”

Dmitry knocked his son’s feet down, knowing Anatoly meant it as a comical jab at him.  “Who said I was in the shit house?”

Anatoly tilted his head and remained silent, sure his father could read between the lines.

“It doesn’t matter.  She thinks I’m wrong, and in that kind of situation, a man can’t be right, even if he’s right.” Dmitry explained.

Anatoly sat up in his chair and leaned toward the desk.  “Whatever you did, just say you’re sorry.  That’s all that really matters with them.”

“So, now you’re an authority on wifely rage?” Dmitry turned his attention back to his computer.  The boy hadn’t been married long enough to be giving advice.

But Anatoly understood something that his father didn’t.  Royal might have been his stepmother, but she was also his wife’s best friend.  He was privy to a lot more than the old man was aware of.  And this morning, Royal woke up and had breakfast with Renee, unloading all her marital woes with the one woman in the world who couldn’t keep a damn secret.

“Just one question, and then I’ll leave you alone.”  Anatoly paused for theatrical inference.  “Do you want to be right, or do you want to be happy?” Anatoly asked, using advice once given to him. He already knew the answer, but sometimes, it took someone else to make one see how simple the most complicated problems were when allowed to go unchecked.

Dmitry submitted, dropping his boulder-like shoulders. “I want to be happy, but it would also require me to give my wife another child.”

Anatoly didn’t see the problem. He shrugged indifferently. “So? Give her a child.  Shit. Give her five.  It’s not like you don’t have plenty of money and time.”

Dmitry knew he hadn’t told his son the whole of their current situation with the Popov Crime Family, and he hated himself for it.  But today was not the day.  “I’ll explain later.”

Anatoly narrowed his gaze on his father.  “As soon as the plug is pulled, and you’ve said your goodbyes to this woman, I want to know what’s really going on with you, Papa.  Promise me.”

“You have my word,” Dmitry assured. There was a smile in his voice, brought out by the overwhelming pride he felt for his son’s growth.  Of course, there was no need to speak on it.  Men like them didn’t get bogged down with sentiment, but they understood silence didn’t take away from the affirmed telepathic transaction.

Just then, there was a knock on the door before the guards opened it, and Royal came in carrying a tray of food.  She was still in her pajamas, a wardrobe of tight-fitting yoga pants and low-cut black tank top exposing her voluptuous breasts.  She wore her long hair in a ponytail that hung lazily over her shoulder and a fresh face free of make-up.

Dmitry half expected a scowl on his wife’s face after last night’s argument, but instead, she greeted him with a genuine smile.  He sat up in his chair at the sight of her, always transfixed by her beauty.

Anatoly twisted in his chair to see Royal and then turned back to his father.  “Remember what I said.  Happy or right,” he said under his breath.  He stood up and excused himself to leave his parents to hash out whatever was going on between them.

Royal brought the tray over to Dmitry’s desk and placed it in front of him.  “I figured you’d be hungry,” she explained in a soft voice.

Dmitry looked at the tray, a plate of hot pancakes covered in a sheen of syrup and Irish butter, fruits, scrambled eggs, and a pile of finely cut potatoes and veggies.  A tall glass of orange juice was situated beside a small vase with a yellow rose she had cut herself.  He understood it was a peace offering, and he wanted her to know that he gladly accepted.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, looking into her eyes.

“You’re welcome.”  Royal’s eyes darted around the room.  Arguments with Dmitry always made her anxious.  Taking a deep breath, she tried to move the conversation along. “I set out your clothes for this morning.  Everyone’s getting ready as we speak.”

Dmitry wasn’t concerned with that now.  Waving her toward him, he pushed his chair back from his desk.  “Come here,” he ordered.

She walked behind his desk and stood in front of him.  Pulling her to his lap, Dmitry made her sit down and then picked up a small cut of watermelon.  He placed it to her lips with his fingers, watching her eat it.

“I’m sorry,” he confessed.  His deep voice croaked with regret.  “Last night…”

Royal cut him off before he could finish.  “Today is not about us.  We have plenty of time to talk.  Right now, we need to focus on Anil and making sure he gets through this the best he can.”

Dmitry held her in his embrace.  “Then, we will talk later.”  His strong hands massaged her arm.  “But you know that I love you, right?”

Royal nodded at him and managed a smile.  It wasn’t that she was not still incredibly hurt by last night, but she knew that her feelings couldn’t cloud the events that were forced on them today.  “Yes, I know you love me.  I love you too.”

That was all Dmitry needed to hear.  Picking up his fork, he made her sit with him while he had his breakfast.  Even if they sat in complete silence, it would be fine by him, but he wanted her to know, he wasn’t handling her – not this time.  She had more than enough reason to ask for another child, and he had an obligation to fulfill it.  He just couldn’t do it right now – not until he made sure she was safe.

Chapter 9

Billionaire’s Row

London, England

3:00 p.m. same day

T he caller on the other end of the line spoke quietly, whispering to ensure no one could hear her.  Zoya listened without uttering a word, and then when the caller was done with her report, she finally spoke.  “Make sure she gets the right applications.  I want it packed on in gobs, extra helpings if time allows.”  She lifted her finger as another thought crossed her mind.  “And remember you’ve already been handsomely rewarded. This better go undetected or else.” Hanging up the phone, she felt a rush of adrenaline course through her veins.  Sneaky business was always the best.  Too bad she’s missing the fireworks.  It was sure to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

A sinister smile crept across her face as she laid out the perfect outfit for this evening on her bed.  It was a sexy little pink chiffon sundress, cut high to show her long legs, and cut low to show her augmented breasts.  Perking them up as she glanced across the room at her reflection in the mirror, she giggled.  “I’d fuck me,” she joked to her dog, sitting dutifully by the bedroom door, ready to be taken out for his daily walk.

“Soon,” she said to him as she walked naked into the bathroom.  Standing in front of the large, gold-rimmed mirror, she pulled the hot pink and purple rollers from her golden tresses.  “But for now, Mommy has to get into character.”

After planning for a few weeks, she finally had Erik Popov’s wife’s schedule down to a science.  It was no small feat.  She had to pay people, follow in her own car, duck, dive, and bribe.  But today, all that reconnaissance work would come to ahead.

Earlier this morning, she cried hysterically to her boyfriend before he could even rise from his bed about her desire to become his wife.  Her rant scared him so that he left by mid-afternoon for an unexpected meeting back in the states.  As soon as he left, she packed her bags, confident he would call before the night’s end demanding their breakup.  Now, she had the house to herself.  Having already given the staff the night off, she was free to get ready for her big scene.

“And action,” she said, slipping on her new pink lace thongs.  Turning to the side, she analyzed her profile.  Perfect.

Tatiana Popov had grown accustomed to her way of life after nearly two years of matrimony to one of the world’s richest men.  She had spent all her formidable years in luxury thanks to her mother’s guidance, but nothing compared to being Erik Popov’s wife – not even being his mistress.  And she had done that well – being an apprentice impatiently awaiting the opportunity to usurp the former wife.

Her silver fox had only one mantra in this life — nothing but the best, and the best in gaudy excess. Since the day Erik met her, the night she failed to secure the crown of Ms. Universe, in a high-end hotel suite in Moscow with other pageant losers who had been courted by the Kremlin for high-roller entertainment, Popov had opened up the world to her, offering opulent adventures in an existence only available to those who had the audacity to be considered mega-rich.  The two percent were a fickle group that she had learned to maneuver around.  They wore their money like the crown she had chased and demanded all who served them to kiss the ring.

At first, she thought she might spend her whole life bowing and bending the knee to these privileged demons, but now she was one of them, and the world bowed to her – not because of anything she had done in her own life, but who she had married.  Erik Popov – heir to one of the five Russian mafia families who ran the world.  She didn’t know much about his business life, and she didn’t care to, but what she did know was that this life was one she never wanted to get rid of.

Others had told her being Mrs. Popov had a shelf life, and she had heeded their warnings.  She monitored her weight, went under the knife, made sure to remain dazzling and always subservient to her husband, but after two years of being treated like a princess, she started to doubt that her husband would ever leave her.

As she arrived at the front doors of Aremar Day Spa, a place reserved for only the richest women of London, she abandoned her bodyguards at the entrance and shed her clothes in the locker room for an afternoon of pampering.

Emerging from the private quarters in a black terry cloth robe, she followed her assigned assistant to the massage room, where she was to receive her weekly treatment.  It included a four-person massage, a wine bath, and a white caviar face treatment atop 24-carat gold mud mask with anti-aging treatment.  The cost was ridiculous but never presented to her directly. The bill was charged to one of Erik’s cards and forgotten until the next week when she showed up again, ready to be mollycoddled for four-straight hours.

It was the least Erik could do for her, considering the stress he put her under on a daily basis.  She was never allowed to be normal, never allowed to wear yoga pants, pull her hair into a ponytail, wear cotton panties, or eat carbohydrates.  Instead, she was always held to a higher standard.  He threatened in his own way with rude comments the angst of divorce if she ever got fat or became less attractive than the day that he met her, forcing her to live in a state of panic.  And when he wasn’t threatening her to maintain her beauty, he was reminding her that despite his overactive sex life, he never wanted children.

“Don’t even tell me,” he once advised her over brunch.  “If you ever do get pregnant, kindly go and get rid of it immediately.  I don’t want kids…ever.”

It had come as a shock to her considering most older rich men wanted an heir with their beautiful wives – something to assert their dominance and legacy over the world.  But Erik was clear about his path.  He wanted to live this life to the fullest and leave nothing on the table when he was gone.

Often, though he was extremely virile, she wondered if he was not secretly sterile, because no matter if she avoided birth control or not, she had never conceived – nor had any wife before him.  But he put on airs and claimed that the choice was his own because of his Vor dedication.

But despite his many demands, she never complained because she had been chosen, among all others who vied for the title, to be his newest trophy wife.  And by that standard, he treated her like a queen.  As long as she played that part in his life – a distant role that was better seen than heard – she could enjoy the finer things without putting forth much effort. All she had to do was show up beautiful, well-dressed, smelling great, arrogant, and entitled.  What woman couldn’t do that when her husband was a billionaire?

Disrobing, she crawled on top of the massage table in the finely decorated room and prepared for her facial – a thing she demanded before the massage began.  With her eyes closed and her tits up, she listened to the blissful music piped into the room.

Her regular therapist came into the room and closed the door behind her oblivious to the poison in Tatiana’s bowl awaiting application.  Zoya had paid top dollar to commission the help of another employee to switch her regimen for the one she had paid a chemist in Ibiza to create.

“Hello, Mrs. Popov,” the young woman said with a smile.  “Are you ready to get started?”  She stood at Tatiana’s side and opened the mud mask container, sealed for protection with a plastic covering that had to be pried open before using.

“Would I be lying here in the nude if I were not?” Tatiana asked snidely without opening her eyes.  She bit down on her lip in irritation.  Make sure to cover my entire face this time.  Last time, you missed several inches of my lower lids.  Do you want my eyes to get bags under them the size of your ass or what?”

The therapist nodded, holding back a quick response as she dipped two fingers into the container.  “We won’t miss a thing this time.  Head to toe,” she promised.

Applying the mud mask to Tatiana’s body, the poor woman had no idea that the acid in the compound would activate five minutes after the white caviar topical was applied.

“Put extra on my nipples,” Tatianna ordered, unashamed of her perfect form laying bare for the help to attend.  “And don’t skimp on the caviar.  I’ll know if you do.”

“Very well, madam.”

Erik Popov was a man of many talents, but patience was not one of them.  He sat looking out of the study’s window awaiting a call from Memphis informing him that Dmitry Medlov was no more.  With his wife away at her routine weekly spa visit, he was left alone with idle hands, and though she was oblivious to his need, he was angry at her for not being present to keep his mind occupied.  He had half a mind to snatch the maid from downstairs and make her give him a blow job, but last time, she had used too much teeth.

He tapped his foot impatiently, tugging at his three-piece tailored suit as his gaze landed squarely on the bitch with the dog again.  Perking up, he pulled the sheer curtains so that he could see her better.  She was wearing a short pink dress today.  Her long blonde tendril hair danced in the breeze as the dog pulled her along the sidewalk.

“Got you,” he said, jumping up from his chair.  In the last twenty-four hours, his men had brought him a report on the girl.  Evidently, she was arm candy for the little computer geek down the street, before that she had a variety of boyfriends, jumping from billionaire to billionaire.  Either she was horrible in the sack or despised commitment.  Neither kept him from finding out more about her for himself.

Jogging down the spiral staircase to the first floor, he burst out of the double doors and the security doors of his home to the stairs where he could see her.

She glanced up at the ruckus, still trying to control the large dog as he walked down the street.  Flipping her hair, she smiled at him but didn’t seem very interested.

Erik took her arrogance as a dare.  “You there!” he said, straightening his suit jacket as he pranced down the flight of stairs.  “What are you doing, walking your own animal?”

Zoya stopped. The wind brought her ensemble up just enough for him to see her lace panties.  Without bothering to pull down her dress, she turned to him with a frown.  “Why do you care?” she asked with a pout.

Erik liked her insolence.  “Because it’s my street.”

“Correction, it’s our street.”  She watched him as he approached, his guards observing from a few feet away.

“What are you doing walking that animal down our street, then,” he said, coming to stand right in front of her.  She smelled intoxicating.  And unlike many women of their stature, when he got up close, her face was still flawless.

Zoya yanked her dog’s chain.  “If you must know, I’m relieving myself of frustration.”

Now Erik was curious.  “What kind of frustration.”

“The worst kind.”  With a huff, she looked down the street toward her boyfriend’s home.  “Leave me alone.  Let me get on with my day.”

As she turned to walk away, Erik caught her by her dainty wrist and pulled her toward him. “Not until you tell me what I want to know.”  His eyes burned with lust as he trailed his gaze from her face down to her breasts.

She looked down at her breasts and then back up at him.  “It’s none of your business.”  Snatching way, she made sure to control her scowl.  She wanted to turn him on, not piss him off.  “Sit,” she ordered her dot.  Giving Erik her full attention, she looked him up and down, giving an approving grin.  “Who are you?” she asked, licking her lips.

“Who are you?” he toyed.

“I’m Zoya.” Without offering her hand, she put her hand on her hip.  “Why do you care that I walk my dog?”

“Because no one here walks their own dog.  It’s like taking out your own garbage or cooking your own food.”

Zoya laughed.  “You’re funny,” she said, moving strands of hair from her face.  “I’m glad.  I have not in a while.”

“What else haven’t you done for a while?” he asked directly.

Zoya raised her brow. “Is it that obvious?” Her two-carat diamond studs caught the fading light and reflected in his eyes.  “My boyfriend is a very rich man, very successful, but he’s not…”

Erik waited for her reply.

“You know,” she feigned embarrassment.  “I come out here to walk the dog and try to tire myself out.  After all, a girl can’t masturbate all day, can she?”

Erik felt a strange arousal for the woman.  “A girl shouldn’t have to.”  His eyes narrowed.  “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” she lied.  “I guess it’s just my nature.  I know he must have the world on his shoulders.  Getting me off isn’t exactly at the top of his list.”  She put her hand over her mouth like she had said too much.  “I’m really not in a good place to talk.  There is just too much on my mind.  Forgive me for being so rude.”

“It’s okay,” Erik said, turning to look down the street.  He liked her, the way she smelled, the way she looked, the way she wore that damned dress.  All he could do at the moment was imagine shoving his cock up her…

“I’ve never seen you before,” Zoya interrupted.  “You live here?”  She glanced beyond him to the mansion.

“I do.”  He stepped closer.

“Are you here all the time?” she asked, voice softer.

“I am.”  He slipped his hands in his pockets to keep from putting them on her.  “If you ever just want to stop by, need someone to talk to about those…problems, you have my permission.”

Zoya ran a hand over the top of her dress.  “Don’t offer if you don’t mean it.”  She knew she had him just where she wanted him.  He was eating out of the palm of her hand.  If he caught a whiff of her sex right now, he’d drop to his knees and give her head on the sidewalk.

“I never offer anything without a price,” he warned.

The wind blew up Zoya’s dress again.  Pulling it down, she stepped closer to him.  “I’ve never known a price I couldn’t pay…Erik.”

Her words gave him an instant hard-on.  It prodded at the zipper of his pants, begging to be released.  Swallowing hard, he felt his cell phone ring. Typically, he would not have answered it, but he couldn’t take the risk of it being about Dmitry. Shit!

“Don’t you dare move,” he said, pulling out his phone.  Turning away from her, he answered quickly. “What?” He stepped a few feet away.

“Boss,” one of Tatiana’s guards said frantically, “we have a problem.”

“What is it?” Erik said in a strained voice.

“It’s your wife.  She’s headed to the hospital from the spa.  Her mud mask gave her a serious chemical burn.  It’s all over her face and her body.  She is bleeding out of her pores.  It looks like she’s melting.  They say it could be fatal.” The guard paused, awaiting his boss’s reaction.

Erik huffed at his guard’s hysteria.  At first, he thought it was something important.  “Where are they taking her.  As a matter of fact, never mind.  Text me the address of the hospital. I’ll meet you there.”  He turned to look over his shoulder at Zoya.  “I’ll meet you when I can.”  Hanging up the phone, he turned back to the woman as she stood waiting.  With a smile, he walked back up to her.

“Do you need to leave?” she asked, concerned.

“No,” Erik said, looking at his watch.  He had a few hours before the hit was scheduled, and there was no way he was going to spend that time in the fucking waiting room of a hospital.  “Do you have some time right now?”   He put his hand on her lower back, feeling the small curve of her body and the assurance that she wasn’t wearing a wire.  He leaned obscenely close to her ear.  “We can have a chat. I’ll even have some food fixed for you.  You like geoduck? My chef makes the best in London.”

“Love it,” Zoya answered, following his lead.  She knew he was testing her, seeing how informed she was on the finest delicacies.  “But only in sashimi slices with yuzu sauce.  Anything else makes me queasy.”

“Is there any other way to eat it?” he asked, impressed already.  What else did she know?  He was dying to find out and dying to slide his cock in between those long legs, if she let him.

“What about my baby?” Zoya asked, looking at her dog. She paused as if getting rid of him was a deal-breaker.

Erik took the leash from her delicate hand.  “My men will take care of him,” he promised, as one of his guards opened the doors for them.  “Right now, I just want to take care of you.”

“Umm. I need to take care of,” Zoya said in a whimper.  She winked at him.  “Something about you makes me feel so…free. You’re just so…alpha.”  Feeding his ego without appearing to be too smart, she watched him inflate to the point of exploding.

“We can find a way to talk about that as well,” Eric said, pressing the dog’s leash into his guard’s chest.  He turned to the man quickly and snarled.  “Watch this fucking dog, and don’t let him out of your sight.”

With great care, Erik led Zoya into his house and thought nothing more about Tatiana.  Chemical burns would leave scars.  Scars would be visible.  What in the hell could he do with that?  It was time to switch gears, at least for the moment.  When they stabilized his wife, he’d send her a huge bouquet of exotic flowers and divorce papers, but only after he buried himself deep in his newest project.

Chapter 10

1995

Trinidad

North Coast Road

Maracas Beach

Dusk

R oughly shifting gears, Dmitry veered sharply to the left on the fork of North Coast Road in his stolen candy-apple red Porsche, headed toward the call of the majestic Maracas Beach and the rare opportunity for solitude.  After all, he had been through today, he deserved a little quiet time, especially since he had killed seven men for it.

It might have been more than seven men he had killed, truthfully.

A flashback of the hours before sent chills down his spine.  Things had happened so fast earlier; there was no time to prepare.  Adrenaline spiked.  Training kicked in, and he moved with tunnel vision on autopilot as soon as he saw one of the guards raise his automatic weapon during a meet and greet with a local buyer.  In that instant, Dmitry knew it was either him or them.  There was no time to think, no time to question, no time to ask – only time act.  As he pulled the trigger, each time, he could feel himself give in to the madness.  What should have been deafening sounds of gun blasts were quiet whispers in hyperchaos where time slowed, and killer instinct took over.  Without hesitation, he became worse than his brother Ivan, more strategic with every bullet expelled; every knife wound inflicted, every blow landed – in that environment, he had become Frankenstein’s monster with no master to speak of and no future to see.

During his one-man massacre, Dmitry lost count after killing three men, had started seeing red by five, and had blacked out by seven.  But no matter how many incompetent cartel members he had killed that cursed afternoon, his bloodlust wouldn’t leave him.  It only grew more furious, hungry to be unleashed once and for all, not to be controlled by the good and evil of things as it had before.

What good was a moral compass to an arms dealer anyway? Trying to be a reasonable, respectable man in a corrupt world had never gotten him anywhere.  It was only when he was as cutthroat as his adversaries that he gained the edge he needed.  Today had proven that…

A gust of wind from the open window blew through his golden locks, cooling his face and drying the sticky brain matter drenching his white linen dress shirt. He remembered the shock on those men’s faces as bullets traveling at 3,200 feet-per-second penetrated through the eight cranial muscles designed to protect their brains, leaving singed wounds from smoking gun powder, disarming their physical reactions, leaving a hole of abraded, hanging flesh at the projectile’s entry, and rendering them lifeless mid-motion.   Dropping lifeless to the ground, the men’s blank glares were hollow, staring off into an unknown abyss.  Now, their collective DNA lingered on his skin.  Their souls had passed to the next plane, and their singular, mad-dog killer roamed free, both regretful and confused about what had triggered the attack.

Two questions bemused him.  Who had set him up? Why?

The smell of the salty ocean filled his nostrils, promising an answer to his silent prayer, even if it did not give him answers about the assassination attempt.  But every time he felt even a second of respite, he was reminded of yet another betrayal.  Someone close to him had paid to have him killed, and no matter who it was – Emma or Ivan – the truth was too much to handle.  This meet and greet had been offered as quick money, low hanging fruit, but behind its generosity, the real purpose was to bring him to an untimely end.

At that moment, an old Latin saying he had read in one of the many books in his late wife’s library came to mind, Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.  Maybe Virgil was a man before his time? Perhaps he had been betrayed as well, in some lost land long ago?

Make it stop! Dmitry begged quietly.  Eyes watering behind his Aviator shades as the sun’s last brilliant rays died over the breathtaking waterway, he pressed his large foot down on the accelerator, pushing the engine to a determined growl as he felt the tires adjust to his reckless speeds.  One wrong move and he’d wipe out – flip right over and land over in the marsh. But Dmitry didn’t care.

Wrecking this overpriced hunk of metal wouldn’t compare to the carnage he had just left behind him – that he had left in his wake his entire life.  His mother.  His brother.  His girlfriend.  His wife.  His brother’s wife.  The list went on and on and on. Everyone he loved had either left him or was ripped from this world violently. And in response, what had he done – sent more souls to join them.

Well, the blonde butcher had had enough.  Fuck it. I give up, he conceded quietly.

After all his years of fighting, trying to keep his little family together, to build something for him and his little brother, to rise above his station, to be better or more than just the killer that dwelled in his base instinct, he still had arrived full circle.  Nothing he did would ever separate him from who he was.

I see you, Dmitry Medlov, a voice taunted in his head.  A mocking laugh followed.  You’ll never find what you’re looking for.

“What am I looking for?” he asked aloud.  There was no answer because the voice in his head was not there.  It was a cruel hallucination and a common side effect when one chose to blow up a make-shift cocaine factory.

He could still taste the illicit drugs on his numbed gums, feel the gritty residue in his hair.  The odds had been against him, but he had escaped narrowly.  While the hideout burned to the ground, he stumbled out of the rubble and found the quasi-military general’s car, hotwired it, and gunned out to the main road.

An hour’s drive later, he was far from the Port of Spain and the reach of his complicated life.  Certain his men were frantically looking for him, Dmitry didn’t want to go back – ever go back.  He just wanted it all to stop.  There was only so much that one man could take, and in his young life, he was sure he had taken more than most.

Pulling into a small dirt lot only a few hundred feet from the berm of Maracas Beach, he parked facing the ocean, allowing the engine to run as he stared blankly toward the dancing blue-green waves, envious of their tranquility.

For several minutes, he sat completely still, barely breathing, barely blinking until pain shot through his abdomen.  The feeling was akin to hot needles stabbing into all his nerves.  In the middle of the fight, he had taken a few hard knocks, even a few knife gashes, and while it was painful, it was mostly cosmetic.  With a cringe, he grabbed his side, doubling over to cough blood.   A trickle of bright red residue oozed onto the peanut-butter colored leather passenger seat, forming a trail of saliva that ran into the pores of the expensive upholstery.

That would surely depreciate the Blue Book value.

“Shit,” he hissed with his jaw clenched as he flung the door open.

Wallowing in pain all evening was not the cards for him.  He wanted to get out, smell the saltwater, feel the warmth of the sun, and the tropic breeze one last time before it was gone entirely and then…

He stepped out of the car, standing up to his full length, still applying pressure to his wound.  A glance across the waterway made him tear up.  Why couldn’t life be this simple?  Frown lines formed across his forehead as he limped away from the parking lot toward the beach. No one was out this evening, no tourists, no locals, no one to stop him.

…he would walk out into the ocean until his feet no longer touched the bottom.  But he would not swim.  He would not float.  He would summon the waves like Poseidon and order them to rush over his body, sending him to a watery grave.

As Dmitry limped across the white sand in his thousand-dollar loafers, the waves became louder, drowning out the thoughts that haunted him.  Tears filled his eyes, obstructing his view.  Just a few more feet and it would all be over.  Ivan could go on and have the life he had been adamantly demanding.  Davyd could take over his business and probably run it better than he.  Emma could sue for control of Hutton Industries, and the world would keep on turning.  No one would really miss him, not for long.

Kicking off his shoes, he peeled out of the bloody shirt, casting it to the sand as he continued toward the water.  Ignoring cuts and bruises on his body, he stopped for a second, reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. He didn’t want anyone to be able to identify who he was once this was all over.

Throwing it into the waves, he clutched the diamond cross necklace his late girlfriend, Elsa, had given him the night she graduated from Oxford.  It would be a shame to take it with him.  Carefully, he pulled it from his neck and bent to place it on the sand.  Someone would find it.  Make good use of it.

Raising from his crouched position, he took one final look toward the dying sun and put a foot in the warm water, toward his intention.  If there were sharks near, they would smell the blood on him and come calling to rip him apart, leaving nothing to bury and nothing to mourn over - just the way he wanted it.  Exhaling a deep breath, he took another step.

“Nothing in life is that bad, you know,” a female voice said a few feet behind him.  Her tone was urgent and stern, begging him not to take another step toward his dismal end.

Shit.  Dmitry thought he was alone.  Knowing someone was watching him made this extremely embarrassing.  Closing his eyes, he exhaled another breath and rolled his eyes.  “Go away,” he said flatly.

“No,” the woman answered defiantly, approaching carefully from behind.  She bent and picked up the necklace. Standing at his side while inspecting the exceptional quality of the jewelry, she looked up at the stranger.  “Is this real?” she asked, purposefully interrupting his pity party.

Dmitry growled in irritation.  “Yes. Now take it and leave,” he ordered with his right eye twitching.  What the hell?  Could he not even die in peace?  “I’m not going to tell you again. Go!”  He turned to her, scowl more pronounced by his reddened cheeks.  Tears still streaming, he froze, recognizing a tremor of attraction between the two.  Killing one’s self was very much like taking a piss, nearly impossible when someone was watching. But when that someone was also incredibly sexy, the act was implausible.

The dark-skinned woman, eyes big as a full moon, lips lush, complexion flawless, glanced up at him, unmoved by his large size or his rudeness.  Her thick black brow lifted in judgment as she stood defiantly against his command.  “If I leave you, you’ll just kill yourself, and I can’t have that on my conscience.”  Her accent was unmistakably Trinidadian, but the tone was so sweet it danced on the wind and over the waves like a mythical Green siren.

Dmitry swallowed hard, feeling his emotions clot tangibly in this throat.  “Where did you even come from?” he asked, looking down the deserted beach.  Only oversized, multi-colored umbrellas and wooden beach chairs kept the two strangers company in the fading light of the sunset.

“I was taking a walk like I do every evening, and I saw you.”  She glanced at his bleeding side.  “You’re in bad shape, yeah?”  Putting a finger gently on his skin, she shook her head.  “It’s help you need, not the saltwater. You’ll catch infection.”

“Not if you leave me to it,” Dmitry said, sure she understood his meaning.

“But I can’t,” she countered calmly.

“Why not?”

“It’s not the Christian thing to do.”

“I’m not exactly a saint, lady.”

“Who is?” She shrugged. “Except the real saints and the Virgin Mary.  I’m neither.”

The wind blew between them as the sun drifted beyond the horizon. And suddenly, Dmitry’s desire to end his life dissipated.  Trailing his gaze down to the nosy woman, he noticed she was wearing a multi-colored thong and a skimpy swimming top that barely covered her areolas.  Rigid nipples pressed against the fabric and drew the fever out of him.  “You shouldn’t be out looking like that,” he said, forgetting his own peril.

The mysterious woman stepped back and put her hand on her hip.  “I’m not ashamed of what God gave me.  If it makes you feel uncomfortable, get back in your fancy car and drive away.  This is my island.  My ancestors made it so.  You and your funny accent can go back to wherever you came from.”

Dmitry smirked.  “Russia.”

“Wherever that is,” she said, narrowing her gaze at him.  Turning around, she looked the way she had come.  “My place is not far. Come with me, and I’ll patch you up with what I have inside.”

Dmitry had never seen such an audacious, sensual shape on any woman in his life.  Such a small waist, such carved muscles in her abdomen, such large, muscular thighs, such round pertinent breast – every inch of her was natural, every inch beautiful, sultry, amazing.  With hair cut down so low on her little head, he could barely see it and so much authority in her presence and voice, he was tempted to grab her right there and…

“Well, do you want help or not?” she asked, interrupting his lude thoughts with the snap of her fingers.  “I don’t have all day.”

Usually, Dmitry would have been a gentleman, but the woman had caught him on a bad day, and all normal learned socially acceptable behaviors were implausible, considering their untimely meeting.  “I don’t want your help; I want you,” he answered.  Stepping closer, he reached out and touched her cheek.  “What’s your name?”

“Sanaa,” she answered, pushing his hand away.  “What’s yours?”

“Dmitry.”

“Well, Dmitry,” she handed him back his necklace. “You can’t have everything you want.  If you can accept that, then you won’t find yourself trying to walk into the ocean just because you had a bad day.”

Her advice made him laugh aloud.  “Da, da, zachine.  I have had a shit day straight from the bowels of hell.”  Holding the necklace in his hand, he lifted it and put the chain around her neck.  “Here, you take it.”

Sanaa frowned.  “Once you give it to me, you can’t have it back.”

Dmitry shook his head.  “We can work on a trade.”  Moving away from the water, he strolled down the beach with her.  “So, what do you do, Sanaa, besides interrupting people?”

“I’m a lifeguard,” she said proudly. “I save lives.”  Her feet kicked up the sand as she walked beside him.  “What do you do?”

Dmitry found the irony comical.  “I’m a mobster.  I take lives.”  He half expected her to stop right there and leave him to finish himself off, but she just kept walking like he had said nothing at all.

Sanaa pulled at the chain as she glanced across the waterway.  “You should consider changing professions.  It’s taking its toll on you.”

“You might be right,” Dmitry said, looking down at her with a half-crooked smile.  “Do you live alone?”

“It’s a small place.  Only meant for one.”  From the looks of him, she wasn’t sure he even understood what a humble little shack looked like.

“Can you make room for one more, just for tonight?” he asked, stopping in his tracks.  He turned to look at her, enjoying the chance to do so.  “Let me repay you for saving my life?”

Sanaa’s attention was drawn to the intricate tattoos across his mountainous chest.  She’d heard about men like him before.  People whispered when they came into town.  Everyone avoided them.  They were trouble.  Big trouble.

“If I let you stay, IF…” She raised a finger as her voice rose slightly.  Their eyes were locked on each other.  “You had better not make me regret it.”

“If you let me stay, I know of one part you won’t regret,” Dmitry said, tongue and cheek.

“You seem overly confident in yourself,”  Sanaa smirked.  “Most men like you tend to, but trust me when I tell you it’s just the money, friend.  Without it, the girls would be singing a different tune.”

Dmitry liked a challenge.  This one made him feel alive again.

The thought of her brown body lying across a bed was driving him mad.  Dred had been replaced by heated desire.  Dmitry pulled her to him and picked her up in two swift motions.  Even though she was thick, it was all muscle, more than likely from swimming in the same bay he was prepared to use as a coffin.

With his hands cupping her large firm ass, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, tasting those big lips that had smarted off to him seconds before. He lost himself in her mouth, emptied his pain, sucked at her tongue, fondled her as he held her against him by slipping his fingers into the fabric that covered her plump little place, pressed her breasts against his bare chest.  Damn, he had never wanted to fuck a woman so bad in his entire life.

Standing on the beach as the waves beat against the shoreline, he channeled his anger into her pleasure.  And why not?  She had been the only decent human being he had encountered in a while.

Finally pulling away, he slid her down his body and placed her back down on the sand below before things got too out of control.  Only now, she wasn’t as brash as she had been before.  That kiss had somehow tamed her temporarily.

Licking her bruised lips, Sanaa straightened her lop-sided top and cleared her throat.  She had felt his erection, only for a second, and was stunned by the length.

Glancing toward the crotch of his pants, she bit her lip.  “What kind of a monster are you?” she asked, embarrassed by how wet he had made her with the slightest of effort.

Meeting a man then sleeping with him on the first night had never been her way, but tonight, she was certain that she would make an exception.  It had been evident since his eyes landed on her – as wolf-like as they were.  Never had she seen eyes like that on a human, never had she met someone so gigantic.  If she had been superstitious, she would have thought him supernatural, a mystical thing from childhood stories.  But Sanaa was a smart woman, in control of her own mind, and she saw him for what he really was – vulnerable and alone.

Dmitry spoke softly, watching her every move. The wetness of her still lingered on his fingertips, and he fought hard not to taste them in front of her.  “I’m the worst kind,” he warned. His chest rose as he breathed raggedly.  “Do you still want to go to your place?”

“Yes,” she answered truthfully, “but I think no matter what you do, you’re going to make me regret it.”  That was her cross to bear now because there was no turning back.

“You’re probably right again.”  Dmitry looked out across the bay and thought of his wallet.  There was more than just his identification that was now lost to the sea.  But he’d figure that out when the time came; for now, he had to get her somewhere private or else take her right there.  It didn’t matter to him – nothing did.

His vulnerability was only second to his sensuality.  Both seemed to have cast a spell on her.  “Let’s get you cleaned up then,” Sanaa said, resuming her walk.    “But next time you’re going to do something like that, warn me first.”

Faith Baptist Hospice Center

Downtown Memphis

Noon

Anil stood by his mother’s hospital bed in complete silence.  His piercing gaze was set on her closed eyes and the unflinching relaxation of her beautiful face.  Can she hear me?  he wondered inwardly.  Can she feel what this is doing to me?  Is she hurting right now?  Does she want to go?  Does she know how much I love her?  The questions were endless and completely unanswered by Sanaa.

The night before, he had given the doctor permission to remove her feeding tube, hoping it might relieve some of her pain.  They had also removed her IV.  The only thing left was to remove her ventilation.  He was certain she would not continue to breathe on her own.  Instead, she would drift away, far from his reach.

A tear dropped from the curve of his cheek onto the thin white sheet covering her.  Momma.  He said her name a thousand times to himself, unable to grasp that this moment was here before him.  Although the room had been busy with the Medlov family coming in going in shifts, per Anatoly’s advisement, he had felt all alone.

Each of the Medlov men had something in common – a very dark commonality.  All of their mothers had been taken from them by death.  His father’s mother was murdered by a john, both Anatoly and Gabriel had lost their mothers to cancers, and even Vasily’s mother had long been out his life through a massive heart attack.  As far as Marat and Boris, their most loyal guards, he wasn’t sure if they were even human.  Neither showed much emotion and never spoke of family or the desire to ever have one.  But the point was that while the men in his family had all suffered the loss of their mothers, this experience was singular for him.

Once, long ago, before his father came into his life, he had acknowledged that his mother was going to die.  In his own introverted way, he had gone through each phase of grieving and arrived at the point of acceptance.

But then they came here.

And after several months, when the doctor had expressed the promise of a meaningful recovery in her condition, he had started to hope again.  Fool!  Those brief moments of happiness in their long journey erased all the progress he had made mentally.

In this nice, clean, tranquil, climate-controlled sanctuary where his father provided every amenity the terminally ill could be afforded including fresh flowers delivered daily by Royal’s florist, the best nurses in the city to care for her, a view of the garden from her enormous private room, and the French doors that led out to the healing grounds, he had started to cling to the one thing he had been denied for many years – the chance to hear her voice again.

Man, she used to have a fantastic voice.  From time-t0-time, she would sing to him when things got tough as a child, hoping she could lull him to sleep even though he was going to bed on an empty stomach.  Her laugh could cheer up anyone, and her accent always made her sound so sophisticated.  Everything about her sound was unique.

Now, she was unable to speak.  He had not heard her voice in over three years.  The last time she smiled was six months ago.  And since the moment she was diagnosed, he had been forced to watch his mother slowly slip from this plane, losing more and more of her with every stage of her cancer.

What was left of Sanaa Baptiste paled in comparison to her former glory?  Chemo had taken away her beautiful, wavy black short locks.  She was completely bald, bruised head covered by a soft white hand-stitched coverlet made by Valeriya.  Her face was sunken, discolored from her sickness.  Her once healthy body was a shell, withered, and weak.

“Maybe the doctor is right,” Anil finally spoke absently as he rubbed his mother’s arm.  “Withdrawing treatment is the kindest thing I can do at this point.”

Dmitry stood at the foot of the bed, quietly looking at the women he had barely known, and the son he had made with her.  “You’ve made the right decision.”  He kept his eyes down, afraid to show too much emotion.  His wife stood to his left, trying to be as supportive as possible, but he still understood how uncomfortable this situation must have made her.  And his son needed to draw his strength from somewhere.  If Anil could not depend on him in this hour of need, who could he depend on?  There was simply no room for his own emotions right now. “Just know she’ll be in a better place.”

Dr. Owens walked into the room with a nurse following a few feet behind him.  Dmitry glanced over and nodded toward him.  “Doctor.”

“Mr. Medlov,” Dr. Owens said, eyes darting around the room.

In the corner out of view, Anatoly and Marat stood watching the exchange.  For the last hour, Anatoly had not said a word.  Instead, he had worked with the security team to make sure all of the Medlov women had the opportunity to say their last goodbyes before being ushered back out of the facility to the estate – save one.

Royal refused to leave Dmitry or Anil’s side.  She had come early in the day to bathe and dress Sanaa in a simple white cotton gown and put a little makeup on her so that Anil’s last memory would not be one of his mother looking her worst.  She had brought in flowers and made sure everything was perfect in the room.  She had tried…

Tears rushed down Royal’s face.  Wiping them constantly, she sniffled, feeling overwhelmed by the idea that the sweet boy she had come to love in such a short time had been dealt such a horrible blow.

“I’m sorry,” Royal apologized.  Her chest trembled.  Glancing over Anil, she shook her head.  “I’m so sorry.”

Anil smiled at her.  “Thank you, but it’s not your fault.  You’ve been amazing.  Trust me, if Mom could express her gratitude, she would.”

Dr. Owen made his way to the other side of the bed, where no one was standing.  Uncomfortable with the pain he was causing all of them, he nearly stumbled over his guilt.  If they only knew the role he played in this woman’s death, they would have killed him where he stood.  And to make matters worse, the Russian spy parading around as a nurse was here to make sure he did the deed correctly.  Closing his metal clipboard, a little louder than he intended, he cleared his throat.  “I won’t ask how everyone is doing.  This has to be a challenging day for all of you. Per our previous conversation, Ms. Baptiste has been removed from all other machines except the ventilator and the vasoactive drips, morphine, and Ativan, as a part of our comfort measures. Now, I know we spoke as a team this morning, but…”

Anil rolled his eyes and cut him off mid-sentence.  “Do what you came to do.”

Dmitry spoke up, fearing his son would regret his haste in the future.  “We should say a few words over her, first.”  He glanced down at Royal.  “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes.”  Royal stood up straighter and wiped her hands over her face.

Anatoly watched the blonde nurse idly standing by with suspicion. While he had never been here before, something about her was off.  Moving from the corner, he walked over and stood right beside her, invading her personal space on purpose to throw her off her game.  He crossed his muscular arms across his chest and cocked his head to look directly at her side profile.  “Papa, kto eta suka?”  He waited to see her response after asking his father, Papa, who is this bitch? Would she flinch?  Would she cringe?

But the nurse didn’t move a muscle. After a few seconds of Anatoly staring at her, she finally turned to him with a clueless, stupid grin on her face.  “Can I help you, sir?” she asked in perfect English without the slightest accent.

Dmitry turned slowly to his son and frowned.  Did he miss something?

Royal did the same, confounded by his outburst.  Maybe Anatoly was cracking up? Perhaps this was affecting him more than he had let on? “Ana, are you okay?” she asked.

Anatoly sucked his teeth loudly.  “No,” he said, still unconvinced.  “Are you the normal nurse who works here?”

Anil glanced over at his brother and the nurse.  He had been so consumed in the moment; he had not noticed her before.  “No,” he answered for the nurse.  “Where is Mable?” he asked Dr. Owen.  Over the few months with his father, he had learned one thing, if nothing else, trust no one.

“Unfortunately, Mable has the flu,” Dr. Owen explained.  “She’ll be out for a week.” It wasn’t a lie.  His regular assistant was the recipient of her children’s germs, but normally, he would have insisted that she take no more than a couple of days off.  However, in light of the task he had been given by the Russians, he had insisted she stay away from the facility for a week of paid leave.

At that moment, Dr. Owen’s stomach had shot up into his throat.  If he did not play it cool, he would create more suspicion, and with the most dangerous family in the city, no less.  Begging his body not to betray him with the perspiration threatening to form on her forehead, he tried to guide the conversation casually.

“Georgia is my new hire, but I assure you that I will be personally handling all parts of the process,” Dr. Owen said confidently.  “This is all about you and ensuring your comfort level.”

“Well, if it’s about our comfort level, then just dismiss her,” Royal growled, aggravated by the sidebar conversation.  She shot the doctor and the nurse a dirty look.  It wasn’t clear why the woman had set Anatoly off, but whatever the reason, she was no longer welcome.

“Of course, Mrs. Medlov.”  Dr. Owen turned to the woman, relieved to have a reason to get rid of the spy.  “Leave now, please.”  He could barely hide the disdain in his voice.

Anatoly stepped out of the way and watched the woman obediently exit the room without another word.

Anil dragged his gaze from the doctor back to his father.  Now wasn’t the time for 20 questions about the doctor’s staff.  After today, it would not matter who he had hired anyway.  His mother would be dead.  “Do you want to say a few words, father?”

Dmitry gave his full attention back to Anil.  “Yes.”  Taking a deep breath, he stood up straighter.  He had thought about what to say all morning, and the only way he could commemorate her life was through sharing something that neither Anil nor Royal knew about Sanaa, about how they all had come together to be in this place. He only hoped they received it as he intended.

“Sanaa was a strong-willed woman.  I only knew her briefly, but in the time that I was around her,” he swallowed hard, feeling his wife’s eyes burning through the side of his face, “I found her to be extremely insightful.”

Anil found himself intrigued.  Either Dmitry was about to commit marital suicide by saying something profoundly stupid, or he was about to share something genuinely insightful.

“I met her on the Maracas Beach near dusk right after I decided to walk into the ocean and right before I actually did it.”  Dmitry’s voice was light, now recalling one of the darkest days in his young life and the turn of events.

Royal’s red eyes moved from critical to shocked.  When he had said before that Sanaa had saved his life, she didn’t know it to be a literal statement.

But Anatoly was still in the zone.  He had half a mind to go out into the hall and find Georgia, make her give him her ID and run it.  With his eyes planted on the floor, he stood quietly, unable to hear anything but his thoughts.

“It was Sanaa who told me about you,” Dmitry continued, looking over at Royal.  “The morning I prepared to depart Trinidad for London, she told me she had dreamt that I met my wife in a far-off land, and she was a virgin queen.  And that I shouldn’t give up on life, because life hadn’t given up on me.”

A tear ran down Royal’s face.  She wasn’t expecting that.

Anil smiled.  That sounded like something his mother would say. She was always prophesying over his life.

Dmitry gripped Royal’s hand in his own afraid that his nervousness might get the best of him.  “I wish she had dreamt about you.”  He looked over at Anil.  “I wish she had told me that you were coming into my life. But no matter what happened or did not happen, she found a way to bring us together, didn’t she?”

Anil nodded in agreement. “She did.”

“Da, da. She was a very strong-willed woman, and she will never be forgotten for her sacrifice to give our son the best life possible and her strength to hold on to ensure that I would do the same.”  Dmitry lowered his head.  “Goodbye, Sanaa.  Rest well.”

Anil didn’t want to say what he felt out loud for everyone else to hear.  He didn’t want to expose himself any more than he already had.  The night before, after hearing the news, he had returned to her bedside and confessed all of his dreams, his faults, and his pain at her feet.  Today, he just wanted to make the pain stop for her once and for all.

“Do you want to say something?” Anil asked Royal.  She had done far too much not to be given an opportunity to say something before the doctor pulled the plug.  After all, she had opened her doors and welcome him in without every denying him an ounce of love or affection.  All the Medlov women had been beyond kind to him, but he felt it was because of her.

Honored that he had asked, Royal stepped closer to the bed rail.  “Sanaa, I believe that you can hear me.  As a mother, I understand how hard this must be, to love and be forced to let go, but I promise you that I’ll take good care of the men you loved so much.  Thank you for giving your son to us.  Thank you for giving me another person to love.  I will do my best to carry on your mission to ensure Anil has only the best in this life.”

Dmitry felt guilt wash over him as he listened to his precious wife.  He had been cruel the night before, and he did not realize how selfish until this very moment.  Royal had never asked for much.  The baby she wanted to carry in her womb was a far cry from being an excessive gift, yet he had denied her without considering how much she had given to make him whole.

“What about you?” Anil asked Anatoly only to cover his bases.  He didn’t really expect his big brother to engage.  Everyone knew he would rather shoot himself in the face than be forced to discuss his feelings.

“Why not,” Anatoly answered, planted in his position.  He exhaled a breath like it hurt him to talk.  “Sanaa, I didn’t know you, but you never left Anil, never kicked him out or sent him away, you stayed until the bitter end, and you didn’t marry someone just to pay the bills.  In my book, you’re a saint.  God bless.”  This entire experience reminded him too much of his own life and all the things his mother had denied him thinking she was protecting his interests.  In many ways, he envied his brother.  “I’m going to step outside and wait,” Anatoly said, worried he had said too much as all eyes landed on him.

As the door clanged shut behind Anatoly’s abrupt exit, Anil nodded warily toward the doctor. On that broken note enough had been said, he didn’t want to drag it out any longer.  “We’re ready.”

Dmitry made his way to his son’s side and put a protective arm around his shoulder.  At first, they both stood, watching Dr. Owen work.  But with every motion by the doctor, he could feel Anil tremble more and more.  Gripping his son tight, he turned him around and hugged him tighter, protecting Anil from seeing as the ventilator went offline.  Tears wet his shirt as they transferred from Anil’s eyes, and just a few seconds later, he heard the soft sobs of his son muffled into his right shoulder.  He held him even tighter, refusing to let him go, refusing to allow him to feel alone.

When the ventilator system was down, Sanaa Baptiste did not breathe on her own; instead, she drifted away.

Dmitry knew that Anil didn’t need to be there anymore.  It was time to take him home, allow him the opportunity to rest and recover.  Guiding his son out of the room as the nurses came rushing in to work beside Dr. Owen, he felt Royal come to his other side to hold Anil up.

“There, there,” she said in a soothing voice.  “Everything is going to be okay.”

Marat followed shortly behind. “Be advised; we are exiting the hospital room.  Bring the vehicles to the front door.  Over.”

A voice quickly responded, “Copy.”

As the family entered the hallway passed the guards standing at the door, they found Anatoly pacing impatiently back and forth.  He halted in his tracks when he saw Anil.  Walking over to him, he grabbed his arm and pulled him in close.  Patting him roughly on the back, he whispered to him.  “Now, you live for you, eh.”  He stepped back and nodded at his little brother, still covered in tears.

Anil sniffled but stood up straighter.  “Yeah.  It’s not like I have much choice, right?”

“They are ready for you, boss,” Marat announced when the guard over his earpiece confirmed their position in front of the clinic.

The entire family headed down the long hallway to the lobby of the clinic, where more guards were waiting to escort them outside.  As they opened the glass double doors that led out to the convoy of SUVs, Dmitry grabbed Royal’s wrist and made her slow down.

“What?” Royal asked, still hurt from their fight the night before.

“Thank you for today,” Dmitry said sincerely.  “I really appreciate it.”

Royal blinked fast. “You’re welcome, but it wasn’t for you.  It was for Anil.”

Dmitry grinned. “I know, but I’m still the one thanking you.”  He knew she was pissed.  He could see it in her eyes and her stance.  But if given the opportunity tonight, he would happily make it up to her.  A smile crept across his lips.

“Don’t,” Royal seethed.  Pulling away, she trotted through the double doors toward their vehicle.

Dmitry was only a few steps behind her.  “Don’t what?” he asked, sure he was aggravating his wife but determined to get on her good side.

“Don’t try to get in my good graces,” she said over her shoulder as they stepped out into the blaring sunlight.  A fleeting glance caught Anil getting into the back of the SUV just in front of their own.  As the guard closed the door for him, she turned to her husband now that she was sure Anil was out of ear range.  “Would it kill you not to make today about yourself?”  The abstentious diamond necklace around her neck gleamed against the sunlight, reflecting like a star off her body.

“As a matter of fact, it just might,” Dmitry quipped.  With a smile on his face, he was suddenly jolted back onto the ground as a large boom echoed through the air.  Grabbing his chest, he felt the bullet exit out of his back and heard it as it penetrated the reinforced glass entry landing squarely in the back of an old man in a wheelchair passing through the lobby.

“Oh, my God!” Royal screamed, running in six-inch heels toward him as their guards returned fire in the direction the shot had come from.

Instinctively, she tried to cover Dmitry’s body with her own, but Dmitry quickly snatched her out of the line of fire and rolled over to shield her body with his.  Blood dripped over her face as bullets whizzed over her husband’s head.

“Don’t. Move.” Dmitry looked into his wife’s eyes without blinking.  Determined to keep her safe, even if it meant his own death, he used his large back as a shield until another bullet caught him from behind.

“Dmitry!” Royal screamed, voice breaking as she tried to hold on to her husband.  He rolled over, despite every effort to keep her safe.  Gazing at her one last time before he passed out, his eyes finally closed.

Chapter 11

Faith Baptist Hospice Center

Downtown Memphis

“D own, down, down!” a black-suited Medlov guard screamed to the top of his lungs as he sprinted across the black asphalt.  His loud Russian baritone voice was drowned out by the tornado of chaos around him, but still, he tried to warn helpless civilians caught in the crossfire – even rushing one elderly woman to the ground beside her late-model Lincoln Continental and covering her frail body with his own to protect her from being shot.  With his hands over her perfectly quaffed wig, he felt the hair on his arms stand up.

What the fuck!

On an otherwise calm weekday afternoon in downtown Memphis where nothing ever happened, especially in this white-washed district of gentrification, utter mayhem had erupted on the Faith Baptist Hospice Center’s visitor parking lot with the shooting of Russian mafia crime boss, Dmitry Medlov in broad daylight.

The distinct prattle of multiple automatic weapons returning fire in rapid succession toward the threat in a thicket of trees across the street could be heard for miles around.  On-site, the security – a team of retired police and military personnel who had taken the job because of its low conflict level - had already hidden, seeking shelter from the attack in closets and rooms where they were certain to outlive the unornate targets.

But at ground zero, where most other paid security would have run, the collective Medlov guard had been taught differently.  Even under the threat of being imprisoned or murdered, they stood loyally protecting their liege and his wife without any thought of personal preservation.

“I’m out!” a Medlov guard screamed, dropping his weapon and pulling a large blade from its sheath attached to his lower back. He would not leave this world without a fight today. Crouched beside a baby-blue jaguar, he ducked as a bullet shot out the windows above him and penetrated the white leather interior.   “I’m out.  I’m out!” he screamed again, waiting for someone to throw him another mag.

“Stay down!” Anatoly ordered, calculating his next move while counting each shot from across the street.  So far, he had counted exactly thirty- an act of desperation.  It was clear they were dealing with a lone assassin because of the fixed trajectory of the bullets, but the number of bullets used was what baffled him.  So far, that was three mags in a row.  Either the person paid to kill his father was an amateur or rusty - either way, he was grateful.  Anyone who had gotten a clear shot without his team expecting the attack would have been able to kill Dmitry with one bullet.

What had happened?

Several streets over, people stepped outside of their businesses and restaurants, phones pressed to their ears as they spoke with dispatch, reporting the sounds of what seemed to be a domestic terrorist attack.  Thoughts of what had happened in Florida and Las Vegas clouded their minds.  Some covered their mouths in disbelief and mumbled quiet prayers, while others pointed their cell phones toward the sound of the attack to record the smoke rising on the horizon.

Closer to the hailstorm of bullets, unsuspecting cars with their music blasting loudly, moved blindly toward the violent exchange and suddenly hit their breaks abruptly when they realized the danger.  Flee-or -Fight took over.   It was the crack of the bullets that caught their attention, rendering them either paralyzed or hypervigilant.  Those who could react burned rubber on the road and shifted gears to make a U-turn to flee from danger.  Others hit the brakes and sat idle, watching the atrocity unfold.

Screams from startled runners and bike riders could be heard as they bolted from the bike lane to take cover behind random cars or to run into local buildings warning owners to call the police.   No one was safe, and no one could believe their eyes – except the intended receivers.

Yet again, the Medlov family – unlucky as they were - found themselves at the center of a videogame-like attack with no choice but to stand their ground and fight or die.

Sweat from 100-degree weather poured down Royal’s face, ruining flawless makeup and blotting her view.  With her long skirt hitched up where her ample, white-laced backside was exposed for all to see, she reached out toward the giant who had protected her for over a decade.

Fingers trembling as they extended toward him, she begged, “Baby, hold on!  Do you hear me? Hold on!” Crimson-red blood from his wound saturated the ground beneath him, threatening to pool over to her.  But Royal would not look directly at the blood – it was too much of a declaration of his demise.  Not like this, she kept saying to herself repeatedly.  She couldn’t bring herself to believe that Dmitry Medlov was dead.  After all, they had been through; there was no way that he would die in a parking lot of a hospice facility in Memphis-fucking-TN.  This could not be his end.  It was too beneath him!

“Dmitry!” she screamed to keep his eyes focused on her and not the abyss that begged to drag him under.  Her voice quivered.  “Don’t you dare give up on me!”  It was more of a demand than a plea.  She made her body scoot close enough to him to cover his vital organs from being hit again.  The thick blood transferred to her clothes and mingled in her hair.  “We’re going to get you help,” she promised, wondering if it were smarter to get him back inside the building. Surely, the doctor could help him.  But even as she thought of how to help him, conspiracy theories were already forming in the back of her hysterical mind – Who all was in on this?  Could the doctor be trusted?  Was the nurse Anatoly singled out a part of this?

Shoving him violently, Royal laid flat on the ground beside Dmitry with tears in her eyes.  But she wouldn’t cry.  There was no time for that.   She had to figure out how to get him out of this place first.

It was the fear in Royal’s voice that jolted Dmitry into a lucid state again.  There was no possible way for him to leave her alone like this.  He had to dig down deep and find the strength to hold on long enough to get his wife to safety – that was his responsibility, his alone.  As he tried to inhale a breath, he felt a rattle in his chest, indicating the possibility that his lungs had been hit.  Straining, he glared at his wife.  Shit! What had he gotten her into?

The bullets that whizzed above him were nearly silent, the world moving so slow until he could feel the slightest change in temperature as a few patchy clouds moved into the view of the sun.

Though his body was locked in a downward position, he tried to conserve his energy for just the right moment.  Moving his lips, without words forming, he felt spittle slide from the corner.  “Protect…” he managed to speak, below a whisper.

“I’ll protect you,” Royal answered, misunderstanding his meaning.

Dmitry swallowed hard.  “I have to protect you.”  His eyes followed the movements behind Royal as guards ran back and forth.

Move, Royal commanded herself quietly.  MOVE NOW!  This was not the first time that she had faced mortal danger, yet her body seemed to try to freeze in place.  Mind over matter, she willed herself to denounce the fear.  God, give me strength, she prayed desperately.  With all the wrong she had done in her life, it was quite possible she wasn’t worthy of a prayer, but she wasn't worried about herself, she was worried about her husband.

As a Medlov bodyguard darted behind a concrete wall directly across from Royal and Dmitry, he dropped his empty mag on the ground and reloaded quickly.  Without fear, despite their situation, he glanced over at Royal and motioned with his right hand for her to stay down.  “Don’t worry,” he reassured.  “We’re going to get you out of here.”  But as he racked his weapon, the sniper’s aim suddenly hit him in the back of the head-blowing out the front of his skull.  Blood splattered across the wall, and the side of Royal’s face as the guard’s body flew forward. He didn’t even know what had hit him.

Eyeing the gun that had slid out of the guard’s hand and stopped only inches away from her, Royal had a thought of a different kind.

Bandi was pissed!

If it had not been for Dmitry’s wife’s gaudy diamond necklace blinding him suddenly, his mark would be dead right now, and he’d be miles away preparing for extraction.  Instead, Dmitry Medlov, only grazed by his first attempt, had fallen back after being shot in such a manner that his large body was covered by the angle of the SUV parked in front of the building.

The only clear shot Bandi had now was of Royal Medlov lying awkwardly on the ground with her skirts pulled up where he could see the heart-shaped curve of her ass through her white lace panties, but as vulnerable as the queen of the underworld was, he had not been paid by Popov to kill her.  And since he never killed for fun, he could not bring himself to end her life, even if she was the cause of his mishap.

“Fuck!” Bandi hissed under his breath, reloading with the second to the last mag in his pack, he heaved a frustrated growl.

The window to complete his mission was closing with each second that passed, and it was possible that his exact location, a perch high on the limb of an oak tree, would be discovered at any moment.

“I’m a professional, dammit,” he berated himself.    “I can do this!”

But could he really?

Sweat poured down his face from the hot sun and the torturous Memphis humidity.  How did people live in this shit?  Mosquitos had assailed him for hours, sucking him nearly bone dry, while he baked in the sweltering heat waiting for Dmitry Medlov to emerge from the complex.  He would have killed him on the way into the center, but he was blocked, which appeared to be his son.

Counting the men who seemed to multiply in front of his very eyes, he tried to pick them one-by-one in hopes of getting one final chance to take out Dmitry Medlov, because as his handler had already stressed, there would only be one chance at this.

Anatoly led the charge about twenty feet from his father’s reach, urging his men to advance.  After pulling an Ash-12 urban assault rifle from the back of one of the vehicles, he took position behind a black Cadillac parked closer to the road and started to send rapid-fire into the tree line.

“Shit!” Bandi ducked, feeling the cloud of random bullets assail his position.    Miraculously, none had hit him so far, but luck only lasted so long. He held his rifle carefully, exhaling before he took aim again, this time hitting another nameless bodyguard who threatened to approach.

A thought crossed his mind.  Erik Popov was a cheap fuck.  He could have hired five guys to complete this mission, but he was too fragile.  Instead, Erik placed this entire responsibility on Bandi’s head, praying that he’d be able to follow through.  A man like that didn’t deserve to lead, but greed had put him on this path, and now he had no choice but to succeed or die.  Fucker!

Even though the world was burning down around them in real-time, it had halted to a complete stop for Royal and Dmitry.  What had started off as a sad day had turned into a nightmare in the blink of an eye?  Royal didn’t know where Anil was, where anyone was.

When the bullet first knocked Dmitry down, her first thought was to panic for her children, but thank God, Anatoly had sent them home an hour ago.  Still, the mother in her went straight to that concern.  The next thought was not for herself, but for Dmitry.

Now, things were happening at hyper speed, making it nearly impossible to think at all.

Slowly, she turned her head and looked at her husband.  His suntanned face had gone pale and his head pressed against the concrete.  Even though his shirt was covered in blood, she could still see him breathing.  His massive chest heaved painful breaths, fighting to pump blood to all his organs, and in that moment, she prayed if he had to go, God would be merciful enough to take her as well.  What was life without her soulmate?

But it was too early for a defeat us attitude.  “Don’t leave me,” Royal begged, frantic to get him some help. “We’ve come too far to end now.”   Tears mingled with snot from her nose and hot sweat pouring from her forehead.  Shifting her head back around, she looked at the gun again.  She licked her lips and sniffled.

“Okay, okay,” she said, taking a deep breath.

Pulling the weapon to her body – the scrape of the steel squealing across the concrete, Royal rolled over in her white dovetail tulle skirt with her back against the ground and looked up at the off-white aluminum awning where a large, black widow spider was weaving an elaborate tapestry.  Funny, even in this chaos, some life went uninterrupted.  If they all died right now, that stupid spider would not care.  It would go on about its job.  Somehow that pissed Royal off.

“Fuck it. I’m not going to lay here and die like a coward.” Taking a deep breath, she finally sat up, gun clutched to her chest, and then stood to her feet.  The hard part was over.  Now that she was vertical again, the blood started pumping.  Adrenaline rushed through her body – urging her forward. In her redback white-strapped heels, she stepped toward the direction she thought the shots were coming from and aimed her weapon.

“No!” Dmitry moaned, reaching toward her.  “Royal, stop!”  He coughed, trying to pull himself up.

Hot winds blew through Royal’s disheveled hair, half-pull down from its bun with crazy strands flying behind her.  After years of being around military-grade weapons, she knew how to handle herself.  She cocked the weapon and said a silent prayer.  “Lord, let me aim straight.”

“On my mark,” Anatoly said, unaware that Royal was approaching from behind him. Hot winds grazed his sweaty face and dripped down his blonde beard.  Rising up from behind the car, he returned fire again with his men following.  “One…Twooo…”

Royal let her weapon rip, jumping the count down.  With elbows into her body like Dmitry had taught her and eyes focused on her sights, she unleashed the entire clip toward their anonymous assassin.  And without her knowledge, one came extremely close to hitting him.  It flew just a centimeter over his head.

“Shit!” Bandi shouted, ducking from danger.  “Fucking bitch!”  In an instant, his previous decision not to harm Royal suddenly changed.  But as he prepared to take aim at the woman, something incredible happened.

Out of sympathy, most of the other guards returned fire when Royal did instead of waiting for Anatoly’s signal.  Her rallying cry of courage reverberated through all the men.  If the queen was willing to fight, so were they!

She came from behind them, rifle pressed into her slender right shoulder, shell casings flying out of the weapon at a dizzying speed and landing on the black pavement below. With a battle yell akin to warriors of old, she showed no fear as she advanced, determined to run the sniper off, and keep him away from her husband. Her soft skirt flapped in the wind flashing her long, brown, voluptuous legs.   Her hair danced around her angelic brown face and down her back.  But as demure and beautiful as she was, there was nothing nice about her at this moment.

“Fuck you!” she screamed, gun jolting in her embrace.  “You can’t have him!  I won’t let you!”  It wasn’t possible that the sniper could hear her, but she shouted her declaration anyway, just in case his scope found its way to her body.

Anatoly was too focused on the threat to see her at first.  He also returned fire, screaming as he unleashed the fury of his weapon…until he saw a female figure out of the corner of his eye.

“What the fuck, Royal!” Anatoly screamed, disarmed by her presence.  Taking his eye off the tree across the street, he ran full speed toward her and snatched her by her waist.

“Let go of me!” Royal tried to pull away from him, but his iron embrace kept her in place.  She could feel his chest pressed to her back, his hot face pressed against her cheek.

“You can’t be here right now!” Anatoly yelled at her as he snatched her behind a large van while the rest of the guards kept firing.  Quickly, looking around the van, he saw the team had pushed the sniper back.

“He shot my husband!”

“I know!” Anatoly screamed back, still holding her.

Bullets hailed toward Bandi, preventing him from completing his job.  It was time to decide.  Either stay and die or leave and regroup.  Quickly discarding the weapon and scaling down the tree, he headed into the thicket toward the direction of a service road about a half-mile west of him where a motorcycle was waiting.

After jumping from the last branch, his booted feet hit the ground as he rolled.

As he stood up, he got on his earpiece.

“The target was only wounded,” he reported. “Repeat, Dmitry Medlov is still alive!”  With that, he broke out in a sprint, certain that the small army was headed his way.

Hearing heavy, stumbling footfalls approaching, Anatoly aimed his weapon in anticipation of an attack until he saw his father.  Holding his chest, covered in blood, with his Glock in his hand, Dmitry’s wild eyes met his wife.  He released a sigh of relief when he saw that she had not been shot.   “What were you thinking?” he asked, near fainting.

“Dmitry!” Royal yelled, going to him.  “I thought you were…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Dmitry’s eyes slowly batted, dragging to the ground.  “That’s no reason for you to try to kill yourself.”  He hugged her tight, despite the pain and kissed her cheek.  With a hand full of her hair in his gun hand, he nuzzled the side of her face.  “I love you, but if you ever do that again, I’ll shoot you myself.”

“You mean the next time we get into a gunfight?” she asked sarcastically.  Looking at his wound, she looked back at Anatoly.  “We have to hurry and get him to the hospital.”

“No, we can’t go to a hospital,” Dmitry countered.  “Everyone has to get out of here now.”

One of the bulletproof SUVs pulled up beside them, and the doors swung open.  Dmitry looked over at his son with an unspoken command.  As the guards opened the door, Anatoly swiftly moved Royal in the back of the SUV.  “Quick now,” he urged her.

Scooting to the far side, Royal reached her hand out for Dmitry.  “Let me help you in,” she said, fingers extended toward Dmitry.

With a look of loss in his red eyes, Dmitry shook his head.  His voice croaked.  “Get her to safety.  Code Red.”  He slammed the door before she could react, and the guard hit the locks to prevent her from getting out.

“No!” Royal screamed, rushing to try to open the door.  She pounded her open hands against the tinted windows.  “What’s a Code Red?  Where are you taking me?  Let me out!”  She felt like she was going to hyperventilate.  “Dmitry!”

Burning rubber, the SUV pulled out into the street with Royal screaming from the backseat as Dmitry collapsed in the parking lot with the guards still returning fire.

“Woah, I got you.”  Anatoly ran to his father and waved the last SUV toward him.  Holding his father up, he and Marat helped him inside of the SUV.  “You know where to take him.  Now, get him there safely.  We are in a Code Red,” Anatoly said to the guard before slamming the door behind his father.  Quickly, the SUV sped off, leaving Anatoly to clean up the mess.

The sirens were close now.  It would be only seconds before the police arrived on the scene.  Anatoly turned to Marat and wiped his face of the blood from his father’s wounds.  “I need you to go back inside that fucking place and find the surveillance room.  Get the tapes, the CD, or whatever.  If it’s run remotely, torch the room.  I don’t want anything less than an eyewitness to talk to the cops.  We can handle them later.  But video will fuck us.”

“Where are you going?” Marat asked, automatic weapon tactically slung across his chest.  The guards ran back toward them to report.

“I’m going after that motherfucker,” Anatoly said as Marat gave him his last clips.   He turned to his other men.  “You run him back?”

The men nodded in confirmation, panting for breath.  “He’s on foot.  We’ve got two guards chasing him.”

“Get on your earpiece. Tell them I’m on the way,” Anatoly ordered, on fire inside and ready to exact vengeance on whoever had done this to his family.

Marat passed Anatoly his own earpiece.  “I’ll see you,” he said confidently.

Without another word, Anatoly darted across the street into the thicket of trees with the muzzle of his weapon pointed forward.  He moved at full speed, conserving no energy.  Tearing through the bushes and high grass, he disappeared.

The spy pretending to be nurse Georgia had watched most of the exchange out in the parking lot from behind a partition wall in the lobby.  To her surprise, she had also watched Dmitry Medlov, the one man in this fiasco who was supposed to be dead, rise up from a pool of his own blood, and head toward the fight.

“Damn it!  Why can’t anyone around here just do their job?” she screamed aloud as she darted down the hallway toward Sanaa’s room, where she was certain Dr. Owen was still cowering.

Even if the sniper couldn’t do his job, she damn sure knew how to do hers.  Busting through the door, she found Dr. Owen and two staffers kneeling behind the dead woman’s bed.

The two women kept their heads down until they saw Dr. Owen relax his shoulders as he rose above the bed.  “Thank God, it’s you,” he said, blowing a breath out.  “Are we safe to go?” he asked, as the other women finally stood.

The spy closed the door behind her.  “Is everyone alright?” she asked, voice betraying her cold-hearted intention.

The older white nurse on Dr. Owen’s right side put her hand over her heart.  “My God. I think so,” she said, tears flooding her face.  “Please tell me the police are on the way.”

The spy nodded.  “They are on the way.” She walked over to Sanaa and looked down at the corpse.  “It’s done then.”

Dr. Owen frowned.  Did she want to blow their cover?  He tried to reframe the conversation. “Yes, Ms. Baptiste has passed on.”

“Is it safe to leave the room?” the other nurse, a small Asian woman in teddy bear scrubs asked.

“No,” the spy answered.  Pulling her gun from her purse quickly, she pointed the weapon.  “One last thing to do first.”

“Wait!” Dr. Owen screamed as a bullet lodged into his forehead.  He died with a surprised look on his face as if no one had ever told him that eventually, blood had to be paid with blood.  Alas, he would never get to spend the money Popov paid him, never get to another hard-on, and never get an opportunity to kill a poor, unsuspecting patient.

The world would be better off without him.

The other two women were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  The silencer muffled the sounds of the bullets, but not their last, confused screams.  With tight, swift movements, the spy dispatched all three people without even blinking.  When it was done, she felt nothing but the urgency to get out of this place and return to her life.

Erik Popov might very well kill the sniper who botched his job, but there was no way he was going to kill her for incompetence.

Where are the fucking guards around this place? Marat thought to himself as he sprinted toward the security room past crouching scared bystanders.  Arriving at the wooden door marked SECURITY, he grabbed the knob and jiggled it, but the door was locked.  Stepping back, he lifted his foot and kicked the door off its hinges.  Half-expecting a security guard to shoot at him upon making entry, he was surprised instead to find an older man in a brown polyester uniform in his late fifties, gray-haired and obesely overweight, slumped over the security desk with a bullet in the back of his head – execution-style.  The poor bastard never had a chance.

Someone was very thorough.  He scanned the system and saw someone had also beaten him to get the discs. Each of the readers was empty.  Shit.  He needed to secure that evidence.  In the wrong hands, it could end up being used for blackmail. Still, he had to make sure there were no backups.  Taking the black folder marked surveillance from the shelf above the desk, he tucked it under his arm.  Whoever had been here missed one important piece – the cleanup.   That was what happened when one had to work in a rush – it was impossible not to make a mistake, which was why there was only one way ever to be certain.

Grabbing a gallon bottle of generic bleach from the corner where the emergency kits were, he poured the chemicals over the computers and security system, then pulled his lighter out of his pocket and flicked the fire. Wiping his fingerprints off the lighter with his shirt, he dropped it to the floor.  However, as he headed back out of the room, he overheard what sounded like cops and radios down the hall toward the lobby entryway.

Double fuck!

He ducked back in the room as the fire roiled up to the ceiling and snatched the center’s floor plan encased in an acrylic covering off the wall.  Reading it carefully, he looked back out to see the hall was clear.  He had to make a run for the back door and get out of sight before he was apprehended, plus the fumes were starting to choke him.

Within seconds, the fire alarm sounded, and the sprinklers activated, sending sheets of water through the spigot.

Avoiding eye contact with his head ducked as people ran past him toward the front entrance, Marat headed toward the back door according to the floor plan.  Quietly opening it and sneaking out, he inhaled fresh air and scanned the cars in the back parking lot.  That’s when he spotted her.   “You fucking suka,” Marat hissed.  Anatoly had told everyone he thought she was wrong, and while Marat couldn’t say for sure, there was no reason to risk it for a second time.

The spy was fumbling with her keys, anxious to get out of sight before the police or anyone else could ID her.  She had boosted the keys off the dead Asian nurse in Sanaa’s room and found the only Honda Accord from the 1990s among the sea of employee vehicles.  Trying to find the right key to get into the door, she was about just to bust the window open when the lock clicked.  “Finally!”

She was concentrating too hard to hear Marat as he approached from behind.  Getting the door open, she mumbled under her breath and looked up to see Marat with his gun pointed toward her head.  Turning slowly with her hands up in the air, the woman’s mouth parted. “Please don’t shoot!” she said, managing to summon tears.  “I know I shouldn’t have just left, but I was afraid.”  The conviction in her voice almost impressed her.

“Oh, you are good,” Marat said, pulling the trigger.  The bullet was quiet, just as quiet as hers had been with the doctor and his nurses, probably because they were using the same brand of weapon.  Catching her before she could hit the ground, Marat opened the trunk and threw her body inside, then jumped in the driver’s seat and sped out of the back parking lot.

The two young guards who had been assigned to Dmitry’s office doors at the mansion, Gideon and Luka, had also taken the lead on chasing the sniper through the woods.  With their weapons slung over their backs and their HK45 Tactical handguns loaded and ready, they moved in tandem through the thick brush following the trail the sniper left behind.

“Be advised; Red Prince is headed toward you.  One needs to fall back to escort.  The other continues to pursue. Over,” a voice in the earpiece said ending transmission.  They had to be careful on the radio now, unsure if their position might be compromised or worse, the police might track them down.

Gideon slowed without another word while Luka pressed forward.  They had been together since back in Russia when they were doing black bag ops together for the Spetsnaz.  So, they knew each other’s weaknesses and strengths.  Luka had always been better with long-distance running, where Gideon had always been better in the water.

“Copy.”  Gideon’s breathing slowed as he turned around and looked toward the way they had just come.

They had only traveled about 350 yards from the road; Anatoly would be approaching shortly.  Running a hand over his face, he wiped cobwebs and dirt from his ear and cheek and knocked off straggling branches that stuck to him as they fought through the thick undergrowth.  He could feel his white dress shirt drenched with sweat.  It stuck to his body, revealing the concrete slabs of toned muscle beneath.  Pulling off his tailored black suit jacket issued to him when he started working for the Medlov family, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he heard Anatoly moving in his direction.

With a sharp, shrieking whistle, he caught his boss’s attention.  Anatoly didn’t slow down.  Instead, Gideon dropped his suit jacket and trotted into a full run, leading his boss in the direction Luka had continued just a few minutes before.

“I have him in view,” Luka whispered over the earpiece.  When you get to the large oak tree with the twisted limbs, you’re 150 feet behind me.”

Gideon scowled.  There were a hundred fucking oak trees out here. Was he really supposed to find the one Luka was talking about, or could he be more specific?

As if telepathic, Luka got back on the earpiece.  “You can’t miss the tree.  Just keep moving southwest.”

Before Luka could finish his sentence, Gideon and Anatoly came across a towering, almost unnatural oak tree with twisted limbs that seemed to climb up into the afternoon sky.

Dropping to one knee and extending his arms, Luka pointed his HK47, waiting for the perfect shot, but the target jumped in and out of view as he fought to get through the most tangled part of the brush.

Bandi knew he was getting closer to his pickup point for the motorcycle.  He could hear cars traveling on the road.  Moving as fast as he could, he kept looking back behind him, sure that he was being followed.  But by how many, he could not tell.  With his gun out, he used it to both knock limbs and branches out of his way and to point behind him toward the thousands of sounds taunting him.  Grasshoppers, crickets, birds all chirped as the clouds started to cover the sun for an afternoon shower.  A rumble of thunder grumbled in the distance.

“Fuck this place,” Bandi said, as he jumped over a large tree that had fallen.  As his foot touched the crunch ground on the side, he heard the shot.

Luka knew he only had one chance, so he made it count.  Even as a wasp landing on his shoulder and stung him, he ignored the pain and followed through.  The result was half-rewarding.

“Arghh!” Bandi looked down at his side and realized he had been grazed.  Returning fire wildly as he continued running toward the road, he ran as fast as he could.

“Behind you,” Gideon warned Luka as he and Anatoly sprinted past him.

Standing up, Luka followed.  “I hit him.”

“Is he down?” Gideon asked as Anatoly moved in front of him with powerful strides.

“No,” Luka answered, left eye twitched. “I grazed him,” he said, Russian accent unable to mask his irritation.

When Bandi finally got to the road, he saw the black bike awaiting him under a tree, but evidently, he wasn’t the only person who had found it.  Two local homeless men were about to knock back the kickstand and walk it down the road for a quick pawn until Bandi came barreling out of the thicket with his gun pointed.

“Get the fuck away!” he yelled, shooting the man closest to the bike while the other ran as fast as his feet could take him.  Jumping on the bike, Bandi inserted the key and burned rubber down the road.

Hearing gunshots, Anatoly came out of the brush with his gun pointed.  But it was too late. Bandi was already headed down the street.

“Son of a bitch!” Anatoly screamed.  Tucking his gun behind his back into the waistband of his jeans, he stepped out into the road as a Red BMW Roadster approached with a white man in his late forties blasting classic rock with the roof down.

The first thing the man saw was a homeless black man crumpled over on the curb.  He only assumed the young white man trying to flag him down had been attacked.  Slowing down, he pulled up beside Anatoly and snatched off his shades.  “What that boy do to you?” the guy asked in a deep Southern accent.  “He try to rob you or something?”

Anatoly looked over his shoulder at the homeless man and then turned back to the stranger, who proudly wore a red Make America Great Again baseball hat to match his vehicle.  “I don’t know him,” Anatoly shrugged.  “Why would you think he attacked me? I don’t look like I can handle myself or something?”

Instantly, he picked up on the young man’s Russian accent, but his blind racism prevented him until now from seeing the tattoos that covered Anatoly’s arms, fingers, and neck.  Leary, he changed his tone slightly.  “Well, what are you doing out in the middle of the damn road for?”

Anatoly didn’t have time for this. Pulling his gun out, he pointed it at the man and cocked it.  “I’m robbing you, dumb shit.  Don’t put your foot on that fucking accelerator, and don’t go for that little piece you probably got under your seat,” he warned.  “Today, I’ll make America great by putting this bullet in your eye.”

The man threw his hands up. Anatoly was right.  He had a snub nose under the seat, but it was just for show.  Hell, he had never even fired it.  He only bought the damn thing to impress the ladies.  “Alright, alright.  There’s no need for that.  We’re all friends here.”

“I’m not your fucking friend.  Now, get out,” Anatoly growled.

As the man stepped out as commanded, hands still up in the air, he backed away from the weapon while Anatoly jumped into the car.  “Can I at least have my damn phone, so I can call someone to come and pick me up?” he called out.

Ignoring the man’s request, Anatoly put the car in gear and sped off, throwing the phone out down the road as he chased toward the sniper.

Bandi had two immediate problems. He couldn’t draw attention by speeding wildly through the streets, because of the sheer number of police officers who had saturated the downtown area, and he couldn’t stop, because the extraction team was going to pull out with or without him, now that he’d managed to fuck up the hit.  So, he found himself in butt-to-butt traffic as fire trucks, police and ambulances headed toward the health center as those who were fleeing the area and those who were clueless about the shooting mingled together at on the area’s busiest intersections.

“Come on, come on!” he said, clutching his side while he waited for the light to turn green.  The gooey residue of blood trailed against his fingers.  Wincing in the hot summer sun, he gripped the handlebars and clattered his teeth together.

“What’s your location?” the female liaison said over the earpiece in a rather irritated tone.

Bandi swallowed hard and answered.  “Five minutes out from Beale Street,” he answered.  “I’m hit, but I’m coming.”

The woman didn’t answer.  Who cared if he was hit?  The target wasn’t dead.  The only reason he was not left to deal with the Medlov family alone was that if he was caught, he would surely reveal the entire plan once tortured.

As the light turned green, Bandi moved along with the traffic, but first, he turned to do a quick check behind him.  Paranoia had set in during the foot chase, and now he had to watch from every direction for one of the Medlov guards to come crashing down upon him.

“This was a bad idea,” he said aloud to himself.  “I should never have taken the fucking money.”  While he was only grazed, the wound would prove fatal if he was forced to flee on foot, and he had left the rifle behind and only had four bullets left in his clip.  Everything that could go wrong was happening.

Anatoly knew there were a million possibilities of where the assassin could have gone between the time he got on the bike and when he was able to carjack the BMW, but something was pulling him toward the straightway.  He didn’t pull off into one of the winding side streets or head toward the highway, because it just did not make sense.  This guy was running toward help or at least running toward traffic where he could blend in without being noticed.

As he headed down Second Street at full speed, he saw at the next light the bike Bandi had used.

“Got you.”  Anatoly pressed down on the accelerator, determined this time not to lose his target.  This wasn’t a job. This wasn’t a deal.  This was his family, and someone was going to pay TODAY, not later.  No, fuck that.  Even if it meant him being put under a jail, retribution would come down swiftly to the man who had pulled the trigger and tried to kill his father.

Hearing an engine barrel behind him, Bandi turned around and saw a droptop, red BWM Roadster with what appeared to be Anatoly Medlov in the driver’s seat, only a few cars behind.  Immediately, he swerved and jumped on the curve, barreling past pedestrians at deathly speeds.

Anatoly couldn’t let him get away.  “Let’s see what you got, bitch,” he said to the car.  Pushing his foot down on the accelerator, he ran down the side of the long line of cars in between the emergency lane and curb, ripping the sides of cars as he pressed forward.  With one hand on the steering wheel, his Rolex reflecting against the sun and the other on his weapon, he kept his eyes squarely on Bandi.

Horns erupted as Anatoly passed.  Paint scrubbed off cars as he railed past them, knocking off the side mirrors of anonymous cars, burning rubber as he advanced.  Dancing in between lanes, Anatoly pressed forward recklessly, ignoring the red lights and causing wrecks behind him.

“Come on, bitch, let’s dance,” he said as he shifted gears roughly.

Bandi could feel Anatoly right behind him.  As a result, the hairs on his neck stood on end.  Everyone knew how the Medlov family extracted information.  He’d rather die first.  Raising up off the motorcycle, he barreled down the sidewalk with people screaming as he passed.  Jumping the curve, he shot out into the middle of the street in between the lanes of traffic, zipping in between vehicles to get away.

Anatoly pushed down on the accelerator as he ran in between a line of cars and the curb, tearing up the muffler and undercarriage, sending sparks flying.  The other vehicles stopped, shocked at the mayhem, but still, he continued.  Veering into the middle of the lanes, he pushed the engine toward an angry growl, smoke coming from under it as cut across the traffic with his wheels burning rubber in a perfect drift.  Shifting gears again, he advanced toward Bandi as onlookers watched in disbelief.

“Why won’t this motherfucker just back off!” Bandi screamed, back arched low as he moved through the cars.  He turned around even as he advanced forward and let one of the four bullets that he still had in his chamber loose.  The echo of the bullet on the tight lane lined with towering bullets sounded like a cannon.

But it didn’t deter Anatoly from his objective.  He really didn’t give a fuck at the moment if he died, as long as he took this worthless coward with him.  Sticking his gun out the window, he returned fire, barely missing Bandi.

The sound of gunfire sent tires screeching. They all halted as the two men raced toward an uncertain end.

Dancing in between lanes with the motor roaring, Anatoly chased Bandi until he was right on his tail.  Sirens of police cars behind them exploded as the chance went from two-party to multiple.

As they zipped across Second and Gayoso Avenue into the entertainment district, Bandi made a sudden sharp left and turned into the alleyway behind Beale Street. He knew he needed to get to a place where Anatoly could not follow in his beaten up BWM, now mangled from the chase.  But determined not to lose Bandi again, Anatoly quickly whipped his small droptop into the alley and followed, knocking crates into the air as he got closer and closer to Bandi.  It was only when he reached a large garbage bin that he had to stop.

“FUCK!” Anatoly screamed, beating on the steering wheel as he came to a stop.  Jumping out, he pointed his weapon toward Bandi and took a shot.  While it did not hit him, it scared him so that he skidded and slid right into the side of the 172 Dance Club building.

“What’s your location?” the female liaison asked Bandi calmly, even though she could hear the ruckus of police officers in pursuit.

Bandi, torn from road burns, bleeding from his wound, limped as fast as he could away from Anatoly and ducked down a side alleyway toward Beale Street. Just a few steps closer, and he could be free.  “I’m on fucking Beale Street!” he yelled into his earpiece.  “Meet me…NOW.”

The liaison rolled her eyes and moved away from the souvenir store. Pushing a stroller with a baby bump tucked under her shirt and wide-brimmed hat to cover her face, she stepped out of the store onto Beale Street.  “Your exact location.”

Frantic, Bandi looked around.  Anatoly was only a few feet away.  “I’m…”  He turned to see the neon lights of a restaurant.  “I’m at Shandy Lounge,” he said, fighting for air.

Anatoly was right on his heels.  Gun out, he ran down the alleyway, following the trail of blood that Bandi left as he tried to flee.  His heartbeat started to race.  He was close – so damn close he could taste it.

Bandi pressed his earpiece. “He’s on my tail.  You have to send someone to extract me.  I need back up.”

The female liaison spotted Bandi just a few hundred feet from her as he emerged on Beale Street in a bloody shirt, covered in sweat and carrying a weapon.  As soon as the tourists saw him, they bolted for cover.

“Where are you?!” Bandi screamed into his earpiece.

“We are…five minutes away,” she lied.  This could play out to her advantage yet.  The money Erik Popov had paid was still on the jet.  “Stand by for directives.”

“I don’t have the fucking time, you fucking ice bitch!” Bandi yelled, turning to look behind him, just in time to see Anatoly approaching.  As he lifted his weapon to take aim, he knew it was already too late.  The young man had the drop on him.

“There is always time,” the woman said, sure that she’d never have to account for her words, at least to him.

Anatoly stood in the cool shade of the alleyway out of sight of cameras or eyewitnesses, covered in his father’s blood and sweating profusely.  With his custom Glock pointed, he aimed straight at Bandi’s head and pulled the trigger.  The first shot went through his frontal lobe.  The second bullet went through his chest…for Dmitry, and the third went through his groin…because fuck him…that’s why.  His blue eyes gleamed with satisfaction as the man died right in front of him.   Peeling out of the shirt covered in his father’s blood, he felt the vindication he deserved.  Sometimes, when you wanted to get a job done, you just had to do it yourself.  When he was certain the deed was done, he stepped out into the sunlight, ducking into the souvenir shop where the liaison had just come from and stole a shirt and hat.

Bandi fell with his gun still in hand on Beale Street as the tourists and workers went running.  His head hit the cobblestone with a thud and blood gushed from his body as his eyes faded.  The money hadn’t been worth it, after all.  Blood required blood.  And he had paid the price.

Pushing her baby stroller to the side of the street, the liaison finally patched through a call to her employer as her guard opened the door to her vehicle.  She jumped inside and inhaled a deep breath of failure before the call finally went through.

“Yes,” Erik Popov answered on his cell phone. “It’s been long e-fucking-nough.  You better have good news.”

But she did not.

She rested on the headrest in the backseat and closed her eyes.  “Dmitry Medlov is not dead, sir,” she said emphatically as the team headed toward the jet to get the hell out of Memphis before it was too late.  “You need to make plans.”

Dropping the cell phone, Erik Popov pushed Zoya’s lush mouth off his rock-hard shaft and stood up from his bed.  With a blank look on his face, he stared at himself at the ceiling-to-floor mirror across from him and screamed.

The war had officially begun.

Chapter 12

Memphis, TN

Medlov Compound

C ode Red.  Those two short words were the proverbial launch codes for the nuclear football that could only be ordered by a sitting Medlov Crime Family council member.  Its purpose was to alert the global syndicate that the head of the organization had been assassinated or fatally injured in order to begin certain crisis protocols, and for key security personnel responsible for the protection of the family to enact evacuation procedures - relocating the family members to an undisclosed location until further notice.

On yesterday, Code Red had been a strategy in a dossier, locked in a digital vault on a secure server across the ocean, but today, it was uploaded on the cloud to every phone of every decision-maker on the council.  Today, it became a living, breathing thing, rearing its mighty head in preparation for Doomsday.  Today, it became the Medlov’s only priority.

And it all started with a phone call.

Never skip back-day…The sound of metal clanging against metal echoed through the newly renovated man-cave.  The previously white walls had been given a facelift with floor-to-ceiling cedar planks, recess lights, a ten-foot mirror on the ceiling, and another mirror covering the south wall.  Televisions were mounted on the east and west wall and large, while columns spaced from one end of the room to the other were used a partition between the weights and cardio area.   At the far end of the room, a door opened to a sauna, Jacuzzi, indoor pool, and tanning booth. The other door opened to a kitchenette that had been filled with whey protein powder, protein bars, supplements, blenders, and everything a man would need to complete his workout.

Man was the keyword.  Like little boys who had just built a new treehouse, they barred the womenfolk from entry, citing they had their own hormone-laden girly gym upstairs on the first level of the house complete with pink weights and automated air fresheners.  Here they could play offensive music, curse like sailors and occasionally even pass gas without the complaints of being “animals.”

“Alexa, play my trap house playlist,” Gabriel said as the last song on his other place list ended.  Resting his back against the bench, he centered himself mentally.

“The devil is a lie!” The rapper Rick Ross declared on the first track of his Mastermind album.   “The devil is a lie!”  The musician’s voice boomed over the basement gym’s sound system matched in power only by the base in the beat.  It was Gabriel’s favorite playlist – trap house music only, each song picked by him to match his mood when he was in this very hallowed place, where women, babies, and bullshit were not allowed.  And after spending the first half of the day at the hospice center with Anil and the family pulling another woman in their family off life support due to cancer, he needed to work out more than he needed to breathe.

Days like this made him think of his mother, how she would never meet her grandchildren or her daughter-in-law, how she had dwindled away into nothingness before he pulled the plug, how he still missed her and her irritating advice.  Being there with his family had drained the energy right out of him.  Traveling for the last few days had made him miss his regular routine.  Now it was time to re-up.

Inhaling a deep breath as he unracked the heavy bar with his veiny, muscular arms extended, he brought the bar down to his meaty bare chest and pushed back up again.  A hiss escaped him as he moved with precision in a repetitive motion to complete his sixth set.  He bit down on his bottom lip, using all his power to follow through each time with equal commitment as the first set.  When he counted ten, arms shaking from exhaustion, he reracked the bar and sat up.

In a pair of red, jersey Nike shorts that hung just below the distinguished v-line of his carved lower abs, Gabriel sat on the end of his workbench, heaving deep breaths.  Sweat dripped down his neck and rolled over his striated pecs after what he considered to be a decent workout.

For most, it would have been a great workout, but he had always been an overachiever, especially when it came to his body.  In this family, a man had to be.  Even the old bull worked out at least five times a week.  There were no little alphas.  Everyone carried their own weight both in business and in the gym.

As he caught his breath, he focused on his reflection in the mirror.  Dark arched brows wet with perspiration danced over mossy green, brooding eyes. A new tattoo, still red from the needle, had been etched into his chest.  This one a symbol of his hatred for authority.  It had been 18 months since he had been abducted by neo-Nazis in Ukraine, but their torture still haunted him.  Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the scars, forever marring his skin.  He ran a hand over one of the long knife marks under his nipple and rolled his neck.

“Come on, bitch. You can do one more set,” he said, easing back down on the bench to push his body a little harder. With his feet planted firmly on the ground and his back pressed against the leather, he adjusted his back and raised his hands to unrack again when his cell phone rang.

“Not now!” he grunted, rolling his eyes.  But he knew he had to answer.  The phone was set to Do Not Disturb, which meant the number was marked important.  “Alexa, answer my phone,” he grunted, sitting back up.

“Boss!” a driver said in a heavy Russian accent, driving Anil away from the hospice center after the shooting.  “A code red has been issued.”

Gabriel froze as his stomach constricted.  “Is he dead?”  He could hear his heart thudding in his chest.  It seemed to take forever for the man to answer.

The guard shook his head, as though his boss could see him, then checked the rearview mirror again.  “I don’t know, boss.  I have your cousin, Anil.  We are headed to the exchange point.”

“Do you have me on speaker?  Can Anil hear me?”

“Da, he can.”

“Anil,” Gabriel said, standing up.

“What the hell is going on?” Anil asked, too shocked and angry to cry.  “I was shoved in the back of this fucking truck, and I don’t know where this guy is taking me.  Someone shot Dad!  They wouldn’t even let me stay and help him.”  It wasn’t like he was some rich kid who had never seen a bad thing in his life.  He was raised on the streets, capable of handling a weapon.  He was a grown man now, seven-feet tall and able to knock down a fucking wall with his bare hands, but they were treating him like he was made of glass.

Gabriel picked up his phone and pressed it to his ear.  He wanted Anil to hear him clearly and understand that now was not the time for blind bravery. “If you want to help your father, do as the guard instructs.  No one thinks less of you, least of all Dmitry.  If anything happened to you, however, the guard who is escorting you would be responsible.  He would lose his life. Do you understand?”

Anil looked at the back of the driver’s head as he navigated through traffic and felt sorry for him.  He was not about to cost anyone else their life.  “I understand.”

With a long stride, Gabriel moved to the back end of the gym and put his thumb up to a reader that unlocked a small armory.  As soon as his foot crossed the threshold, the motion-detectors turned on a low blue light.  Fully automatic, military-grade weapons were attached to the walls, along with ammunition, bullet-proof vests, magazines, and knives.  He cast a glance up to the surveillance TV mounted in the corner to see if any unusual activity was happening anywhere in the house.

“Gabe, man.  They shot him,” Anil said, putting his head in his hands.  “He just collapsed.  What if he thinks I cowered out?” His head popped back up at the thought.

“He won’t,” Gabriel assured, voice flat, mind racing.

“What about Royal?  What about everything?”  Anil felt hysteria threatening to take over and drew in a ragged breath.  “And where the fuck is this guy taking me?”  Spittle flew out of the young man’s mouth as his face turned a deep red.

Weapon in hand, Gabriel walked out of the gym into the hallway where a guard was approaching quickly.  “You’ll be taken somewhere safe.  I’ll reach out when I can.”

Anil wasn’t happy with the cryptic explanation.  “Somewhere safe?”

“Trust me,” Gabriel said, hanging up.  He didn’t have the time to explain.  It would all make sense soon enough.

Passing the phone to the guard at the end of the hall, he heard the loud siren, almost like the Amber Alert, go off on cell phones around the mansion, including his own.  “Burn this,” Gabriel said of his phone.  “We don’t have much time.  Is the property being locked down?”

“Yes, boss,” the man answered.  “Cars are waiting outside for the family.  You’ll load up through the side door leading out of the kitchen instead of the front of the house, just in case…”

“Let’s not keep them waiting.  The guard followed behind Gabriel as they ran, instead of walking to collect everyone. He had ten minutes to grab everyone and leave.  No one could pack.  Nothing could be taken but the clothes on their backs.  The thought of his young twins being in a firefight made him run faster.  He had to get everyone to safety now!”

Vasily watched his son solve the double-digit math problem in the craft room at the worktable attached to their suite with supreme satisfaction.  They had been at it for an hour now, learning how to carry over the numbers, but he was picking up well on what to do.

Dylan looked up at his father and smiled.  “Is it right?” he asked in a raspy little man-voice, pushing his paper toward Vasily for inspection.

Vasily rubbed a hand through Dylan’s dark, chocolate locks and grinned.  “Da, da. It’s right.  You are a very smart little soldier; you know that?”

Dylan shrugged. “Yeah, I know.”

Lilly walked into the room, stepping over one of her son’s toys to bring a tray of cookies.  “I thought you guys could use a little snack while you work,” she said, proud to see her husband and son spending quality time together after today’s sad circumstance.  Things like this always brought a family together.

“Maybe later tonight, we can roast some marshmallows out on the fire pit.”

Vasily reached out and took the tray from her.  “That sounds fun, eh?” he winked at his son.  Just then, the code red alarm sounded on his cell phone.  Jumping up from the table, he quickly grabbed his son, threw him on his hip, and grabbed Lilly by the hand.

“What’s going on?” Lilly asked, voice trembling.  She followed him into their suite.

Vasily looked around the large room.  “Grab your purse.  Leave your phone.  Get his medicine out of the small refrigerator, and let’s go!”

“Baby,” Lilly said, running over to their bed to grab her purse.  She was about to ask a question, but when she saw Vasily go to their closet and pull out an Uzi, she already knew the answer or at least a part of it.  Something had gone terribly wrong.  The door leading to the hall flew open, and two guards ran in.

“I know,” Vasily said before they could say another word.  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and threw it on the dresser.  “Where are Anya and the twins, Renee and Alexandria, Valeriya, and the twins, Gabriel…”

A line of guards ran down the hallway past the door, headed to their positions, drawing Vasily’s attention.  He was used to being out there with them, not here, vulnerable with a family.  But he had come to terms with his promotion.

“Everyone is being collected,” the guard said, as Vasily guided Lilly out of the room.  “We need to get you loaded up now.  Orders are family first.”

Nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, a procession of Medlov family members in various loungewear lined up in the corridor attached to the kitchen that led out to the bricked carport as a guard worked down a checklist of names on his cell phone and another assisting with loading.  All the children.  All the wives.  The sister and Anatoly’s dogs were being prepped for loading. Non-essential staff were to stay behind and wait for further instructions.

The first SUV pulled off with Dmitry’s children and several heavily armed guards.  Anya had gone without a word, tears streaming down her face, scared to ask if her parents had been killed.  Instead of focusing on herself, she gave extra attention to her little brothers who protested loudly as they were pulled from their nannies and placed in car seats in the vehicle.

The next SUV took Renee, pregnant and tired, along with their daughter and another group of guards.

Valeriya rocked one baby while Anatoly’s sister, Anastaysia, rocked the other.  Nadei, one of the other family guards, held his daughter in his arms with a baby bag thrown over one arm and a weapon thrown over the other.

“I don’t like this,” Valeriya said, wiping tears that spilled from her face. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” She looked up at Gabriel, still in his gym shorts and shirtless.

Lovingly, he bent and kissed her forehead, hoping to ease some of her worries.  “I can’t right now.  Vasily will explain to you once we get you to the next location.”

Valeriya frowned. “Vasily?”  She looked over at him and Lilly, speaking quietly and then back at her husband. “You’re not coming?”

“I can’t.  But I’ll meet you there. I promise.”  He rubbed a hand over his child’s head.  “You have to trust me now.  No questions.  Just trust me.”

The baby started to cry, sensing the tension in his mother.  Rocking him faster, she blew a frustrated breath from her mouth.  This wasn’t her first rodeo. She had been a freedom fighter, but that was before she was a married mother of two.  Now things were dramatically different.  “I’m trying…to trust you, but you’re making it really hard. You won’t tell me where we’re going. You won’t tell me where you’re going.  You won’t tell us what is going on.”  She adjusted the baby bag on her shoulder, but Gabriel quickly took it from her and passed it to one of the guards.

“It’s for the best.” Gabriel could barely make himself meet her eyes.  He knew at that moment that she was shooting mind bullets at him.  But he couldn’t fold simply because his wife was angry.  It was possible she might be angry for a very long time after this, but it wouldn’t change the fact that this was necessary.

The guard motioned for her to come to the door, but Valeriya refused to move.  “I want to stay here with you,” she said, licking her dry lips.   One more glance to plead with her husband was all she could muster.

Gabriel looked at his watch.  It was time.  No more talking.  “You have to go now,” he said sternly.  He blinked quickly, feeling the pain of their separation even before she left his sight.  “I love you. I love my babies.  We’ll see each other soon. I promise.”

“I love you,” she said, obediently walking out of the door as the next SUV pulled up to load her and the babies into the car.  Turning one last time, she held on to the doorway. “Don’t break your promise, Gabriel.”

“I won’t,” he said sincerely.

Gabriel moved to Vasily and grabbed the back of his neck.  Putting his forehead against Vasily’s, he held him tight. “Take care of all of them, brother.”

“Always,” Vasily said, releasing him.  “Check-in when we get there.”

After watching his family load into the large SUV convoy, Gabriel stepped out into the carport and jumped into the passenger side of the last family vehicle.  He slammed the door closed behind him as the driver sped out behind the others.  Guards on bikes provided extra security as they exited the gated driveway into the busy street of Walnut Grove while guards in tactical gear stood in the street, holding back traffic.

All the cars headed east toward the private airstrip, but Gabriel headed west toward the safe house.

Wiping his hands over his face, he sat back quietly.  Valeriya’s face had said everything her lips hadn’t.   Air blasted out of the vents, cooling his face, but fire boiled just below the surface of his quiet exterior.  There was no need to ask if his uncle was alright.  All phones had been shut off.  They had to go dark – no communication of any sort outside of face-to-face interaction.  It was time to move to phase II.

When the convoy of cars and motorcycles pulled up the tarmac, two Gulfstream jets were waiting as well as one very angry Royal Medlov who refused to board the plane until her family arrived along with Anil, who sat with her.

“They’re here,” Anil said, as soon as the convoy approached.

Seeing her daughter step out of the back of one of the SUVs, she jumped out of her vehicle, ran past the guards, and darted toward her child.  Dropping to her knees, she hugged Anya tightly.

“Momma!” Anya cried beyond ecstatic to see her mother alive. She held her tight as Royal kissed the side of her daughter’s soft face over and over.

“Thank God you’re safe,” she said, standing up.  Realizing she was still covered in her husband’s blood, she tried to straighten her clothes.  “Daddy is okay.  He’s just hurt.”  That was no doubt the first question on Anya’s mind.  “But, he’s okay.”  She said again, unsure if she was lying to her child.

“If he’s okay, why is he not here?” Anya asked.

“The doctors are taking care of him,” Royal said, wiping tears from her face and sniffling.  She cleared her throat. “But, he’ll be joining us soon.”

Anil walked up to Anya and bent to hug her.  “Hey, little princess.” He held her tight, glad she had made it safely.  “You okay?” he asked, lifting her chin to look into her eyes.

Anya nodded.  “I’m fine,” she lied.

“Good,” Anil said, winking at her.  “You’re the strong one.  I’m a mess.”

Going to the door of the SUV, Royal helped the guards unbuckle the twins.  “I’ll do it,” she snapped as a guard moved out of her way.  She fumbled with the buckle, fighting to keep more tears from falling.  “How were they on the ride?”

“They cried all the way, but they finally passed out,” Anya explained, holding Maxim’s sippy cup.  “Konstantin pooped himself.  The guard wouldn’t stop so he could go potty.”  She shot the guard a dirty look. “I told him he couldn’t hold it very well.”

Anil smirked as he made his way to the other side of the vehicle.

Royal pulled her sleeping baby, covered in sweat and tears, out of the car seat and held him close to her bosom, while Anil helped the other baby from the other side of the vehicle. “I’ll clean him up in just a second,” she said of Konstantin.  That was the only downside of having twins.  It was impossible to hold them both at the same time, leaving the mother to feel as though she was always neglecting one child or the other.

“Why are you covered in blood, momma? What happened,” Anya asked, masking her fear with anger.

Royal kept her voice calm, knowing her daughter’s defense mechanism all too well.  She didn’t want to disarm the girl with a stern reply.  Everyone was scared, understandably so.  “We can talk about that later, baby.  Right now, we have to go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Anya answered, following her mother toward the stairs attached to the jet, eyes focused on the female stewardesses who came quickly to assist Mistress Medlov up to the cabin.

The blonde Amazons hiked down the stairs in immaculate dress, hair tucked in buns, guns shining in the holsters under their arms.  With faux smiles, they quickly ushered the family inside, all while accessing threats around them.

Holding her large three-year-old tight to her chest, Royal stumped up the stairwell in her heels without skipping a beat.  As soon as she got on the plane, she headed straight to work.  “Bring the baby into the private bedroom,” Royal ordered, anxious to get her son clean.

“Yes, ma’am,” the guard responded, following Royal to the back with Konstantin, who stunk to high hell and had stained his clothes.

When the guards finally made sure everyone was on board both planes, accounted for and seated, the pilot announced their take off.  All the children had been placed in the back of the large jet with a separate area that had sofas and television they could watch, away from the heavy conversations sure to be had by the adults.  The nannies, guards, and a few others had been placed on the other jet to serve as support staff once they arrived where they were going.  The core of the Medlov family, however, sat together, two men and a sea of women.  But no one had said a word, until now.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.  Every woman on the plane kept their eyes on Vasily, demanding an explanation before they ripped him limb from limb.  Anil sat in the corner, quietly wondering if this was all his fault. He should have told his father to stay home.  Going to see his mother compromised him, nearly cost him his life.

“Can I get you something, Mr. Medlov?” one of the stewardesses asked, bending to him with a tray of finger foods.

Anil nodded it away. “Thanks, not hungry.”

At this moment, Vasily hated that the white leather chairs were facing toward each other.  “Bring me a vodka straight,” he told the stewardess.  Running a hand through his black beard streaked with strands of gray, he rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his large hands together.  “This is a code red.  A code red means that Dmitry Medlov has been…” he glanced over at Royal, sure that she was hurting and apologetic for having to explain all of this now, “fatally injured or killed.”

Royal sat back in the chair as the gazes went to her.  “He’s not dead,” she said, looking out of the window at the wing of the jet.  “I spoke with him before I was rudely whisked away.”

That was news to Vasily, but he was glad to hear it.  “This is good.”  He tried to reason.  “When we go to red, we also go dark.”

“English!” Renee hissed, gripping the end of the armrest.  “Going dark, code red.  Look, Vasily, just tell us what the hell is going on.”

The other women nodded in agreement, even his wife, Lilly.

Vasily scratched his eye and tried to adhere to the women’s wishes.  “The council set up a plan in the event that the Czar was ever compromised to protect all of you.  We’re in that plan right now.  My job is to escort you to a location where you will be safe as we figure out who tried to assassinate Dmitry and neutralize that threat.  Once we have completed that very complicated job, you will be allowed back in the states.”  He could hear them as they prepared their questions, but he raised his hand to silence them.  “During this time, no communication can happen. You can’t use the phones; you can’t use computers, you can’t talk to anyone who is not on one of these planes right now.”

Royal trailed her gaze back over to Vasily. “So, you’re telling me, I can’t find out how my husband is doing?”

“No,” Vasily said regretfully.

Royal shook her head. “This is bullshit.”

“Where are we going, if we are not going to be in the states?” Renee rubbed her stomach. “I’m about to pop if you haven’t noticed.”

“We’ve made arrangements.  There will be a doctor there to help you,” Vasily answered.

“Where are we going?” Valeriya asked, assuming she would not be allowed to talk to her husband either.

“Siberia,” Vasily answered.

Anastaysia’s brow rose in confusion. “Siberia.”

“What about my brother?” Valeriya asked.  “Am I just supposed to leave him without…”

Vasily cut her off. “He’s on his way there.”

“Well, you’ve thought of everything,” Renee said, running a hand over her face.  “Except how we might have felt being left out of the loop on this.”

Lilly made eye contact with him and pursed her lips together.  As much as she loved her husband, everyone was right for their concern.

“I hate to sound selfish, but what’s going to happen to my mother’s body?” Anil asked.

“That’s not a selfish question, baby,” Royal assured.  She glanced over at him.  “If they’ve taken care of everything else, they better take care of her as well.”

Vasily nodded in understanding.  “She will be.”

“So where in Siberia are we going?” Royal asked, trying not to think of what was happening to her husband at this moment.  It would only torture her to dwell on it, especially since she could not call him.  Instead, she needed to redirect her attention, focus on how to keep everyone here together.

“There is a property there that Dmitry owns.  It’s secluded…safe.”  Vasily took the vodka from the stewardess and downed it quickly.  “We have quite a few guards from the estate who are going with us, but we have more teams activated and meeting us there.  Every arrangement is being made, I assure you.”

“Once we arrive, will there be news?” Royal asked her final question.

“I hope so,” Vasily answered, placing the empty crystal tumbler in the cup holder beside him.  It was going to be a very long flight to Siberia.

Chapter 13

Memphis, TN

Pinch District

Safe House

I t might not have been the most sterile of locations, but it was definitely the most ingenious.  On the corner of Shaydac Avenue and Front Street, a bricked building, slathered with dingy red stucco, sat across from the railroad tracks and the front of the Pyramid, which had recently been turned into a hunting shop, and only a street behind the Memphis Police Department.  It was the last place the police would look, even though a city-wide BOLO had already been issued for any associated with the Medlov family.  Right under their noses, Dmitry didn’t worry about being captured as he listened to the sirens rush up and down the district.

Purchased by a shell company, owned off the books by Dmitry, he had utilized the building to smuggle stolen art brought off the Mississippi River by cargo ships and along with the movement of high-end medical equipment like MRI machines sold on the black market.

Large industrial fans were placed around a metal table covered in black plastic as an old man with stark white hair worked on Dmitry’s wounds in the kitchen area of the empty building.  Dropping the bullets that he had dug out of Dmitry’s back into a small metal dog bowl, he focused on trying to keep his area as sterile as possible.  All the while, Dmitry laid still, teeth clenched around a wooden bit, muffling his screams.

“They are all out,” the old man informed Dmitry as he walked over to the sink to clean his hands.  The nurse working with him poured iodine on the giant’s body and prepared to stitch up the wounds.

Anatoly stood in the corner, leaning against the entryway, dying for a cigarette.  He glanced over at his father with a brooding glare, angry that someone had gotten the better of them.  “How is he?” he asked the doctor.

Turning off the sink, the doctor wiped his hands with a towel folded neatly beside him.  “He’ll live,” he said in a Russian accent.  The doctor had been highly regarded in Mother Russia, but his credentials didn’t exactly transfer when he came to America – forced to flee during the fall of the USSR for his involvement with the less-than-reputable clients.  Walking back over to look at his patient as his nurse worked quickly, he picked up a syringe and inserted medication into Dmitry’s IV.   “This will calm him for now, but he’ll need constant pain management for a few weeks.”

“So, he’s going to be high as a kite while the rest of us are forced to make it through this shit sober,” Gabriel quipped, walking in with his guards.

Anatoly glanced up.  “You have any problems getting over here?”

“Oh, it’s a madhouse out there, right now.”  Gabriel placed his weapon on a table in the corner and walked over to get a better look at his uncle.  He swallowed hard at the sight of him; a dark thought crossed his mind before he glanced back up at Anatoly and continued his conversation.  “One thing is for sure.  We can’t stay here.  It’s too hot right now.”

“When can he travel?” Anatoly asked, walking over to the window and peeking out of the dark blinds.

After applying the gauze, the doctor helped the nurse lift him enough to wrap his wounds with dressing.  Grunting as he worked, he answered the question.  “He should not travel at all, but if he must, he should wait until tomorrow.”

They laid Dmitry back down on the table.

The doctor continued, “For now, you need to keep him in a cool place, cover him up to prevent shock, and watch him carefully.”

“I doubt he’ll go into shock.  He’s been shot before,” Anatoly said flatly.  “It’s not like he’s new to this.”

Spitting out the bit, Dmitry exhaled a short breath and moaned.  “I can fucking hear you.”

The doctor turned to Anatoly.  “Not that kind of shock, genius.”

Anatoly winked at the old man and reached into his pocket to pull out a fist full of hundred-dollar bills. “How much do we owe you, doc?”

“It’s on the house,” the doctor said, dropping a bag full of pain meds at Anatoly’s feet.  “Keep him hydrated.”

“I will,” Anatoly offered his hand.  “Spasiba.”

The doctor huffed. “Radi Boga.”  Shaking Anatoly’s hand, he looked over his shoulder.  “Good luck, my friend. I’ll see you when you return.”

“Spasiba,” Dmitry managed, feeling the drugs already kicking in.  Boris quickly wheeled in one of the hospital beds from the warehouse, and he and Gabriel helped him transfer slowly over to it.

“Shit, you weigh a ton,” Gabriel quipped, glad his uncle was at least able to have a sensible conversation.

“Or maybe you’re a lightweight,” Dmitry mumbled before he passed back out.

Gabriel rose up from his uncle and looked at Boris.  “What?  It’s back day.”  Rolling his eyes, he walked over to speak with Anatoly privately while Boris escorted the doctor and his assistant back out of the building.  He tried to keep it light as he talked to others, but with his cousin, he showed the anger just below the surface.  Lowering his voice to keep from stirring his uncle, he turned his back to him.  “Did you find out who the fuck is responsible for this shit yet?”

Anatoly sucked his teeth.  “The shooter is dead.  I took care of it myself.”

“I heard on the radio.  You shot the bastard on Beale Street.”

“But who hired him.  He was obviously a hitman, but he wasn’t local, wasn’t familiar either.”  Anatoly shook his head in bafflement. “We’ve got so many fucking enemies; I don’t know where to begin.”

“How about the most recent…then work our way back.”

“That will take fucking forever.  I’ll be sending my kids off to college before we finish that list.  Net.  There has to be some other way.  I’ve already been on the line with St. Petersburg.”

“You used the special line?” Gabriel asked, concerned.

“I did everything strictly according to plan,” Anatoly assured.  Scratching his brow, he calmed down. “I’m waiting on a callback.”  But at the moment, another thought was weighing heavily on him.  “How was Renee and Alexandria and Anastaysia…all of them?”

Gabriel nodded. “Scared but okay.  Vasily will make sure they are briefed on the plane.  We got them out with 10 seconds to spare.  There were absolutely no problems.”

“Problems or not, she’s going to hate me for sending her alone,” Anatoly worried about his pregnant wife.  “If she goes into labor on that plane, I’m going to….” His chest swelled with anger. Unable to finish his sentence, he balled up his fists.

“She won’t have the baby.  Don’t worry.  She’s got a plane full of women with her who, I’m sure, will cater to her every need.  And the sooner we get the old man up and moving, the faster we can head to them.”  Gabriel leaned against the counter, changing the subject as he slapped a mosquito buzzing around his ear.  “Do you have an extra shirt around here?  I don’t’ know if you’ve noticed, but I’m sort of…half-naked.”

Pulling up to the back of the building after he had circled the block a couple times, Marat jumped out of the stolen Honda accord and threw the keys to the guard who came out of the dock door to meet him.  “Lower the docking bay and get the entire fucking car inside,” he said, quickly running into the building with the security folder still tucked under his arm.

Breezing past the guards, he walked up to Boris and handed him the folder.  “See if you find out if there are any off-sight surveillance equipment our boy in the valley needs to hack associated with the hospice center.”

“Alright,” Boris said, taking the folder.

“Where are the bosses?”  He looked around the multiple rooms but didn’t see anyone.

“In the kitchen.  They just finished working on Boss Dmitry.  He’s not looking too good right now.  We won’t be able to move until tomorrow.”

Marat nodded and straightened his suit before walking into the kitchen.  As soon as he crossed the threshold, he saw Dmitry passed out in a hospital bed beside a metal table in the middle of the floor and Gabriel and Anatoly over in the corner talking.

Anatoly looked over.  “You get the surveillance?”

Marat held up the spy’s purse.  “I’ve got a little more than that.  Can you come to the dock for a minute?”

Gabriel frowned.  “Why?”

Marat placed the purse beside Gabriel’s gun.  “I’ve got the nurse from the hospice center in the trunk of the car.”

“Alive?” Anatoly asked.

“No…no. She’s dead, sir.”  He reached into her purse and pulled out her Beretta, complete with a Trident suppressor.  “But you were right about her.  She wasn’t right, either extremely into the second amendment or a hitter.  I didn’t have time to search her for tattoos, but if we can get a picture of her face sent over to our team for facial recognition, we might be able to find out who she’s working for.”

Gabriel smiled.  “I think our list just got smaller.”

Hours later, after the sun had set and things had settled down, Anatoly hung up his non-traceable phone from a very informative call.  “Dead bitch is not Georgia but Nadia Butina.  She’s a Russian national based out of London and a hitter for the…”

Gabriel finished his sentence. “The Popov Crime family syndicate.”  It just did not make any sense.  “You think Alexei is still salty over Miami? I know Ryan Colt was his boy, but not important enough to go to war over.”

Anatoly couldn’t connect the dots either.  “Lower-level men get popped all the time out here.  Why is Ryan Colt so important?  Alexei would be out of his mind to send a hitter to kill a Czar over an errand boy.  It’s a cardinal fucking sin to kill a council member.”

Dmitry shifted in his bed as the potency of his IV wore off and answered the question neither one of them could.  “Alexei did not send anyone, anywhere.”  He licked his cracked lips and wished for water.  “He’s dead.”

Anatoly and Gabriel both turned to Dmitry for an explanation with an incredulous, open-mouth grimace.

“I’m sorry, what?” Gabriel asked, walking over to stand by Dmitry’s bed. “Maybe I heard you wrong, but it sounded like you said he’s dead.”

“How would he be dead, and it not be international news?” Anatoly asked.  “Papa, are you feeling okay?”  Maybe he was hallucinating, a common side effect of being shot, and then worked on in a filthy warehouse kitchen.  He put his hand over his father’s forehead to check his temperature.

Dmitry cleared his throat and moved his son’s hand. “I’m fine, minus the bullet holes. The reason no one knows is that Erik didn’t want to show weakness. If his brother was reported missing, then it would prove they were extremely vulnerable.  Because he could not say who killed him and because he wanted to take over complete power, he kept the information to himself until he was certain he knew who the killer was.”  Dmitry grunted again.  “I killed him, rather had him killed, while he was in China the same month that we got back from Miami.”

“You killed one of the sitting members of the international council and didn’t think to mention it?” Anatoly asked, frowning.  “Why?”

“Because Ryan Colt was not important, but you two were, and he wasn’t just going to allow what happened in Miami to get out where others would find out we took his money and killed his men.  I knew he wouldn’t come after me directly. Instead, he would come after one of you, one of your children, someone we loved.  That’s just his style.  He would always throw a rock and hide his hand when he faced an equal.”

Anatoly dropped his head.  It made sense now, but one thing didn’t.  “Why did you not tell us?”

“I thought I had handled it, but evidently, someone flipped.”  Dmitry winced in pain.

Anatoly’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he tried to digest the information his father had just thrown on them.  Turning his back, he answered quickly.  “Da,” he said, listening to the caller on the other end.  “We can be there in two days.”  He listened again.  “We have what we need, but thank you.”  Hanging up the phone, he turned to his cousin and father.  “The international council has convened a meeting regarding your attack in St. Petersburg day after tomorrow.  Everyone will be there, including Erik Popov.”

Gabriel raised a brow. Things were getting more and more interesting by the minute.  “Oh, great.  Maybe we can all go out and have drinks…you know before we kill each other.”

Chapter 14

Irkutsk

Siberia, Russia

27 hours after leaving Memphis

A t the crack of a golden dawn, after a long haul that spanned across the globe, the Medlov family finally landed in the ageless city of Irkutsk, the de-facto capital of Eastern Siberia.  All of them were tired of flying and ready to put their feet on solid ground – it did not matter where that ground was now.  With nothing else to do but think on their journey, heated frustrations and endless worries that plagued the group at the start of their trip had dissipated to anxiousness.  Anxiousness had eventually turned to sadness, and sadness finally lulled into glib acceptance. Now, everyone was curious to see their new home, unsure if it would even accommodate such a large party of over 50 people, including staff and guards, but very grateful that they were all together instead of being further separated.

Outside of the family’s jet, the distinct sounds of powerful plane engines in neighboring hangars starting up to depart filled the air, along with the takeoff of commercial planes on the adjoining airstrip.  Men in orange jumpers pulled raggedy carts piled with luggage off other planes but avoided the area deemed restricted upon the Medlov’s arrival.

The order had come directly from the control tower.  No unauthorized persons could come near the Medlov family jet.  Anyone who tried would be shot on sight, no questions asked.  Guards with trained bomb dogs sniffed each vehicle while awaiting the arriving party as a secondary precaution to the perimeter hold.  When the guards were certain that it was safe after all of their checks, they gave the word.

“The perimeter is secure.  You may unboard the package. Over.”  A guard spoke into his earpiece from below the plane with his machine gun slung muzzle downward in front of him.

The family had been waiting fifteen minutes since landing, giving security time to check the grounds and receive the convoy of vehicles that now waited for them with the headlights on and the back doors of each vehicle open and ready.  Not one precaution had been overlooked.  Guards dressed in black suits walked around the plane, watching from every direction as the workers locked the stairs into place for the family to exit the plane.

“Copy that.  Unboarding will begin immediately,” the lead stewardess, Diana, answered, speaking into her earpiece before nodding toward the stewardess at the rear of the plane.  “If you would excuse me, little one,” she spoke softly to Konstantin as she sidestepped him while he played with his plastic solider toys on the floor.

“Put your toys away now,” Anya ordered her brother, offering him a bag to slip the litter of green figures into.

Konstantin looked up, snarling at his sister.  “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Anya swatted at him.  “Can’t you see, you’re in the way.”

“Enough,” Royal said absently, used to her children fighting.  “Put your toys away like your sister said, Konstantin.  Behave or else.”  Her stern voice made the boy move quickly, shoving the toys into the bag while shooting daggers at Anya for getting him in trouble.

Royal watched Diana as she walked passed her, grateful for a team of loyal female guards who were not only competent but warm.  The woman had been with them for many years, but she always remained extremely professional.  Always kind, always direct, always hypervigilant with her head on a swivel, the stewardess never spoke out of turn or stepped out of her place.

Diana’s background was an enigma, as they rarely spoke about anything more than what Royal wanted the plane to be stocked with for trips or décor changes. But Dmitry had told Royal once that Diana was beautifully dangerous, capable of more destruction than any man he knew, and that’s why he had hired her.  At first, Royal thought her husband was brushing her off, giving an inflated explanation of the woman because she was attractive.

Now, Royal understood everything more clearly.  During the flight, she never saw Diana or the other stewardess sleep.  They watched over the family constantly – reassuring the children and catering to the adults.  They took special care with Renee to ensure her flight was comfortable, considering she was so late in her pregnancy, checking her blood pressure and giving her more pillows to help her aching back. They fixed the kids’ favorite meals and made sure they took their vitamins.  But when everyone else was asleep, they inventoried the arsenal in the back room, counting down to the very last bullet and discussing how to protect the children in the event of an attack.  They discussed everything from emergency landings to responsibilities of who would guard the passengers.  In essence, they offered friendship through action instead of babbling sentiment. It was never spoken – not even once…ever, but Royal was certain, Diana would die for her and her family.

With her Smith and Wesson M & P Shield pistols tucked in her holster, the six-foot blonde wearing her normal soft white blouse and navy-blue slacks made her way to the door of the plane. As she did so, the younger stewardess, a girl of barely 25, cocked her M4A1 assault rifle with a stone-faced of seriousness.

Diane pulled one of the weapons from her holster after opening the door and stepped out tactically into the morning air, ready to receive any gunfire from a sniper that might be intended for the family.   After a few minutes out of view from the family, she returned and motioned for the family to file in line.

Vasily stood first, ready to protect the family as best he could.  Anil followed, wishing someone would give him a damn gun.  After that, the women of the family with Royal and her children first, were escorted to the door.

It had to be said, just in case there would be no later.  Royal stopped at Diane and smiled. “Thank you.”  Her voice was soft but full of sincerity.  “For everything that you have done, I truly appreciate it.”

Diane smiled. “It is an honor,” she said, Russian accent thick.  “No need to thank me.  As a mother and a wife, I understand the stress that you have been forced to bare.”

Royal was taken aback.  She had no idea.  “You have a family?” Up until now, she did not realize how much she had taken things for granted.

“Da, a very wonderful one.” Diane beamed with pride but refused to share any more about her personal life, fearing she had already shared too much.

“So, we are taking you away from them?”  Now, Royal felt even worse. In her sudden self-pity, something she normally never allowed herself, she had been blinded to everyone else who was forced away from their loved ones to protect her family.  It was a selfish thing that she made a mental note right then not to repeat during this situation.

“No,” Diane quickly explained, seeing Royal’s guilt. “They understand the demands of my job.  If it were not for Dmitry and his very generous pay, we would not have the luxuries that we have.  This is just part of it.”  Diane was a seasoned security professional with no misconceptions about what her job entailed.  She didn’t want to give Royal the wrong idea, plus she’s wasn’t one who liked the attention, preferring always to move behind the scenes.

Royal pushed a breath out.  “Well, will you at least be able to return to them now?”

“No. The entire crew will stay here, close by, ready to leave only when the family is ready.  None of us will go anywhere until that time, no matter how long it takes, no matter the hour.”  Diane looked out toward the stairs. This conversation had taken too long.  It might cause a security breach.  “Go now. It’s not safe to terry.”

With Konstantin and Maxim each holding a hand, Royal unboarded the plane, freshly showered and dressed simply in a black suit and red-backed black heels, following closely behind a host of armed guards.  “So, this is Siberia,” she said, inhaling fresh air as she looked up into the cloudless morning sky after she made her way down the steel stairwell.

It was nice in Irkutsk with temperatures right at 70 degrees and a welcomed gentle breeze that felt more like spring than the sweltering heat of Memphis. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment briefly as a gust of wind danced through her tresses.

“Thank you, Lord,” she muttered.

Vasily wiped his tired eyes and nodded Royal’s way as he heard her small prayer.  It was a good sign. It meant she still held on to hope.  While everyone else had showered, he was still in the same Nike workout shorts and T-shirt he had worn out of the mansion the day before.  Getting to their final destination meant he could change into some real clothes.  But for now, his needs were the last thing on his mind.  With his rifle thrown over his back in a safari sling, he advanced with the family toward the car.  Holding a sleeping Dylan in his muscular arms, he tried to ease Royal’s worries even as he scanned for possible problems.  “It’s a nice place to visit, Irkutsk, if you ever get the time.  About half a million people live here, and it’s only over 300 miles to Mongolia.  It’s a big little city, like Memphis. Plenty to do.  Good shopping.  Nice people, for the most part.”

For the first time, Vasily felt like he was the head of the family instead of just a member of it, especially with everyone clinging to him for dear life.  But he would be glad when Dmitry, Gabriel, and Anatoly returned to their families.  Juggling five women, seven kids, a pseudo-little brother, and a large staff of guards and other help was exhausting.  How Dmitry Medlov did this every day was beyond him.  And it only solidified his desire never to be head of his own family or Czar.

“Mongolia?”  Lilly held on to Vasily’s hand and yawned, trying to picture where that was on a world map but drawing a blank.  “That’s where people still ride horses and live in gers.”  With her hair pulled up in a messy bun, dressed in yoga pants and a long fitting T-shirt, she dreamt of being close to a day spa where she could get a pedicure and have someone tighten her weave.  “We’re basically in the middle of nowhere, which a bunch of white folks who don’t know the first thing about black women’s needs.”

“Mongolia has a Louis Vuitton store,” Vasily said, winking at Lilly.  He knew her ears instantly would perk up at the possibility

“Really?” Lilly said, eyes lightening up.  “Do they have a sister from Atlanta, Georgia who knows how to slay virgin yaky weave?”

Renee busted out in laughter, covering her mouth as she gaffed.  “Girl, you need help.”

Vasily was glad his wife was still somewhat cheerful.  She would need it in the days to come.  He glanced down at her lovingly, wishing for a moment soon when they could bond physically to alleviate some of the stress.  “I doubt they have a slayer, but Anastaysia can always do your hair.”

“I’m learning,” Anastaysia grinned proudly.  “I helped her take her hair down last month.”

“Wherever we are going, we need to hurry and get there,” Renee quipped, waddling closely to Vasily while Anil held Alexandria in his embrace.  “My back is killing me, and it would be nice to poop without everyone hearing.”  She glanced back at Royal and winked, her long goddess braids propped up on her head like a crown, dressed in a simple black cotton floor-length dress and black leather braided sandals.

Anil laughed at Renee and how absolutely precious she looked pregnant.  He had never had a sister before her, but now that he had Renee, he felt complete.  She was a true sister-girl, always cutting through the bullshit and speaking her mind.  “In that case, after listening to you, I think I’m pregnant too, because my back is killing me, and a private shit sounds better than a bubble bath right now.”

“Oookay…” Renee said sarcastically, high-fiving her brother-in-law with one hand and keeping the other on her large belly.

“I don’t have to poop,” Anastaysia chimed in, “but I do need to go for a run.  Sitting sedentary for hours, I’m sure four pounds went to my ass.” She had not been around her new family long, but they had already rubbed off on her.

After months in a brothel in Miami and months after that in rehab, Anastaysia’s previously uptight icy personality had melted into something akin to resilient acceptance.  She still loved the Lord, still read her Bible, but life’s trials had shown her what this world was capable of and what she was capable of living in it.  The women of this Medlov family had been her only reprieve.  They showed her a path back to happiness, and they never judged.  As a result, they had become her best friends.

“Who you trying to get your ass tight for, Princess PP?” Renee joked with her sister-in-law, Anastaysia.  “Oh, let me guess, Nadei.”  Renee glanced across the tarmac and saw him standing with his child in a front harness, looking like a million dollars in a pair of dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blonde spiked hair cut.  “He’s right over there watching your every move, but I doubt he’s thinking about how fat you look.”

Lilly couldn’t miss the chance.  “Oh, he’s thinking about how fat something looks with her in those skin-tight yoga pants sponsored by Camel.”

“Camel Ultra Lights,” Renee emphasized.

Anastaysia blushed and shoved Renee lightly. “Careful with that talk. You’ll get him in trouble with Ana.  I should have never told you.”

“Shit, we already knew,” Lilly joked, looking back at Anastaysia.  “It’s pretty obvious.  He can’t keep his eyes off you, and you’ve always got his baby.”

“They need just to have one of their own.  Keep the kids close together, so they have someone to play with,” Renee said with her lips twisted up.

Royal giggled, so glad to have her family with her.  They could make light of any situation, add levity to any dark moment, but mostly, they kept her grounded.  She was in one of the most trying times of her life, but somehow, they made her feel like it was going to be okay.

Royal looked over at Valeriya, expecting her to chime in, but she kept her eyes focused on the vehicle, not uttering a word as she clutched her daughter to her chest.  In step with Valeriya, the guard held the other baby with the same protection.

“Hey, you okay?” Royal asked her quietly.

Valeriya nodded yes, but it was furthest from the truth.  “Open spaces make me uncomfortable. I’ll feel better when we get our kids to the house.”  She glanced around the tarmac, pinpointing every possible place a sniper could be hiding.

Royal didn’t probe.  Everyone knew Valeriya was different from the other women.  True, they had all dabbled in trying to be a badass, but Valeriya was the real deal. She had fought in hand-to-hand combat with Russian soldiers and Nazi scum, and she had lost more than everyone else, including her mother, father, and big brother.  PTSD was just a part of her life now.  Paranoia came and went like headaches for most people.  In this heightened alert status, she could not help her.

“We’ll get you inside, ASAP,” Royal promised.

Royal wasn’t the only one who understood how fragile Valeriya was at that moment. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” Vasily promised, turning to her.  “I swear it on my life.”  And he meant it, regardless of her cynicism.

Valeriya remembered her brother, Andrei, saying the same words before he left her never to return.  She railed silently, a stream of air escaping her lungs as she tried to smile.  “Don’t ever swear on your life, Vasily.  It’s not wise,” she said softly.  “Your word will do good enough.”

Vasily, however, was not so sure.  “Well, you have my word, then,” he countered.

The other women in silence exchanged looks of concern.  Was the new mother going to be able to handle this?  Was she going to be able to handle not having Gabriel to support her? Only time would tell.

Embedded with the long procession of black-on-black Mercedes SUVs facing toward the plane was a strange man, who stepped out of one of the vehicles when a guard opened his door.   Even from across the tarmac, his presence was notable.

“Who is that?” Royal asked Vasily under her breath.  She could tell by his confident and authoritative stride toward them that the stranger was no one’s guard.  Having been around billionaires her entire adult life, she could smell the money radiating off him.  Diamond cufflinks, well-cut suit, immaculate grooming – this was a boss, just not one she had ever met.

“That is Simeon Kurdin.”  Vasily nodded, respectfully toward the man.  “They call him The Kurd.  He is the head of one of the families on the international council and the hand that moves the needle for everything in Siberia.”

That was all well and good, but Royal had a question more germane to their current situation.  “But Is he a friend?” Royal asked, straightening her spine.

Dmitry had never really spoken of the international council, although she knew that he had a seat at the table.  He had often told her it was better that she didn’t know too much, and after that, she never pushed the issue. Now, she wished that she knew just a little more if nothing else to know who was friend, or who was foe.

“Da, he is a friend,” Vasily confirmed, stopping to pass his son to Lilly as the stranger approached. “Dobroye utro.”  Offering his hand, Vasily greeted the silver fox good morning in Russian with a sudden seriousness that meant only one thing – he was of equal stature to Dmitry Medlov.

Simeon extended his large hand that was covered in intricate Russian prison tattoos and shook Vasily’s with a firm grip.  “Dobroye utro,” he said, voice deep and rich, shoulders extended.

“Glad to see you all arrive safely.”  Simeon offered, noticing how underdressed Vasily was.  Evidently, the family had to drop what they were doing in a hurry.  He had never seen the man so informal in all the years he had known him.

“Glad to make it here safely,” Vasily offered.

They passed a knowing look between the two – a mutual respect only gained through hard work in the Vory.  Simeon Gideon had received the call-to-action and had responded to a friend in need.  Vasily understood and appreciated that fact, even if it was lost on the rest of them.  On the other end, Simeon recognized that Vasily was holding together an entire family by himself as the world around him unraveled.

“What a situation we find ourselves in, eh?” Simeon joked.

“Sometimes…shit happens,” Vasily said with a grin on his face.  “We’ll get past this.  A few years from now, we’ll all be laughing about it.”

“I believe you’re right.”  Simeon cast a quick, assessing glance over the entire family, thoughts unreadable, and then trailed his gaze over to Royal.  His jade green eyes were unnerving in their vibrant color - rimmed in Sapphire blue that turned into jade green with specks of copper-gold that sparkled under black lashes and brows.  Watching her for a brief second, he read her quickly.

But so, did Royal.

Simeon was a tall man, though not as tall as Medlov, standing a firm six-feet, three-inches, and a muscular man based upon the bulge under his well-cut suit.  In his mid-to-late forties, his hair was silver and black, his face covered by a well-groomed beard and skin as white as snow.  Men like him didn’t come to receive anything less than an equal.  Without being certain, she knew her husband must have sent him.

Drawn to Royal’s beauty, Simeon refused to acknowledge anyone else until he had introduced himself.

“Mrs. Royal Medlov,” he said, walking over to her to offer his hand again.  “It is an honor to meet you.  My name is Semion Kurdin.  If I may say so, your beauty has been long discussed in our circles, but I must admit, the compliments did you no true justice.”  Slightly bowing his head as she slipped her hand in his, he lifted and kissed it.

“Spasibo,” Royal answered, intrigued by the man.  Her eyes never left his, refusing to give any sign of weakness or submissiveness.  “It’s nice to meet you as well.”  However, she was surprised that Dmitry had never mentioned him and wondered at that moment if she could trust his presence.  Could she trust anyone?

“Ladies,” Simeon said to the other wives, “and gentleman,” he finished with a nod towards Anil, stunned by the young man’s similarity in appearance to his father.   Casually running a hand over his black tie, he stepped to the side and lifted his hand.  “Welcome to my city. Irkutsk is a hidden gem full of rich culture, as I hope that you’ll see on your drive through it.  If you are hungry, please feel free to stop at my restaurant on the Riverfront and grab a bite to eat before your travels.  The staff has been alerted and is preparing for your arrival.  It’s the only restaurant right on the waterway with a breathtaking view of the Angara River.”  He paused on a proud side note, leaning into Royal as if he was telling her a big secret. “My chef is one of the best in the country – trained in France, stolen from a hound in Moscow.”

Royal raised a brow. His invitation for breakfast was not just a fleeting offer.  He had obviously put much thought into it. To turn him down would be a great dishonor.  This Simeon was quite a character, very sure of himself and colorful for it to be so early in the morning.  She doubted very seriously that he was always so polite.  Wolves were some of the most beautiful creatures that God had ever created, but also some of the most vicious.  Just like her husband, he had eyes designed to ensnare his prey, mesmerizing them with beauty before the attack.

Simeon continued, voice elevating slightly as if to express the more important points of his visit.  His smile dropped for a second.  “Also, some of my men will be escorting your family and staff to your husband’s estate.  I would do it myself normally, but I’m off to St. Petersburg for a very important meeting.”  He glanced over at Vasily again, certain he understood his meeting.  Then the smile reappeared as he turned back to Royal. “When I return, I will be sure to come by and formally pay you a visit.  But I wanted to take the time to welcome you and assure you that your safety and comfort are at the top of my list.  All of my resources are at your disposal, and one of my men, Daniil, will be staying with you to ensure that all of your needs are met while you are here in Siberia.  He is Russian, but very much like me, speaks flawless English, so he’ll understand you beautiful American ladies, and you will understand him.  He will arrive tomorrow, simply because he is running an errand for me today.”

Royal appreciated the gesture but was hesitant to accept it too quickly on more guards. She schooled her face and her response, realizing she was representing her entire family.  “We have brought over twenty guards with us, Mr. Kurdin.  Thank you, but I’m not sure that one more will be necessary. I would hate to take one of your best men from you when we have so many. On any given day, my husband cannot do without one of his…”

Simeon grinned, reading between her spoken words and the ones she dared not utter. He raised a corrective finger.  “First, please call me Simeon – we are friends.  Secondly, I do understand the sensitivity of your situation.”  He glanced at Anya, hoping to speak above her head in order not to scare the little czarina.  “You can trust Daniil, my dear.  He is one of my best. I would not offer any less to the Medlov family.  And as I said, this is my territory.  All of Serbia, every single inch.  So, if he is with you, you will not be in a position of need.  Local police know him.  Agents of the Russian Federation know him.  And of course, those who might otherwise be looking for trouble…”

“Know him,” Royal said, finishing his sentence with a grin on her face.

“My point is made,” Simeon said with a submissive nod.

Royal turned her lips up into a smile, deciding not to offend her new acquaintance.  If he truly was a friend of Dmitry’s, that would not be appropriate.  Instead, she warmed her tone and took back her previous words.  “Well, thank you again for being so kind to offer such a generous welcome.  We will accept the extra guard as he sounds most competent.”  She saw the approval on Simeon’s face.  “And breakfast with your fine chef sounds wonderful after such a long flight.  I can tell you it is needed.”

“Eto khorosho,” Simeon spoke in Russian, testing to see if she understood the language. “Tol'ko to, chto ya khochu uslyshat'.”

“It is good, and I’m glad that it’s what you want to hear because what I want most is the follow up on your promise to visit when you return from your meeting in St. Petersburg.” Her eyes narrowed on him.  “So that we may talk more.”

Clever girl, Simeon thought to himself.  Royal evidently was sharp, very sharp.  “As soon as I arrive back from St. Petersburg, I will come to you straight away.  My word is always my bond.”  Bowing again in the presence of a true queen, he ended the conversation.  “Now, if you all will excuse me, I must hurry off.”  As he walked away, a detail of heavily armed men in black suits followed him across the tarmac to his own private jet.

Royal watched Simeon for several seconds before she turned to Vasily.  Inhaling a frustrated breath, she spoke under her breath. “I want to hear everything you know about that man as soon as we are completely alone,” she said, resuming their walk over to the awaiting vehicles.  Her heels clicked against the ground.  “And what of this Daniil?  Do you know him?”

“I do,” Vasily answered, walking beside her.

“Is he…one of the best?” she asked.

Vasily smirked.  “No, in terms of what Daniil does, he is the best.”

“Well, what does he do?” Royal held back her first reaction to snap at Vasily for making her drag the information out of him, but her tone was still terse.

Arriving at the vehicle, he helped her get the boys and Anya inside while Lilly and Dylan were loaded in one of the other cars.  Standing closer to her to make sure no one else heard him, Vasily looked down into Royal’s eyes and shook his head.  Some questions just were not meant to be answered directly, but if she insisted...  “He’s a harvester, among other things.”

Royal’s eyes narrowed on Vasily’s mouth as he said the words.  She frowned, looking up at him as she connected the dots.  Another butcher.  “And I’m supposed to be comfortable with this man in my home with my children?”

Vasily’s brow rose.  “You were comfortable with me, and you won’t be there alone.  But Simeon is right. You need a guide.  This is not our territory.”

Royal’s mouth parted, but she couldn’t find the words.  “Point taken.”  Jumping in the back of the truck once her children were loaded, she put her hands in her lap and kept her eyes straight forward.

“No stops unless we all make them together,” Vasily told the guard before closing the door.

As he walked over to the vehicle waiting on him, he pondered how amazing it was that Royal didn’t know a lot about the men who guarded her.  None of them were angels, none better than the others, none less deadly.  It was an unfortunate fact that she would slowly come to find unless she accepted them for what they were – killers.

Looking across the tarmac one last time, he saw Simeon standing at the base of the stairs that let up to his plane.  He watched Vasily while speaking to someone on his cell phone; facial expression was much more serious than it was when he spoke with Royal.

Something wasn’t right.

Vasily nodded to him one last time before he pulled off his weapon slung over his back, slipped it on the floor of the vehicle, and jumped in the passenger seat.  Slamming the door shut, he waved his hand for the driver to proceed forward.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Lilly sat in the back with Dylan; arm draped protectively over his car seat. The radio drowned out the sound of the boy snoring lightly with his head buried into the side of his car seat.  Speaking just low enough not to wake him, Lilly immediately jumped to the defense of her friend while adjusting the vent to make sure too much air didn’t blow directly into her son’s face.

“What did you say to Royal?” she asked, accusation lacing her intrusive words.

I told her…what she wanted to know,” Vasily answered as the car pulled into the long procession of SUVs headed into the city.

She knew her husband well.  He was not talented with the gift of a smooth tongue.  Often, he came off much too aggressive, even when he tried to be thoughtful.  It was because of that; she had to remind him of what this situation was like for the women he was now responsible for guarding.  “I know you’re used to this kind of thing, but Royal is not in a good place right now. Be careful with how blunt you are, Vasily.  She’s been through a lot.  We all have, but she’s been through more.”

Vasily inhaled a deep breath.  He might as well lay the foundation now, so he didn’t have to go back and revisit it later.  “I know better than you do what she’s been through, and I know that it’s a lot to take in.  But even so, there is no place in this situation for fragility,” Vasily reminded, snapping his head back to look at her directly.

He turned all the way around in his seat to give her his full attention.  Her big brown eyes were burning through the side of his temple at first, but the look on his face made her break with her own soft reprimand.  The furrow of his jet-black brows and intensity in his stare told his true concern, veiled, very lightly with the little civility he could muster.  “Things are not going to get any easier.  In fact, they may get worse before it’s all over.  You all need to toughen your fragile sensibilities.  Your feelings are not the worst things that could get hurt now.  Your comfort level, while important, is not the most important thing for me – safety is.  Your lifestyles must be put on hold indefinitely – accept that.  This is not Memphis, and this is not a game.  We are fighting for our lives.”

Lilly pushed back in the seat and looked out of the window.  How much worse could it get?  She dared not ask.  It bothered her that Vasily might still know something he wasn’t sharing, but how could she get him to break with his first allegiance to Dmitry.  Sucking at her teeth, she clenched her jaw.

“Do you hear me talking to you?” Vasily asked sternly, refusing to blink as his nails dug into the middle console.   His tone sent a chill down his wife’s spine.  He could see it by the way she adjusted uncomfortably in her seat.

The driver kept his eyes on the road, and his mouth shut, but even he could feel the mood change instantly in the vehicle.  He glanced in his rearview mirror to check behind him but could not help glancing in the woman’s direction.  She looked defiant, lips pursed together, but the mist in her eyes told that he was bringing her to tears.

Lilly finally looked back at her husband. “Yes, I hear you,” she said, voice softer.

“Good,” Vasily said, finally dropping his head.  He knew he had hurt her feelings, but she needed the truth.  Turning back around, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a 1911 handgun with the serial numbers removed.  Sliding the magazine in forcefully, he racked the slide to cock it automatically.

“You loaded and ready?” he asked the driver, placing his gun in the door’s side compartment.

“Yes, boss,” the driver answered.

“If something should happen, protect my child and wife.  I’ll handle myself,” Vasily said, resting back in the seat and glancing out of the side view mirror.

“Yes, boss,” the driver answered again.

Lilly glanced at the back of her husband’s head and felt guilty for prying.  He had put her in her place.  It was not the first time during their marriage, of course, but it stung nonetheless.  He was right, though.  Things had reached a head for their family, and she needed to behave accordingly.  It was time to put on her big girl panties and get out of her feelings.

“I need a weapon,” she said, sitting up.  Clearing her throat, she wiped the small tear that threatened to fall down her cheek. “Just in case.”

Vasily turned around and saw the reddening of her cheeks, but he appreciated her effort.  It was always unspoken with them – the constant checks and balances of things, and he loved her for it.

The guard, without being asked, pulled one of the guns from under his seat as he kept his eye on the road and one hand on the steering wheel.  He passed it to Vasily for inspection.  When Vasily was certain it was ready to go, he turned to Lilly and passed the weapon to her.

“You remember how to use this, right?” he asked.

Lilly nodded. “Sure do. Point and pull the trigger.”  She slipped the weapon in her purse and pushed closer to her son.  “Let’s hope I don’t have to.”

The Witness Restaurant

Irkutsk Downtown District, Siberia

7:30 a.m.

Driving through the city had been another unexpected treat.  Irkutsk was breathtaking.  It had old world charm with colorful cabins, multi-colored roofs.

Situated on the top floors of a new skyscraper on the Angara River with panoramic windows that showcased a view of the waterway, the city below, and the morning sky, The Witness restaurant had proven already to be a gem in itself.  The restaurant was made up of finely upholstered booths of rich textures and vibrant colors accented with colorful velour pillows.  Cedar tables were dressed in crystal drinking glasses and white linen.  Long-stem white lilies and an array of colorful roses popped out of crystal vases at each table.  Mirrors against the back walls made the space light up with the vibrancy of the rising sun.  Large paintings rimmed in gold were embedded in the windows, and in the middle of the large space, a hand-carved bar with tall barstools sat invitingly with a bartender awaiting orders.

Had it not been during a crisis, the VIP treatment bestowed on the Medlov family would have been a mind-blowing experience.  But for now, it was simply appreciated.

Just as Simeons promised, he had pulled out all the stops for the family, serving them a five-course meal created by his world-renown chef, served by waiters in white shirts, black slacks, and guns in holsters, and while ensuring colorful balloons, small gifts and miniature cakes were presented to the children.

Vasily appreciated that the glass was functional as well as beautiful because of its bullet resistance.  Plus, the elevated positioning ensured that a sniper or gang of thugs didn’t get the drop on them as they could have with a restaurant on the lower floor.

The manager of the restaurant had assured both Vasily and Nadei that their membership was exclusive, hence, the armed waiters. The family was safer there than almost any other place in the city except the government building.

Royal particularly appreciated all the flare for all the kids.  After their strenuous journey, they needed a break – something to pull their minds from the deep crevasses of danger.  Seeing their smiles, even briefly, made her lower her guard just enough to enjoy her own food, although it still was without true taste as she dwelled on her husband’s disposition.  She would be numb to everything until she saw his Dmitry’s face again, but there was no need to share that with anyone.

In a separate room encased on all sides by reinforced, gleaming glass, the women congregated alone at the chef’s table, a black circular monstrosity of a sofa in front of a customized quartz-topped table with sparkles of diamonds.  They had been brought a feast fit for kings along with a few alcoholic beverages while Vasily, Nadei, and Anil spoke privately toward the front of the restaurant where the children played and watched Disney on the flat-screen televisions.

“What did Vasily say to you when you were alone?” Royal asked Lilly, plucking a chocolate-covered strawberry from her china plate.  Though she wasn’t sure he had said anything, she doubted that he had remained quiet the entire ride.

Lilly shook her head and looked toward Vasily through the glass to make sure he wasn’t approaching.  “He told me basically to man up.”

Renee grinned sheepishly.  “Sounds like him.  They’re all covering for each other.”

“You know they are going to keep us in the dark unless we push,” Valeriya said, wishing she had a phone to call Gabriel.  But there was no point. Even if she had a phone, who would she call?  The previous numbers had been abruptly canceled even before they left Memphis.

“What do you suggest?” Royal asked, willing to hear all good ideas.

“The men can’t stay away forever.  When they arrive, we need to hold a meeting, layout our position, insist upon being an integral part of any planning or implementation of this code-red-thing.”  Valeriya glanced over at Royal.  “It’s the only way we can be truly comfortable.”

Lilly smirked. “Vasily said our comfort level was not top of the list anymore. He basically covered all of our feelings on the matter with a blanket statement of shit is getting real, so adjust accordingly.”

“It’s because they don’t truly believe that we can step up.  We have to show them,” Valeriya countered.  “Up until now, I’ve been consumed with the what-ifs of it all.  But I realize we have to take charge in order to shape the narrative of how things are going to play out – at least on our end.”

Royal agreed. “You’re right.  They think we are made of glass right now.  Maybe we have been.  But when we get to wherever we are going, and we need to regroup.  Set up our own plan and wait for our husbands to arrive.  When they get to us, we sit down and insist on knowing everything.”

“What if they say no?” Anastaysia asked, thinking of her bull-headed brother, Anatoly.

“We don’t give them an option,” Renee said as the baby pushed a foot into her navel.  “Scratch that. You guys don’t give them an option.  I’m going to focus on this baby.”

Royal smiled at Renee. “Good idea.”  She pushed her food away from her.  “The point is that we need to prepare, just like them.  No more sitting on the sidelines.”

Nadei glanced over his shoulder at the chef’s table and made eye contact with Anastaysia.  Since being uprooted from the house in Memphis, he hadn’t been able to say two words to her, and it was killing him.  He worried for her that she was afraid and worse that he couldn’t be there for her, but he had a job to do now to keep them all safe.

“So, Simeon is in play,” Vasily said, licking his lips as he kept his voice low.  “Which means we are preparing for war, even if nobody is saying it.”

Anil bit on his fingernails, a bad habit recently acquired since coming into the Medlov family.  “And who is this Simeon again.”

“A big boss like your father,” Nadei answered, turning away from Anastaysia.  He yawned, body trembling as he covered his mouth.  “He and Dmitry go way back, but they don’t normally cross paths. Most bosses don’t until a meeting of the international council.”

“If he’s rearing his head, it’s worse than we thought.  It also means that Dmitry made contact with him.  So, at least he’s alright.  Simeon made sure to tell us he was headed to St. Petersburg for a meeting.  That must be where the council is convening to discuss the attack.”  Vasily motioned for Dylan to stay over at the table with the other kids instead of interrupting as he was about to do, then resumed his conversation.  “Once we get to the mountains, we can expect a large group.  Simeon didn’t say it, but I doubt he’s sending Daniil alone.”

“Daniil,” Nadei bucked his eyes.  “That fucker is crazy.” He had a hundred stories over the years working with the guy and knew that his name wasn’t even uttered unless things had reached a fever pitch.

“Yeah, I know.” Vasily looked at his watch to check the time.  “But we’ll need him.  We can expect a package if he’s also coming.  More reinforcements and a hell of a lot more guns.”

“Alright, so where do I fit in?” Anil asked, ready to take a more active role. “I don’t mean any harm, but I don’t want to sit around like one of the kids.  I can handle myself.”  His blue eyes gleamed with the promise, hoping the men didn’t see him as a liability instead of an asset.

“We know you can handle yourself,” Vasily assured. “But we don’t need you to handle a gun.  We’ve got plenty of men for that.  If Simeon is here, it means that our stay will be longer than we first thought.  So…” he raised his brows at Anil, “I hope you know how to deliver a baby.”

“A baby?” Anil bit his bottom lip.  “The doctor thing is not going to happen, is it?”

“I doubt a doctor and staff will stay for over a month, secluded from everyone and unwilling to disconnect from the outside world with a bunch of killers preparing to either wage an attack or defend against one.” Nadei hit Anil on the back.  “You’re it, man.  Now’s your time to shine.  We know killing, but you know life.”

“I shouldn’t have opened my fucking mouth,” Anil said, turning around to look at Renee.  What in the hell had he gotten himself into? She was going to kill him.

Vasily laughed at the young man’s response. “You want in; you got it. Just keep your mouth shut. Don’t let on until Renee demands to know why the OB/GYN is a 22-year old pre-med student.  By then, hopefully, Anatoly will be back and can handle the fallout.  Until then, study hard, little doctor.  Brush up on breathing techniques and shit.”

“I don’t want to see it,” Anil said, cringing at the thought of Renee’s vagina.  “Anatoly might kill me.”

Nadei laughed now. “Well, you want to be a doctor. You were going to see one eventually.”

“I’ve seen vaginas before; it’s just different when…” Anil was lost for words.  “It’s your sister-in-law.” He frowned and shook his head.  “What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t.  People help give birth every day.  It can’t be that hard,” Vasily said to Anil, motioning toward the guards to get into position.  “Let’s wrap this up.  We need to get on the road again.  There is still a very long drive ahead.”

“I thought we were close,” Anil protested.

“Nowhere near it,” Vasily said apologetically.

Lake Baikal

Southern Siberia, Russia

1:00 a.m. the next day

After a nearly 17-hour drive from Irkutsk through the winding roads, thick, lush forests, and mountain trails of the Baikal, the family finally arrived a few miles from the city of Kichera at a large gate off the side of the road.  The gate connected a long stone wall that spanned as far as the eye could see, guarding another road inside that was recently paved with black asphalt.  A man in a wooden shack stepped out with his AK-47 and opened the gate quickly, then waved the group in as several guards at the end of the convoy stepped out to help with guarding the post.

As soon as the gate opened, the convoy pushed ahead down the long, empty road until the gate and wall disappeared behind them.  Speeding now, they moved up a winding hidden road that led up the side of a mountain and ended at another even larger gate that was opened for them.  As they pulled into the circular drive, illuminated by bright lights that covered the property, they laid eyes a modern resort-style cluster of upscale cabins and buildings.

The vehicles pulled up in front of the house and parked, idling down as additional guards jumped out and secured the perimeter.

“Please, God, tell me we are finally here!” Renee said as Alexandria complained of having to pee again.  Renee pressed her head toward the window, hand on the doorknob, anxious to get out.  If she didn’t get in another car for a month, she’d be happy.

But she wasn’t the only one ready for the long journey to end.  Everyone looked out at the massive estate inside of a towering stone wall, keeping the world and all the wildlife who lived in the mountains out of view.

Doors opening and closing echoed through the otherwise quiet property. Crickets chirped in the background as well as the sounds of owls calling out in the trees. Kids cheered to be free.  Parents stretched their backs.  Guards went to work.

“No wonder Dmitry never brought me here,” Royal said, massaging her lower back as she stood outside of the SUV.  She looked up at the main cabin, a mansion of epic proportions, painted dark blue with white shutters and a red roof.

“Why is that?” Renee asked, coming to stand beside her friend.

“Because I would have never come,” Royal said, seeing a graying muscular man in a white button-down, slacks, and a holster with guns step out on the wrap-around porch.  She narrowed her gaze.  “Stepan?”

Stepan waved at her as Anya broke out in a run to give their old butler a hug.

Royal was lost for words.  Walking quickly to the base of the stairs where Stepan came to greet her, she wrapped her arms around him.  “What are you doing here?  I thought you retired.”

“Da, I did,” the older Vor said.  “Here.  Dmitry asked me to keep an eye on the place.  I live here now.”  He looked down at Anya. “It was a security measure, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Anya asked nosily.

“Just in case you ever needed me,” Stepan said, guiding his Medlov women inside.  “Let me give you a tour and get you situated.”

Royal knew what that meant.  This code red had been not only planned for some time but designed with his family’s needs in mind.  Stepan was also a measure to ease if no one else, Anya.

The estate was beautiful and named lovingly for Royal, but never revealed to her until now.  As Stepan showed her around, he explained a little more - this was the last stronghold for Dmitry in case of an all-out war with someone who had just as much power or more than he.

This estate had belonged to Dmitry’s father and was transferred to Dmitry upon his untimely death.  Royal knew the story behind that, as well.  Dmitry’s father had owned a great deal of property and businesses, but Dmitry had taken control over it all when he had him killed.

Being so far removed from his portfolio, and because of the estranged relationship he had with his father, Dmitry had never mentioned it, meaning no one would ever know about it.

Safety first.

When the tour was done, Royal stood in the master bedroom suite and looked out of the windows at the view of the mountains, wondering one thing.

“Where are you, Dmitry?” she said aloud, wiping her tears.

Chapter 15

St. Petersburg, Russia

Admiralteysky District

Four Seasons Hotel

Two Days after the Shooting

H e was the last to arrive of all the families – fashionably and intentionally late.  As the convoy of bullet-proof cars pulled up to the front entrance of the Four Season’s Lion’s Palace, guards quickly jumped out and took their positions, standing on the opposite side of their vehicles toward the traffic with their machine guns drawn, while a sluggish Dmitry Medlov slowly stepped out of his vehicle and looked up at the grand hotel.

The last time he had been here, it was still a 19th century imperial palace open for museum visits, but now it was a luxury hotel - pimped out to the highest bidders for afternoon tea, spa treatments, and special events.  Pity, if he had known the place was for sale, he would have bought it years ago.

Popping another handful of pain pills into his mouth, Dmitry straightened his suit jacket and proceeded up the stairs past the historic two marble lions guarding the yellow portico and Russian flags flapping in the wind into the hotel for an emergency meeting of the international council.

It had been an excruciating trip over from the states, after being smuggled out of Memphis in the back of an 18-wheeler and borrowing a second-amendment, Republican, gun aficionado friend’s jet in Arkansas.  Upon entering international airspace, he had finally spoken with a few of the council members and gotten details on the meeting and managed to call Simeon Kurdin to have someone receive his wife and family in Siberia.

Regarding the emergency meeting with the council, they were told because of the heightened tumultuous relationship between the United States and Russia after the Helsinki debacle, to maintain a low profile upon entering St. Petersburg, and under no circumstances travel with a large armed entourage to the hotel where American diplomats were staying for the week.

But Dmitry had not adhered to the advice.  Fuck the diplomats and fuck the low profile.  After all, they were not the ones who had been gunned down a few days before in a parking lot, he was.  So, not only did he bring an entourage with him, he brought an arm for all to see.

Dressed to the nines in a ten-thousand-dollar suit and wearing his customized guns under his jacket in their holsters, he breezed into the richly-decorated lobby perfumed by the hundreds of flowers and steeped in elegance, flanked by his son and nephew along with Boris and Marat, drawing the eye of every onlooker within view.

Their sinister appearance, combined with the sheer number of suited gangsters behind them, stunned most of the guests into silence.  Some were smart enough to leave; others were smart enough to stay out of the way.

“This is a nice fucking place, eh?” Boris said to Marat under his breath as he cast a quick glance up at the ornate ceilings.

“You can visit on your holiday, you fucking moron,” Marat admonished his friend under his breath.  “For now, pay attention.”

With a harp playing in the corner, the sound of kitty heels clacking against the shiny marble floors was almost comical.

“Izvinite. Izvinite.  Excuse me.  EXCUSE ME!” a dainty, bell of voice said through the crowd, shoving her way forcefully through.

A young black-haired female assigned to handle hotel VIPs darted across the lobby to receive Dmitry, circumventing the need to check in with the concierge or scare more guests.  With a black leather binder clutched to her chest, she moved in between the tall marble pillars trimmed in gold, and the table of multi-colored hydrangeas to stand in front of Dmitry.

“Welcome to the Four Seasons.  My name is…Natasha,” she stuttered, eyes widening at his enormous size.  Good God!  She swallowed down her nervousness and forced herself to maintain a level of professionalism. “We have arranged several suites for your party, Mr. Medlov, though I’m not sure now if they were enough.” She fidgeted with a wild strand of her hair in her face.  “If you’d like to go there and put away your things before the meeting…” And stop scaring the guests with your guns, she thought to herself.

Dmitry raised a large hand, silencing the screeching sound of the girl’s voice. It seemed to elevate an active with each second that passed.  “We won’t be staying in your hotel tonight, Natasha,” Dmitry said, pulling off his shades.  His ice-blue eyes landed on her, cutting through the pleasantries and further paralyzing the surprised employee.  “Where is the meeting to be held, young lady?  I would not like to be late.”

“Net, of course not, sir.”  Taking a step back, she motioned toward the granite staircase leading up to the first floor.  “Right this way, sir.”  She glanced behind him, seeing more security flood the common area.  How many guards did he have?  She blinked fast and looked back toward the manager standing cowardly in the corner, but the man refused to approach.

“Is there a fucking problem?” Anatoly asked, snapping his fingers to get her attention.  Was she deaf or just dumb?

What he did not realize that while he was used to his father’s size and overpowering presence, not everyone had seen a giant mobster up close before.

“No, no.” She answered Anatoly quickly, pausing at his brooding handsomeness and his similarly brilliant eyes.  “No problem.”

Trying to ignore the beautiful Gabriel’s pensive stare under mossy green eyes or the violent accessories that completed his mafia-clad ensemble, she turned her back to him completely.  Who were these people?  Where did they come from?  “Will your entire party be attending the meeting?” she asked Dmitry.

“All of us?” He looked behind him at the 15 guards and then turned with a grin on his face.  Without a doubt, he had definitely brought the most men. “Yes.  All of us will be attending.”

“Very well,” the young woman tried to smile.

“Would you like their names?” Dmitry asked with a smirk, toying with the woman.

“That won’t be necessary,” the girl laughed nervously.  She didn’t want their names or to know anything more about any of them.  This was just a job to pay for college.

Gabriel scanned the room, smirking at an older woman with a small dog in her embrace who scooted across the lobby when she saw the guns in his holster.  Unlike everyone else, he didn’t bother with a jacket to conceal his weapons, fearing the extra layer of clothing might get in the way if they should find themselves in a gunfight.

“Lead the way, then,” Dmitry urged the young woman.

The woman halted at the elaborate wooden double doors of the board room where the council was meeting, refusing to go a step further.  She had been told explicitly by the manager not to go into that room under any circumstance, and now, she knew why.

Mobsters, all of them, she thought to herself, heart racing in fear.

A few guards protecting other families lounged in the hallway that had been blocked off from everyone else with a red velvet rope looked toward Dmitry but did not make contact with him or his small army who stood in a line that started on one side of the hall and ended at the other.  With their weapons out, their faces forward, their suits immaculate, they made the other men who were not guarding Dmitry look shabby.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha looked up at Dmitry and waited for any further instructions.

“They are in there, sir.”  Her voice trembled.  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”  Inwardly, she prayed he would give her leave, so she could run back downstairs and gossip with her coworkers.

“No.  You may go,” Dmitry answered.

As the girl ran off, literally, Anatoly prepared for battle.  “You need to be ready for anything when you open those doors,” he said to his father.  “You know Popov is in there, waiting for you.  But the only edge we have over him is that he doesn’t know that we know it’s him.”

“That’s not the only edge I have over him,” Dmitry said, thinking of Zoya.  “Besides, he won’t deny putting the hit on me here.  He can’t.”

“Why don’t we just walk in there and shoot him?” Gabriel asked, annoyed with the pageantry that came with the higher-ups in the organization.

Anatoly grunted.  “Because they would kill our family.  During a meeting convened by the council, no blood is allowed to be spilled in the host city, or the entire family is automatically killed. Women, children, grandparents, dogs…everyone.”

Gabriel sniffed derisively, not surprised that there was yet another loophole to jump through to get what he wanted.

“Let’s go inside and have a talk, shall we.”  Dmitry grabbed the brass knobs and swung the doors open forcefully, finding the room occupied by the entire council as they sat casually talking and eating from the large spread brought up earlier by the wait staff.

One woman was present, the granddaughter of one of the elders on the council who was charged with serving the men for the duration of the meeting.  She glanced up at Dmitry as he entered, her blonde tendrils braided in two plats that were pinned to her head.  In a blue pants suit and soft pink top, she smiled at him and went to prepare a tray of beverages for the last person on the agenda before the meeting could formally begin.

“Ahh, Dmitry Medlov,” the oldest man Andros Stepanov said, tucking a hand to his tie as he started to stand. As he did, the other men followed suit.

“Please, don’t get up,” Dmitry said respectfully, motioning for the other members to take their seats.

“It’s good to see you,” Andros said, sitting back down.  The balding man gave a sincere smile after a sweeping look over his young protégé.  “And good to see you looking well after your debacle.”

When the guards closed the door behind them, Dmitry took a seat at the circular wooden table situated in the middle of the room under a large crystal chandelier with Simeon Kurdin to the left of him and Maksim Gruzinsky to his right- both were long-time friends who had already been briefed by Dmitry on the situation.

“Well, you can’t keep a good man down.” Dmitry winked at Erik Popov.

“As it seems,” Andros said, hand shaking as he picked up his coffee cup. “Let’s call this meeting to order.”  With his word, the guards took their places to ensure there would be no further interruption.

“Lock it down,” the head guard said over his earpiece as he stood at the doors with his automatic weapon out.

Gabriel and Anatoly already knew the deal.  Only members sat at the table; everyone else stood around the walls or took a seat in the corner like the peons they were.

Sticking together, they chose to stand against the wall with the other adjuncts directly behind Dmitry, but they eyed Erik Popov the entire time.

If anything popped off, he’d be the first person they killed.

Anatoly sucked his teeth and stared the man directly in the eyes, crossing his arms across his chest and heaving a sigh; while Gabriel propped his boot firmly against the wall and slipped his hands in his pants pockets.

Casually, Erik rolled his eyes at their posturing and went back to sampling the caviar.

“For you sir,” the young girl said, placing the tray with a glass of water, a glass of juice, a cup of tea, a cup of coffee and sugar and cream packets in front of Dmitry. “Would you like for me to prepare you a plate?” she asked, head down subserviently.

She motioned toward the center of the table, adorned with a large flower arrangement and littered with silver and porcelain trays for a fine Russian caviar degustation, blinis, an assortment of cheeses, Zakuski, bowls of bread, several bottles of top-shelf vodka, Olivier salad, beef tongue, smoked salmon bites topped with Philly cheese and capers, salted herring and a thousand other foods for the men to enjoy.

“Thank you,” Dmitry said graciously, pulling off his jacket as his stomach growled. “The food won’t be necessary.”

Anatoly went to his father and helped him, knowing the pain from the gunshots were nearly unbearable.  Draping the jacket over his arm, he kept his eyes on Erik as he moved to the background quietly.

“Are you sure?” Andros asked. “After your travels, you must be famished.” It was not a suggestion but more of a directive.  His granddaughter had slaved over the menu for hours, trying to decide on the best selection.  He didn’t want all her hard work to go unappreciated.

Dmitry understood the old man’s meaning.  “Just a light portion then. Thank you,” he said to the girl.  He smiled toward the old man willing to give in a little to keep from offending him. The long dimple in his face showed as he gave a smile.  “I have to admit, I am extremely hungry after the flight, but I didn’t want to prolong things any more than I already had.”

Andros smiled and shook his head.  In a calm voice, he glanced around the table.  “Nonsense.  We insist.  Put something on your stomach.”

The girl quickly made Dmitry a hefty plate and placed it in front of him with a caviar spoon and other flatware, then disappeared into the corner where a chair sat behind a large brooding guard.

Andros got right to the heart of the meeting without any further pleasantries.  “All the members are here.  Thank you for allowing us to intrude on your business and vacations for this specially called meeting.” He put his coffee cup in front of him and placed his liver-spotted hand on the smooth table.

The men sat, backs erectly pushed against their leather chairs, watching Dmitry carefully, trying to find just one weakness in the wounded predator.  But Dmitry showed no pain.  Wiping his face with a handkerchief before his perspiration could become evident, he masked his pain with the promise of devouring Erik Popov by the end.

He had already deciphered how the meeting would go.  With ten members, Erik Popov and himself included, there were two members who were on the council much too old to get into the politics of internal squabbling – Andros Stepanov and his best friend Geni Belyakov who sat beside each other at the table now.

Both were old sodded men, well in their late seventies, and more resigned to the perpetuity of the organization than the protection of all its current members.  Still, in their late age, they also knew every rule front to back and sought to enforce them at all costs.

Dmitry’s closest allies were Simeon Kurdin, Maksim Gruzinsky, and Pushka Kovalenko.  All of them had served at some point at Vladimir Central and had practiced the fine art of murder for hire under Alexander Popov.  Deemed the wretches of the group because of their less than stellar starts in the Vory, each man had built his empire on his own sweat and guile instead of it being passed down to them by their fathers.

While Erik Popov congregated with the three members, who had not served hard time in the gulags – Oleg Rabinovich, Lev Yakushev, and Renat Sherkov, minus Erik, they were alright guys, but all four of them were legacies who had never lifted anything heavier than their own dicks for the entirety of their lives.  Their fathers sat on the council as would their sons; as a result, their understanding of what was at stake, at times, was slightly skewed.

“The reason we are holding this meeting instead of Dmitry, who has been chosen by the council to serve as the head of the international council for the next two years, is because he is at the center of the discussion,” Andros explained.  “There was an assassination attempt on his life two days ago in Memphis, TN. It was very well orchestrated with the killing of one of his son’s mothers to even cause him to be at the location, the subsequent danger of his entire family, and the infiltration of spies.”

Erik Popov released a heavy sigh.  If they knew that much, then they knew who did it.  Fuck it.  He planted his arms on the table and looked across the table at Dmitry.

“However,” Andros continued, “the assassin was less than competent.”  He raised his hand to emphasize.  “Thank God for it.  However, we now must come to the full understanding of this matter and reach a consensus.”

Erik sucked on his teeth and laced his fingers together.  Tattoos showed on his hands with his white sleeves rolled up to the forearms.   “Enough,” he said sternly, interrupting Andros. He raised a brow at Dmitry.  “I had the hit put on him.”

The room immediately exploded in low rumbles.  Sitting back in his chair, Erik waited to see if Dmitry would lose his cool, but he was sorely disappointed.

“Tell us something we don’t already know,” Dmitry said, voice calm.

“Something that we don’t know?” Erik asked incredulously, making a gesture around the room.  Huge beads of sweat formed on his forehead.  “Why don’t you tell them why I tried to have you killed,” Erik snapped.  Before Dmitry could answer, he stood up and pointed toward his enemy.  “Because he had my brother killed over a financial dispute.  Didn’t you, you rat fuck?”  Spittle flew from his mouth as he clenched the end of the table. “Alexei is dead because of you and your greed!”

Again, the rumble exploded, but Dmitry remained in his chair.

“Sit down, Erik,” Andros directed, determined to get control of the group.

“Fine,” Erik said, tugging at his black vest as he plopped down in the seat.  “Never mind his transgressions, just keep it down.  Is that right?” he seethed at Andros.

Andros raised a hand to quiet the room.  “Is this true, Dmitry?”  Shock prevented the old man from saying more.  He could not, nor would not believe Dmitry capable of such an egregious act toward someone on their sacred council.

“Partly,” Dmitry answered.  His left eye twitched.  He turned to the old men to give them an explanation.  “I had no choice but to kill Alexei, but it was not over money – not really.”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Erik said, interrupting as he tried to sway the room.  “You have more money than anyone else on this council, especially more than the Popov family.  So, how did money become a reason to kill your own brat?”

Dmitry licked his lips.  “Alexei knew that one of his subordinates was holding my son’s sister hostage.  Instead of offering her to me as a kindness, he told his lackey to charge me $50 million for her.  This man, Ryan Colt, had turned her from a quiet little mouse where he found her in a church in Kopotnya to a whore in Miami where he was allowing abominable things to happen to her.  Even after he found out who she was to me, he would…cooperate.”

Anatoly bristled at the brutal memory, turning crimson red in the face but refusing to speak.  His breaths heaved in his chest to the point where Gabriel had to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

“So,” Dmitry continued, tapping his fingers on the table, “after I had to go to Miami to get her myself with my son and others to kill this Ryan Colt, I knew that Alexei will not admit to his wrongdoing, but instead go after my family, my boys and my livelihood.  I just made the first move.  After all, I did not get where I am in this life, sitting on the sidelines waiting for shit to happen,” he said, motioning toward Gabriel and Anatoly.  “While he was in China doing a drug deal, I had him killed. It was that or allow him to kill one of mine or me.  He had already broken one code.  What was to prevent him from breaking another.”

Pushka sat up in his chair and eyed Erik Popov.  “Let’s not forget, drugs in China mainland are mine – as divided by this fucking council. If Alexei was there, he was encroaching on my territory.  I pay a fucking arm and a leg each year for exclusive distribution.”  Anger started to boil in the middle-aged man.  “How long have you been making money over there under my nose, brat?  For that matter, who else are you infringing upon?”

Erik shook his head, anxious to stop the interrogation in its tracks. “Wait.  Wait.”  He looked around the table at the men; face creased into a frown as he swallowed hard.  “To my knowledge, we have never done business in China.  Our business is with cars and credit cards in London, along with our joint businesses in Russia and Kyrgyzstan; you know that already,” he lied convincingly.

However, No one was convinced.  It was known that Alexander Popov was against drugs and did not want the family involved in the business, but it was also known that Alexei and Erik were eager to move away from his father’s old-world philosophy and were not truly hurt by his passing recently.

“We are at an impasse, it seems,” Geni Belyakov finally spoke up, tired of the argument.  Years of experience had taught him this was not going anywhere.  His voice croaked as he handed down his verdict.  “There are several major offenses here.  Alexei Popov was never to cross another member of the council in such a way, especially when it comes to family and money. It is forbidden.  Dmitry Medlov was never to kill a member of the council. It is forbidden.  Erik Popov was never to try to assassinate a member of the council. It is forbidden.”

“What isn’t fucking forbidden with you people?” Erik snapped.  His father might have bowed down to these old, archaic beliefs, but he did not.

“Do not disrespect the council,” Dmitry growled to Erik.  “Your issue is with me.  If you continue, your issue will be with all of us.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen my issue,” Erik promised, turning back to Dmitry.  “If you think you were worried about my brother, you should really be shitting in your pants over what I’m going to do to you, to your fucking sons behind you, to that black bitch of a wife of yours and those half-breed brats.”

Dmitry smiled, the hate gleaming from his pores.  Clenching his square jaw, he kept his voice event.  “Call the council to a vote, Andros,” he said, pearly white teeth showing.  “Because the Medlov family officially declares war on the Popov family as of now.”

“And the Popov family accepts,” Erik answered, ready to escalate things immediately.

The room went silent.  Some were very aware of Dmitry’s skill at war and his ability to strategized, but others would need teaching.  Andros and Geni, however, were not in the dark on their young friend.  This feud would be an epic bloodbath that they wanted no part of.

Andros called the vote, but before that, he made his position and the rules clear.  “There will be no blood spilled in my precious city of St. Petersburg.  The consequence of such action will be death for the entire family who transgresses.  As for myself, I recuse my family of the war.  We shall take no place in it.”

“Neither will the Belyakov family,” Geni agreed.

“That leaves us with eight out of the ten families who have not taken a position.  Who else will recuse themselves from the war between Erik Popov and Dmitry Medlov, unable to join either side with resources of any sort until its end?” Andros asked, looking around.

Maksim Gruzinsky raised his hand first.  “I want no part in this from this day until this war ends.  My family has too many irons in the fire,” he said apologetically to Dmitry, whom he regarded with much respect.  “And we have too much loyalty to Alexander Popov; God rest his soul.”  He would not comment on his feelings toward his wayward sons.

Surprisingly, Lev Yakushev, one of Erik’s truest friends, raised his hands as well. “I concur.  This is not something that my family wishes to engage in.  I’m sorry, Erik.”

Erik snarled at him. “Coward.  You hate the Medlov family as much as I do.”

Lev shook his head.  “Not as much,” he said honestly, turning his gaze toward Dmitry. “I admit, his presence on this council at times has been a burden, but I do not wish to war with him, not over your dead brother.”

Andros continued before they got too down in the weeds.  “That is six men total who have stated their sides or neutrality. Who will stand by Erik Popov?”

Both Oleg Rabinovich and Renat Sherkov raised their hands for Erik for everyone to see.  Silently, they landed their deadly gazes on Dmitry.

“That is two families with Erik Popov.” Andros nodded toward the secretary.  “Who will stand by Dmitry Medlov?”

Both Simeon Kurdin and Pushka Kovalenko raised their hands, giving Erik and his allies the same deathly scowl. “We are with our brother, Dmitry,” Simeon said with a smirk.  All the heated rhetoric was lost on him.  He was a man of action.

“That makes ten, if I can count,” Erik said sarcastically.  He batted his eyes dramatically at Dmitry.

“Then, it is settled.  The council will not convene again with these parties who are active until the war is settled.  As in prison rules, the first man to die loses.” That was a direct snub at Erik Popov.

Andros moved through the next part quickly, almost irritated by the situation.  He signed a document placed in front of him by the secretary.  Scribbling his name, he didn’t bother to look across the table at the men.  “Each party who had agreed to neutrality can have no further contact upon leaving St. Petersburg with the warring families or thereby forfeits their seat and their property.  And both the Popov and Medlov families must turn over the rights to all their illegal territories as per our charter until the war ends before the end of the business day.  The man who dies, or both men, if that be the case, will forfeit all properties upon his death to the council and lose his seat for his family at the table.  The man who wins will retain his assets and a share of the loser’s assets.  All agreed, say Aye; all opposed say, Nay.”

The entire council agreed.  “Aye.”

“The Ayes have it.”  Andros stood from the table, leaving his plate of food to be thrown away.  He turned to one of his aides in the corner of the room.  “Bring the uneaten food up to my suite.”  As a man who came from the gutter of Moscow, he had always shied away from wasting food, even though he was now a multi-billionaire.

“Yes, sir,” the aid said, walking up to the table to whisper a message to his boss.

Andros leaned over to listen, then nodded.  “I’ll be there in just a minute,” he said as the chatter started to rise.  “Gentlemen,” he said, raising his voice slightly. “Please leave the city within 12 hours unless you have voted neutral.  God bless you and may he keep one of you.” Leaving the younger men to their business, both Andros and Geni excused themselves with their guards in tow without any further pleasantries.

But Dmitry stayed behind.  He had one final thing to say to Erik Popov before departing, and it was not meant to be heard by the old men.

Standing slowly from his chair, Dmitry leaned over the table toward Erik as the others exited.  Slowly blinking, the vein in the middle of his head thudded with blood like an angry river.

He refused to scream at Erik, to raise his voice and show his true emotion.  Instead, he gave the man some pearls of wisdom.

“You dare threaten my family in my face and think your pathetic grand posturing is going to save you.  You think these little boys who voted to stay with you are going to save you?  A hundred to one, they cut and run before we really get to the real war.”  His face tightened around his words.  “I’m going to rip your fucking soul out your asshole, Erik, and then I’m going to shove it down these two suka’s throats who foolishly stand beside you.   On my soul, to God, you will regret the day you ever crossed my path.  When I’m done, there will be no traces of a Popov anywhere, ever again.”

Erik grinned.  “I don’t think so, my friend.  I’m not my brother.  Hiding my hand after throwing a rock is my style.  You should be worried about your own family.”

Anatoly approached Dmitry to help his father with his coat, but Dmitry snatched away and pointed across the table man at the room, nearly touching him.  “I’m not going to throw a rock at you, my friend. I’m going to throw the whole fucking world.”

Gabriel approached the table to pull Dmitry back, but he snatched away from him as well with laser sights on Erik’s throat, thinking of that moment at biting a piece of his jugular out.  “Do you hear me?” Dmitry asked, hitting the table with such force it knocked the vase in the middle, and the glasses around it to the floor.  Like an earthquake, the room rattled, and Erik instinctively jumped back.

Dmitry’s nostril’s flared, eyes beaming with enough heat to singe.  “I’m going to fuck you up!” he screamed, standing up straight.

“We’ll see,” Erik taunted as he got his wits about him again.  “But if I were you, I would watch my back every step to the airport.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t even go back to London,” Dmitry snarled.

The smug grin on Erik’s face quickly dropped.  How did that son of a bitch know he had been in London?

Putting a hand on Dmitry’s shoulder, Gabriel pulled his uncle’s attention from his adversary.  “Not here,” he said, ignoring Erik. “This bitch is just full of talk.  He wants to get you wound up, so you do something stupid.”

“Da, da, papa,” Anatoly said, fighting the urge to come across the table as well.  “We go now.  We’ll see him later.”

Dmitry looked down and saw that his wound was leaking as he walked out of the door.  Slipping on his jacket, he advanced toward the elevator with some men following and some taking the emergency stairwell.

Simeon stood holding the elevator door open for him.   As Dmitry, Gabriel, and Anatoly stepped inside, he let go of the button and straightened his jacket.  “You almost let him get under your skin, eh?”

“No, I let the others see how scary he is.  He jumped because he’s a bitch, scared of doing his own dirty work,” Dmitry said, eyes straight forward.  “A man can’t hold a line if he can’t even hold his composure.”

“And you wanted to kill him,” Simeon jibbed.

“Very much,” Dmitry nodded with a grin on his face.  “I thought about it, but it wasn’t worth it, yet.”

“Well, let’s get you back to your family, so we can plan adequately.”  Simeon looked at his watch.  “I promised your wife that I would visit as soon as I returned.  I would hate to disappoint her.”

Dmitry looked down at Simeon.  “How did she look?  Was she…okay?”

Simeon turned up his lip. “She was worried.  They all were, but they are safe.”

“Well, let’s get back to them.  Mind if we hitch a ride back on your jet?” Dmitry asked.  The other one is headed back to the states.

“Not at all,” Simeon said as the elevator doors opened.  “What are friends for?”

Two Days Later

The Royal Chateau

Siberia, Russia

“Kids stop running through the house!” Royal screamed, picking up Maxim’s jacket from the living room floor.  Cursing under her breath, she sat down on the sofa and turned the television back on.  She had been trying to focus on something – anything all day.  But her mind was racing about where Dmitry could be.

Crawling under the chenille throw, she wiped a tear from her face before it could fall.  It had been too long.  Where was he?  Flipping through the channels, she threw down the remote and stood up.  Pacing, she tried to remember if Dmitry had ever accidentally said something that might help her pinpoint where he could be.

“Are you okay?” Valeriya asked, looking down from the wooden balcony above.

Royal looked up at her friend.  “No,” she said, bottom lip trembling.

“Want to talk about it?” Valeriya offered.

“No,” Royal said, shaking her head frantically.  “I just want my fucking husband. I want to know he’s alright. I want a call…”  Tears started to stream down her face again. Wiping them quickly, she put up her hand. “I’m sorry. I just…I need a minute.”  Darting from the living room up the flight of stairs that led to the bedrooms of the house, Royal ran into the master bedroom and closed the door.  Walking into the large bathroom, she stood looking at herself in the mirror.

“I can’t be this weak,” she admonished herself.  “I have to be stronger than this.”  Flashes of Dmitry’s bloody body on the concrete raced through her mind.  She could hear her own screams in her head, feel the heat on her skin as bullets whizzed past her.  Putting a hand on her head, she paced back and forth until without explanation, she went to the drawer and pulled out a pair of long, sharp scissors.

Grabbing her hair and pulling it down from the ponytail roughly, she leaned over the sink and began to cut right below her ear.  Long black strands fell into the black sink bowl and onto the floor.  With each movement of the shears, she found herself feeling better.  It felt like she was shedding her fear, her doubts, her pain.  She cut until it was all gone – all the bullshit.

Standing up straight, face covered in a stream of tears, hair cut off, she dropped the scissors on the marble floor and stared at herself again, this time with blankness until the doorknob went to turn.

“I’m in here,” Royal called out, trying to wipe away her tears, and the makeup smudges under her eyes.  The knob turned again. “I said, I’m in here.  Who is it?  Anya!” she snatched the door open to see Dmitry staring back at her.

“Dmitry!” she screamed his name, crashing into his chest.

“Baby,” Dmitry said, holding her tight, despite the pain.  He kissed her forehead and hugged her as close as he could get her, taking her scent in, feeling her hot skin.

“I thought I would never see you again,” she cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me.”  He pulled her out of the bathroom into the bedroom. “I should be apologizing to you.”

“For what?” she asked, wiping her face and sniffling.

“Being away from you made me realize that I was stupid for giving you a hard time just because you wanted a baby.”  Dmitry made her sit with him on the bed, pleaing for her full attention.  “I was selfish.”

“No, I was selfish,” she said, cutting him off. “You are right.  There is so much happening, and I just…” She exhaled a breath. “I was…”

Dmitry watched his fretful wife in her new short hair, standing in front of him in her black tights and white tank top, breasts bulging out of her bra, discarded strands of hair stuck to her arms, beautiful brown skin glistening.  Her vulnerability was driving him insane.  It begged out from her aura to be taken. She wanted to be free of worry, and only he could free her from it.

Pulling her to him, he kissed her mouth, drowning out any doubt he had placed in her head before.  He searched instead as he sucked on her tongue for a way to forgiveness.  She tasted of honey and truth and sunshine and everything good he had ever witnessed in his life.  He made her feel like he was floating.

Royal kissed him back, gleeful to have him near her again. He smelled of sandalwood, felt like chiseled muscle.  “Does it hurt?” she asked, avoiding his chest.

“No.”  Dmitry kissed her deeper, pulling at her pants to get them off.  “I’m high as a fucking kite right now on pain pills. I shouldn’t feel anything for at least an hour.  That should give me long enough.”

Royal’s eyes closed. “Time to do what?” she asked as his mouth trailed a kiss down her neck, making her smile.

He finally managed to get her pants and panties completely off.  “Time to make a baby,” he said, looking up into her eyes as she crawled on top of him.  “Do you still want to?”  He hoped and prayed she would say yes.

Royal didn’t know what to say.  Yes, she really wanted to, but did they need to?   “What about all of this?  All the things we are dealing with?”

Dmitry ran a hand under her shirt and placed his cool palm over her stomach.  “You and my children may be all that is left when this is over.”

Royal opened her mouth to say something but found nothing would come out.  She had never heard him be so direct about death before.  “I can’t live without you, Dmitry.  So, don’t you dare go anywhere.”

“I can’t live without you,” Dmitry whispered.  He swallowed hard.  “Let me make up for the other night, eh.  Let me give you my child.”  He licked his lips.  “I want to.”

The words made her sex constrict, unable to fight his virile request.

Coming to him, Royal unbuckled his pants and pulled them off as he slipped back in the bed, pushing up against the headboard.  With his blue dress shirt still on, she crawled on top of him and felt as he guided his hard shaft into the wetness of her body.

Back arching, she felt him grab what was left of her hair in his hand and pull her down on him completely.  Her mouth flew open, but he quickly covered it with a kiss, using the other hand to grab her ample rear.

“Dmitry,” she whispered.

“Royal,” he answered.

It felt so good to have her husband back home, back inside of her where he belonged.

Even injured, he moved his hips slowly, watching her in the dimming sepia sunlight coming in from their windows.  The colors of the world flashed over her body in a wave of surreal tranquility.

She moved on top of him, pushing against the pressure of his snake-like sex.  Raising her arms and holding on to the back of the headboard, she finally said it.  “Yes, give me a baby.”  Looking into his blue eyes, she gave herself over to him fully.

END OF BOOK ONE

Prologue for Book Two

The Capital City of St. Petersburg, Russia

October 2002

W ith the long put off visit to the wretchedly glorious city of St. Petersburg, Russia, Dmitry Medlov was reminded of his late wife, Lady Katherine Hutton, in all her infallible splendor.  She, too, was from a royal background like the former city of Leningrad, founded by Tzar Peter the Great.  Katherine’s blood also wreaked of blue-veined, aristocratic privilege from the ancient families of England, who had ruled over the poor with an iron fist for centuries.

And much like his wife, St. Petersburg was opulent and dirty with its imperial origins, cultural superiority, and unforgivably shabby edges.  She was a city rife in countless debaucheries and all manner of crime but gilded in a gold-encrusted sheen that prevented outsiders from seeing her true inner form.

And because of both the undue influences of St. Petersburg and Katherine, Dmitry Medlov had become very much like both of them– a complex entity of power and grandiose stature with a rotted inner core.

Dmitry knew that about himself now.  Through some epiphany that dwelled in the back of his mind as he stood within the walls of the Heritage Museum, among the relics he had first ignored and now glorified, he felt himself calcifying into a statuesque form that would be studied long after he was long departed from this earth.

I am a monster, he said to himself.  And yet she loved me.  He would never truly understand the heart of a woman.  It was the eighth wonder of the world, deep and dark and full of secrets and lore, and it baffled him beyond words.  But it was in a woman’s heart, and only there, that he had once found respite.

He glanced at a painting, and with the stare came also a vivid memory….

St. Petersburg, Russia (1994)

Lady Katherine Hutton-Medlov brought Dmitry to St. Petersburg for the first time two months after their scandalous nuptials in London to handle official business for Hutton Industries.  He was still in his training period during those formative years, still very inexperienced in being wealthy and powerful. And still very unsure of himself, not as a man, but now as the husband of English nobility.  There had been many sessions to learn his place since the marriage, and it seemed Katherine was intent on finishing her curriculum of high society decorum and expectations before her class was over.

This trip would be one more of those practicums.

As soon as the power couple landed in their private jet, they went to meet with managers of one of their many factories in the St. Petersburg to go over dull ledgers, observe daily operations and give new directives.  Afterward, they retired to their hotel penthouse for the evening with very different plans for the rest of the evening.

“As the stewards of the Hutton empire, we are major contributors to the arts, my dear,” Katherine reminded Dmitry as she cloaked her neck with a row of boulder-sized yellow diamonds from her jewelry box.

Dmitry did not respond to Katherine.  Instead, he kept his eyes on the newspaper he was reading in Russian, happy to be back in the mother country, even for a short visit.  He wanted authentic Russian food, real Russian vodka, and wanted to watch real Russian television.

London was great for all its grand Western European trappings, but a boy always missed home.

Katherine’s blonde, admonishing brow shot up when her husband did not answer.  She knew he was quietly demanding a break, but there was no time.  So, she continued with her lecture.  “It’s our responsibility to not only check on our businesses but also our other lucrative investments.  The Hutton’s have always prided themselves on their philanthropic endeavors.  My father instilled civic responsibility as part of the family narrative and his father before him, and now you will…one day to your children.”  She batted her eyes quickly to which Dmitry glanced over at her before trailing his eyes back to the paper.

The button tip of her perfect nose averted as she studied her fading appearance in a full-length mirror propped against the moss green wall of their estate room.

Golden wisps of fine hair streamed down her bare shoulders from her messy ponytail.  Bare, pale skin, not yet adorned with layers of makeup or covered with expensive fabrics, danced with goosebumps from the ceiling fan’s chilly breeze.  In a nude-colored lace lingerie set, she turned to the side, inhaled a breath to tighten her flat stomach, and studied her profile, debating quietly if her illness was starting to show.

There was a time when a man would have fallen to her feet to worship her, even at her seasoned age, but now things had changed.

Katherine had always been her own harshest critic – none could match her rebuke – which was why she was always the most beautiful, well-dressed woman at parties, the most adored and beloved.  Everything had to be in place.  Everything perfect.  Everything. Every time.  But there were more qualitative layers to the baroness.  As a consummate businesswoman and a passionate freedom fighter, she considered any sign of sickness an equal sign of weakness, and there could be no chinks in her chain.

This was one of the main reasons she had chosen to marry Dmitry Medlov, a boy younger than her youngest child and as wild as undomesticated horses in her valley.  He was the perfect ruse.  No stockholder or investor would ever suspect her of terminal cancer, having just hitched herself to such an untamed stallion.  A young man from his impoverished Russian background would require a proper breaking, and only a healthy woman with a great deal of physical stamina could do that.  As a result, most assumed her recent and dramatic weight loss was due to laborious hours spent in the bedroom tussling with her new toy and not enough time spent at the dinner table.

But those closest to her, especially her two adult children, knew better.

She was living on borrowed time.

Brushing off her self-pity, she focused back in on her conversation with the petulant boy across the room from her.

“Dmitry, are you ignoring me?” she asked, pursing her thin lips together with a sterner tone only reserved for when she wanted his full attention.

The mother voice.

He knew it well.

The side of Dmitry’s full pink lips pulled at the corners, daring a defiant grin in the face of her abject attempt to control him.  “No, I’m not ignoring you.  I’m listening with both ears to yet another lecture about our civic responsibilities as the incredibly rich,” he moaned in an unenthusiastic tenor, “passed down from one generation to another to another to…me.”  The temporary inflection in his voice faintly unveiled his agitation.

“You’re being difficult.” She rolled her eyes.  It was expected.

“I’m being honest.”  His deep baritone, thick with a Russian brogue, did little to hide the age difference that was apparent in his booming voice over her frail English one.  But still, his voice hummed in her ears every time he spoke– no matter what he said.

“And you think my lectures are simply to get you to do what I want?” she asked, eyes still on her reflection in the mirror.   If she dared face him, she might smile and give away her position.

Dmitry grinned mischievously but revealed little about what he really thought.  He was a man of few words and even less patience.  “I think your lectures make you feel better about making me do what you want, wife.”  In the end, she always got her way, but he didn’t mind giving her what she wanted.  It was never much in comparison to what she gave him in return.

At the moment, she wanted him compliant, ready with just a word to do her bidding.  However, she had found both before and after they were married that Dmitry knew his own mind and could only be truly persuaded through intelligent argument to change his course of action.  Anything less was lost on him.

In truth, after a long day of business meetings in boring factories with sycophant managers who worked harder to kiss their asses than to do their jobs, Dmitry had not been interested in traipsing around to historical landmarks to pay homage to old relics.  He did not want to take in the culture of the city.  He only wanted to relax.

Was there so much harm in that?

At Dmitry’s return to silence, Katherine blew out a frustrated breath.  “I need to put on my face,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom.

“You have on your face.” Dmitry turned the newspaper’s page slowly.  “You look fine without all the makeup.  Leave it off.”  These conversations reminded him of when his mother was alive and prostituting on the streets of Kopotnya to take care of him and his little brother, Ivan. He would tell her the same thing, but she insisted upon layers of paint to hide the human face that hid behind the mask.  He saw very little difference in what the royal pain in his ass wife was doing now.

“I’m not twenty anymore,” Katherine said, leaning over the marble counter in the bathroom to guide the pencil over her bottom lip.  The lighting was much better in the bathroom and kept Dmitry from seeing all the steps it took to make her look healthy and vibrant.  But what choice did she have?  Everywhere they went, the young women practically threw themselves at her husband, apologizing after she reprimanded them by explaining that they thought her to be his mother.

“You’re still beautiful,” Dmitry countered, unaware of the head storm Katherine was experiencing in the bathroom.  “Maybe more beautiful than twenty.  You don’t need all that shit.”  He folded the paper and placed it against his cocked-up thigh to read better.

To that compliment of her beauty, Katherine smiled but continued to apply her face.  “You should get up from the bed and get ready.  We’ll be late.”

Again, Dmitry was silent, an indication that he had no plans to accompany her wherever she had planned to go this evening.  He returned to his reading while she returned to her thoughts of yesteryears.

They were silent for a while longer until Katherine was fully dressed – lingerie, stockings, slips, dress, shoes, and hat now were placed on her body to make for a true lady of royal lineage.  She had applied her layers of age-defying makeup and sprayed on a rather expensive perfume that her young husband had bought her a month before in Paris.

Now, she was ready to resume the conversation.  “I want you to get dressed, Dmitry,” she said, hand on her hip as she stood by the bed.

Dmitry’s voice was low.  “And I want you to get in bed with me,” he insisted, still sitting in the same place as when she went into the bathroom, now on the last page of the newspaper.  He tapped the empty space beside him.  “Come here.  Let me make you forget about your father and your civic responsibilities and your philanthropic bullshit.” He licked his lips seductively and glanced over her body.

The slow roll of his crystal blue eyes, flitting under heavy blonde lashes, and the sun-kissed glow of his tattooed skin glimmered in the dim light of the lamp beside him.  “Let me fuck you, Katherine,” he said, using the same stern consternation she had failed to use on him earlier adequately.

“Dmitry,” Katherine said, breath catching in her chest at the side of him.

“Yes, wife,” Dmitry answered, turning on his side.

Katherine heaved a heavy sigh and roamed her gaze over his heavenly, naked body before sitting down on the edge of the bed.  If she got to close, she would give in.  Keeping her distance, she placed a hand over his.  “My dear sweet boy, I’m trying to teach you an important lesson - one that will hopefully help you long after I’m gone.”

“And what would that be?” He put a hand under his head, muscles flexing as he moved.

Although it was such a very simple movement of very little effort, his wide chest flexed with rippling veins and chorded muscle, which caught his wife’s attention.  No older man, regardless of social status or wealth, could do that with such ease.  He was a lion among lambs - a sexually enhanced maverick of the original design.  But he was also being a brat.

Dmitry’s wheat-blonde brow shot up to receive his over-bearing wife as he lifted an objective finger.  “Before you say another word, let me say this.” His eyes warmed with concern for her delicate physical state.  “I know that you are tired, even though you don’t say so.  We’ve been on the go all day.  And the doctor has already told you not to push yourself.  I’m sorry, Katherine, but you take your good days for granted, putting too much on your plate when you should be relaxing and conserving your energy.” Now, he was the one lecturing her, but for a good reason.  She was being a very bad girl.

Katherine licked her lips, fighting the urge to give in to his pleas and his hypotonic bedroom eyes.  His argument, while compelling, was more for himself than her. She schooled her face before responding.  “I’m trying to teach you something it took far too long for me to learn, something that I didn’t appreciate until I was much older than you.”  She trailed her fingers over his gold wedding band.   “Just because someone tells you to give up, doesn’t mean you should – not a doctor, not a lawyer, not anyone.  Just because time is against you, doesn’t mean you stop running toward your goals.  This life is only worth living if you get up every day and fight for it – no matter the obstacle.”

She raised her finger to him.  “But when you’re done fighting and working, you must stop and spend time enjoying life’s beauty, smelling the roses if you will.  There is a beautiful world out there, even on the worst of days.  You have to appreciate it.” A breath escaped her at the thought that one day, he would possibly have a new family, and all her advice would come to bear for another woman.  She pushed back sadness.  “Now, we’ve had our meetings.  We’ve done the work. And now, we will reward ourselves with something more beautiful and meaningful.  It’s a part of self-care, in my opinion.”

Dmitry bit his plump bottom lip in contemplation, sending a zinger up his wife’s spine.  The things that he could do to a woman with those lips were sinful.  “So, for you, this museum trip is about self-care, eh?” he asked, mentally storing her other advice to ponder at a more convenient time.

“For both of us.  Yes.  Before or after doing something emotionally or physically exhausting, you should always center yourself with something that will replenish your soul.  It’s a way to keep a healthy balance.” She smiled at him with such gentle innocence that it temporarily disarmed his need to argue.

Checkmate.

Dmitry ran a hand over his chiseled jaw thoughtfully.  “Very well,” he said, giving in to her request.  “Where do you want to go?”  If it would make her happy and give her a longer life, Dmitry could not find the fault in playing along.

“To the Hermitage Museum.”

“Fine.  We’ll go.”

“Thank you,” she said, pleased with him.

With that, he kicked the gold silk sheets from his lower legs and stood up beside the bed to his full seven feet of toned, muscular splendor.  The slap of his unrepentant, half-erect penis against his inner thigh made her head snap up and gawk at his perfection.

Goodness, did he have to be so virile?  She had never seen a man who could command his penis with such immaculate precision. Through their mundane conversation, he had still managed to be ready for her if she had chosen to change her mind.  The evidence was before her in the form of an elongated, somewhat engorged, snaky member, throbbing with thick veins and wide girth.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought of what they could have been doing at that very moment.  She could have him inside of her now, filling her to the brim with twelve inches of steely flesh.  Instead, she wanted to go to the fucking museum.

Maybe she had lost her mind.

Dmitry, however, had quickly put away all thoughts of sex and leisure with her heart-felt plea of responsibility and balance.  Now, he was focused on giving her what she said that she needed.

Stretching, he slapped his face to wake up from his groggy state and strode across the room.  “Let’s go get some self-care then,” he said as he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Yes, let’s,” Katherine said under her breath, watching his perfectly toned buttocks as it moved out of view.

Instantly, she regretted her decision to make him emerge from their hotel room, but it was imperative that she teaches her young Dmitry as much as possible before her affliction consumed her.

The water shooting from the showerhead echoed through the bathroom. “I assume you want me to wear a suit?” Dmitry called out as he prepared for their evening.

“There is one already set out for you,” she answered, tucking thoughts of her eventual untimely end away in the back of her mind where it belonged.

There would be plenty of time for the macabre, but for now, she wanted to show Dmitry something extraordinary.

What started as a trivial chore, ended up being a phenomenal first-time experience.  The Hermitage opened new worlds for Dmitry’s imagination.  Never before had he seen such exquisite paintings, statues, and other priceless works of art, at least not with his own eyes.  He had read about them in his books back in London before he married Katherine, but that was as close as he thought he would ever get.

Now, here he was.

Every piece spoke to him in a unique way, and just like his violin, the art soothed him.  It awoke him from his lazy slumber and embedded a new-found thirst for more exceptional things in life – not the things he could have like food, wine, and clothes but the things he could not – like priceless artifacts from a world long gone.

It was superb, breath-taking…other world even.

As VIP guests, the Museum staff rolled out the red carpet for the couple’s arrival with glasses of champagne, chorded off rooms for private viewing, and even lunch prepared by a world-renowned chef.

Dmitry tried to commit his favorite pieces to memory, but there were so many to take in and such little time.  He asked a hundred questions, took mental notes, reminded himself what to come back and see.

And when it was time to leave, he felt a significant separation.

Who would have ever thought Dmitry Medlov had a love for culture?

After that, he had been an advocate for the arts, giving museums seven-figure gifts to fund their exhibitions.  In turn, they named halls and buildings for the Hutton family, which made his wife happy to continue her father’s legacy.

They visited many museums after that – together, they had found something that they could share outside of the love for munitions trafficking and toppling small regimes.  They talked about artists, went to gallery openings, and sat around reflecting on the work.

But then, as she said she would, Katherine had died just a short time later.  And after her death, Dmitry never visited St. Petersburg again – not the city, not the museum, not the memories…until now.

St. Petersburg, Russia (2005)

In a tailored black suit that made his 31 years look distinguished, Dmitry stood tall, fists shoved into his pants pockets, in the rose-colored Rubens Room of the New Hermitage building.  His crystal blue eyes were affixed to Flemish painter, Peter Paul Reuben’s masterpiece, Perseus and Andromeda.

It was this piece that started his romance with the arts 12 years ago, and as he mentally prepared for his upcoming meeting with the International Council of the Bratva, he found himself back here to center himself before he began what promised to be an emotional journey - just the way Catherine had always taught him all those years ago.

Something about the room was calming and made him sure that no matter the outcome of today’s meeting, it would all work out for the best and lead him closer to his destiny.

But what was his destiny?  His brow furrowed as he fought an existential crisis.

Dmitry always knew he was meant to lead, and in the quiet recesses of his mind, he knew that no matter how far-fetched, he wanted to lead the International Council, but such a thing was only meant for the royals of the Bratva, and he was simply a poor gutter rat in fine clothing.  Still, he held quietly to hope – for what reason, even he did not know.

As Dmitry pondered in deep thought, a raspy voice cleared behind him.  “I…um…hate to interrupt whatever this is, but the time is getting on.  We need to push off,” Davyd said, tapping his watch impatiently.  Standing several feet away, his best friend and number two guy glared in frustration.

Davyd wasn’t exactly a cultured, museum-loving kind of guy.  While Dmitry had acquired a great deal of sophistication over the last decade, Davyd reveled in still living in the Stone Ages.  And while he entertained Dmitry’s unscheduled stop here in the hope that it would get his boss ready for the Bratva, he found the detour trivial.

Dmitry pulled his hand from his pocket and checked the Rolex on his wrist.  Time flew when he was having fun, but Davyd was right.  It was time to push off.  Stealing one final glance, he turned from the painting and proceeded toward the gold-embossed, red double doors that were being held open by his guards.

“Thanks for entertaining me.  I needed this,” Dmitry explained to Davyd.

“Whatever works.”  Davyd walked beside Dmitry, the stark difference in their heights apparent. The silver fox had to walk faster to keep up with Dmitry’s long stride, but he had gotten so used to it, he barely noticed he was always in a constant jog. He looked up at Dmitry momentarily and growled.  “Don’t bloody well go on sulking about it.  You can come back to when the meeting is done.  Better yet, I’ll have someone steal the damn painting for you and put it in your fucking bedroom.  Then you can stare at it anytime you want.”

“It’s not really staring. You study the work,” Dmitry corrected sarcastically.   “And I’m not sulking.”

You get my point.”  The sound of footfalls echoed around the space as they walked.  Davyd pepped up.  “Today is the most important day of your life, and you’re spending it standing in front of a painting when you should be getting your mind ready for the International Council.”  Hell, Davyd had gotten a special black suit cut for this meeting, and he wouldn’t even be in it.

Dmitry grinned at the irritation in his friend’s voice.  “If I could explain it, I would.  Trust me. I’m getting prepared in my own way.” He nodded toward the curator and Museum’s development director upon entering the hallway.

The pair of middle-aged women, dressed in their finest designer black dresses, stood pressed against the wall, awaiting Dmitry’s re-emergence, ready to pounce with an informal ask, but as soon as Davyd spotted them, he waved them off. Fucking do-gooders.

“Concerned about what?” Davyd asked, motioning a dismissive hand toward the woman.  Now was not the time for a pitch.

The curator quickly ducked her head down and walked in the opposite direction.

Dmitry slipped on his shades as they exited into the sunlight.  “The Popov brothers have never been fans of mine.  I think today they will show their hand.”

Davyd frowned as they trotted quickly down the concrete stairs toward the Mercedes Benz, awaiting them with the door open.  He watched his young boss crawl into the back; then he jumped into the passenger side of the car when the guard closed the door.

As soon as the convoy of vehicles pulled off, he resumed his conversation with Dmitry.  “You’ve sent nearly a quarter of your earnings to keep that family afloat for years.  Even when you had nothing and was living in that fucking warehouse, you still sent your due. Why do you think you’ll have a problem with them now when their fucking pockets overflow?”  He opened the glove compartment and pulled out his secondary weapon to check it.

“Old Man Popov and Peter, sure, they are good.”  There was a but hanging on to his statement.  Dmitry looked out of the bullet-proof windows as they moved through the streets of St. Petersburg toward their destination.  The pedestrians turned to watch in awe of such a grand spectacle.  He imagined they expected a movie star or dignitary to merge, but it was just him.

“Da, da. Alexander and Peter are the ones who gave you the recommendation,” Davyd added to make his point.  “So, you think the boys will try to stop you?  Zachem?”

Dmitry’s brow furrowed as he curled up his lips. “Why?”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “Because they think I am beneath them.” It was not something he could prove, just something he felt when they looked at him.  After years of being a gutter rat, he had come to know that look and despise it.  And every time he saw Alexei and Erik Popov, self-proclaimed underworld princes of the Vory, that look of judgment and disdain was painted on their faces.

“This is bullshit,” Davyd growled.  “You’re richer than they are, and more powerful now.  What those little shits think is not important.  The only thing that is important is how much respect they show you.”  Davyd slipped his second gun in his holster and turned to look back at Dmitry.  “If you want them to see you are not beneath them, simply stand up and look down into their eyes.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Dmitry asked, amused by the man who had been more of a brother to him than his blood.  He trailed his gaze from the window over to Davyd and feigned a grimace.

Davyd bit on his lip in true contemplation of the best answer. After a second, his brow shot up, and he raised a declarative index finger.   “Then, you can always pull out your dick.”

Even the driver laughed.  Looking over at Davyd, whose face instantly turned to stone, the man apologized.  “Sorry, boss.”

“It’s fine,” Dmitry said, dismissing the driver’s outburst.  Even he had to admit it was funny.

But they were the only two entertained.

“Keep your eyes on the road, you,” Davyd admonished, turning back around and shaking his head in frustration.  “Fucking young people.”

Yorka Café

1:00 p.m.

St. Petersburg, Russia

Only four miles from the Hermitage, a short distance Dmitry would have preferred to walk alone if given a choice, there was a very important meeting of the International Council was about to convene with only one agenda item to be presented – the consideration and vote on a new addition to the nine families on the council.

This tenth voice would be from one of the most unlikely of candidates.  Dmitry Medlov.  The butcher from the poorest district of Moscow, Kopotnya, had risen well beyond his previous station as muscle for the oligarchs to becoming a young billionaire who had come highly recommended by Peter and Alexander Popov for the most esteem of positions within their ranks.

For decades, the International Council had operated under nine prominent independent factions, but only three were the founders of their alliance. These three families had the vision to join their syndicates to share and control governments, enterprises, and an army of men.   The Popov family (run by Peter and Alexander), the Stepanov family (run by Andros), the Belyakov family (run by Geni), were the original architects of the council and highly respected by everyone.

Three additional families had been brought in later.  The old men once in charge of those operations had retired and transitioned their power to their sons – the Rabinovich family (run now by the oldest son Oleg), the Yakushev family (run by Lev, the middle son, since the oldest was murdered) and the Sherkov family (run by the oldest son, Renat).

The newer members were added because of their growing financial interest globally.  They were all gangsters from the gulags, who had built their fortune after the fall of the USSR.  They included the Gruzinsky family (run now by Maksim), the Kovalenko family (run by Puska), and the Kurdin family (run by Simeon).

All three men had served several stints in prison.  All three had built their empire from the ground up.  And all three had been tapped by the three heads of the organization to join their ranks after proving themselves.

Between these nine families, power was shared equally on the council.  They had amassed fortunes that were in the hundreds of billions of dollars and had their hands in nearly every global industry exploitable for financial profit.

But because there were nine families on the council, an odd and intentional number, they always came to a consensus on a vote, which kept the organization from ever being deadlocked.

However, after the long, arduous debate for several months during countless meetings, the council decided to put the recommendation to bed with a vote, not only to appease Alexander and Peter Popov but to shore up new revenue streams through the young man’s ingenious illegal enterprises.

A processional of vehicles bogarted the street with white and blue flashing police lights, causing unassuming motorists to dart out the way as the convoy stopped abruptly in front of the Yorka Café, a well-known mafia hangout that sensible locals avoided, and tourists sought out to take pictures.

Today, however, the entire restaurant had been closed, and police in the district turned a blind eye to the most powerful underworld mobsters in the country meeting right under their noses – for a bribe of course, while others took on a closer role as werewolves, moonlighting for the mobsters as extra muscle.

A barrage of well-dressed guards jumped out of their vehicles, some securing the perimeter, some going inside of the restaurant to stand their posts.  Men in black suits, crisp white shirts, and comfortable black dress shoes stood in position, the trace of a weapon unmistakable under their jackets.  Then, when everyone was in place, a thoroughly aggravated Dmitry Medlov and his dear friend, Davyd, stepped out of their car and were safely escorted through the tall black front doors of the restaurant.

Just as quickly as the guards had appeared, they jumped back into their vehicles, a collection of high-end Mercedes Benz trucks and cars adorned with gaudy milgaki disappeared to park on the side streets awaiting the authorities to finish their meeting.

Dmitry found the pomp and circumstance to be gaudy.  Upon being voted on the council, the first thing he would do was secure a better location for meetings and develop better protocols for traffic control.  While he understood that they were all very important people, it was amateur hour to be paraded around like diplomats.  In his experience, this kind of thoughtless bravado led to one thing – assassination.

“No matter what, boy, remember your temper in here,” Davyd warned under his breath as he stepped to the side, allowing Dmitry to walk into the building first.  Appearances were important.  Today, he could not be his young friend’s equal; instead, he had to take on the role of being a submissive servant, no different from anyone else in the tight-knit crime family, to do otherwise, might cause Dmitry a chance at the council’s table.

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” Dmitry said, pulling off his shades as he ducked through the door and crossed the threshold.   With his men flanked on either side, he walked a few steps into the restaurant and stopped, looking around at the place where he might be made a king.

It seemed to be good a place as any…

Yorka had a warm, welcoming atmosphere with exposed, red-bricked walls, a gigantic, stone, wood-burning fireplace that served as the central focal point of the restaurant, a fully-stocked bar of top-shelf spirits, overarching wooden-beamed ceilings, copper accents, white linen cloths over smalls tables and large bay windows, shuttered especially for the meeting.  The large airy space was dark as a result of the windows being closed, but the yellow-gold embers coming from the fireplace and the recessed lighting high above provided an elegant ambiance.

Normally, an all-female staff would have been available to serve patrons, but today not a woman was in sight; the family had enlisted several male council guards, both fluent in killing and cooking, in serving the VIP guests.

A Slavic young man in his twenties with a blonde buzz cut in a black suit, certain to be housing several automatic weapons behind the counter, stood cleaning glasses, ready to serve behind the bar.  He eyed Dmitry and his men carefully with a stoic glare on his face, marred with a scar that ran from his lip to his ear.   Two additional young guards stood by the cherry wood hostess podium with black slacks and white button-downs, ready to escort guests to the back room where the meeting would take place.

“Boss Medlov,” one of the guards said, stepping forward.  “Can we escort you to the back room?”

“No,” Dmitry said, left eye twitching involuntarily as he assessed the wall-sized men.  “Give me a few minutes.”

Dmitry wasn’t ready to go into the meeting room just yet.  He was early, with a little time to spare.  Without knowing the situation, he was walking blindly; he wanted some time to evaluate his environment.

Considering that the restaurant’s main dining hall was nearly empty, he had few ways to gauge anything significant, but as he glanced over at the bar to the far-right side, Dmitry spotted an older man with a full head of thick silver hair perched on a stool, sipping his spirits quietly.

With a long white beard, a carefully cut tweed suit and wire-rimmed glasses that did little to detract from the wiry man’s gold-plated guns in their black leather holsters or the tattoos across his knuckles from his stints in prison, the man nursed his drink like he was waiting for someone.

Dmitry, possibly?

Casually, the man swiveled around in his chair and cocked a brow at Dmitry.

“You’re taller than I thought,” the stranger admitted.  He waved Dmitry over, ignoring Davyd and Dmitry’s other men altogether.  “Come, sit with me.”

“Of course,” Dmitry said with a compliant nod that was laced with elegant finesse.

Davyd knew the man sitting at the bar – not through direct interaction but through urban folklore and whispered conversation.  Stepanov Andros.  One of the founders of the council.

Andros was a man of legend, who had only become less murderous because of older age, but still he was a strategic tornado for anyone who got in his way.  Unlike other council members, who had ventured out into the world to claim their stake, Andros had stayed in St. Petersburg, close the action with his ear to the ground and his foot on the necks of everyone under his purview.

Stepping back into the shadows of the bar as to not interrupt Dmitry’s first encounter with the mob blue blood, Davyd eyed the other guards who were out of sight but not off the clock.  He said a prayer for his friend, prayed they wouldn’t have to shoot their way out of here today because of someone’s fragile feelings, but if they did – he’d be ready.

Dmitry strode over to the bar, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and sat directly beside Andros Stepanov.  “Whatever he is having,” he said absently to the bartender, who had already made his way down to the pair.

The guard nodded, turning to pluck a very special bottle of Russian Standard from the display.

“I hope my little restaurant meets your approval,” Stepanov quipped, elbows on the bar top. “I know you are used to a higher standard of living these days.”

Dmitry took the shot glass from the waiter and downed the shot like it was water, then gently placed the empty glass on the bar.   His fingertips pushed the glass away from him, indicating to the barkeep that he’d like another now.  “It’s a nice place.  Not what I expected from outside.”

The old man turned up his lips.  Honesty.  That was new. “Much like our lives, da,” Stepanov commented.  He found a correlation in everything.  Nothing was disconnected in this life.  It was presented to him, no matter how small or how large; it was equally important in his crimson-red tapestry of crime and family.  That was one of the attributes that made him who he was.  He never discounted anything.

“You just said a mouthful,” Dmitry agreed.  He watched the bartender pour another shot then nodded as he pulled it toward him.

“I take it from the second drink that you’re nervous.”  Andros snickered.  He had seen the same look on each of the men he had brought to the table.  Doubt.  Inferiority.  Fear.  No matter what men did out as wolves among the sheep, in the midst of the council, they always trembled.  He had to be careful not to develop a God-complex because of it.  But ducking the government and enemies always kept him grounded.

“Moderately nervous.”  Dmitry shrugged his large shoulders.  “I should be, right?”  He looked over at Andros as he admitted his vulnerability.  “It’s not every day that you meet with the council for consideration.  One has to ask himself if he’s turned down what the consequences might be.”  Dmitry took another shot, allowing the strong contents to rush down his throat in a single gulp before he placed the glass back down on the counter and straightened his long back.

It was the young billionaire’s coolness and sincerity that made Andros like him.  A man didn’t get that kind of grace from being a legacy.  He got it from being a soldier, a fighter, a survivor.  And Andros knew, only because he was one also.  For decades, he had been the man who decided other men’s fate, and he could see that Dmitry’s future was going to be bright.

“My name is Andros Stepanov.  You may call me Andros.”  He turned and offered his hand.

“Dmitry Medlov,” Dmitry answered in return, shaking the man’s small hand and nearly covering it at the same time.  “You can call me…”

“The butcher?” Andros asked, interrupting Dmitry.

Dmitry blinked slowly and glanced at their reflection in the mirror. “No, I don’t go by that name any longer.”   It had been years, in fact, since someone had referred to him by that name.

Oh, Andros knew everything there was to know about the beautiful murdering bastard born to a teenage whore in the bowels of humanity, even things he wouldn’t tell him, like that Dmitry’s father, Evgeny Smirnov, had been an enemy of his until the day he was cut down by the Medlov boys in Prague.  Andros would also not share that Evgeny had been considered for serving on the council twice, but each time had been voted down because of his inability to collaborate.  Andros would also avoid informing Dmitry that had he paid the money Alexander Popov had been short to get Dmitry out of prison to kill the Ukrainian piece of shit trying to take over Kopotnya many years ago because the old man’s reserves were running low.

No.  All that information would come later if it came out at all, but for now, pleasantries and introductions were in order.  In all formalities, there had to be a level of civil decorum.

“I assume that it was by no happenstance that you were sitting here drinking when I arrived,” Dmitry said, changing the subject.  He was ready now, for whatever might come of this meeting.

Andros smiled again, liking Dmitry even more now.  “No such thing as happenstance.” He stood from his chair and smoothed a tattooed hand down the front of his suit.  “I wanted to walk you in personally.”

Dmitry considered it an honor.  He had an idea about Andros.  He was a man of few words but endless action.  And Dmitry liked that in an underworld lord.  “Well, thank you for the gesture.”  He stood up as well, ready to allow Andros to lead the way.

Andros winked at the man as the guards mobilized.  “Don’t thank me yet. I’m leading you into a snake pit, boy.”

The banquet room in the back of the restaurant was guarded by not one or two but six men with large weapons – all ready to kill with a single word.  They kept their eyes straight and their backs straighter as Andros approached.  Opening the doors for Dmitry and the head of the council, the pair were greeted by a room jam-packed with peering eyes and subjective glances.

“Now that we are all here, we can begin,” Andros said, motioning for Dmitry to sit in a chair in the corner of the room to observe the meeting that would decide his fate. As only a guest, he could not join the other men at the table.  Instead, he had to sit alone.

But Dmitry didn’t mind the isolation for the moment.  He didn’t know who he could trust in the room, except maybe Peter, who was relegated to his own corner beside a small table with a plate full of food.  He looked older now like time had rushed him into an elderly state.

Peter nodded toward Dmitry but did not speak a word.  Now was not the time for pleasantries.

Andros strode over to the head of the long table and sat down like a king sitting on his thrown.  He shifted in his seat, propping his elbow up on the armrest of the wooden chair and glanced down past the feast of food and drink toward the members who prepared to wage verbal war on him.

On the other end of the table, sat Andros Stepanov’s best friend, Geni Belyakov.  Also ripe with age, and missing most of his hair, the older man played with a white, porcelain bowl of borscht, stirring the red soup-like contents with a silver spoon.  “This meeting is called to order,” Geni said, stopping himself from rolling his eyes.  He sat up straight and pulled his napkin from his lap to wipe the corners of his withering mouth.  Wiping his hands also, he rubbed his fingertips against each other to remove the breadcrumbs.  “Take a roll call for our records,” he told the scribe/secretary, who sat behind him at a small desk.

As the names of the International Council were called, Dmitry saw Erik and Alexei Popov both glaring at him.  They seemed pissed that he was here.  Erik appeared to be peaked – an off-green color of rebuke.

Dmitry turned his head away from their judgment and crossed his legs. Fuck them both.

“Good. There is a quorum. So, I’ll get to it.  We only have one item on the agenda today, gentlemen,” Andros said, voice brimming with authority.  “The matter of adding Dmitry Medlov and the Medlov Crime Family to the International Council to make an even ten families to rule.  Who will make the motion?”

Immediately, Simeon Kurdin raised his hand.

“The council recognizes Simeon Kurdin,” Andros said formally. “You have the floor.”

Simeon Kurdin was a mid-sized man, standing over six feet tall.  With jet black hair and a perfectly tailored suit, he stood up from his chair, placing his fingertips on the table so that the tattoos on his hands showed.  “Czar Stepanov, I move that we appoint Dmitry Medlov and the Medlov Family to the International Council.”  He glanced over at Dmitry, nodded, and retook his seat.

Dmitry was surprised that the motion had not come from Erik or Alexei but was not put-off by it.  For years, there had been unspoken resentment between the three of them because of Alexander and Peter’s favor toward Dmitry.

Still, it looked bad for the Popov brothers to go against their elders in front of the entire council on something their father wanted.

More curious than that, there was Simeon Kurdin.  Why would he vote for him?

“I second the motion,” Geni Belyakov said quickly, having already discussed the matter with Stepanov earlier.

“It is moved and seconded that Dmitry Medlov and the Medlov Family be appointed to the International Council.  Is there any discussion?”  Andros said, looking directly at Erik and Alexei Popov.

Alexei snickered under his breath and stood.  He glanced around the room at each of the members.  “Czar Andros, may I be recognized.”

Andros sucked his teeth.  “Alexei…Popov, you have the floor.”

“Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I will be brief.”  Alexei pushed his small, manicured hand against his chest, flattening his tie.  “I have known Dmitry Medlov for years, and while he is a good earner, I don’t believe he is ready to serve on this council.  Yes, it was my father and uncle’s recommendation, but these men are behind the times.  We are trying to move forward as an organization, and I think it would be better if we considered someone else, someone more seasoned.”  He glanced over at Dmitry, who had a stone face.  “It’s nothing against my dear friend, but I feel we are allowing our emotions to get the best of us.  It is unfortunate that my father has fallen sick.  And yes, he had built a legacy with you, but as a newly elected member of the council and someone who knows Dmitry better than any of you, I would ask you to consider this first.”

Dmitry knew he could not utter a word, but that did not stop him from balling up his fists so tight, he could feel his nails digging into his skin.  He kept his face unreadable, barely blinking as he stared Alexei down.

Simeon Kurdin popped up, nearly leaping from his chair.  He raised his hand and frowned toward Erik.

“You have the floor, Simeon,” Andros answered the quiet action.

“Thank you, Czar Stepanov,” Simeon said, turning toward Alexei.  “Did you make all your money because of the man you are now stabbing in the back.”

Immediately, the room erupted in low murmurs. Andros quickly got the men in order.  “Point of privilege.  No talking among yourselves.  We are still discussing the motion on the fucking floor.”

The room quieted.

“Keep it constructive, Simeon.  Make your point.”

Simeon continued.  “My point is that if this man is good enough to earn millions of dollars for us, serve one of our families and build an empire, he’s good enough to serve on this council.”

“Why don’t we also invite Bill Gates then?” Erik snapped.  He pushed back in his seat and threw up his hands.  “This shit is ridiculous.  He’s a peon.”

Andros sat up.  “Not another fucking word from you,” he said, pointing at Erik and forgetting Robert’s Rules of Order.  Andros had known this little shit since he was in diapers and would not take one more minute of his overbearing audacity. “Do not disrespect my guest,” he warned the man, ready to take it up a notch if Erik tested his resolve.

Erik rolled his eyes but complied.

“I don’t know this man,” Simeon said, pointing toward Dmitry, “but his reputation precedes him, and his results are undeniable. To turn him away would not be wise.”

Alexei stood and was recognized.  “Evgeny Smirnov also had a reputation.  He was also a billionaire, but we voted him down twice.  Let us not forget that his son sits before us vying for the same recognition.” He pointed at Dmitry.  “Or how can we forget when he is the spitting image of the man with the same blood coursing through his veins.”

“Are we now condemning men based upon their blood?” Simeon asked incredulously.  “Because if that is the case, half of us should not be here.”

“Maybe you should not,” Alexei snarled.

“Point of order,” Maxim Gruzinsky, one of the other newly-elected members, said, leaning against the table.  “The discussion should remain civil and focus on the merits of the vote.  This has been beaten to death.  Most of us agree Dmitry Medlov should be elected to the council.  We will be here all night listening to the Popov sons whine about how life isn’t fair.  There is no time for that.  Please, Czar Andros, for the sake of our sanity, put the discussion to rest.”

Andros agreed.  “The discussion is put to rest.” Several men bemoaned his obvious bias but refused to disrespect the man outright.

With that, the room quieted.

“Are you ready for the question?” Andros asked, disappointed with the childish antics of the Popov boys.  No one said a word, so he continued.  “The question is on the adoption of the motion that Dmitry Medlov and Medlov Family be elected to serve as a member of the International Council.  All those in favor say, Aye, all those opposed say No.”

The consensus was formally verbalized, and Andros hit the table with his balled-up fist.  “The Ayes have it, and the motion has been carried.”  He glanced over at Peter Popov, who had turned a special shade of red in the corner, aggravated by the farce his nephews had just perpetrated.  “Do we have a motion to adjourn?”

Dmitry stood.  He was after all a member now. “I motion that this meeting now be adjourned,” he said, looking directly at the Popov brothers.

Andros couldn’t help but smile.  The boy had balls.  “Do we have a second?”

Pushka Kovalenko, another newly added member, spoke up, satisfied with the result.  “I second the motion,” he growled.

“All those in favor, say, Aye,” Andros said, standing up.

The collective response was music to Andros’s ears.  “The Ayes have it again,” he said, walking straight over to Dmitry to shake his hand.

Dmitry welcomed the old man’s embrace.  “Can I thank you yet, Andros?” he asked, resuming their previous conversation of snakes.  There were at least two he could recognize, and they were both standing together on the other side of the table, contemplating how their positions would be compromised now that they had shown the blonde butcher their hand.

“Now, you can thank me,” Andros said, shaking Dmitry’s hand vigorously, “by joining your fellow members of the council for a feast.”  He pointed at the table as Peter and Alexei exited the room without saying another word to either of them.

Chapter 16

Vladimir, Russia

Home of Lt. Guard Kuznetsov

Present Day

4:15 a.m. local time

“And then revenge is very good eaten cold, as the vulgar say.” ― Eugène Sue

F or a man of such a corrupt nature, Sasha Kuznetsov had never missed a wink of sleep.  Every night he managed at least eight uninterrupted hours of rest, per the doctor’s orders.  And in all his years of running Vladimir Central and with all the prisoners whom he’d personally sent to a torturous death with just a word from his lips or a snap of his bony fingers, his tyrannical rule had never impacted his nearly perfect home life or his conscience.

Even when Sasha deceived one of the most powerful men in the underworld, the great and powerful Dmitry Medlov, to help the not-so-fabulous Erik Popov prepare for an assassination attempt on Dmitry’s life, it never occurred to Sasha that one day, all his sins and irreparable damage might come home to roost.

But at the end of the day, Sasha was just a glorified administrator, clueless to how men of the brotherhood operated beyond the steel bars and watchful eye of the Vladimir Central Prison.  He had only seen the Vory as convicts, not underworld royalty.  He had always been the one giving the orders, not receiving them.

Until now…

After Dmitry narrowly avoided death on the hot pavement of a hospice center in Memphis, Tennessee and while traveling in a private plane to St. Petersburg, the boss had sat among his nephew, son and guards playing out the last few days in his head, trying to figure out who masterminded his attack. Each would receive a particular justice, and each would be handled according to their part in the crime.

The first of many calls had revealed that Lt. Guard Sasha Kuznetsov must have been involved from the very start.   Such an egregious display of disrespect could not go unchecked, but it also could not be handled personally by Dmitry, considering he had more important tasks before him.

Consequently, a call had to be made.  A favor had to be asked before Kuznetsov received word that Dmitry Medlov was still alive because then, he would fortify himself with extra guards and government agents.  The message would need to be delivered by someone who could appreciate the gravity of the situation – someone who would see through the frail exterior of the pompous little Kuznetsov when he pleaded out for mercy to the monster he was beneath.  And so after much thought, a messenger was hand-picked – one truly worthy of the job.

Rolling over in his opulent, oak canopy bed of warm, clean white sheets and a heavy burgundy duvet cover, Sasha Kuznetsov smacked his lips together and snuggled in the lush softness of his oversized pillow.  Absently, he slid his left hand out and reached for his frumpy wife to draw her body near, but surprisingly, he felt only a deep void.

That was odd.

Flitting his beady green eyes open, he grabbed the wire-rimmed glasses placed beside a picture of his family off the nightstand and roughly slipped them on his face. With his sight now adjusted to the darkness, he immediately felt a presence in the room.  “Marina,” he uttered as he sat up in the bed and squinted across the room.  There was a figure in the chair.  It was not pear-shaped with short curly hair like his wife, but wide, lean, and masculine.

Fear gripped Sasha as he went for the gun in his nightstand.  Trembling hands yanked at the knob of the drawer; anxiousness caused him to pull it off the tracks.  Contents flew to the carpeted floor beneath.  Pens rolled under the bed.  Papers floated down in a mass of untidiness.

With a slow movement, the figure across the room reached over to the marble table beside him and turned on the lamp, illuminating his stoic face and well-cut black suit.  The jacket clung to his muscle’s underneath.  A crisp white shirt topped with a plain black tie.  His pants were cut to his long legs, wide from years of running and lifting weights.  His understated elegance was only matched by the startling scar across his face and his mid-thirties, Slavic features.

“It’s not there,” the man said, uncrossing his legs.   His voice was deep, yet clear as a bell.  He ran a finger under his nose and sat up in the dark blue upholstered chair.  “You sleep like a rock; you know that.”

It was the man’s general air of control that scared Sasha the most. “Who are you?” he asked, frozen into place in his monogrammed, red silk pajama set.

“My name is Daniil,” the man answered as Sasha turned to reach for his phone. “I wouldn’t bother.  No one will answer you.  It’s sort of funny.  If I thought to get the gun, do you think I’d forget the phone?”  He grimaced at Sasha.  “Come now.  I’m a professional.”

Still, Sasha reached for the phone; picking it up, he found it was dead as the man had forewarned.  He kept his eyes on Daniil as he slowly put the receiver down.  His mind was racing as he fought to access his situation. “What do you want?”  He blinked fast.  “Where is my wife?”

Daniil pushed the edge of his chair and pointed up.

Sasha was confused.  “Upstairs?  On the roof?”  His heart lurched.  “Did you kill her?”

Daniil shook his head no and pointed up again.  “Above you.”

Sasha averted his eyes to find his wife unconscious and securely tied to the top of the wooden canopy bed.  How did he get her up there without waking him?   Gasping, he put a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God, Marina.”  A tear escaped him.  “What did you do to her?”

Daniil finally stood up and brushed a hand down his black suit.  It was time to work, enough with the pleasantries.  “Don’t worry.  I did nothing perverse.  Like I told you, you sleep like a rock.”  He strode across the room to stop at the bed.  A silencer was attached to the sleek, black weapon in his right hand.  The calm young assassin with jet black curly hair and pensive blue eyes wore leather gloves to complete his outfit, indicating this morning would not end well for the people he had come to call on.

Sasha’s eyes darted to the door.  Freedom was just a few feet away.  He wondered if he should try to make a run for it and get help.  But what of his poor Marina?  Thank God, his oldest son had just gone off to college. Otherwise, his quiet hysteria might have tripled.  Swallowing hard, he raised his hands in supplication.  “Whatever you want, I will give it to you.  Whatever they’re paying, I can double it.”

Daniil had heard that before, plenty of times.  Each time had sounded just as pathetic as the first.  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, leaning in where Sasha could get a better look at him.  He turned his face from one profile side to the other.  “Ring any bells?”

Sasha's head shook quickly.  “No.”

Daniil stood back up, erect and authoritative.  “Well, that’s disappointing.  I’m your biggest fan,” he said with faux animation. “I did a stretch in Vladimir Central, under your esteemed supervision, as did my father.  Once, I attacked a guard who consistently pissed in my food and made me eat it.  You had me beaten so badly, I lost three teeth, suffered broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, and nearly lost sight in my right eye.  It made my former profession as a sniper impossible and left a nasty scratch.”   Pointing toward his eye, still donning a permanent, jagged scar across his brow and down the side of his clean-shaven face, he smiled with abject sarcasm.  “Don’t worry.  The women love it.” He placed his weapon back in its holster, then reached behind his black suit jacket to pull a shiny 8-inch blade from its leather sheath.  Slowly and reverently, he brought the weapon into view for Sasha.  “So, after your guards worked me over, I had to learn to kill up-close and personal.  No more bullets, no more quick deaths.”

Sasha struggled to fill his lungs with enough air to speak.  “I’m sorry.”

Daniil waves a hand dismissively.  “Oh, that wasn’t the worst part.  Prison life is simply that. No, no.  The worst part was that my papa heard about what happened in my Korpus and retaliated against the guards for what they had done, killing one. You, of course, got the word and had us both brought to one of your little torture rooms.  I remember you saying that such retaliation among the convicts against guards was not acceptable.  An example had to be made, and you made my father choose. His life or mine.  One had to be given for the guard’s life.”

Daniil saw the recollection as it crossed Sasha’s face.  “Now, you remember.”

Sasha’s heart dropped from the elevated space in his chest, down into the bowels of his rotten soul. Bottom lip quivering, he wiped a tear from his eye.  His voice became meek as a babe, his demeanor equally so.  “Whatever you are going to do to me, I beg you, let my wife go.  She is innocent.  She has done nothing.”

Daniil shook his head slowly, taunting Sasha with his serenity.  Scratching his temple with the pointed edge of the blade, he chuckled.  “You assume that after all that I have told that you, I still have honor.”  His brow furrowed as wild insanity swirled through his blue eyes.  “How kind and naïve of you.”  The smile disappeared.  “Do you remember what happened to my father?”

“Yes,” Sasha answered in a broken voice, now more afraid.  He had never experienced such fear in his entire life.  There was uncertainty all around him, no control to grasp.  He was suspended in a state of chaos even as he quietly listened.

Daniil brought his hands together as he clutched the knife.  “You made my father stand on a wooden chair, wrap a cord attached to the rafters around his neck and jump to his death, while I stood watching.  I can still remember the piss running down his flinching legs as his eyes went dark.  You told me it was to teach me a lesson.”  Daniil smiled as he exhaled a breath.  “Well, Lt. Guard Kuznetsov, I learned my lesson.  I learned there was no such thing as honor or mercy. And I promised never to give it easily again.”

Daniil never allowed his anger to show, even as he told his heart-wrenching true story.  If he started seeing red now, he might ruin the fun for both of them.  “My father was due to be released that year.  My mother had waited fifteen fucking years.  When she found out that he had hung himself, she had a heart attack and fell dead at the factory she worked for in Makhachkala.  She was buried heartbroken and alone.  But you know, there is a silver lining in this story.  After that, I joined the brotherhood, and under Alexander Popov’s protection, you never touched me again.”  Putting the knife down on the nightstand closest to him, he pulled his gun back out.  “Ahh, the nostalgia of it all.  Don’t you love it when a story comes full circle?”

Sasha’s eye darted toward the door for the second time, and he swung a leg off the side of the bed to prepare to run.  However, Daniil quickly and quietly pulled his trigger, putting a hole in the bed only inches from Sasha’s thigh.  The sound was muffled, a precursor of how silently Sasha would die if he were lucky.

“Don’t try that again,” Daniil warned, voice tightening.

Sasha looked down at the feathers that nestled on the bed.  Something didn’t make sense to him.  If Daniil had known where he lived this entire time, what had taken so long to seek his revenge?  “Did you come here on your own, or did someone send you?”

Daniil raised his hand up to the canopy to check the cabling he had used to tie up Marina Kuznetsov.  After all, he didn’t want her to fall.  That would be rude.  He tightened one of the knots, eyes completely removed from Sasha, knowing his mark would not be disobedient again.  “I was sent by Simeon Kurdin at the behest of Czar Dmitry Medlov.” He slowly trailed his gaze back to Sasha when he was finished checking his work.

Sasha stopped breathing altogether.  He knew both names well – but he feared one more than the other.  Dmitry Medlov was alive?  Their last conversation had been one of deception where Sasha had lied to him about Alexander Popov’s abrupt death under his care.  But at that time, Sasha never thought he would hear his voice again.  Erik Popov had promised him that he wouldn’t.

“Boss Medlov only wanted you killed.  He doesn’t believe in harming women or children.”  Daniil’s eyes sparkled with mayhem.  “But my boss doesn’t give a shit, and neither do I. In fact, Boss Kurdin sent me here so that I could get some closure.”

“If you don’t care about killing women and children, what do you care about?” Sasha asked.

“Not much.”

“I have money.”  Sashed turned toward his captor, legs now fully back in the bed.  Weaving his fingers together, he prayed toward Daniil.  “Let me pay you for my wife’s life.”

“My boss said that you would offer?” Daniil raised a brow at Sasha.  He waved a finger at him. “He said that if you offered me enough, I should take it and let her live.”

Sasha exhaled a sigh of relief.  “Name your price.  I will pay all that I have.”

Daniil twisted up his lip.  “Let me finish now.”  Sitting on Marina’s side of the bed as she dangled overhead, Daniil crossed his left hand over his right, gun nozzle aimed toward Sasha.  “The thing is, I only let one person live on a job.”

“I don’t care about my life,” Sasha pleaded emphatically.  His face reddened.  The tips of his oddly shaped ears were crimson.   “Not as much as I care about her.”  He had been married to Marina for 28 years.  The idea of her losing her life over his job was too much to bear.

Daniil looked up at the woman.  Gray strands of curly hair trimmed her oval face.  She wore a white cotton nightdress with pink roses embroidered on the bodice.  In just a few minutes, she would come to, and when she did, this would make for quite the explanation.  “She’s a lucky little woman.  To have all this, such a nice, grand place to live with all these luxurious amenities.”  He looked around the room fit for royalty and gave an approving nod.  “I didn’t know a Lt. Guard made so much money.”

“I’ve done what I have to do over the years,” Sasha explained.  The grandfather clock in the corner struck 5:00, set to wake the man of the house for his day at work.  “And I know I am guilty of heinous sins, but Marina is not.”

The guards for the next shift would be arriving soon.  What they would find would be a pile of dead bodies, sliced at the neck, shot in the head, gutted around the perimeter of the house.  But they would not find Daniil, because he was about to wrap this up.

“I’ll tell you what I’m willing to do.  I’m going to give that same courtesy you gave my father.  Would you give a life for a life?” he asked for clarification.

“Yes,” Sasha answered quickly. There was no hesitation, no fear in protecting her, just the anguish of letting her down.

Daniil complicated things.  “What about her life over your son’s?”

The room went silent.  Sasha shook his head in disbelief.  How did this man know about his son? What else did he know?  Who else would he hurt?  Had he hurt?  The questions multiplied again.

Daniil continued, certain he had garnered Sasha Kuznetsov’s full attention with the curveball question.  “Your boy is at the university…was at the university, da?  Psychology major?” He pulled a phone from the inner pocket of his jacket and put in a password.  Sliding it to Sasha, he nodded.  “Go on.  Pick it up.  Look at it.”

Reluctantly, Sasha picked up the phone and saw a live feed of his son in a strange room tied to a chair in his boxer shorts with a halogen light shining on him.  Unable to hold his composure, he broke into a sob.  “Have you no mercy?”  Tears streamed down his eyes.  “He’s just a boy, a sweet boy.”  Sniffling, he wiped his nose.  “I’ll do anything.  Anything you want…”

Daniil looked at his watch.  Now, calm and putting away the theatrics, his voice resounded with finality.  “Choose.”  He motioned upward.  “Her or him?”

Sasha cried loudly.  Snot spilled over his thin mouth.  Rocking back and forth, he trembled.  “Please…”  He begged, even though he knew already what he must do.

“Which one?” Daniil asked, stone-faced.  He released a huff.  “I don’t have all night.  Are you worried?  Are you unsure?”

“No,” Sasha cried.  “No!  Don’t you do it!  Don’t you hurt my boy.”  The image of his son was burned into the back of his mind.

“What I will tell you is that your son is somewhere far away.  If I give my men the signal, they will help him off the chair, and he will go free, or they will hang him with the cable noose about him.  However, I need you to decide right now, which one.”

Sasha put his hands over his face and crumpled into a pitiful ball of nerves.  He started to heave as he sputtered incoherent words.  “You…can’t  I…Please, I beg of you, have mercy on my family.  Forgive me!”  He looked up at Daniil with his hands clasped together.

A muffled voice above made Daniil look upward.  “Marina’s awake,” he said, standing up.  “Just in time for the big reveal.”  He rolled his shoulders.  “Which one will it be, Sasha.  The kid or the fat old ball and chain?”

“No…” Sasha cried. “I can’t.”

“Make a choice,” Daniil taunted, angry that the man was so protective over his family, but so willing to dispatch everyone else’s.  It made him sick to his stomach.  It made him sick to think how pleased Sasha was with himself as he ordered his father to murder himself while he stood watching with sadistic glee.

“No!” Sasha cried out again.

“Make a fucking choice!” Daniil screamed, voice echoing through the room.  His arm extended; gun gripped in his hand.  Nostrils flaring, he took a deep breath and lowered his voice.  He wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow and resumed his calm exterior.  “Now.”

Sasha looked up at his wife with a river of tears streaming down his cheeks and shook his head.  “I’m so sorry, Marina, my love.”

Daniil shrugged and switched his gun from his right to his left hand.  The decision had been reached.  Finally.  He glanced up at the woman, whose eyes had widened in confusion and fear.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Kuznetsov.  I’ll make it quick for you,” Daniil promised.

Grabbing the blade off the table, he made one fluid motion upward and sliced through the meaty double chin and throat of the older woman.  Blood sprayed across the bed and both men.

“No!” Sasha screamed hysterically.  He jumped off the bed and ran as fast as his bare feet could take him across the room to the door.

“Not as easy to watch when it’s someone you love,” Daniil said, pointing and shooting Sasha in his left calf.

Sasha fell just a few inches from the door.  Reaching out for the knob, he heard the heavy footfalls of Daniil as he approached from behind.

“Wait.  There is still a lesson to learn here,” Daniil said, grabbing Sasha by the back of his head and dragging him across the white carpet.  A thick red trailed followed from the door back to the bed.

“Look at her!” Daniil ordered, holding Sasha’s face where he could see what he had done.  “Look at what you asked me to do to your fucking wife!”  Her dead eyes focused on the bed.  Her body was limp, still held in place.

“I hope you burn in hell!” Sasha cried as he kicked his legs, ignoring the pain shooting through his body.

“The lesson to be learned is that sometimes we have to make hard choices,” Daniil whispered into Sasha’s ear.  “Like right now, should you focus on your leg, your life, or your son?”  Daniil wiped Marina’s blood from his face with his gloved hand.  “You can’t focus on all of it.  You still have to pick.”

“Let my son go,” Sasha begged.  “You promised.”

Daniil took exception to the assertion.  “Are you calling me a liar?” he asked, pulling the phone off the bed.  “You’re the one who wanted to run out on our conversation.”  He dialed a number that answered on the second ring.  “Let the college boy go, but first, make things even.  I was a sniper, and Lt. Guard was gracious enough to try to take my eye.  I think for things to be even, you should take at least a part of the boy’s tongue since he wants to be a psychologist.  It’s only fair, eh?  And while you’re at it, break a few ribs for me.  Then drop the scholar back at the university so he won’t miss class.”

Sasha wept until there were no more tears to cry.  “You bastard!!”

“And then some,” Daniil agreed.   Hanging up the phone, he slipped the device back in his jacket pocket, placed the gun on the bed beside the puddle of leaking blood, and picked the knife back up.  A release of endorphins assailed him.  He had waited years for this moment.  He had thought about how it would play out a million times.  To rush this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity would take away the sweetness of the kill.

“Damn, I almost forgot that I was supposed to give you a message.”  Daniil smacked his lips.  “Boss Dmitry Medlov told me to tell you,” he pointed the knife toward Sasha, “Erik…Popov…missed.”  He shrugged.  That’s it.  I came all this way for those three fucking words.  Can you believe it?  The rest was me, ad-libbing.  I mean, really.”  He bent down and put his knee in Sasha’s chest.  “It’s all about the delivery, right?”

The blade gleamed in the light and reflected upon Daniil’s face as he felt Sasha struggling just below him.  His breathing quickened.  “I made Marina’s death quick.  But you should go out in style, like the lying, cheating, torturous bastard that you are.”  Taking his eyes off the blade, he stretched his arms, knife in hand, and smiled at Sasha.  “As promised, I only let one live.  Now, let’s begin, shall we?  I promise to make your remains a work of art.”

Chapter 17

The Medlov Family

Siberia

Present Day

“When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.”     ― Plutarch

B rown eyes glared through the still darkness at a gold-framed painting of Alexander the Great.  It was an impeccable high-end replication of Man of Arms by Rembrandt, bold with color and meaning.  As Royal Medlov studied the details of the young man’s helmet and the side profile of his face, she remembered the quote from Plutarch and how it reflected their life.

The sun had set on their lovemaking session, and with the rise of the full, yellow moon in the star-filled night sky, earth-shattering orgasms had faded into the bleak reality of their situation.  The Medlov Crime Family was at war once again, and these brief moments of bliss, no matter how sweet, would become fewer and fewer until they were gone altogether.  Every moment would eventually be spent working toward their collective end.

Kill the Popov Crime Family or die.

There was a time in her younger life when the idea of taking on such a challenge would have sent chills down her spine.  Out of fear, she would have cowered away, curled into a defenseless ball and begged for someone else to save her.  How innocent she had been back then – how foolish. But now, after all, that she had been through in her 33 years on this earth with over ten of them standing beside an underworld Czar, war no longer evoked fear.  It only made her determined to fight harder.  Knowledge dwelled in her that eventually, there would be no more crime families to conquer, no more knees to bend, and no more warring over that which was rightfully theirs.  But unlike Alexander the Great, she would not stand over their vast empire when all of this was over and weep.

Instead, she would finally be able to rest, knowing peace would be the critical part of the legacy they would give to their children.

Covered in dewy sweat that glistened over her caramel-colored skin, she sat naked atop their sheets with her mop of freshly cut chocolate curls pushed against the headboard and her left knee cocked up to give her aching vagina a little air while Dmitry snored lightly beside her.  The low, rhythmic rumble of him resting was music to her ears.

Dmitry had not slept in days – except for mini-naps that hardly counted.  Instead, he had undergone surgery to remove bullets in a work kitchen in Memphis, traveled half-way across the globe to St. Petersburg, Russia to confront his enemy and declare war, then traveled with haste across the mountainous terrain of Siberia to be with his family.

The first thing he had done when he arrived at their remote estate, despite his pain and exhaustion, was to make love to his wife.  It had been vigorous, full of touches and kisses before a full ravaging.  Then, after a fever-pitch climax that echoed through the halls, the giant passed out on his back, legs splayed wide across their bed, head on his pillow.  The scent of her sex perfumed his red lips, and bandaged wounds now seeped with blood. Although her first thought had been to change his dressing, she ignored the nagging, mothering voice in the back of her mind, and allowed him the opportunity to rest.  To ensure he was not disturbed, she would not move a muscle.  She stayed still, right beside him, watching over him with a gun on the nightstand beside her and a serrated blade tucked under her pillow.

“Get her out of here,” Dmitry mumbled under his voice.  “Get them to safety.”

Royal turned her head and looked down into his face.  The moonlight that shuns in from the window gave a view of his curly blonde hair and tanned face as it tightened.  Holding her breath, she prayed he would not wake, but Dmitry’s eyes shot open as sounds of bullets pushed him out of his nightmare into a panicked state.

“It’s okay,” Royal whispered, bending over to kiss his cheek.  “Everything is okay.”

Dmitry looked at her, brows furrowed, hand balled into a fist.  Panting, he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with his free hand and then pushed out a breath.  Damn nightmares.  “How long was I out?”

“Not long enough.”  Royal trailed her long nails over his boulder-sized shoulder.  “Go back to sleep.”

Lifting his arm, he glanced at his watch and sighed.  “I can’t.  I need to meet with the men.” Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he grunted as he sat up.  Royal was quickly behind him to help.  “Take it easy. You’ll bust your stitches.”

Based upon the wet sensation against his back, he figured it was too late for that warning.  The pain pills were starting to wear off.  He grabbed the bottle of meds from the nightstand and popped the top.

“Be careful with those,” Royal warned.  She had a history with those little bastards.  It had started off with need after Ivan’s attack, but it ended with want.  Years of her life had passed in a blur; only Dmitry didn’t have the luxury of being out his mind, right now.  “We need to get you something else to deal with the pain, long-term.”

Dmitry knew she was right, but for now, he would have to make do.  “I’ll make arrangements,” he promised, moving the conversation along.  “How are the babies?”

“Coping,” she answered truthfully.  “Anya is angry, worried about you.  The boys are clueless.”  She stood up and walked around the bed to help him dress, knowing he was not about to take her advice and rest.

He watched her long, supple body move with grace toward him.  Children had made her thick.  Large, heavy breasts swung with every step.  An adorable little pooch rested on her lower belly. Wide hips and thick thighs made her more pliable to his sexual demands, and ample backside made him her slave.

She glanced at him as she reached over and turned on the lamp, illuminating the room and his thoughts.  He raised a brow to her suggestively.

“And Anil?” he continued as she bent between his hairy legs to get a better look at the wounds.

She glanced up at him.  “Frustrated.” Pulling the bandage away from his skin, she winced at the gaping hole of torn, delicate flesh, ignoring the lazy, snake-like member resting on his thigh.  “Shit, Dmitry.  This injury needs to be cleaned up now before you get an infection.  Do you have antibiotics?”  She placed the bandage back temporarily, but it barely stuck to his skin.

Dmitry nodded, not caring to focus any attention on himself. He found his wounds to be embarrassing – a show of weakness.  But Royal ignored his manly pride.

“Therein my pants pocket,” he finally answered.

Without another word, she grabbed his discarded pants and rifled through his pockets until she found the bottle.   It rattled in her hand.  “Let’s go in the bathroom so that I can clean you up.”  She stood up and offered her hand to him.  “Come on.”

“I can get up myself,” he said, placing a firm hand on the mattress to shift his weight.

“And I can get pissed,” she warned.  “Now is not the time to be…you.”  Biting her lip, she chose her words carefully.  “Conserve your energy for when you need it.”

She was right again.  Dmitry smacked his mouth and took her hand, still making sure not to put too much weight on her as he got off the bed.

A knock on the door made them both freeze in place.  It was late – not the time for interruptions.  The shared thought was that something was wrong.

A bolt shot through Royal.  “Yeah, who is it?” she asked, voice strained.

A bell of a voice, muffled by the oak door, responded.  “Mom, I saw the light turn on.  Is Daddy here?”

Instantly, Royal’s shoulder’s relaxed.  “Just a minute, baby,” she answered, looking around for something to cover themselves quickly.  She didn’t know where anything was yet – having just arrived at the estate less than a day before.

But Dmitry knew this place like the back of his hand.  “In the closet.” He pointed to one of the large doors on the other side of the room.

“Shit,” Royal mumbled, dashing to the closet door.  She flipped on the lights and stepped inside the walk-in closet to find monogrammed, terrycloth robes hanging in the corner.  She slipped on hers first and then dashed back over to Dmitry to help him with his.

“Do I look, alright?” Dmitry whispered, concerned his haggard appearance might startle Anya.

His daughter had been through enough in the last few days –ripped from her home and jetted across the globe.  He hardly wanted to cause her more worry about his compromised physical state.

“You look fine,” Royal responded.

Watching as Royal dressed him, he suddenly felt vulnerable.  Anya had always seen him evoke strength.  To be anything less right now would undo years of hard work to fortify his daughter with a sense of protection – be it faux or genuine.

It was as if Royal could hear every one of his thoughts.  “Stop worrying.”    She drew his robe close at the waist and double-knotted the thick tie.

“Mom?” Anya knocked again, this time with less patience.

“Coming, baby,” she called out to Anya, walking to the door.  Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the knob and swung the door open to find Anya in her nightclothes.  Her big blue eyes glared up at her mother with hope.  “Is Daddy in there?”

“Yeah.  How long have you been out here?” Royal asked, stepping out of the door to find Luka standing guard in the corner, watching the stairwell.  He raised a brow at the young Czarina.

“I haven’t been here long,” Anya lied.

“One hour,” Luka spoke up.  “She refused to move a muscle.”

Royal frowned at her daughter. “You just sat out here by the door?”  She moved out of the way to let her daughter inside the bedroom.  “Why didn’t you just knock?”

Anya had her reasons, but when she laid eyes on her father, they were all forgotten. She ran across the room to him and grabbed him by the leg, holding him tight.  A stream of silver tears streaked her hot cheeks.

“Hey, my little printsessa,” Dmitry grinned ear to ear as he held her close.  Biting back the pain of his wounds, he bent and hugged her.  “It’s past your bedtime.”

“I couldn’t sleep before I saw you.”  Wiping a tear, she shook her head.  “I was worried.”

“Why?” Dmitry asked, pretending to be oblivious.

Anya frowned at his poor deception.  Was he going to try to play coy now?  “Because you were hurt,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, daring him to deny it.

“Do I look hurt to you?” Dmitry asked with sudden animation while bringing her to sit on the bed beside him.  He’d be able to pull this ruse off better if he were not forced to stand.  He had never been a man who lied, but for Anya, he’d do just about anything.

Anya jumped on the bed and shrugged after inspecting him.  “You look okay to me, I guess.”

“Told you,” he said, glad she was convinced.

“Minus the blood.” She pointed out the red stain seeping through the white terry-cloth fabric.

Dmitry looked down at the wound, angry that it had betrayed him. His voice lowered an octave. “Da, da.  Minus the scratch.”

Royal came over and sat on the other side of her daughter.  It was clear that she needed to serve as a buffer for Dmitry.  “You’re much too smart to fool, aren’t you?” She grabbed Anya’s hand and lifted it to her lips to kiss it.  “We love you.  And we’re here together now.  That’s all that matters.”

Anya smiled at her mother and then looked back over at her father.  “So, just how bad is it?”

“Bad,” Dmitry said, dropping the smile.  “But I’ll fix it.”

“We’ll fix it,” Royal corrected.  Her daughter needed to know that she was not willing to sit on the sidelines, watch, and do nothing.

Anya nodded – hearing the words they said and everything that they didn’t.  She could tell by their voices that they were not ready to tell her any details yet.  “In my opinion, once the element of surprise is gone, it’s all about who has the most heart.”

Dmitry blinked fast.  “I would agree.”  He watched Anya as she stood up.  Had her innocence never returned after her abduction?  Had he not realized how strong she was until now?  “Your father has the most heart.”  He reassured.

“I know you do,” Anya said sincerely.  “That’s why I’m not worried anymore.  I just wanted to see you for myself.”

“Now that you’ve seen me, will you go to bed and rest?” Dmitry asked, exhaling a deep breath that had caught in his chest with her cool observation. He was still unwilling to give any indication of his actual state, especially to a child.  His little spy would have to continue to get her Intel elsewhere.

“Alright, I’m going, but under protest.  Maxim wants to sleep with me instead of the bunk bed.”  She walked to the door. “I told him it was okay for tonight, but if we’re going to be here for a while, he’s going to have to grow up a little.”

“I’ll speak with him about that tomorrow,” Dmitry promised, watching his daughter grow in front of him.  “Thank you for being so understanding, Ms. Medlov.”

“It’s the least I could do.”  She smiled at her parents lovingly, but her thoughts were cloaked, cut off from the world for interpretation.

“Goodnight.  We love you, baby,” Royal said, feigning a half-smile back at her child.

“Dobroy nochi, papa,” Anya said, exiting the room.

As the door closed and the Russian voice of the guard boomed in the hallway, insisting he escort Anya to her room, Dmitry turned to his wife with a desperate look of urgency and a sense of foreboding that sobered his hazed state.  “I can’t let my war come to this doorstep.   Help me get dressed.  I need to meet my men immediately.”

Royal nodded and helped him up, this time without him protesting.  “I’ll tell Luka to gather everyone.”

When the door closed to Boss Medlov’s bedroom, Luka stood from the wooden chair in the shadowy corner and went over to sleepy little Anya, who donned zip-up, footed pajamas, and black curly hair pulled into a messy bun.  He tilted his head to the side and observed the girl carefully.  Something was brewing under her cool exterior.   The question was, what?  He had grown up with two sisters, each one of them quite assertive in their own right, and at this moment, he could see that same quality emerging in her.   “I’ll walk you to your room now,” he said, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

Anya narrowed her eyes at him, dropping the sweet, little girl act for just a moment. With a sweeping gaze over his black suit and white tie uniform, she creased her nose and shot daggers at him with her crystal blue eyes.  “If you must, fine.” But she still didn’t move from her place.  Instead, she averted her gaze up to the tall, blonde with authority in her stance.  “Let’s get one thing straight, though, since you’re going to be around me a lot more.”

“What’s that?” he asked, seeing Stepan emerge quietly up the stairs.

The bald spot at the top of Stepan's head shined under the recess lights shining from the second-floor rafters.  In a plaid button-down and dark jean with his trusted weapons hitched to him by his tan leather holster, he made his rounds to check on each section of the house and do an inventory of things he needed to order for the family.

Anya stepped closer and pointed toward Luka with her dainty fingers.  “If you ever correct me in front of my parents again, you’ll be sorry.  You’re here to protect. Do your job, nothing more.  You’re not part of this family.  You’re not my uncle or my godfather. And you’re damn sure not some Russian underworld Dr. Phil.”  Quietly, she thought of her dead Davyd, a guard who had become more like a grandfather than an employee.  In the end, he had left her alone, despite all other promises.  If she had anything to do with it, she would never get close to any Medlov guard like that again.  “Mind your business and stay out of mine.  Are we clear, pretty boy?”

Luka frowned at the unexpected rebuke and was amazed by the sudden transformation in her from a dainty little daisy to a thorny rose, but he understood.  She wasn’t what she appeared.  None of the Medlov women seemed to be.  It honestly made him have more respect for her.  There was no place in this family for weakness.  Nodding, he shrugged and straightened his hulking athletic build.  “Forgive me for speaking out of turn.  Forgive me for offending you.  That was not my intention.”

“I don’t care about your intentions.  I’ll warn you this one time as a courtesy,” Anya snapped back at Luka intending to castrate him verbally.  The last thing she needed was a bunch of spies watching and reporting her every move to her parents.  Surely, they had more important things to do than play big brother in her life.  It was bad enough that she was locked in this oversized barn with a bunch of babies and old people, but tattlers too?

“Anya,” Stepan growled as his large, loafer-clad foot landed on the top step.  Holding on to the round globe at the top of the newel post, his mouth flew open, surprised by the girl’s mean-spirited reprimand. “That is no way to speak with your guard.  Apologize to him.” His thick Russian accent did little to hide the authority he had no problem asserting over Anya.

Anya’s head snapped toward Stepan, and while she wanted to get him in line as well, it was impossible.  The old man had been a part of much of her young life, especially Prague.  If she got unruly with him, her parents might very well paddle her behind for real – at least her mother would.  Still, she didn’t give in completely.  “Why should I apologize?” she asked Stepan without blinking.

Stepan relaxed his shoulders and heaved a sigh. Children. “Because you were not raised to be so disrespectful to someone in your employ.  It’s bad form for a young Czarina,” Stepan explained, voice laced with disappointment.  He motioned toward Luka and shifted his eyes briefly from the girl to the man, then back to her.  “Now, apologize.  I won’t ask again.” There was no such thing as empty threats in a Medlov house.  He did not want to, but if he must, he would interrupt the master of the house and explain Anya’s bad behavior, which would surely lead to consequences for her.

Defiantly and after several seconds of quiet deliberation, Anya turned back to Luka and prepared to utter the words, but Luka pulled his hand from his pocket and raised it to stop her.  It wasn’t like he had thin skin, especially about the callousness of a pre-pubescent girl.  Plus, he didn’t want to break Anya’s iron spirit.  She might need it in the upcoming days.  And considering her cunning ways, he wasn’t sure if she were made to apologize that his relationship with her might further deteriorate.  It was best to mend this now and move on.

“There is no need for apologies.  We have an understanding.” Luka winked at Anya and motioned down the hall toward her bedroom.  “Now, Ms. Medlov, let’s get you to your room, da?”  He bowed toward her and hid amusement behind his stoic face.

“See, Stepan,” Anya said, eyes still on Luka as she clenched her jaw, “we have an understanding now.” Anya walked past Stepan with her head held high.  Regardless of what happened after this, if the butler told her parents on her or not, if she got in trouble or not, she was certain that Luka would not be tattling on her in the future.

Watching her march down the hall with Luka just a few steps behind, Stepan shook his head in bafflement.  Anya was becoming more like her father with each passing day – even if no one noticed.  It was natural as his offspring that she would find a way to establish her territory.  And although she had been heavy-handed with the guard, he would not say anything to her parents about the situation.  Children acted out when faced with trauma. Anya had more than her share of it.   This was just her way of adjusting to the new environment.

A thought crossed his mind.  At least, she had not shot anyone…yet.

Dmitry had not been the only one glad to get back to his wife or his life.  Under cover of night, in a bed filled with disheveled sheets and two sweaty, interlocked bodies, Gabriel Medlov moved in and out of his wife’s sweet, chocolate center with powerful strokes – glad to be back in her warm embrace after such a long absence.

The carnal need had built-in deep inside him since the hour his wife and children had been pulled from the safety of their home and put on a plane toward uncertainty. Thoughts of never seeing her again had assailed him, even as he had watched the convoy of vehicles pull out of the Medlov compound in Memphis.

Gabriel couldn’t count how many times he had wondered during those long, torturous hours leading up to seeing her face again if he would return to her safely.  Time and experience had proven that nothing in the world was certain; no one was truly untouchable.  While he kept his composure and did his job to serve his uncle and the family, his heart was still across the continent with his better half.

So, when he finally arrived at the mountainous hideout hidden beyond trees and rough terrain, protected by bricked walls, Gabriel dropped all airs of control and jumped out of the back of his SUV, sprinted up the stairs past the guards, entered the house with her name on his lips – voice booming through the rooms as he sought her out.

I must see her now, he thought to himself.  Right now!

Finally, in the maze of mysterious rooms, he found her reading to their half-sleeping babies resting in bassinets.  She was curled up on a brown sofa, wearing simple burgundy leggings and a soft, gray V-neck shirt.  Her long slender feet were peaking from under the Burberry throw draped across her body.  Red toenails.  Nude lip gloss.  A gold cross dangled from her gold necklace.  Her black, feathery, natural hair pulled in a ponytail.  Diamond studs sparkled from her earlobes.  Long lashes flapped slowly under thick arched brows.  Graceful, elegant…

Perfection.

When he saw Valeriya Medlov’s angelic face, big brown eyes, perfect heart-shaped lips, the true reflection of beauty and strength, there was only one way he could adequately express his elation.

“Gabriel, thank God,” she whispered, releasing an exhalation that made her shoulders drop.  Throwing the cover from her body, she pushed to the edge of the sofa and tried to stand, but he was already at her feet.  Dropping to his knees, he drew her body to him and hugged her tight, kissed her face while holding her head in his hands.

His heart beat like a drum in his chest.  “I’m so glad you all are safe,” he confessed, breathing hard out of his nostrils.  He gritted his teeth and ran his hands down to her shoulders.

“I prayed for you,” she said, licking her lips as fat tears dropped from the tips of her lashes.  “I prayed you come back to me safely.”

Without another word, he had pulled her from the small study, followed her to their new bedroom, leaving the twins with the nanny, and bedded her like it was their first time or worse, their last time.

Now, he was where he wanted to be, where he needed to draw his strength for what was to come.

His muscular, tattooed back flexed in the darkness.  The moonlight shined in through the windows.  The sound of wet, slick sex echoed through the room.  With her long dark brown legs wrapped around him, Valeriya kissed her husband’s perfectly molded lips and absorbed his jolting thrusts.  A thin sheen of sweat transferring from his forehead to hers, as he grunted in ecstasy, hands placed as anchors beside her to hold him up.  His mossy green eyes, sparkled in the dark as he memorized her face, yet again.  How he loved the way, her face contorted when he invaded her.  She wiggled and writhed in ecstasy, having just erupted when he found that spot within her sex that caused the most violent orgasm he had given to her in quite some time.

Now, it was his turn.  Her pleasure always came first.  It was paramount.  And after she had been pleased, the reward was filling her to the brim with his essence, watching as he made her take all of him in a thick, heavy heaping.

“Tell me you love me,” he panted, close to climax. Movements became faster, more constricted as his muscles tensed.  He rose up, back-arching, chest flexing.  The sound of his body slapping against hers became louder.

“I do love you, Gabriel.” Her lip trembled; the muscled in her stomach tightened.   Moving her hands down to grab his rock-hard ass, she pulled him in deeper, opened her legs wider, ground against him harder.

He bit down on his bottom lip, clenching the sheets in his balled-up fists as his head flung back, and he slammed into her one final time before he felt his plentiful seed spring forth.  Normally, he muffled his screams but cared not tonight.  His deep baritone growled with unbridled pleasure.

Wet, black locks of hair stuck to the back of his neck.  Fresh scratch marks from his wife’s long nails welted in red streaks across his back.  Collapsing beside her, he pulled her close and kissed the back of his neck.

Inhaling through his nose, he swallowed a hard, dry breath and moaned.  “I missed you.” He kissed her again, this time trailing a finger down the side of her hip.  “A lot.”

Valeriya wiped her forehead and buried her head in the pillow as she looked at him.  “I missed you too.”  She reached out and put a hand on his cheek.  Her diamond ring caught the moonlight and sparkled.  “Are you alright?”

“Better now,” he said, eyes becoming heavy.  All he needed was a few hours to sleep. He placed a hand on his chest and scratched across it.  Prickly stubble had started to grow back since the last time he had been able to groom.  He’d have to fix that soon.  “How are you?” he turned to look at her.

“Getting there.”  She could never lie to Gabriel.  While she was now happy that he was there, another concern rushed to the front of her mind. What now?  Remnants of their past still lingered with her.  At night, she was still plagued with nightmares of everything that had happened in Ukraine.  There hadn’t been time enough to heal, and yet they were already in the throes of another conflict.  So…what now?

Gabriel turned on his side on the bed.  “What can I do?” he asked sincerely.  “I know you’ve been through a lot.  Just tell me what I need to do.”

Her right eye jumped.  “Tell me everything,” she said, voice trembling.  “I can’t afford to be on the outside, waiting for instruction on this.

“Baby, I was just trying to protect you,” Gabriel tried to explain.

Valeriya nodded.  “I know, but now that we are protected, start from the beginning and tell me how we got here.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request.  Gabriel twisted up his lip and tried to figure out where to begin.  “Okay.”

A loud knock on the door interrupted them.  Sitting up, Gabriel glanced over at the clock on the nightstand.  “Wait a sec.”  He stood up and walked naked and sweaty over to the door.  Cracking it, he looked down a few inches to find Marat.

“Boss wants to meet downstairs in twenty minutes in the situation room.”  Marat knew what he was interrupting.  It didn’t take a genius to know that every man in the house was doing the same thing – including him when he got the call from Royal.  But it was his job to rally the troops.

Gabriel rolled his eyes.  “You’ve got to be kidding.  We just got here.”  He looked down at his watch.  Time had moved fast.  He’d been in here for nearly two and a half hours already.

Marat shrugged.  “I’m just the messenger.”

“Where is the situation room?” Gabriel asked sarcastically. It wasn’t like he’d ever been here.  Before Marat could explain, however, he lifted a hand to silence him.  As he did, his fully naked body came into view.  “Never mind.  I’ve got 20 minutes to find it.”

Slamming the door, he turned to his wife, who was sitting up in the bed with her arms folded across her chest.  “Fuck my life.”

Ignoring the sounds of insects in the distance, Anil slowly exhaled as he pulled the trigger.  A few hundred feet away, he saw his target, a bottle of a bear on a pile of logs, explode upon contact.

“Yes!” he said, rising up from his position.  With a grin, he looked up at Boris, who was pleased with the young man’s ability to follow directions.

“That wasn’t so bad, da?” he asked, raising from his crouched position.  “The trick is always to make sure your sights are lined up.”  Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, he plucked one out and hit his front pockets to find the lighter.

Anil frowned.  “For someone so active, I’m amazed you actively try to kill yourself with cigarettes.”  The budding doctor in him began to emerge.

Boris growled as he fished out his lighter.  “Are you the surgeon general now?”

“One day, I could be.” It wasn’t too far out of sight for him.  Being around the Medlov family had taught him one thing, at least – there was no such thing as boundaries. “But it doesn’t take a doctor to know the effects of tobacco on the lungs.  Over time, you could develop all sorts of health issues.  You could get cancer.”

Boris appreciated the concern, but he wasn’t exactly worried about cancer.  “You know what I do for a living, kid?  I doubt I’ll live long enough to get cancer.  If I do, then I know who to come to.  For now, patch me up and keep me going.”  He lit the cigarette and took a long drag.  Relaxing his head back, he felt the wind blow over his face.

Anil placed the sniper rifle beside him and sat upon his butt.  Cocking his long legs out, he ran a hand over his hair and yawned.  “So, what else can you teach me?”

“One shot and you think you’re done?” Boris raised a brow.  “You need to do that for hours every day.  Then we’ll move on to something else.”

“I’m pretty good with a blade,” Anil said, pulling his knife from his pocket.

“Let me see that.” Boris took the knife and inspected it.  He nodded in approval, then passed it back to him.  “Nice.  Who gave that to you?”

“Royal,” Anil answered.

Boris chuckled.  “Tomorrow, I’ll teach you about Molotov cocktails.”  They were one of his favorites.  “You can make one out of damn near anything.” Feeling his cell phone buzz, he pulled it from his pocket and answered.  “Da,” he said, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth as he squinted.  “I’m out in the back with Anil.  We’ll head in.” Hanging up the phone, he stood up.

Anil rolled his shoulders and stood up, towering over Boris.  “Who was that?”

“Your father.  We’ve got 20 minutes before he wants to meet.”

“He wants me there, too?”  Anil asked, glad he was being included.

“Yeah, all of us.” Boris wiped off his jeans and grabbed the box of bullets beside his feet.  “Guess the old man is ready to get started.  But before we go there, do me a favor and stop in the medical room and grab some shit to clean your father up. He’s a fucking mess.”

“Sure thing,” Anil answered quickly.  He had not seen Dmitry since he arrived back at the compound, but he couldn’t deny that he was anxious to do so.

“Don’t worry, kid.  He’s hurt. He’s not dying.”  Boris flicked his cigarette to the ground.

Anil walked quietly beside Boris, holding his new rifle, given to him by Boris, close to his chest.  He was glad someone had taken notice of how left out he felt.  While it was appreciated that his father wanted to keep him safe, there was no room for idle hands.  He wanted to fight, and he had just as much reason, if not more, to do so.

Chapter 18

The Popov Family

London

“Any fool can start a war, and once he's done so, even the wisest of men are helpless to stop it - especially if it's a nuclear war.”

― Nikita Khrushchev

P eter Popov was absolutely dumbfounded.  Despite the declaration of war on Dmitry Medlov and his hardened Vor army, his nephew, Erik Popov, had flown right back to London as if nothing had happened.  Instead of seeking shelter in one of the many homes they owned across the globe and fortifying himself, Erik had chosen to come back to their mansion on Billionaire’s Row.

Foolish.

Peter was sure this was the first of many mistakes Erik would make before this fiasco was all finished.  However, he had relinquished power as head of the Popov Crime Family many years ago, and because his brother, Alexander Popov, was now dead and unable to demand Erik’s ear, he had to follow his irrational nephew into the pits of hell without outwardly questioning their direction.

The entire flight over from St. Petersburg after the council meeting, Erik had babbled on his cellphone to a laundry list of allies, beating his chest as a fruitless show of strength, but there seemed to be no underlying strategy forming.

The strategy was vital in a war, both in its inception and its end.  Peter attributed Erik’s ignorance to the fact that the self-proclaimed true underworld Czar had never gone to war on his own.  He had never had to.

Since Dmitry had come into power, there had been minimal conflict.  And when there was war, it was always one united front of the council against other organized crime syndicates, not the brotherhood against itself.

As he sat and thought about it, these last past years under Medlov governance had been full of profits and calmness, instead of constant unrest.

Now, that was all over.

This war was sure to be bloody and cost plenty of lives.  Those who Erik cared most for would be targeted and murdered, and eventually, Erik would be assassinated as well.

Peter had seen real men battle.  He had been one of them before he turned into an old man.  The earmarks of a Russian crime lord were all the same if they had come from the streets and made their riches on their own.  A Vor was methodical, smart, cut-throat, relentless, unwavering, and unmatched.  Erik was none of those things.  He had come into the brotherhood by way of legacy.  Someone else had bled for their billions.  Dmitry, specifically.  While not all legacies were as entitled, Erik had always been oblivious to the real grit it took to build their empire.  He was off attending expensive, private schools, living in mansions, being protected by men who had known only suffering the whole of their lives.  And in response, Erik Popov had shown no respect.  He had spat in the faces of those who served him, stepped on the heads of those who upheld him, and now, he was biting down hard on the hand that had fed their family for years.

Peter didn’t consider this to be just a war.  He believed it to be a nuclear war for the Popov Crime Family.  After Dmitry was done dropping his bomb on their family, they all would be obliterated.  There was a reason why smaller countries didn’t go to war with superpowers and a reason why no other family on the council had gone to war with Dmitry.  Sure, they didn’t always agree with him, but a good businessman always saw the bigger picture.  What surprised and concerned him was the willingness of three other families to go to war with him?  Were they that blind to the butcher’s capabilities, or did they know something he didn’t?

“Sit with me,” Erik ordered his uncle, voice echoing.  “We need to talk.”  He sat in a three-piece suit in front of a spread of food cooked by the staff in preparation for his return.

Peter had been summoned to his nephew’s presence by one of the house guards right before he settled into his bedroom to get some much-needed rest.  Instead of complaining, he slipped on a robe and obediently came down to the formal dining room in his silk pajamas, slippers, and robe to find Peter alone at the table.

The room was dim, with only the crystal chandelier above illuminating the ornate space. A few guards lingered in the corners, hidden in the shadows.   The room had been designed for a king but was always empty, except for the occasional dinner party for Erik’s cronies.  Just like every other room in the house, this one felt lonely and made Peter wish for either a quickening of his death or that of his nephew.  What was the point of all of this shit, if a man was going to dwell in it alone?

“I’ve got Oleg, Lev, and Renat on speakerphone.”  Biting into a crispy, fried chicken leg, Erik motioned toward the chair directly beside him.  “Sit. Sit, dyadya.  We’re talking strategy.  Now that we have that dog, Dmitry, on the run, we need to figure out how to keep the upper hand.”

Could it be that Erik was already patting himself on the back for a job well done before the job could even take place?

Peter walked past the finely upholstered chairs at the long table and took his seat beside Erik.  “Who said he’s on the run?” Peter asked, scooting his chair up to the table.

Erik gave his uncle a pointed stare.  “No one knows where he is.  I’ve made the calls.  He’s not in Memphis, not in Prague, not anywhere he would normally be.”  Wiping his mouth free of excess grease with a black linen napkin, he placed his hand down on the table and clenched the fabric in his hand.  “What do you call that, if not on the run?”  The arrogance in his scowl was unmistakable.  He honestly felt as though he had the upper hand.

Peter blinked fast like someone had just splashed him with ice-cold water.  He regained himself, careful not to show an ounce of doubt.  “I simply meant that if we don’t know where he is, that could be a serious problem.  You keep your enemies close, under a watchful eye.  You don’t let them scurry around.”

A maid entered the room and quickly went to the table to fix Peter’s plate.

Erik didn’t need a lecture, nor did he appreciate the attempt.  He sucked his teeth and sat back in his high-back chair.  His silver hair gave a stark contrast to the wine-colored upholstery.  “Oh, we plan to find Dmitry.  I’ve got someone on that right now.”

“Peter has a valid point,” Lev said, breaking the silence over the phone.  “You’re in plain sight.  Aren’t you worried about being targeted?  Until this is over, I plan to relocate immediately.  We all do.”

“Do we want to appear as though we are afraid of this man?” Erik countered, looking at the phone.  “Are we all to go into hiding?  How will we be able to run our businesses?”

“That’s the point,” Renat reminded.  “None of us can run our businesses.  Not the ones that are on the books, anyway.  Remember?  Your men and ours fall under the council now.  Your legitimate businesses are the only thing that the council can’t touch.  Anything associated with the Vory is forfeit until this is over.  It’s how the old guards ensure wars between council members don’t last forever.”

Erik picked up his glass of white wine.  “I don’t plan on this taking forever.  We need to crush him now.”

Peter inhaled a breath.  How were they to crush something when they didn’t even know where it was?  It was like planning a teenage girl’s sweet 16 party with this group.  Without taking over the meeting, he offered food for thought.  “Who did Dmitry travel with out of St. Petersburg after the meeting?”

Erik didn’t know.  He tapped his fingers against the table, waiting for an answer to come from the phone.

“Simeon Kurdin,” Lev answered.  That had been the first thing he had asked around about once he arrived back at his compound. His team was actively pulling as much Intel as they could on Dmitry, but it would take time.

Erik looked over at Peter with a blank stare.  “Then he’s probably in Simeon’s territory.  Siberia.”  It was a vast place with plenty of hideouts, but knowing at least that put them on the path.

Peter pushed out a breath.  “We need a real location in Siberia.  Do we have anyone in Simeon’s camp we can flip?”

Erik smirked. His nephew should have spent more time getting to know the men on the council better, instead of just judging them from afar.  Again, he had to provide his nephew with a little clarity.  “No one turns on that man.  He’s crazy - certifiable.  Simeon would kill them, their families, and their neighbors with just the smallest of betrayal.  The last man to turn state’s evidence on him during an Interpol case ended up skinned alive and staked to the front of the agency’s gate with railroad spikes.”  Peter nodded, gratefully toward the maid as she put the food in front of him.  “Simeon Kurdin rules with a rather heavy hand.”

“Like I don’t,” Erik asked, feeling challenged.  He took a sip of his wine.  “Someone has to be able to tell us who has at least come in and out of the fucking airports in Siberia over the last day.  Start there, da.  It’s not likely they will miss a fucking seven-foot blonde man with an army of minions following behind him.”  He chuckled.  “All they have to do is follow the blood trail.”

Peter lowered his voice to keep the other men on the phone from hearing him.  “You should start there, Erik.  It’s your war.”

Erik spoke up louder.  “I’ll have my men get on it.  For now, how do we draw Dmitry out?  And how do we think he’s going to come at us?”

“We’ve talked about that,” Oleg, the most methodical of them all, finally spoke over the phone.  And while he sided with Erik, it was for his own reasons.  Dmitry had a monopoly on gun trade in the southern region of Africa, and he wanted in on the action.  This was the only way to try to secure his family’s future in that regard.  “We are not the primary targets of the war.  He’s going to come after you first.  If he kills you, there will be no need to go to war with us.  Per the rules of the council, we will return and pledge our allegiance.”

“Not that we are not going to kill him,” Lev chimed in.  “But we think he’s going to focus on you.  It’s the smartest strategy at present.”

Peter was not so sure but would not speak up until he was.  He focused on eating his food and listening attentively.

Erik paused unintentionally, expecting his uncle to interrupt again, but Peter didn’t say a word.  “Right.”  He sucked his teeth again, becoming less interested in his food as the conversation went on.  “I propose we draw him out by shuttering his operations.”

“He’ll be expecting that,” Lev countered.  “The big shops are probably fully protected by now.  Double the manpower and firepower.  We can try, but I don’t think he’s going to give away his position for factories or offices.”

“That’s all we have.  He’s taken his entire family and left Memphis,” Renat said, reading a note given to him by one of his men.  He read it and nodded.  “Word is that Memphis is a ghost town.  There is no sign of him there.  The gate is even open to the compound, inviting us in.”

“Well, maybe we should waltz in and burn the fucker down,” Erik snarled.

“It wouldn’t be smart.  With the assassination attempt, Memphis is on full alert.  The FBI will be watching everything closely.”  Lev had another idea.  “If we can’t go after his family or his businesses, maybe we should go after his reputation.”

Erik sat up in his chair.  “In what way?”

Lev leaned against his desk and folded his fingers together.  It was a risky idea, but it might work.  “The larger council might not approve, but we are apprised of all of his illegal enterprises for reporting purposes.  We might want to turn that information over to the authorities.  With the government searching him out, it might muddle his attention, cause him to make a mistake.”

Renat didn’t like that idea.  “In the past, we all have had to work with the authorities to survive.  My family is as guilty as any.  Even Andros has had some dealings with the Kremlin, but if we get the reputation of turning over our men, the larger brotherhood might come after us.  I would have to advise against it.”  While he wanted Dmitry dead, he would not do anything to kill him.

But Erik was not of that mindset.  “What do we care what the underlings think?  We are the council, not them.”

Peter stopped eating and looked over at Erik with a blank stare.  Would he stoop so low?  Alexander had died in prison.  Working with the government was not an option.

Erik ignored his uncle’s silent disapproval.  “Let’s circle back to that in a minute.  What else can we do?”

“Dmitry has always insulated himself where he is nearly untouchable.  If we don’t go after his illegal businesses or his legal ones, if there is no family to kill or hold hostage, if we can’t turn him over to the authorities, we only have one choice.  We have to find him and his entire family and kill them all.  We can’t leave one person alive.  The other men on his family council are just as dangerous as he is.  They all have children who eventually will grow up and seek revenge, and they are traitors to their race-mixing with those apes.  So, we have to kill everyone associated with them, or they will just come back twice as strong.  From what I’ve heard, the women are nearly as dangerous as the men.  Even the daughter killed someone when she was abducted.”

Again, Peter felt his stomach turn because of the immorality of the discussion, but he understood this was war.  Dmitry had killed Alexei – one man – and now Erik was planning to kill everyone associated with the Medlov family, even though he still had not truly mourned his brother’s passing.  It seemed hardly fair or reasonable, but the most sickening part of it was that Erik would never pull the trigger once. He would kill the innocent and guilty alike and let God sort them out.  Such a willingness, even if the act did not come to pass, would have serious consequences.

As if the murder of entire families was nothing, Erik dismissed any collateral damage he might cause.  “I don’t have a problem with that.  I hate kids.  Not a fan of the nigger women, and I don’t like leaving loose ends.  If that’s our only course of action, then let’s take it.  We need to seek him out.”  Erik suddenly felt his appetite returning, now that they had gotten their plan underway.  “Someone is meeting me here in an hour.  I’ll send her to Siberia.  If Dmitry is there, she’ll find him.  What can you all provide for the greater good?”

Again, the phone was silent as the men weighed what they were willing to sacrifice.  Erik waited impatiently, staring at the phone like his thoughts would set it on fire.

Lev Yakshev spoke first.  “We will provide 100 men for the cause and $5 million toward the operations.”  It was a hefty price but one that he was willing to pay toward the growth of his operations.

Oleg Rabinovich chimed up second.  “We’ll match, Lev and his contribution.  But I can’t provide any more than that.”

But Renat was still silent.  He sat behind his desk in his office, lips twisted, hand wrenched.  His intentions were cloaked from the beginning of this, and he had no intention of failing.

Finally, he spoke. “We’ll double the men and the money.  But Erik, you better make damn sure you get the bastard.”

A satisfied grin crossed Erik’s thin lips, a menacing glint sparkled in his devious eyes, as he gazed over to his uncle with a triumphant smile.  As far as he was concerned, this war was over before it could get started.  “We will get the bastard, indeed. And assure you that the spoils of war will be plentiful.  At the end of this, we will all be very rich men.”  Clearing his throat, he cut into his chicken breast with his fork and knife, separated the meat carefully, and picked it up with his fork.  Raising the morsel to his mouth, he released a sigh.  “Good, very good men.  I’ll touch base with you in the morning.  As it seems, per your advice, I’ll be relocating to a safer and more secluded place.  Until then, have a good evening.”

Peter reached over and hit the button to hang up the phone. Idiots, the lot of them!   There was no question that his nephew was pleased with himself, but foolish men often were.

“Why didn’t you suggest we relocate?” Erik asked, shoveling food into his mouth.  He glanced at Peter for an explanation.

Peter raised a brow.  “As you said, I am an old man with old ways.  You know, best.”

Erik was inclined to believe him for once, especially when it came to acknowledging his genius cunning.  “Leave the hard lifting to me, old man, and you might see this family rise well above anything it was ever before.”

Peter nodded. “I can admit that I am speechless at your strategic planning so far.”  His meaning cloaked with sycophant guise, but inside he was tearing his hair out.  To make sure his nephew was not questioning his loyalty too early, he offered a little levity. “How does one track a blood trail in the snow anyway?”

Erik chuckled.  “You caught that, eh?” His spirits lightened. Maybe all Erik wanted was a real show of force to gain his respect. “I saw Dmitry at that meeting.  He was doubled over in pain, angry, and vulnerable.  Sometimes, you have to kill the legend to kill the man.  I wasn’t sure if Renat would come aboard with my proposal to rise against him, he had spoken against it at first. But after seeing the blonde butcher reduced to rubble, he spoke for our side.”  He smiled at his uncle.  “We’re going to win this, uncle.  And Dmitry is going to wish he never dared sit at our table.  It wasn’t like he belonged there anyway. He’s beneath us.  A bastard child of a whore.  An uneducated freak of nature.  He’s gotten by on his good looks and charm and cleverness too long. For years, he pulled the favor from my brother and myself and was like some saint in the eyes of you and my father.  But eventually, you saw that he wasn’t worth your favor. He wasn’t worth your time.  Now, he’ll see his better.”

Peter nodded his head again, as though he agreed, but inside, the wheels were turning.  So, that’s what this was all about.  Erik had never recovered from the recommendation by himself and Alexander to bring the Medlov Crime Family to the table and serve on the International Council.  In a way, this was all his fault as much as Erik.  He had been blind to his nephew’s jealousy.  Over time that jealousy had festered, and with the killing of Alexei, another pompous, privileged legacy with the same backward logic, it opened the floodgates for war.  Now, Erik was willing to dismantle and destroy the legacy of not only this family but the council to assert his elitist views.  Shame.

“To the better,” Peter said, raising his glass in a clandestine toast to Dmitry. He only hoped he didn’t live through this. It was time to move on to another plain, where he wouldn’t be embarrassed by the last name that he had worked so hard to fortify.

“To the better,” Erik said, raising his glass as well. He wiped his chin quickly.  “Mmm.  Gather your things.  We’re leaving in the morning.  I don’t want to raise concern among our allies.  If it makes them feel better that we relocate, we need to do that.”

“Where will we go?” Erik asked.

“Well, if Dmitry is in Siberia, and if keeping our enemies close is important, then we need to go to Russia.”  Erik squinted as he mulled over the location.  “I think Makhachkala is best.  We can use papa’s old house there.”

“Makhachkala?”  Peter knew the place well.  It was a city of supreme chaos, run by a tyrant and controlled by the Kremlin, but to keep his nephew pliable, it would not be wise to question him.  “I haven’t been there in ages.”

“Neither have I, but we still have good relationships.  Father’s friend still runs everything, right?”

Peter stabbed his food and paused.  “Putin runs everything now.  You might want to call in favors to the Kremlin.  Let them know you’re coming to the country for a while.  A gift of some sort might be necessary as well.”

Erik frowned.  Money was not an option right now.  “My relationships at the Kremlin are not as deep as they used to be.  Plus, you know our coffers are running low.  With Alexei dead and my business deals not producing as I thought, we are not liquid enough to start paying off governments. It was the whole reason why I needed to go to war with Dmitry.  On paper, we’re billionaires.  But in truth, we’re nearly broke.  Everything is tied up or spent.  I’d have to sell a few houses to be able to pay for anything more with all the security and shit we need now.”  He shrugged with indifference, having not been the one who had built the empire in the first place.  “We might need to lean on our friends again for that.  We can use some of the money they’ve pledged to work with the government.  They’ll never know.  And it’s not like they didn’t suggest, if not damn near insist it in the first place.”

“Good point,” Peter said equally unbothered.  “On another note. How is your wife?”

Erik nearly spat his food out.  “Oh, that.”  He shook his head.  “She won’t be returning.  I sent her papers for the divorce, and I’m sure once she finally is released from the hospital, she’ll head back to her mother.”  He shook his head. “Damn shame.  I got a picture of what she looks like after the accident.”  His eyes bucked.  “Hammered dog shit.”

“Not good,” Peter said, enjoying his meal.

“That is an understatement.  I can’t look at that for the rest of my life.”

“So, are you going to cut her a check and send her on her way?”

“Fuck no,” Erik said quickly.  “What did she do to deserve a check.  I made her sign a prenup.  But beforehand, I promised her we’d spend our lives together.  She’ll get her car and her clothes and a few jewels, but the rest is not my problem.  She is not my problem anymore.”  Zoya, the mysterious girl down the street with the award-winning blow job skills, crossed his mind.  Now that was a real woman.  “I’m already working on her replacement.”

“Are you sure now is a good time to invite new people?” Peter asked, concerned.

“I can pat my head and rub my fucking stomach at the same time, uncle,” Erik replied.

Peter laughed, but again, he doubted his nephew. Erik would not know a real woman if she fell from the sky and hit the ground in front of him.  His mother had been a cheap woman whom Alexander ended up strangling in a bathtub over possible infidelity many years ago.  And his stepmother after that had been an angel but died of a heart attack while cooking dinner.  The only other women the boys had experience in their lives had been worth less than a mention.

“Well, that is a young man’s game.  I assure you; I only get what I need when I pay for it, and then I send them away,” Peter said, pushing away from his plate to grab the bottle of wine in front of him.

“This new girl is a prime cut.  I’m going to fuck the lining out of her.” Erik’s mouth watered at the thought.  “And then, maybe I’ll get rid of her too.”

Just an hour ago, Zoya received a communication indirectly from Dmitry Medlov.  He wanted her to secure a relationship with Erik tonight – one that would ensure that she would be embedded in his home indefinitely.  Not a problem.  One of her many talents was that she had a knack for improvisation.

The five-inch wonder had arrived back from his business trip and was down the street at his house.  All she had to do was get his attention.

For the last thirty minutes, after a quick bath and applying a shit load of makeup, she had been busy lighting expensive candles and packing her favorite items in the Louis Vuitton luggage her current boyfriend had given her a few months ago.

The boyfriend, being the spineless little tech shit that he was, had not been back since their last discussion about marriage, and after getting the text from Dmitry, she had reached out to her trick to say that she wanted to have a baby and make this official.

Of course, the boyfriend was mortified by her suggestion and immediately broke up with her over FaceTime, giving her a few days to sort things out and find a new place to live.  Again, not a problem.  And considering the house was empty except her and her dog, she was now ready for the big performance.

The first thing was to switch phones.  She had arranged with another Medlov contact there in London to transfer the number of the cell phone she had been using to communicate with Erik to another phone after her plan unfolded.  Popping a new SIM card into a prepped telephone, she discarded the other under her bed.  For her plan to work, she would have to ensure there were absolutely no traces of her deception.

She had lit over 100 candles and placed them strategically around her bedroom, then slipped on a nude-colored lace negligee, a pair of peek-a-boo thongs, and a necklace of gaudy yellow diamonds.  Men were weak to the ambiance, despite the misnomer that women were the slaves.  They were visual beings, unable often to move past what they saw.  It was why attractive women, even the dumb ones, had the edge over intelligent women with a lot more to offer. By the time most men realized they had purchased a lemon, the warranty on their arm candy had ended.

Laying across the bed, she posed for over 20 highly erotic shots before she picked the perfect one, showing all of her assets, and sent the picture to Erik via text.

Within minutes of receiving her communique, he called her via FaceTime.

“Men are so predictable,” she said to her dog, Anubis, who was busy licking his balls in the corner before pulling one of her heavy breasts out of the negligee and propping herself up against the pillows on her bed.  “Hey, you,” she said, answering the phone. “I was just thinking about you.”

Erik tilted his head and pulled away from the phone to get a better view of Zoya.  “Damn.  Now that is how you greet a man.”

Zoya giggled, running a hand through her long tresses.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m just arriving back.  What are you doing?” he asked, watching as she moved the phone down her body and stopped at her freshly waxed vagina.  Slipping a hand down into her panties, she moaned.  “I’m fucking myself.”

Erik felt his hardness just below the table.  Peter had excused himself and retreated to his quarters.  Business for the night handled, minus one meeting, and he had nothing else on the brain except sex.  Zoya had teased him with a fantastic blow job, but it left him wanting more.

“You shouldn’t have to do that yourself,” he said, voice strained.  He used one hand to hold the phone and the other to rub over his growing crotch.  Ignoring the guards in the corner, he licked his lips.  “You need a little help with that?”

Zoya giggled.  “I need a lot of fucking help with this,” she said, pinching her rose-colored nipple.  Bringing the phone back up to her face, she huffed in disappointment.  “The boyfriend and I broke up.  I’m out of this shithole after tonight.” Moving her phone over where he could see her bags packed, she brought the phone back to her face once again and raised a brow.  “But for tonight, I figured I’d do a little self-care.  My pussy needs attention, and I’m the only one who will do her justice.”

“Oh, you’re not the only one who will,” Erik’s voice deepened.  He licked his lips, wanting her on his shaft right now.

Zoya rose up from the bed and put her head near the foot of the bed, then placed one of her feet on the nightstand as she splayed her legs wide open.  “Wanna watch?”

Erik bit his lip.  “So, you’re leaving, huh?  Where to?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t give a shit,” she said, masturbating while he watched.  “Anywhere but here.  I don’t have time for the drama.  Relationships are supposed to be fun, and in my mind, self-pleasing.  Who needs the rest?”

“Exactly,” Erik answered quickly.  “Grab your nipples,” he ordered roughly.  “Squeeze them for me.”

She did as he asked, squeezing one before she pulled out the other.  Then, she ran her hand down her perfect torso into her panties and stuck her index finger inside of herself.  Letting out a moan, she wiggled her hips.  “God, I need someone to fuck me.”

Erik was worked up.  Sweat had started to form on his forehead.  The thought that she was only a few houses down crossed his mind.  Blind to all the coincides, he watched her as she moved two fingers inside and then out.  Putting her feet on the nightstand, pressed harder into herself.

“Fuck,” Erik cursed.  “You know just how to do it, don’t you?”

“I want someone to suck my clit.  I want someone to fuck me in my tight little ass.” Her voice was softer now.  “Can you do that for me, baby?”

“You damn right,” Erik answered.

Then, feet placed strategically, Zoya knocked over on the of the candles on the nightstand.  As soon as it hit the curtains, the fabric caught on fire.  She sat up, phone moving to an awkward vantage point.

“Shit!” she said, jumping off the bed.

“What the hell did you just…”  Erik didn’t finish his sentence.  Did he witness an accidental fire due to masturbation?  He didn’t know whether to laugh or hang up on her — silly little bitch.

“My clothes!” Zoya screamed frantically.  “My fucking clothes!”  Grabbing the suitcases as her room ignited in a fiery blaze, she darted out of the bedroom with her largest cases, leaving others behind, the dog following.  “Shit!” she screamed again.

Erik sat in the dining room watching in disbelief as Zoya fumbled with her belongings down the stairs of her home into the foyer and out of the door.  She was cursing under her breath but moving fast to flee from the house.  The dog barked in the background.  Finally, raising her phone when she was safely outside, she shook her head.

“I think I just set the house on fire.  Should I call the police?”  she asked, standing outside of the residence, panting hard in her lace getup.

“No,” Erik said, walking toward the front door.  “Head down to my house.  Let him figure it out.  We need to tend to that pussy.”  Hanging up the phone, he had already figured out his sex-situation while in hiding.  He would take this beautiful mess with him to Russia unless she was unwilling.

As it were, she didn’t have a place to stay, and he didn’t have any in-house sex for his travels.  It was a win-win for both of them.

Walking outside in the cold night air, he watched from the top of his steps as Zoya quickly moved down the sidewalk dragging her luggage, nearly naked.

On her tiptoes, switching and swaying, one breast still hanging out of her negligee, she looked toward him and shook her head in dismay.

“Go help her with her things.  Bring her here,” he told the guard.

A black Mercedes pulled up to the Popov house while several firetrucks pulled up to the property several mansions down.  It was blazing with fire.  Smoke billowed up into the night sky, and some of the neighbors had come out to watch the spectacle.

Stepping out of the back of the vehicle, the liaison who had worked with Bandi Farkas in Memphis pulled at her skirt, then marched toward the front door.  Her heart thudded in her chest, scared to face her boss in person after botching the hit on Dmitry Medlov.

Erik Popov had demanded she report to him in-person to explain her fuckup, and she hoped her explanation would not be lacking, lest it leads to her demise.  In a simple black suit, she advanced up the stairs, passed the guards and escorted into the front door of the Popov mansion.

She looked around as she waited in the middle of the foyer for Erik to come down the stairs from his bedroom.  Although he had been apprised of her arrival, it still took him twenty minutes to emerge from his bedroom and come down the long, spiral stairwell.

Her back straightened when she saw him.  He was wearing only his pajama bottoms. His chest, covered in tattoos, though small in stature, was exposed for her to see.

“Well, well,” Erik said, taking his time to descend the stairs.  “If it isn’t my worst mistake.”  He sucked his teeth, assessing the brunette with her athletic build, long legs, perky little breasts, and pouty mouth.  “You disappoint me, Raina.”

Raina ducked her head, embarrassed by her failure.  “Forgive me,” she said, locked into position at the base of the stairs.

Erik shook his head. “I’m not sure I can.”  Arriving at the final stair, he walked up to her and lifted her chin with his finger ever so gently. His eyes darted over her.  “Do you know what your fumble has caused?” he asked, breath laced with the smell of scotch.  “You only had one fucking job.  Kill Dmitry Medlov, and you couldn’t do that.”

As she tried to explain, he reached back and slapped her in the face with enough force to make her see stars.  Still, she stayed in position.  Sucking the blood from her lip, she inhaled a deep breath.  “It wasn’t my fault, boss.  The sniper was incompetent.”

“So, it’s my fault?” Erik asked, refusing to take any blame.

“No, it’s his fault,” she said, refusing to take the blame either.  Looking at him in his eyes, she stood straighter.  “That’s why I allowed Anatoly Medlov to kill him.  I could have recovered him and brought him to you, but he wasn’t worthy.  He was arrogant and lacking.  I did my best.”

“I think we both can say that you’re best isn’t good enough,” Erik said, circling her.  He stopped behind her and looked at the shape of her ass in her skirt.  Not bad.  He was willing to bet she was all-natural.  “I have a mind to kill you tonight, Raina.”  His voice was calm like his decision had already been made.

“I implore you,” Raina begged, “please consider all the facts first.”

“I know the facts.  I enlisted you and Bandi to kill someone, and that didn’t happen.”  Erik stepped closer to her and grasped her hair in his hand.  Smelling it, he made sure to push his erection close to her bottom. Watching her so vulnerable was making him hard all over again, even though he had just fucked Zoya raw.

Raina licked her lips.  “Give me another chance to prove myself, boss. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Who is this?” Zoya asked from the top of the stairs.

Both Raina and Erik looked up to find Zoya standing naked at the top of the staircase.  She made haste down the stairs, breasts bobbing as she eyed Raina.

Erik wasn’t used to any of his house guests being so direct.  “I’m busy now.  Go back upstairs.”

“No,” Zoya answered defiantly.  Walking up to Raina, she looked her up and down.  “Is this your wife?” she asked, nose up in the air.  “Fuckable but not your caliber.”

Erik grinned but felt a small insult.  “This bitch could never be my wife.”

Raina eyed the woman.  Even though she was about to receive a death sentence, she still smelled a rat.  Narrowing her gaze on the beautiful, tall blonde, she jutted her jaw but did not speak.

Zoya immediately picked up on the woman’s desire to protect her boss.  She walked up to Raina and looked her in the eyes.  “She’s pretty.”

“She’s alright,” Erik quipped.

“I heard you say you want to kill her,” Zoya said, raising a brow.

Erik’s gaze narrowed on Zoya.  He might have to get rid of her, via a bullet, much faster than he anticipated.

Zoya gave him a mischievous smile.  “What?”  she asked Erik.  “You mean to tell me that you’d kill something this fuckable without trying it out?”

Erik was taken aback.  He smacked his lips together.  “I hadn’t considered it.”

Zoya was a woman who was not necessarily fond of killing other women, maiming them possibly, but not killing them.  She could see the fire in Raina’s eyes, but she could also see the distrust. If Erik didn’t kill her, if all of this was to scare the woman, she could be trouble later.  The best thing to do was neutralize her.

“I saw you pressing your dick into her ass,” Zoya said cryptically.

Raina’s eyes shot toward the naked blonde, but Zoya simply rolled her eyes.  “My point is that we’ve both had a very trying day.”  She rubbed the side of Raina’s face and glanced behind the guard standing at the door, who was desperately trying not to watch the exchange in delight.

“Yes, we both have had a trying day…so what?” Erik asked, curious about her point.

“So, why order take out when there is plenty of food here.”  Zoya grinned at the woman, hoping she understood that she was saving her life.  She glanced over at Erik.  “I’m sure there are ways she could prove herself to you.”  She moved closer to Raina, pressing her breasts up against the woman.  “Maybe the three of us could go upstairs and talk about it.”  She looked Raina in the eyes.  “I like brunettes.  And I think this one likes me.  She won’t say it aloud, but I bet she’s…good in bed.”

Erik felt heat rush through his loins.  “I’m not sure that she’s worthy.”

Raina submitted to the suggestion.  Turning to her boss, she blew out a breath.  “I will do anything to prove my loyalty to you.”

Erik grinned. “Anything?”

Zoya giggled.  “She said anything.”

“Okay, I’ll give her a chance to prove herself tonight.  And if she’s apologetic, then we’ll send her to Siberia.”  Erik stepped closer to Raina and ran a hand over her shapely ass.

Raina closed her eyes as Zoya roamed a hand over her breast, found her nipple, and pinched it.  “Are you sorry, Raina.”  She prayed the woman would play ball. Otherwise, it would possibly cost both of them their lives.

Raina’s brown eyes flashed open and stared at the blonde gratefully.  “Very sorry.”

Erik slapped Raina’s bottom hard, feeling the muscle in her backside.  The echo of his hand hitting her ass echoed through the foyer.  “Well, we have a solution.  Ladies, please head up to the bedroom. I’ll be right up with you directly.”

Zoya grabbed Raina’s hand firmly, digging her long nails into the woman’s wrist as she led her toward the stairs.  “Consider the alternative, and thank me later,” she said under her breath.

Raina wanted to snatch away, but at this point, her denial would lead to death.  This stranger had just saved her life, but she had felt before it was all over, she might very well be the death of them all.  “I don’t trust you,” Raina growled.

“You don’t have to trust me.  You have to fuck me,” Zoya sneered.  “It’s not like you don’t want to. I could see it in your eyes.”

Raina could not deny her lust, but it did prickle at her sensibilities that the woman had sniffed it out at first sight. The only one she didn’t want to touch her was her repulsive boss, Erik Popov.

Turning around from his unlikely pair as they advance up the stairs, Erik clasped his hands together and walked up to his guard, feeling manlier than usual.  “Make arrangements for Raina to head to Siberia once I’m done with her.  She’ll need the jet and some tech shit.  Not my problem.  It’s officially yours.  The point is, I want her out of here by morning.  But for now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting upstairs.”  He glanced over at the dog, resting in the sitting room and halted.  Zoya had insisted on keeping her animal, Anubis. She said he was the only thing important in her life.  So, to take her, had to accept the four-legged pest.  He gave the dog a disapproving glare that made the animal raise his head.   “And do something else with that thing.  I don’t’ want it pissing on my fucking rugs.  But whatever you do, don’t hurt it.  Zoya likes him. So you need to like him.”

“Yes, boss,” the guard said, walking toward the dog, hoping he would not bite.

Erik trotted up the stairs after the woman with pure glee.  Getting rid of his stuffy wife had been the best thing he’d done all year.  Zoya was turning out to be more fun than he anticipated.  On top of being a top-drawer slut, she was a recruiter of the strangest sort.  Oh, the fun he could have with her in Russia.  After that little performance, Zoya’s fate sealed.  She was his new little plaything.  Signed.  Sealed.  Delivered.

Chapter 19

The Medlov Family

Siberia

“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.” ― Leo Tolstoy

Don’t do it.  Don’t you fucking do it.  Anatoly watched from the balcony of his second-story bedroom, which gave a perfect view of his sister’s private quarters located on the back of the property, as Anastaysia moved closer to the Women’s Council head bodyguard, Nadei by the window of her bedroom.  She was speaking softly to him; eyes averted to meet his as she rocked Nadei’s two-year-old daughter in her long, slender arms.  There was a warm glow coming from the dimmed Tiffany standing light in the corner of the room.

Nadei responded though Anatoly could not hear the conversation, with tension in his boulder-like shoulders and rejection in his body language.

Anastaysia moved closer, stopping only inches from the tall, rugged brute as she said something else, something that made him wince.

Nadei stepped closer to Anastaysia and responded.  This time with softer ease, but then he dropped his head.

Blowing cigarette smoke into the chilly night air, Anatoly leaned his large tattooed arms against the wooden railing, hiding in the darkness as he waited for the forbidden kiss between Anastaysia and Nadei, but instead, she smiled reluctantly and kissed the blonde-haired little girl, then turned and walked away.

Thank God in heaven.

Anatoly’s heart skipped a beat.  It was one thing to have a feeling, a hunch.  It was another to have confirmation.

Clueless to being watched, Nadei rubbed a frustrated hand through his blonde locks and turned to stare out of the window in the opposite direction.

Even from over a hundred feet away in the dark, Anatoly could see Nadei’s coloring redden.

“What did you say to her, you sneaky bastard?” Anatoly said aloud, barely above a mumble.  Gritting his teeth, he felt his jaws buckle under the weight of his protection.

He had been observing the two of them for a while now, every glance, every frozen inflection in their voices when they spoke to each other, every unneeded meeting, and Anatoly had a hunch that the two had fallen for each other, because of their proximity.

Over the last several months, Anastaysia had taken a role on the Medlov Women’s Council with the other femme Fatales, which had put her directly in the old hound’s path.  And as a result, he wondered if he wasn’t creating a powder keg of sexual tension that was leading up to an affair.

However, Anatoly had given no such permission for that type of relationship under his roof.  Nadei was still trying to prove himself after falling prey to Gabriel’s ex-girlfriend, Briggy, who was the deceased mother of his child.  And Anastaysia was still on the mend from being whored out by human traffickers in Miami and recovering from heavy drug use.

In Anatoly’s mind, neither his employee or his sister was ready to begin a relationship, and even if they were, he didn’t like the mix.  A niggling thought started to form in the back of his mind.

“Are you going to spy on them all night like a sick, little perv, or what?” Renee asked, sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of their bedroom.  She observed her husband, not alluding to her nearly telepathic knowledge of his thoughts.

“I’m just having a cigarette,” Anatoly called out from the cracked door.  He flicked the tobacco butt over the ledge as he did, Nadei quickly disappeared.

“Well, hurry up. The smell of that cancer stick is starting to come into the room.”  Renee groaned as the baby kicked, wedging its small heel into her protruding belly button.  That hurt.

Anatoly complied without another word.  He walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it before he pulled his T-shirt off and flung it on the bed.   He rubbed his tired eye with the tip of his index finger, making his bicep flex.  “I don’t like how close they’ve become,” he admitted absently.

“Who?” Renee toyed with him.

“You know who.”

Renee raised a brow.  “What business is it of yours?”

Anatoly dropped his hand and glowered at her.  So, she wouldn’t take his side on the matter?  Typical.  “She’s my sister.  He’s my guard.”

“He’s our guard.  He reports to Royal.”  Renee rubbed the little foot imprinted in her skin until it eased back, and the baby changed its position.  “And Anastaysia is a grown woman with needs.”

Anatoly shuttered at the thought.  “My little sister’s sex life…”

Renee interrupted before he could finish. “That is not what I’m talking about, baby.” She would never bring up anything sexual to him about his sister after such reprehensible sins were waged against her in the recent past.   That would be in poor form.  Still, she had to try to make him understand for Anastaysia’s sake.  “Women have other needs, like feeling needed for one.”  She wiggled her bare feet and gripped the arms of the chair.  “Taking care of that little girl gives her purpose.  She feels alive again like she’s doing something worthy, motherly.  Surely, even you understand that.”

The doctor had recently told them that after Anastaysia’s time with Ryan Colt, she would never be able to have children of her own.  The doctor had managed to cure the STD but not its effects – one of which was sterility.  Anatoly had been there when the tragic news was delivered.  It had caused him to hurt for her all over again.  But now, he could not deny that Nadei’s child could be essential to his sister’s full recovery.

Pulling a clean shirt from the drawer, Anatoly slipped the soft cotton over his bulging muscles and looked at himself in the mirror. He leaned in, recognizing the dark circles under his eyes and noting a gray hair in his blonde beard.  Stress was a bitch.  “Maybe, your right.  I need to get some rest.  I’ll be able to think better afterward.”

The last thing he wanted to do was overthink things in his state and accuse his poor sister of something that wasn’t happening.  She had been through enough, but Nadei was another subject altogether.  If he thought even for a second, the former playboy was moving in on his sister; he’d clip his balls and give them to his wife for earrings.

Renee appreciated the fact that Anatoly recognized his irritation and irrationality.  “Of course, you need to rest.  You’ve been pushed too hard for too long.”

Was that softness in her voice?  Was his wife not going to argue him down about any of his concerns?  Anatoly turned from the mirror and glanced over at Renee, who was glowing and beautiful.  Her smooth chocolate skin glistened with baby pheromones.  Bright brown, almond-shaped eyes looked through him without judgment.

“Come here,” she said, motioning to him.  “I’ve missed you so much.”

No matter what, she could always still amaze him.

He strode over to her and dropped to his knees to put a tender kiss to her stomach.  “What would I do without you?”   He knew that they were going to have to bring their child into this world alone, and quietly it scared him, but he was glad to see that she didn’t blame him for it.

“Thank God you’ll never have to find out.”  Renee rubbed a hand over her husband’s blonde buzz cut.  “I love you, Ana.”

Anatoly glanced up at her, the blue prisms of his icy eyes sparkled.  “I love you all.”  That was why he didn’t mind working without rest.  If his efforts kept his family safe, it was worth it.  He put his left hand on her stomach and gently rubbed it.  “I won’t lie to you.  This will be an extended stay.”  It was important for the news of their long-term plan to not be handed down by anyone else in the family, especially when it came to their unborn child.  “More than likely, you are going to give birth here.”  He licked his lips and sucked in a breath.  “I know it’s not what we planned.” He hated to disappoint her.  They had such grand plans for the birth, and now all of that was ruined.

Renee traced a finger over his wedding band and trailed it up to his Presidential Rolex.  “No, it’s not ideal, but it could be worse. I could have gone into labor on the plane.  I could have gotten shot at the hospice center.”

Anatoly swallowed hard and frowned, furrowing his blonde brows as wrinkles crossed his tanned forehead. Such a thought knotted his stomach.  “I would never let that happen.”  It was why he had insisted that his father break up the sessions with Sanaa at the center.  One could never be too safe.

Renee smiled at his always protective attitude.  Her Ana might stubborn, but he was a man of real courage.  “My point is that there are worse things than giving birth in the mountains of Siberia with my family.  At least we have each other.”  She had given more thought to her immediate future than he realized.  While on the plane here, she came to grips with the untimely departure from their home and had accepted that she would have to rise to this new occasion with a steadfast attitude.

Nevertheless, Anatoly was somewhat shocked by his wife’s amicable nature.  Pregnancy seemed to always make her more submissive in her last trimester to his relief.  He had expected a verbal castration, but in her eyes, he only found peace.  Right now, though he could not, he just wanted to curl up with her in the bed and fall asleep.  “Thank you for your understanding,” he said, rising up from his kneeling position to stand before her.

Renee narrowed her gaze on her husband and smacked her lips.  “Oh, don’t thank me yet.”  She slipped her black, furry flip-flops on her feet and offered her hand for him to help her up.

“Where are you going?” he asked, leading her toward the bed.

“The meeting is in ten minutes, right?” She asked, glancing up at him.  “I’m going with you.  The women of this family have all agreed.  No more doing things your way.  If we are going to be here, we’re going to do this together.”

Getting to the Medlov estate up in the mountains was no easy task and no short trip, but Simeon Kurdin had given his word to Royal Medlov that upon arriving back in Irkutsk, he would visit immediately.  He did not, however, promise a social visit.  Instead, he brought with him tonight, a very special care package of men, ammunition from Dmitry’s factory, and word on the developments across the world, among other welcoming gifts.

When their convoy was allowed entry into the towering brick walls fortifying the estate, he watched from the back seat as they pulled up to the front of the mansion and felt excited.  It had been some time since he had led an all-out-war.

“Simeon Kurdin and his men have arrived,” a voice reported to Marat over his earpiece.

“We’re coming now,” Marat answered, walking with Stepan and several other men to the front doors.  Their chorus of hard steps echoed through the foyer in unison.  “Everyone get in position,” he said again to all the guards listening. “If anything happens, you know what to do.”

Briskly hiking the stairs with his men on his flanks, Simeon arrived at the large red door just as it opened before he could ring the doorbell - how he liked punctuality.

“Sir,” Marat said, greeting his ward’s ally with a nod.  The Medlov men behind him followed suit.  Respect was a thing that Dmitry demanded from his men, even when they felt the need to be territorial, but it was necessary for those coming to provide aid during a time of need.

“Are we on time?” Simeon asked, breezing into the entryway, and looking around curiously.  Even though Dmitry was on the lamb, his accommodations were quite superb.  Without a word, his guard helped him with his topcoat, leaving him in his black, three-piece tailored suit, holding a small red box wrapped in a bow.

One man stood closer to Simeon than the others.  Protectively, he assessed the Medlov guards and the automatic weapons they had slung over their bodies, but his approval or lack thereof was not something he cared to show on his face.

“The meeting is just about to start in just a minute,” Marat answered, eyeing each of Kurdin’s heavily armed men as well.  He was not comfortable with them caring weapons with the family – more specifically, the babies - in the home, but these were the times. An attack could happen at any time, from anywhere.  There was one man; however, he paid particular attention to Daniil, whom he shot a pointed look.  The Kurdin torpedo clung to his ward without shame or permission.  They made eye contact briefly before Marat brought his attention to the Simeon again.  “Allow us to escort you to the situation room,” he said, leading the way.

“Spasiba,” Simeon answered, following Marat.

Forgoing his standard attire of a full suit and tie, Dmitry donned a pair of dark gray, fitted jogging pants that showed the detail of his long, hulking hamstrings and a white T-shirt that clung to his concrete, separated pecks.  It had been the first time in his history as a boss that he had convened a meeting so casually, but it could not be helped.  Constricting clothes would only cause him more pain on his newly wrapped wounds, and Royal had refused to help him dress so ridiculously, as she had put it, for a planning strategy happening under his roof.

He couldn’t sweat the small stuff, and she wouldn’t budge.

Sitting on the edge of the bed glaring at the wooden cane leaning against the nightstand, he felt rage building in his broad chest.  He was too young to be relegated to such a vulnerable apparatus, but Royal insisted that he uses it until he regained his strength.

Heaving a great sigh that sent a twinge of pain through his back and abdomen, he bit down on his lip and rolled his eyes. “I’m not using that.”

“It won’t bite you,” Royal said, standing across the room with her arms crossed over her chest.  “We need to go.  The meeting is starting, per your own orders, and Marat says that Simeon is already here.”  She glanced at her watch impatiently.

Dmitry gripped the back of his neck and exhaled a defiant breath. “I don’t need that. I can walk.”  He kept his eyes on the cane as he pouted as though it was going to be used to beat him instead of helping him walk.

“You do need that,” she insisted.  “And it’s stupid to sit here debating over it while Simeon waits on you.”  Strolling across the room, she picked up the cane and offered it to him.  “Please, Dmitry.”

He hated to hear her beg.  It made him feel worse than the bullet wounds.

Taking the cane, he slowly pushed off the bed, grunted in pain, and leaned against the needed support.  Erik Popov would pay for this shit.  He wasn’t sure what was more emasculating, her seeing him act like a child or feeling like one.

Royal put her hand on her hip.  “Now, is that so bad?”

“Don’t ask.”  Shaking off his selfishness, he refocused his attention.  “Has everyone else arrived then?”

“Everyone else?”  Royal didn’t realize they were expecting anyone but Valeriya’s brother, who was on his way from boarding school with a team of guards.

“Your mother,” Dmitry said, looking down at her.  He was surprised that Royal had not thought of that important detail herself, but a lot had been thrown at her in a short period.

Royal’s shoulders dropped. It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought of her mother. “I didn’t realize you had sent for her.”  The quick flutter of her dark lashes and the low octave of her voice indicated her discomfort.

“Well,” Dmitry took a step toward the door, “it would be unwise to assume that someone would not use her against us if we left her at her home.” Moving quicker, he tried to manage the discomfort.

Royal opened the bedroom door for him, hearing the movement of guards taking their positions in the hallway.  “No one knows about her outside of our guards and the family.  I’ve made sure of it.”  But it wasn’t for her mother’s protection that she’d cloaked the relationship.

Dmitry stood straighter as his foot crossed the threshold.  His large hand gripped the elaborate brass knob atop of the cane.  “We are not in a position to assume.  Everyone must be accounted for so that we do not lose our position before we even start the war.”  He could not risk another abduction, even if his decision made his wife sore with him.  Better sore now than incensed later.

Royal held her breath to which Dmitry wondered, who was pouting now?

It had been years since she had seen her mother.  Their reunion had been a heartfelt one, but it did not take away the pain that had wedged a wall between them.  Her mother had put her and her sister up for adoption as babies.  As a result, her little sister Chloe had committed suicide after falling into the hands of a pedophile during one of many exchanges of temporary parental supervision in the system.  Royal still blamed her mother and had cut off communication, short of a few phone calls every once in a while.

Dmitry hoped this untimely reunion might bring them closer together and offer an opportunity for true forgiveness.  But such a thing would have to be secondary to his own goal of not allowing any part of his family to be used as bait, including the ones that his wife had deemed auxiliary.

“Will there be any more surprises?” Royal asked as they made their way down the stairs slowly.

A long silence proceeded Dmitry grunting again.  His guards walked in front and behind him, but Royal stayed by his side.  “I cannot promise there won’t be.”  He could feel the tension in the air, suddenly thick enough to cut with a knife.  “Would you rather her end up in the hands of Erik Popov?”

Royal rolled her eyes now, more irritated with her untimely reunification with her mother than his having to use a cane.  “No,” she said tersely.  “But this is exactly why all the women will be present for your strategy session tonight.  We need to know what is going on and provide some level of input.”

Dmitry frowned, though he had expected a modicum of retaliation from the lot of them.   He was a man of many talents, knowing women, was one of them.  Even before he saw her, he knew her wrath would be strategic.  “I don’t know that right now is a good time for full inclusion.  There will be other parties at this meeting.” He trusted Simeon Kurdin to a point, but no one outside of the family should be privy to all their movements and thoughts.  Plus, he could not deny his immense sense of protection over her.

Royal helped him as he gripped the side rail.  “This isn’t a request, Dmitry.”  She watched his large feet to make sure he didn’t trip.  “None of us like that we were in the dark on your Code Red, and we won’t be revisiting that again.”

Dmitry knew at some point, the conversation about that would eventually find itself before him.  Instead of arguing about it, he only offered suggested parameters.  “Just ask your cohorts to be cognizant.” He blew out a breath as sweat formed on his brow.  These steps seemed shorter earlier.

“We pride ourselves always in our discretion,” she said flatly.  Her voice tightened as she caught him before he made a misstep.  “Watch your feet.”  Stopping, she allowed him a moment of rest.  Looking up at him, she frowned. “How did you get up here earlier?  We may need a room downstairs.”

Dmitry would not hear of it.  The cane was enough of an insult.  What would be next?  A wheelchair?  “I’m fine,” he lied.  “I got up here fine.  Just promise me, you’ll provide input sparingly during this meeting, at least until Simeon and his men have left.”  He didn’t like the news of the women’s participation, but at this point, he was not in a position to deny it. Maybe that was the point she aimed to make.  Knowing his wife, that was precisely the point.

Royal cut her eyes at her husband’s off-color remark.  The nerve of this man amazed her.  “Well, I can’t promise you that,” she said, using his own words against him to see how he liked it.  There was no doubt that he was going to run this operation, that his word would be the final say, but she had a part to play as well as all the women here, and they would not be denied.  She only hoped he could respect that.  “The glass ceiling of the Medlov Crime Family has officially been shattered.  Consider yourself on notice.”

Dmitry smirked and shook his head.  He should have expected her to use this as her personal fight for equality in the board room, but how could he deny her.  If all his queen asked was full disclosure and participation, instead of a divorce for all she had gone through, he was still winning.   “Your name fits you, my love.”

Royal tried to repress her grin, but she could not help it.  Glancing up at him one final time as they arrived at the last step, she nodded.  “We made it.”

The situation room was in the basement of the mansion and had been long ago outfitted for an event such as this.  With military-grade surveillance equipment that observed over five miles of the property along with locations all over the globe where Dmitry held other residences including Memphis and Prague, a team of highly trained, former Russian military personnel sat in black chairs in front of over twenty-five monitors while other Medlov guards stood their post, awaiting the meeting to begin.

When the automated, steel doors opened, and Simeon stepped inside of the room, he clasped his hands together in glee.

“I love how thorough Dmitry is,” he said with a grin on his face.

The gigantic basement was colder, more sterile and larger than all other rooms in the house, boasting the surveillance room, a large meeting table with leather chairs, an emergency center equipped for surgery, a well-stocked armory and food pantry, a large bathroom, cots lined up for sleeping and equipment for digging, just in case the house caved in on top of them.

“It’s a bunker,” Daniil commented, looking around, also impressed.  If the Medlov family needed to, they could stay down here for months.

“Well, we are at war,” Simeon said, under his breath.  Realizing they were not alone, he eyed the Medlov family sitting at the large table under halogen lights.  He hadn’t expected everyone, especially the women.  How interesting.

“Good evening,” Anatoly said, striding over to greet Simeon properly.  “Glad to see you, brat.”

Simeon shook Anatoly’s hand vigorously.  “Glad to be here.”  He scanned the people watching him from afar.  There was one missing.  “Where is the Czar?”  Had Dmitry taken a turn for the worse since earlier?

“On his way,” Anatoly assured, motioning toward the table.  “Please, have a seat.  Can I get you something to drink?”

A brow rose.  Hospitality at its finest.  “A hefty portion of vodka, spasiba.”  Simeon wasn’t shy about his thirst.  It had been a long day and an equally long trip from Irkutsk.  He took a seat that was pulled out for him by Marat, on the opposite side of Dmitry’s chair at the head of the table.

Gabriel walked out of the print shop with strategic plans in leather-bound founders stacked up in a towering pile in his hands.  He nodded toward Simeon as he placed them on the table.  “Hey,” he said, pushing a folder over to Simeon.  “When did you get here?”

“Just,” Simeon said, opening the folder.  “You all had time to put something on paper, I see.”

Gabriel chuckled.  “This is Dmitry Medlov that we are talking about. He had a dossier prepared on everyone on the council.  We pulled the one for Erik and his cronies so that we can plan accordingly.”

“Really?  Might I see mine?” Simeon asked, knowing Gabriel would respectfully decline.

Gabriel winked and gave a broad, sarcastic smile.  “Yeah, sugar.  Of course, you can.”

Vasily turned on the 65-inch monitor behind Dmitry’s chair, while he pulled open the laptop to connect the other council members who had pledged to stand with the family.

“We will be live on a conference call in ten minutes,” Vasily said, as the black screen lit up in two boxes with two different backgrounds.

Pulling off his suit jacket, Daniil walked to the chair behind Simeon and prepared to settle in for the evening. It was sure to be a long meeting.

“Net.  You sit up there.”  Marat pointed to the table and then turned back to Daniil.  His thick black brow furrowed.  “Everyone has a seat at the table under a Medlov roof.” He said it with finality and pride.

Daniil was yet again impressed.  Nodding, he threw his suit jacket over his arm and walked back over to his ward.  Pulling the chair out, he sat down and looked around the long table at all the familiar faces.  This was a vantage point different than even he was used to.  Simeon was an accommodating boss, but sitting at the table was reserved for equals.

Maybe that was the point.

Everyone here was equal.

As he quietly checked everyone off his mental list, there was one woman he didn’t recognize from the pictures he had studied on the Medlov family while on his ride here – a slender black woman with a low haircut and bright almond-shaped eyes, sitting at the end of the table.  In just a few minutes they had been in the room, he caught Marat glancing her way twice, which meant she wasn’t a Medlov wife.  Based upon the guns holstered under her arms, she had to be a guard.  A black female guard?  Dmitry Medlov was becoming quite an interesting character.

As if she felt his eyes on him, Peaches glanced down to Marat and glared at him with a distrusting scowl.

Oh yeah, she was a guard.

Daniil slyly smiled her way, then pushed back in the seat and placed his arm over the side of his chair.

This could be fun, he thought to himself.

Marat, however, was not amused by the brief exchange.  He was on the clock now, unable to address the unspoken interaction, but if Daniil was going to be staying under this roof for the duration of their visit, specific rules would have to be established.  The number one rule being, stay away from his girl.    Their relationship was still very new, and as such, he didn’t want outside interference from curious minds who wanted to taste the darker sweets.

Seconds later, Dmitry and Royal emerged through the door together.

All the men, regardless of camp, stood up to receive the boss, even those on the other side of the room who were working surveillance.

Royal stood near her husband as they walked but did not dare lean in to assist him.  She knew he needed to appear strong, even if he wasn’t.  Men of this ilk needed a leader whom they could look up to, not someone they had to pity.  A grateful smile crossed her lips when she saw that as agreed, all of the women had shown up as well.  It was a show of solidarity and strength that they needed to make at this crucial point in the operation.

Anatoly pulled out his father’s chair, and Gabriel brought over a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

Vasily and Marat kept their eyes on the Kurdin guards, and the strange black female guard kept her eyes on Daniil.

Dmitry scanned the room as he walked, noting the tension between his men and Kurdin’s, but he expected a brief discomfort during the norming stage of this process.  Eventually, they would get along because he would give them no choice.

“Let’s get started then,” Dmitry said, taking his seat at the head of the shiny oak table.  Air rushed out of the leather cushion as he settled into the chair.  Grunting, he pushed himself up to the He placed a hand atop Simeon’s and smiled at him.  “Old friend.  How was your trip through the mountains?”

“Relaxing,” Simeon answered as Marat brought over a double shot of vodka.  He took it from his hand before Marat could place it on the table.  “I’ll take it from here,” he said with a wink.

Marat bowed his head and stepped back.

Dmitry looked glanced over his shoulder at the monitor.  “We can get everyone online now.”  Picking up his coffee cup, he placed the white porcelain to his lips and blew the steam off the top of the beverage.  His eyes closed as he savored the unique taste.  He thought about his current position – about each bullet that had been pulled from his flesh. Typically, this would have been just business, but now it was personal.  And that was what made this great.  That is what made this important.   Life after a near-death experience always made him enjoy the small things – every sound, every taste, every unappreciated sense that had been previously taken for granted was now heightened. Dead people, after all, did not enjoy the taste of robust Columbian coffee.  Placing the cup down, he looked down the table at the many eyes focused on him and felt the need to become what he had been so many times before – resolute.

Just then, the images on the monitor behind Dmitry were magnified by the HD quality, down to the last freckle on each of the men’s faces.

“Let’s call the first of many strategic meetings regarding the war with Erik Popov to order,” Dmitry said formally.

Everyone, all wives, all guards, all council members, sat erect in their chairs

Dmitry’s fiery ice glance landed on his son, Anil, sitting beside Anatoly and Gabriel. The young man seemed focused and determined to help after all he had gone through over the last few days.  Who could blame him?   Dmitry was glad Anil was there to witness the lengths he would go to defend him, their family, and the honor of his late mother, but he also wanted to ensure that this war did not steer Anil from his plans to become a doctor.  Tragedy often derailed dreams.  He had seen it a hundred times and experienced its powerful pull for his own part.  However, Anil was going to do something legitimate, something that added value to society, and while he had a role to play here, Dmitry was determined for that role not to transform his boy into a gangster.

Lacing his fingers together as he placed his elbows on the table, Dmitry took a deep breath that made his teeth chatter. Even in this most comfortable of chairs, his wounds cried out behind their bandages.  “Priority number one is to neutralize and ultimately kill Erik Popov.  If we cut off the head, we kill the snake, but it is important not to be transparent about it.  A plan will need to be devised that will allow us to neutralize the most apparent threats first.”

In the background on the monitor, Boss Pushka Kovalenko's face appeared as he sat down at his desk.  Shortly after, Boss Maksim Gruzinsky also came into view.

Dmitry could hear their movements over the speaker.  “Thank you for joining us, gentlemen,” he said as Marat pushed over another large television monitor so that his boss wouldn’t have to continue to make jerky movements that would undoubtedly cause him more pain.

“We wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Pushka said, nodding towards Dmitry’s image on his monitor.

Maksim grinned.  “Well, I’m only here in an advisory capacity as I have declared neutrality.”  A glimmer of mischief crossed his face.

“There is much to be said in being neural,” Dmitry winked.  “And Simeon is also with us along with the newly formed and highly esteemed Medlov Women’s Council headed by my wife.”

Royal appreciated the acknowledgment as she sat on the right side of Dmitry.  Sitting up straighter, she nodded at Simeon and towards the monitor.  “Thank you for having us, gentlemen.  My team is ready to work.”

Dmitry flipped open his leather-bound dossier.  “To the point, then.”

Coral Smith was a simple woman.  She lived a simple life in a small, three-bedroom, white cottage home in Dallas, Texas, with a white picket fence, green shutters, and a navy-blue front door.  She never married and didn’t even own a pet. She worked long hours at the county hospital as a nurse, and in her spare time worked as a traveling nurse for the elderly and shut-in on the weekends and holidays.

Her voluntary solitude was penance for the sins of her young life and her decision to give her girls up for adoption when they were still babies.

At that time, it seemed the best option, not for her, but for her girls.

Once she was clean and drug-free, she went to school, got her degree, and started the process of trying to find her children in order to reclaim their life, but after years of searching, nothing came of the thousands of dollars and hours she put into her tireless search.

She had all but given up until one day when she received a call from a young woman claiming to need help with her aunt.  Then, a messenger came.  A man named Gabriel Medlov asked her to lunch, where he showed her pictures of a woman that he claimed was her long, lost daughter.  Several weeks after that, she was flown to Jamaica to a beautiful mansion where she met her only surviving child for the first time since the day she dropped her children off at a local fire station in the middle of the night.

Royal had taken her sister Chloe’s name for reasons still unclear.  She had married well but into a family of clandestine movement and illegal activity.  She had even given birth to Coral’s first grandchild, Anya.  And although it was clear that her daughter was involved in organized crime, Coral could not judge her daughter when she had given her away so quickly.

After their meeting in Jamaica, Royal reached out every once in a while, and her husband sent gifts during holidays, but the communication was distant, and the relationship strained. The excitement Royal displayed on their first meeting had dwindled into rejection and resentment.

Coral was certain it was her doing.  After all, she abandoned Royal, allowed the world to have its way with her.  If she were to blame Royal for anything, she would have to blame herself first.  Instead, she kept her mouth closed and was grateful for the sporadic communication that she eagerly awaited during the holidays, year after year.

However, the night before last, a strange Slavic man in a black suit showed up at her door with several men behind them, brandishing guns and talking on their earpieces.  It was right after dusk and right before bedtime.  She opened the door, worried about what they would report.  Had her daughter been murdered?  Had she been abducted?  But the men stepped inside, insisted upon her full cooperation, and gave her ten minutes to pack.  They told her Royal needed her.

Finally.

She had waited for years to hear those words.  A mother always wanted to be needed by her child.  While given ten minutes, she had taken only five to pack.  She grabbed her medicines, her purse, and her coat.  The men whisked her away to a private plane, and that was that.

After a very long journey, she had arrived in Siberia - a place she never thought she’d ever visit.  Upon getting off the plane, she was put in the back of an SUV in the hangar and made to wait for another guest due to arrive shortly.  To kill time, she read a newspaper until she saw a young black teen hike down the stairs of a smaller jet with a backpack thrown over his shoulder and baseball hat atop his head.  Once the boy was loaded in his own SUV, they all pulled out of the small airport and headed toward their final destination.

During the entire drive, her thoughts lingered on what her daughter might need.  It wasn’t like Coral had much to give in comparison to what her daughter already had, but if it was in her power, Coral would give Royal anything in her possession.  For years, she prayed for an opportunity to prove herself to Royal.  Now, she would get the chance.  As the small convoy arrived at the front doors of the mansion embedded in the side of the mountain, she felt her breath quicken.

I won’t let you down, Coral said to herself as the guard opened the door for her to unload from the SUV.

As soon as the door opened, an older Russian man in jeans and a flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves, greeted her with a sideways smile.  Offering his hand, he helped her out of the vehicle and motioned for her to walk up the stairs.

“Ms. Smith, it’s a pleasure to meet you.  I’m Stepan,” the stranger said, smelling of sandalwood and soap.  To be older, he was in shape.  His muscular tone showed through his clothes, and his skin tanned as though he had lived on the beach recently.  Immediately, Coral eyed the man’s guns.  Did they all have guns here?

“Thank you.”  Clutching her purse, she looked out at the property when she got to the top step.  “Beautiful, huh.” A gentle breeze blew through her soft brown tendrils that danced around her shoulders in fluffy natural locks. Pulling a few wild strands behind her ear, she inhaled the fresh mountain air.

Stepan’s face was unreadable.  “Yes,” he answered.  “Let’s get you inside.”  Opening the door for Coral, he glanced over her shoulder to see Andriy Nenya, Valeriya’s little brother following closely behind with a grin on his face.

“What has my sister done now?” Andriy asked Stepan playfully.

“All sorts of things,” Stepan answered, patting Andriy on the back as he moved past him.  “How’s school?”

“Great.  Straight A’s.” Andriy was chipper and more energetic than anyone else who had been forced to make the long trip.  Driving and flying didn’t bother him, especially in Medlov style.  After living in war-torn Ukraine for most of his life, he always looked at the bright side of everything.

Stepan closed the door when they were all inside and looked at his watch.  “Why don’t I show you both to your rooms, and then we can get you something to eat.  You must be starving.”  His eyes landed on Coral.

Andriy’s stomach growled loudly.  “Can we do it the other way around?  I only have this backpack with me.  There’s nothing to unpack.” He turned to look at Coral curiously.  “Who are you?”

“Royal’s mother,” Stepan answered before Coral could speak.  He trailed his authoritative gaze to Andriy.  “So, show some respect, eh.”

Andriy’s brow rose.   “Wow, you look too young to be Royal’s mother.”

“I had her early,” Coral said, locked in place in the foyer.  “Is Royal here?” She scanned the house, not surprised by its mammoth size or its luxury.

Stepan walked past her toward the stairs.  “She’s in a meeting.  They will be there for a while, so you have plenty of time to get settled.  Would you like to eat before I escort you to your bedroom?”

Coral shook her head and looked down at her clothes. “I’ve been in these scrubs far too long. I need a shower before she sees me.”

Andriy twisted up his lip and was about to speak when Stepan pointed down the left corridor.  “Down the hall to the very back, turn right, and you’ll be in the kitchen.  Enjoy.”

Not another word was needed.  The hungry teen headed toward the refrigerator while Stepan took Coral upstairs to the second floor.

“Whose child is he?” Coral asked of Andriy.

“That is Andriy Nenya, Valeriya’s little brother.”

Coral didn’t know who Valeriya was.

Hearing the silence, Stepan explained further.  “Gabriel’s wife’s little brother.”

“Oh.”  Gabriel was a name she did know. He had been the one to coordinate her first meeting with Royal.  What surprised her was that so many men in this Russian family seemed to have a preference for Black women.  Maybe they all followed their father, Dmitry, in everything that he did, including the type of women who were accepted.

Stepan moved up the stairs slowly for Coral’s sake.  She was slouching, tired, and probably in no mood for a cardio workout.  “We’ve put you in a bedroom next to Anatoly and his wife, Renee.  She’s in the final stages of her pregnancy, and Dmitry thought you could help in the event that she went into labor.”

So, it was Dmitry who needed her, not Royal.

“Does Royal even know that I’m here?” she asked, voice sounding less enthusiastic.  It wasn’t that she minded helping Dmitry, but she had hoped for something else.

“Mistress Medlov been notified of your arrival,” he answered flatly.  He knew the situation between Royal and her mother was a tense subject, and he cared not to get involved.

“Where are the babies?”  She had not seen the grandchildren in nearly a year.

“Asleep.”

Coral pushed out a breath as her eyes landed on Stepan’s firm backside.  He definitely worked out.  “So, are you a guard or something?”

As they arrived at the top step, Stepan turned and smiled at her.  “Something.”

Coral nodded.  “You’re not a big talker.  I get it.  Normally, I’m not a chatty Kathy but…”

“You’re nervous.”  He was nearly half a foot taller than she was, so she had to look up into his eyes.

Coral shrugged.  “I just wanted to help my daughter.  I thought I was here because she needed me.”

Stepan could see the disappointment in her face along with the beauty.  Royal got her looks from her mother.  Carmel-colored skin, bright brown eyes, long slender shape, streaks of silver through her inky brown mane, lush lips, and a dimple in her chin.  He was instantly attracted to the woman, who couldn’t have been a day over 45 years old, the moment the car door opened.  However, he had always known his place, and wouldn’t forget it just because he had recently retired.  “Royal needs you.  She may not say it, but she means it.”

Coral crossed her arms over her chest and lowered her voice.  “Is she in some kind of trouble?  Now that the kid is gone, you can tell me the truth.”

“No,” Stepan assured.  “I’ll let her tell you what is going on.  For now…”

“Let’s get me to my room,” Coral finished his statement for him as they turned and walked down the hall.

Several hours had passed since the meeting began, but the team had come up with one final plan, even though several parts had displeased a few of the parties present, including the news from Anil that based upon his pseudo-professional opinion, his father would need at least two full months to heal, barring any setbacks or infections.

With that in mind, the best course of action was to attack Erik’s allies first at their core, forcing them to have to regroup.  That would give Dmitry ample time to recover to a point where he was ready to fight.

At first, Dmitry tried to argue that his health would sustain him, but both Royal and Anil disagreed with him adamantly and made sure that the group took their side on the matter.

Eventually, Dmitry gave in and promised only to lead from this room, instead of venturing out with everyone else.

There was no choice left for him. He had to compromise.  His body needed time to heal, and his mind had to have patience.  These were two things that he had learned to appreciate, even if he didn’t care for the final decision.

Now, surrounded by mugs of coffee and food that littered the table, along with notepads, pens, and maps, everyone fought to stay awake as they summarized the high points and prepared for implementation.

Dmitry stood by the table, unable to sit any longer in one position.  Walking around, he flipped through the pages of his notepad.

“So, we are going to hit Erik’s allies first to weaken him.  There is no doubt that while Lev didn’t publicly align with him in front of the council, he’ll have some part in Erik’s plan.  Maksim, since you also are considered neutral, it would make sense to have your men follow Lev’s people to keep an eye out for them.  Lev has most of his operations in Budapest, so I think it best for you to start there.  If they start to mobilize, we’ll inform the council and move in on them immediately.”

Maksim yawned, covering his mouth with his hand.  His tired eyes glared into the monitor.   “I’ll have a small scouting team sent to Budapest this morning.”

Dmitry moved on.  “Oleg’s main moneymaker is bank fraud.  We will hit him where it hurts.  I want his lead laundering guy eliminated, and the people working for him in that so-called tower handled.  Boris, you will go to London where Oleg’s operations are headquartered and oversee this.”  Dmitry lowered the glasses on his nose as he looked down the table at his trusty guard.  “I don’t want you active.  I want you running the show.”

Boris quickly answered, glad to be getting a chance to leave the mountain.  “Yes, boss.”

Dmitry flipped the page.  “Oleg’s second money maker is prostitution.  It’s impossible to weed all of his small operations out across the globe, and it will take far too long, but the largest cluster is in Moscow.”  He glanced down at Peaches, who was itching for something to do. “The Medlov Women’s Council has entrusted the disruption of those clusters to you.  Now, just like Boris, you’ll be overseeing.  We’ve got some girls there who will do the grunt work.”

Simeon sat back in the chair and threw his head back.  “My men are in London now where Erik is for the moment.  I’m certain he will be moving soon.  We will follow as best we can, but it is still possible for him to go underground.”

Dmitry smirked.  “I will have credible intelligence on his movements from the inside.  Just make sure that your men are watching from the outside.  Again, I want him saved for last.  There is still a part to play for Maksim at that point.” Dmitry bit down on his lip as he mulled over his hand-written notes.

“Daniil, Nadei, and Marat are going to work with our men to insulate us here.  Mortars, land mines, more surveillance, and weapons.  I don’t want this fight to come to the doorstep of my family, but if it does, I want us prepared.”  He leaned against the table and looked at Royal.  “We need enough time to get the women and children out if it comes to that.”

“I’m working on a few helicopters now,” Gabriel chimed in, wiping his tired eyes.  “The problem is getting it undetected from Irkutsk without someone there finding out and reporting back to Erik’s people.  I’m sure the city is overrun with spies by now.”

“Siberia is my territory.  Irkutsk is my home.  Consider the helicopter problem solved.  Daniil can get just about anything you need.  And as far as the spies, if my men find them, they will exterminate them on sight.”  Simeon looked at his watch.  “Is the sun up?”  He had not worked this hard in a very long time.  It was taking the wind out of his sails.

“Yeah.  Should be.”  Anatoly yawned but wasn’t nearly as tired as Gabriel.  Probably because he wasn’t getting laid.  Renee didn’t exactly feel like getting close after her long flight and drive to Lake Baikal.  “If this fight should end up here, are we in agreement on the women and children going by helicopter to Irkutsk and then over the border to Mongolia?”  He had his girls to think of – all of them.

Vasily scribbled something on his notepad.  “We need to clear out a patch of flat land for the helicopters.  Landing here is already going to be difficult, but if we don’t have a leveled area, it will be impossible.”

Anil had already been assigned to the care of his father and to watch Renee closely in order to prepare for the baby’s arrival, but he also was not above hard labor.  “I can help clear the land.  I did that kind of work before when we lived in Cuba.”

Anatoly sucked his teeth.  “Nadei can help you.  He needs to get out of the house for a while.”

Nadei looked up from the notepad on the table when he heard the growl of his boss’s voice.  Glancing over at Anastaysia, he shook his head.

Valeriya was comfortable with the plan but thought they were forgetting one thing.  “What if the fight arrives at the door, and we can’t make it to the helicopters with the children?  These women have to be also prepared.  I think it’s time to teach them how to use all of these weapons around here.”

Gabriel nodded. “Not a bad idea.”

Dmitry picked up his coffee with a smirk on his face.  Royal knew how to use a weapon. He had watched her transform into Rambo at the hospice center.  “Would you be interested in the job considering your background?” he asked Valeriya, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, I would,” Valeriya answered, glad to be taken seriously again.  In this capacity, she not only was comfortable, but she was also cognizant of what was on the line.  To sit and watch would be an offense to herself and her skills.  Being that as it may, she even had to overstep her husband. “I’d also like to review your inventory list of munitions.  A second pair of eyes could help.”

Dmitry didn’t see a problem with that.  She was probably right.  Making an order for yourself wasn’t the same as making it for a client.  “Gabriel, give your wife the list so she can check it over and make sure we do not forget anything.”

Gabriel tried to repress his frown as he leaned back in the leather chair.  How did his competence get called into question?  “Sure, uncle,” he said flippantly as he bit on his pen.  “I’ll get it to her as soon as the meeting is over.”

Valeriya heard the sarcasm in Gabriel’s voice.  He was pissed, but that wasn’t her problem.  They both were skilled in the art of war, and she had spent too long as the leader of a resistance group to relegate herself to domestic duties while the menfolk planned their future.

“Well, then let’s bring this meeting to a close so that we can get some sleep.”  Dmitry put down his notepad on the table.  “Good job, everyone.  I appreciate your attention to detail in this matter.  Let’s get together and regroup in a few days.”

With that, Maksim and Pushka gratefully signed off.

Dmitry knew that he had pushed everyone to the limit, but he was glad to have them.  “Simeon, I have a room prepared for you on the west wing of the house.  It’s there whenever you like, for however long you like.  Daniil will stay in the rooms prepared for the guards.  My home is yours.  Make yourself comfortable and let Stepan know if you need anything.”

“Perfect.  I’ll stay for a few hours before I head back to the city.  Later, I’ll have some things sent out here for when I need to stay for an extended period of time.”  Simeon pushed his seat back and stood up.  Rubbing his back, he stretched.   “You definitely know how to plan a party, my friend.”

Dmitry shook Simeon’s hand firmly.  “Well, you know how I like to impress.”

“Erik Popov doesn’t have a prayer in hell,” Simeon said, convinced.  “If everything goes as planned, you’ll be back home in Memphis by Christmas.”

“Hopefully, it won’t take that long.”  But even Dmitry wasn’t sure.

Daniil followed Simeon out of the situation room, but not before winking at Peaches a final time.  In the last few hours, she had gone from a quiet little church mouse to the bell of the ball in his eyes.  Not only was she sexy, but she also appeared to be more than capable of handling herself in the streets.  How about the bedroom?  If he stuck around here long enough, he might just find out.

“He’s got a thing for you,” Anastaysia said under her breath to Peaches as Daniil left the room.  “And he’s not bad on the eyes.”

“I didn’t notice,” Peaches lied as she glanced across the room to find Marat watching her.  She was sure she’d hear about this later.

“Well, even if you didn’t catch it, I think your boyfriend did,” Anastaysia said as she turned her back to Marat so that he could not read her lips.

Boyfriend was a strong word for Peaches, but lately, she wondered if it were not the most fitting title.  “Marat is not bothered by the likes of Daniil.”

“So, you remembered his name,” Anastaysia toyed with her friend.

“I remember everyone’s name,” Peached defended.

“I’m just fucking with you,” Anastaysia said, shaking her head.  There was something else that bothered her, though.  “What do you think was up with Anatoly?  Did you hear how he threw Nadei under the bus?”

Peaches shrugged.  Commenting on the boss’s prerogative was something she dared not do.  “I think the boss noticed,” she quipped with respect.  “You might want to sit down and talk to your brother before things get out of control here.  Men in tight quarters who are at odds with each other can prove lethal.”  She knew that Nadei would never win against Anatoly.  If he got on the young boss’s bad side, he might end up buried in the mountain.

Anastaysia leaned against the table.  “It would be easier to reverse time than get Anatoly to…”

“To what?” Anatoly asked, walking up to his sister.   His voice had a growl in it that made Anastaysia uncomfortable.

Anastaysia turned to Anatoly and raised a suggestive brow.  “To relax.”

Peaches quickly excused herself.  It was one thing to be friends with the boss’s sister.  It was another thing to insert her nose where it didn’t belong.

Anatoly glanced toward Nadei, who was speaking to Marat on the other side of the room.  “You mean, relax about that?”  He looked back at his sister for an explanation.

Anastaysia licked her lips and dropped her head.  “I like him,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest.  She kicked her foot out.  “He makes me feel comfortable, safe.”

“So, buy a blanket.”

She rolled her eyes.  “I love his daughter.”

Anatoly knew that was coming.  Using the kid was not an option for this.  “It’s okay to love the baby without getting close to Nadei.  He’s not exactly the settling-down type.”

“How do you know?” She shot her brother a glance.  There was a time when Anatoly wasn’t the settling down type either, but what did they have to do with now?  She just wanted him to be more understanding.   “You’ve got your own life.  Can you let me have mine?”  Her blue eyes pleaded with the softer layer of kindness she knew existed just below his cold exterior.

The look she gave him almost crippled his ability to be an asshole. Almost.  But he held his ground, feeling an overwhelming need to protect her from herself.

“Sure, I want you to have your own life.”  He lifted her chin with his finger and gave a brief smile.  No matter what, she’d always be his baby girl.  And because of that, he couldn’t give in to her demands.  “I want you to find someone to love and have a family with like the rest of us.”

Anastaysia was about to smile.

“But,” Anatoly stopped her before she could get excited, “it won’t be him.  You deserve better.”  His smile dropped, and the seriousness he regarded the situation with reemerged.  Sucking his teeth, he backed away.

“Anatoly, please,” Anastaysia whispered.

He walked off before she could respond.  Those puppy-dog eyes would not work this time.  He wasn’t ready for the heavy conversation, though he had been the one to broach it.  For now, he needed to handle something else.

Anastaysia watched him strode over to Nadei and whisper something in his ear.  More than likely, it was a threat.

Nadei glanced Anastaysia’s way as he leaned in to listen to his boss.  He wasn’t surprised that Anatoly wanted a word with him.  Eventually, this had to come out.  Instead of running from it like a boy, he would face the truth like a man.

“Let it go for now,” Royal said to Anastaysia, pulling her attention away from Anatoly.  She put a hand on the young woman’s shoulder and drew her close so that no one else would hear.

The first thing Anastaysia noticed was Royal’s radical new haircut.  Evidently, she was not the only one in crisis, but right now was not the time to mention it.  “He has to understand I’m not a child anymore.  I haven’t been for a very long time.”  Heaving a breath, Anastaysia rolled her tongue around her mouth in frustration.  “How does he know what’s best for me? We’ve only been around each other for a few months since Miami, and already he’s trying to be my father…again.  What gives him that, right?”

Royal could not answer that question for her dear friend, but as the head of the women in the house, she knew that this was not the time to discuss relationships.  It would only end in tears.  It was her job to keep the war outside of the house, not to allow one to brew under their noses.   “Your brother has been going nonstop for days.  Right now, he’s running on fumes.  Give a minute to eat, sleep, get his mind together.  Let Renee talk to him.  Then, when the time is right, discuss it later.  Trust me,” she looked over at Anatoly as he and Nadei left the room. “You don’t need to push him.  It will not turn out the way you want.”

Chapter 20

The Medlov Family

Siberia

“In war, you can only be killed once, but in politics, a thousand times.”

― Winston Churchill

A s soon as Anatoly and Nadei emerged from the basement, Anatoly grabbed Nadei by the collar of his shirt and pushed him up against the wall beside the stairway.  Nostrils flared, eyes brimming with hate, he blew a vengeful breath into Nadei’s face.

“How dare you!” Anatoly said between gritted teeth.  “She’s my fucking sister, you disrespectful, ass-chasing, piece of shit.”

Nadei raised his hands in submission.  Without a struggle, he allowed his ward to punish him.  The wind was knocked from his body, and his mouth flew open.  Catching his breath, he turned his head to the side.  “I have not touched her.”

“You better not!” Anatoly gripped Nadei’s shirt tighter, ripping the seams at the neck and pulling holes in the fabric.  His knuckles turned white, and he pressed his balled-up fists in the guard’s chest.  “Stay away from her.  Do you hear me!”

The other guards quickly moved passed the pair, trying to get out of the way.

Ignoring his audience, Anatoly moved closer toward Nadei’s face.  “She has been through too much.  What she needs right now is rest.  She needs to heal.  What she doesn’t need is some skirt-chasing, whore-fucker sniffing around trying to get in her pants.”

Nadei couldn’t deny who he once was, but that man wasn’t him anymore.  “I would never do that to Anastaysia.” The sincerity in his voice was broken by Anatoly pushing him harder against the wall.

“Like you would have never betrayed us before when you fucked Gabriel’s girlfriend and got her pregnant or when you left my cousin in Ukraine in the hands of Nazis?” Anatoly brought up the past even though he knew Nadei was not to blame for Briggy drugging Nadei and using him to get back at Gabriel.  As far as Ukraine, it was not Nadei’s doing alone.  But Anatoly’s anger prevented him from seeing things clearly.  Right now, he just wanted someone to pay.

Nadei looked into Anatoly’s face with hurt and resolve.  “I have served you as best I could.  Briggy was a mistake, but it was not my doing, and you know that.”  He inhaled a breath, making his wide chest expand.  “And while I take full responsibility for Ukraine and what happened to Gabriel, that has nothing to do with my feelings for Anastaysia.”

“Your feelings?”  Anatoly spat on the floor.  “Fuck your feelings.  This is my sister we’re talking about, not some slut you met in a bar.”

The anger that raged inside of Anatoly prevented him from hearing the footfalls of his father moving up the stairs.  With his subordinate pushed up against the wall, he contemplated ending his life right then.  “You’ve been a problem for years.  It’s my fault for not ending this before.”

“Anatoly.”  Dmitry stopped several steps from the top of the staircase.  “Let him go.”

Anatoly didn’t take his eyes off Nadei.  “Father, this does not concern you.”

“Everything concerns me in my home.”  Making his way up the stairs without the cane, he walked up behind Anatoly and put his hands over his sons.  “Let him go,” he said softer.  The heat from his body pressed up against his son.  Towering over both men, he separated the two.

Anatoly’s body trembled.   Biting down on his lip so hard he made it bleed, he trailed his gaze down the stairs to Anastaysia, who stood mortified by the exchange.

Dmitry stepped back.  “I want you both to go get some rest.  Nadei, you are excused.”

Moving away from the wall, Nadei dropped his eyes from Anatoly and disappeared down the hall.  Embarrassed, he could not bear to think what Anastaysia thought of him now.

She had asked him to come to her the night before under the guise of talking about his little girl, but after he arrived in the room, she had explained that she was falling in love with him.  How could he handle that?  How could he respond but to tell her that it would never work?  It didn’t matter that he loved her as well.

It didn’t matter, because she was Anatoly Medlov’s sister, and the blood between them had since gone bad.  With his head down, he stalked toward the guards’ quarters with his shirt torn and his pride wounded.  Maybe now, Anastaysia would understand.

“How could you?” Anastaysia finally asked as she stomped up the stairs.  Tears filled her eyes.  “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“How in the hell would you know?” Anatoly snapped before he could catch himself.

“That’s enough.”  Dmitry wiped a hand over his mouth as sweat started to form above his upper lip.  He didn’t have time for this shit right now.  Lowering his voice, he turned to his wife, who was standing a few feet behind him. “Royal, can you have Anastaysia taken to her room?”

“I’m not a child.  I don’t want to go to my room!” Anastaysia screamed as Royal walked over to Anastaysia.

“Don’t,” Royal ordered, squeezing Anastaysia’s hand.  She would not take any insolence toward her husband, no matter the situation.  Motioning toward Peaches, she pushed Anastaysia to her guard gently.  “Take her to her room and get her something to eat, please.”  Royal heaved a breath and shook her head at her husband and Anatoly.  “Really?  You want to do this now?”

Anatoly rolled his eyes.  “What would you do?”

“I would consider the timing,” Royal said, snarling at Anatoly.

“What time would be good for you, Mistress Medlov?”  Anatoly could instantly feel his father bristle toward his remark, but his anger prevented him from caring.

Royal raised a hand to calm her husband before he could speak. Having Dmitry and Anatoly go at each other’s throats over her was something she wasn’t interested in provoking.  “This isn’t about me, Ana.”  Honestly, she felt terrible for her stepson.  He wanted to protect his sister but was woefully out of his depths.

Anatoly’s grimace relaxed as he glared at her, realizing he was directing his anger at the wrong person.  “I know,” he lamented.

The ruckus had gotten everyone else’s attention down in the basement.  Renee emerged from the room, waddling toward her husband.  “Ana, what’s going on?”

Her voice, shrill and angry, only added fuel to Anatoly’s anger.

Turning away from the stairs, he looked at his father.  “I don’t want that man near my sister.”

“We can talk about it later, once you’ve slept,” Dmitry countered, willing to let the situation go for the moment.  “Why don’t you go get some…now.” A tired man was a dangerous one.   He knew that and understood his son’s frustration.

Anatoly knew his father wasn’t offering a suggestion.  He was telling him to retire to his personal quarters before things really got out of control.  He nodded and looked at his watch.  “Da, da.  I think I will.”  Going down the steps, he helped his wife make her way up the pathway.

“What did you do, Ana?” Renee asked, less accusatory when she saw the anger on his face.

“Nothing.  We’ll talk about it when we’re alone,” Anatoly answered, voice low.

Dmitry relaxed his fists and took a deep breath.  The pain was back with a vengeance.  Pulling the bottle of pills from his pocket, he fumbled with the child-proof top as Anatoly and Renee disappeared down the hall.

Royal watched Dmitry with concern.  “Dmitry, you just took one of those less than an hour ago.”

“Well, I need another one,” he growled, opening the bottle.  Pausing, he eyed his wife.  “I don’t need a minder right now.”

“Give it seven days or a month, and you’ll need a fucking intervention.”  Snatching the bottle from his hand, she headed toward the kitchen to fix breakfast.  “Why don’t you get some sleep as well.  I’ll go make your damned breakfast,” she called out over her shoulder.  “That’s not a suggestion.”

“Of course, it’s not.”  Dmitry shook his head as he watched her saunter away.  It wasn’t worth it to fight with his wife because his son was unhinged.  Instead, he would tackle this new political family mess once he’d gotten more sleep.  “Women,” he said to Luka, who stood quietly by awaiting an order. “Can’t live with them, can’t harvest them.”   Turning to his guard, Dmitry reached out for his cane.  “Help me to my room, and tell my wife I want scrambled eggs, not sunny-side up.”

In the airy, rustic kitchen, Coral sat at the table with Anya and the twins while Stepan fixed breakfast.  She was amazed at how much they had grown and hurt that she had missed so much of it.  Anya had been updating her on life for the last hour.  It was full of stories about her friends at school and the wedding of the year between the English prince and the American actress.  Coral had not watched the wedding closely, but Anya was happy to give her a play-by-play.

The boys were busy thumping cereal at each other at the end of the table.  They played well together, never needing an additional playmate, but Coral worried about Anya.  Who did she have to identify within the house as a young girl?  Being around armed guards, billionaire crime lords, and business-minded women probably had its perks, but what space was carved out for this child to be a little girl?

“Why don’t you come around, grandma?” Anya finally asked as Stepan placed a small plate of bagels and lox in front of her.

Coral looked up at Stepan and smiled, noting the color of his eyes to be aquamarine in the daylight.  “Say thank you,” she said to Anya.

Anya glanced over at Stepan. “Spasiba,” she said as she picked up her fork and knife.

“You’re quite cool with the staff, aren’t you?” Coral asked, crossing one leg over the other.

“No,” Anya replied. “Stepan just gave me a lecture about being nice to our assassins.  Didn’t you, Stepan.”

Walking back over to the counter facing the window that gave a breathtaking view of the backyard, he chuckled. “It wasn’t exactly a lecture, now, Anya.”

“It was a lecture,” Anya whispered as Stepan turned his back.  Her voice rose slightly.  “Anyway, I’m not mean to them.  I’ve just learned that you can never get too close.”

“Why is that?” Coral asked, moving the hair from her granddaughter’s lovely face.

“Because they die on you,” Anya answered, face slack.  Her eyes were cold as ice.

Stepan dropped the plate in the sink but didn’t turn around.  He swallowed hard, putting together the pieces of Anya’s broken puzzle.  It explained why she was so mean to Luka.  The young girl still missed Davyd.

Anya’s response sent a chill through Coral.  Clearing her throat, she looked over at Anya’s plate.  It was time to change the subject. “You have a mature palate for a girl your age.”

“Daddy likes to introduce me to all sorts of foods.  My favorite has to be Russian, though.  Nothing like borscht in the afternoon to cheer you up.”

“I make a mean gumbo,” Coral said, trying to perk up.  “My folks were from Louisiana.  We are…Creole.”  Glancing across the room, she saw a man emerge in a tailored suit with silver hair.

Simeon made eye contact with the woman and walked right over to her.  “Well, now, who do we have here?” He winked at Anya, urging an introduction.

“This is Simeon Kurdin.  He’s a boss like Daddy.  Mr. Simeon, this is my grandmother, Coral Smith.”  Anya was formal and direct, making all three of the adults in the room chuckle.

Offering his tattooed hand, Simeon reached across Anya to Coral.  “You don’t look like a grandmother to me.  You look like an angel.”

Coral shook Simeon’s hand and found herself lost in his eyes.  He was charming, more so even than Stepan.  Two silver foxes in the same house.

“Thank you for the compliment, but Anya is right.  I am the grandmother.”  Coral grinned at her granddaughter.

“And you’ll be staying here with the family, babushka?” Simeon asked as Stepan excused himself from the room.

“I will,” Coral said, watching her new friend take his leave.

Simeon was aware that his presence sucked all the oxygen out of a room, but he would make no apologies for it.  If Stepan was trying to make a play for the woman, it was better the butler know he was out of his league now.

“Will you be staying as well?” Coral asked.

Simeon curled his lip.  “I have to leave for a few days, but I plan to return and stay awhile.”  Now that she was here, no ring on the marriage finger, he suddenly felt his plans changing.  He liked mature women.  Girls didn’t do it for him.  They were too gullible and needy for his tastes.  Coral was just his speed.  Beautiful. Sexy.  Unassuming.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll see each other again since you plan on staying,” Coral said, not wanting to shift the conversation too long from her granddaughter.  Men came a dime a dozen.  Grandchildren were one in a trillion.

Simeon bowed his head gracefully, taking a cue.  “I will make a point of it.  I assure you.”  Glancing over at Anya, who was cutting him a mischievous smile, he pulled at her red cheeks.  “Clever girl.”

“Flirt,” Anya responded.

Simeon liked the child. She had guts, didn’t pull any punches, and didn’t mince words.  If he had ever had a child, he’d want one just like her.  “I’ll leave you both to your breakfast, but soon we’ll talk again and longer.” He winked at Coral.

“I’d like that,” Coral said, turning her attention back to Anya.

When Simeon excused himself from the room to get to the west wing of the house, Anya grinned at her grandmother. “Simeon likes you.”

“He might.”

“Stepan likes you, too.” Anya kept her eyes locked on her grandmother.

Coral shook her head.  “Are you ten or thirty?”

“It depends.  Are we talking human years or dog years?”

Coral laughed out loud.  “You have a response to everything, don’t you?  It’s a very clever defense mechanism.”

Anya bit into her bagel.  “Grandma, I like you.”

That warmed Coral’s heart.  “I love you.”

Anya didn’t respond to that.  To say she loved the woman would be a lie, and she didn’t want to lie to her.

Just then, Royal breezed into the kitchen, heels clicking against the floor, and stopped in her tracks at the sight of her mother.

Anya turned, took one look at her mother’s stone face, and stood up from the table, causing the chair to screech against the hardwood floor.  “Maxim, Konstantin, let’s go to the TV room,” she ordered with a full mouth of food.

Coral sat up more erect in her chair and spread her hands across the table.  “Hello, daughter.”

Royal relaxed her tense shoulders and walked closer to the table.  “Hello, mother.”  As her children passed her, she kissed each one on their heads. “Mommy will come hang out with you in just a bit.”

“Let me know when you’re finished here. I’ll bring them to you,” Anya said, looking back at her grandmother.  Coral might have been older, but her mother still had the most seniority in this house.  And the look her mother gave her grandmother let Anya know that it was time to take her leave.  “See you later, Babushka,” she said as a private joke between them.

“I can’t wait,” Coral said to her granddaughter.  She tried to keep her voice from trembling, but she could not deny the fear reverberating through her body.  She had wronged this woman, and as a result, Royal had every right to be furious with her.

Still, Coral could not give up.  She had done that before.  Cowardice was not an option anymore.

As the children exited the room, Royal’s face tightened.  She turned to her mother with an accusatory glare.  “What do you want?”

Coral pointed toward the seat across from her.  “For starters, will you sit with me?”  Even that was a big ask, but she had to start somewhere.

Royal looked at the chair.  “For a minute. Then I have to cook breakfast.”

“I can help.”

Royal smirked.  “That would be great,” she said sarcastically.

There was the elephant in the room, and Coral wasn’t interested in pretending not to see it.  “I know you didn’t send for me.”

Royal took a seat.  “No, I didn’t.”

Coral blinked fast.  “But I’m still happy to be here.”

“Don’t be so sure.”  Royal ran her hand over the red and white checkered napkin.  She glanced up at her mother as the sun flitted across her face from the bay window.  “We’re at war with another Russian mafia family on Dmitry’s council. Winner takes all on this one.  You’re here right now because Dmitry didn’t want you abducted and used as collateral.  There is no stopping what is going to happen, and if we don’t win this war, there is no leaving…ever.  All outside communication with the world is prohibited.  My husband just made your entire life go away.”  She paused for a minute.  “Still happy to be here.”

“Yes,” Coral answered, sincerely.

Royal pushed back in the chair.  “Why?”

Did she really need to say it?  Didn’t her daughter already know?  “Because even if these are my last days, being here with you and the family will be the best of my life.”

“I want to believe that…”

Coral pushed up in her chair.  Voice strained, tears in her eyes, she pleaded with her daughter.  “Then believe it.   Although I have given you no reason to believe me.  Please. I know I messed up, Royal.  I know I can’t take back what was done to you and Chloe.  And God knows I will pay for it in this life or the next.  But while I’m alive, while I’m here, let me try to make it up to you.  Let me be here for you, even if it is just to be your personal punching bag.  I don’t care.  I’ll be whatever else you want, if you let me be your mother, too.”

Royal wiped a tear from her eye before it could fall. She wanted to tell her that she didn’t need a mother – not anymore.  But she knew it was a lie.   Looking away, she planted an elbow on the table and covered her mouth with her balled-up fist. It had been a long day.  She couldn’t get into all that she was feeling right now.  She couldn’t allow herself to break down over things she could not fix.  Her family needed her.   “Okay, Coral.  Okay.”

With a sigh of relief, Coral reached over and put her hand on her daughter.  “Regardless of the situation, thank you for having me.  Thank you for giving me a chance.”

You don’t deserve it, Royal thought to herself.  But as she tried to blame her mother, she could not help but think how she had already failed Anya a thousand times.  Abduction. Murder.  Her own brief addiction to pain pills.  She was not perfect, either.

Maybe it was time to forgive, at least partially.

Royal nodded, unable to find the right words to express all the tumultuous emotions she was having at that exact moment.  She knew eventually they would come out, just like Anatoly had been forced to deal with his about Nadei, but they all had to pace themselves if they were going to make it out of this in one piece.

“Can we fix that breakfast now?” Standing up, Coral went over to the stainless-steel refrigerator and opened the double doors.  Bending in, she scanned the contents inside.  There was enough food to feed an army.  “What did you have in mind?”

Royal stood up and walked over to the refrigerator beside her mother.  Clearing her throat, she pushed her emotions to the back of her mind and focused on the task at hand.  “Dmitry said he wants scrambled eggs.”

Gabriel stood over the toilet, penis pointed toward the center of the bowl as he relieved himself of hours of urine, held to not miss a second of the meeting.  He threw his head back as the sound of liquid hitting liquid filled the bathroom.

Across from him, Valeriya brushed her teeth roughly, looking at her reflection in the mirror.  Her free hand clawed at the marble countertop as her mind drowned in thought.

All was silent between the two of them as they prepared to shower and get some much-needed rest.

Hitting the button to flush the toilet, Gabriel pulled off his underwear and jeans and tossed the laundry into the corner, then walked over to the shower and started the water.

“Say something,” Valeriya said, as she spits in the sink.  Grabbing a disposable cup, she filled it with water and rinsed her mouth.

Pushing out a breath, he turned to face her.  “What do you want me to say?” Gabriel asked, rolling his eyes.

She hated it when he made her pull the truth out of him.  But if he wanted her to be the bad guy, okay.  “I know you’re angry that I overstepped during the meeting, but it is possible that I can add something to the munitions order that might help us.”

The sound of the powerful gush of water muddled the words he said under his breath.  As he rubbed the back of his neck, his chorded muscles flexed.  Scars across his rippling abdomen from Nazi blades drew her attention for a second.

Her foot tapped in impatience.  “At least be man enough to say whatever is on your mind loud enough for me to hear.”  Valeriya snatched a towel from the basket on the sink and wiped her mouth.

Gabriel stalked over to his wife, fully naked, and stood over her.  “I said whatever.”  His brow rose.

“Whatever?” It was amazing how such a small word had such a significant meaning. Incensed, she snarled at him at his self-righteous indignation.  “Whatever, what?”

Gabriel’s mossy green eyes narrowed on her.  “You could have spoken to me about this in private.  Instead, you go into a meeting and make it look like you have to go to my boss…”

“Your uncle,” she corrected.

Gabriel sucked his teeth. “My uncle and my boss, okay.”  He heaved a sigh and lowered his voice.  This was going nowhere.  “You could have asked me for that list without making it look like you needed him to intervene on this.”

“So, you’re angry because you feel left out of the loop.”  She leaned against the sink counter.  “Funny.  That’s exactly how I’ve been feeling since the moment you snatched our family out of our home and brought us here.”

“That is what this is about.  The fucking code red thing again.” He threw up his hands.  “I had no choice.”

“You had plenty of time to tell me.”

“Maybe I did.” His left eye jumped.  “But I didn’t, and there is nothing I can do about that now.  Are you going to make me pay for it for the rest of my life?”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”  She bit her lip and looked down at his bare feet, planted right in front of her.  “You know, you’ve been different since the Ukraine incident.”

Gabriel didn’t want to hear this again.  He turned away from her, but Valeriya quickly grabbed his arm and swung him back around.

Normally, that would incite a fight with anyone else, but with her, he didn’t take offense.

She stepped closer to him. “You don’t think something like that changes all of us.”  Her eyes searched his.  “You don’t think we all became something new and frightening after that?”

Gabriel smacked his lips.  His voice broke. “I didn’t say that.”

She reached up and grabbed his face, holding it in place.  “I know you’re hurting inside.  I see it every day.  But eventually, baby, you’re going to have to trust other people. You’re going to have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” he professed emphatically.

“Not the way you trust the men on that council.  You think you have to protect me.  Let me remind you that long before you and I became a thing, I was taking care of myself.”

Gabriel pulled her hands away gently. “I’ve heard this before.  Every time you want to assert your dominance over the situation, I have to hear it.” It was getting old.

She squared her slim shoulders.  “Instead of always dismissing it then, embrace it.  Let me help you.”

At that, Gabriel dropped the tough-guy-routine.  It wasn’t working anyway. Instead, he opted for brutal honesty.  “Helping me could get you killed.  Don’t you understand that?  Killing you and my children, killing all the wives and all the fucking children would be a greater victory for Erik Popov right now than killing one of the Medlov men.  He knows that you all mean more to us than anything else.  He knows you all are our core.”  His thick brows furrowed.  Voice low, he gritted his teeth.  “It’s my job to protect you.  It’s our job as men to keep you safe.  We brought you into this life.  To make you stand up and defend it with your lives is cowardice.  I won’t hide behind my wife’s skirt.”

Valeriya couldn’t believe her ears.  “News flash.  I knew who you were and what you were before I married you, and the same goes for every single woman here.  It’s our job as a family to keep each other safe.  You think having balls and dick makes you smarter?”

He laughed incredulously.  Damn, if she didn’t sound like his mother right now.   “No.  I think being a killer and criminal makes me more aware of the situation.”

“What do you think we’re doing on that council, selling Girl Scout cookies?  We are as guilty as all of you of being killers and criminals.”  She pointed toward him with a long, elegant finger.  “There is no difference between you and us except that you think we’re weak, and we don’t regard you in the same careless manner.”

Gabriel ran a hand through his black locks.  Maybe she was right, but it didn’t stop how he felt.  “Fuck, Valeriya.  I can’t lose you. I can’t lose my children.  This isn’t like normal.  This isn’t traveling a thousand miles to confront someone on their turf, and handling shit somewhere else for someone else.  No one is talking about it, but this shit is going to come here.”

Valeriya nodded. “I know.”

Her response disarmed him.

They stood looking at each other for a second in silence.

“And you’re ready for that?” he asked finally.

“I’m trying to get ready.  If you let me.”

He swallowed hard.  Stepping closer, he put a hand to the side of her face.  Her dark brown skin was silky smooth to the touch.  The contrast of its darkness against the bronzed skin still turned him on.  Pressing up against her body, he slid his hand from her face to the back of her neck and gripped it.

“I can’t lose you, Valeriya.” Pressing his forehead down against hers, he whispered in her ear.  “I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but if I have to say it a thousand more times to make you understand, then that is just what it takes.”

Valeriya wrapped her arms around him and held him close.  Her hands lingered on his broad back.  “I can’t lose you either.  That’s why we must do it together.  You have to trust me as I trust you.”

Gabriel wanted to tell her that he did, but he did not.  He would never trust her to give up her own life for him because he wouldn’t allow it.  That was his job, along with others, like knowing what she needed before she asked.

Even though they were arguing, he could feel her skin heating up, starting to become dewy.  Her nipples had hardened as she berated him.  She wouldn’t say it, but her little flower was dripping for him.

His free hand roamed over her pert breasts and then down her stomach.  Still holding her by the neck, he pulled her in for a soft, slow kiss.  What he needed right now was to make love to his wife.

Breathing into his mouth, she put her hands on his chest.  “I need to feed the kids.”

Dark, lusty eyes gleamed at her as his mood turned pitch black.  “Feed me first.”  The length of his erect penis brushed against her stomach.  Picking her up by the waist, he placed her on the sink counter and spread her legs wide.

Peaches had grown to trust Anastaysia and regarded her as a real friend, but still, the woman knew little of how the politics of this family worked.  Anatoly was not a man to be challenged in front of his subordinates – ever.  If his sister forced his hand, the boss would have no choice but to make an example out of him.  She felt it her job not only to take care of Anastaysia but to try to explain.

“He’s a brute,” Anastaysia said, sitting on the edge of her bed.  Putting her face in her hands, she bent down and tried to still her beating heart.  Long strands of blonde hair fell over her arms, and the crown of her head perspired with sweat, curling the tendrils at the root.

Peaches closed the door of the bedroom behind them to keep the guards standing post outside from eavesdropping and reporting back.  “He’s not a brute.  Your brother loves you, that’s all.”

“I know.  He loves me to the point of insanity.”  Even she could not deny Anatoly’s feelings although she was angry with him.  However, she was a grown woman, capable of choosing who she wanted in her life.  “But Anatoly oversteps, and he uses the fact that he saved me from Ryan Colt to hold me hostage.”

Peaches put her hands on her hips as she stood before Anastaysia.  “Does he really?”

Anastaysia looked up, surprised, and hurt. “Don’t tell me you’re taking my brother’s side on this.”

“No, I’m not on his side.  I’m trying to be the friend you need.  And there are two sides to this story – three if you count yours.”  Peaches had lived a full life in her short years, and she knew men in a different, more consensual context than Anastaysia.  “Nadei has a history here.”

“He told me about it.”

“Then, you know that Gabriel and Anatoly were with Briggy before him.”

Anastaysia was still uncomfortable with acknowledging that fact.  “Yes, he told me that too.  He told me that, first.”  Protectively, she countered the argument. “But Nadei was drugged by Briggy on a yacht before she fucked him to get back at Gabriel.  Is anyone talking about his rape, or is that his fault too?”

Peaches dropped her arms to her sides.  “Men here would never acknowledge that they’ve been raped.  Don’t expect them to be that open.”

The men might not be willing to talk about it, but Anastaysia was.  “Nadei loves his daughter, but she is a result of that rape or if it makes everyone feel better – that nonconsensual encounter.” Didn’t anyone care about what he had gone through?

Peaches walked over and sat down beside Anastaysia.  It was clear that Anastaysia was going to defend Nadei to the bitter end, but it would be very bitter if this wasn’t handled correctly.  “I know because of what happened to you in Miami that unique connection is understood between you and Nadei, but it’s not the worst thing that ever happened to him.”  She wrenched her hands together.  “He’s not a saint.  Nadei is a killer.  He’s not some victim to be coddled or saved or even protected.”

Anastaysia blew out a frustrated breath.

“Nadei is a gun for hire.”

Anastaysia’s shoulder’s tensed.

“Nadei is a Medlov guard and a reformed skirt chaser.”

“Okay, I get it,” Anastaysia said, wiping a tear.  “But he’s also a human being.”

“He’s also under the employ of the Medlov men.  His life really isn’t his own, and he serves at the pleasure of a Czar.  He’s not here to make a love connection with the boss’s sister.”  Peaches put a hand on her friend’s slouching back.  “If you love him, you need to leave him alone before Anatoly kills him.”

“What if I can’t do that?”

Peaches thought of Marat and heaved a heavy sigh.  “I know what it’s like to care about someone close to you.”

“I know you do,” Anastaysia said, voice strained.  “But Anatoly doesn’t care that you and Marat have a relationship.”

“I’m not his baby sister.”  Peached turned to Anastaysia.  “Give Anatoly time to come to grips with this.  Don’t move without his blessing.  Trust me, in time, he will allow it, but he has to come to this conclusion of you two being in love on his own.”

“That will never happen.”  Anastaysia knew her brother.  “He just wants to keep me in a box.  He thinks I’m a little girl.”

“Then show him you’re a woman.  Stop throwing fits in front of everyone. Stop crying and shouting and start a real dialogue with him.  Anatoly will listen to you.  He loves you.”

Anastaysia had to admit that she had not tried that yet.  Maybe it was time.  “Fine.  I will, but if that doesn’t work, I’m going to have to do things my way.”

Peaches nodded.  “Whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you as much as I can, but remember your place.  It’s safer there.”

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Nadei.”

Peaches knew that she had said enough.  Hugging Anastaysia, she got up and walked to the door. “I’ll have something sent up for you to eat.”

“Thanks.”

As Peaches left Anastaysia’s room and closed the door behind her, she heard footsteps coming down the hall toward her direction.  When the figure came to view as it turned the corner, she saw Marat.  He stopped as she approached, intending evidently to hold a conversation with her.

“How is she?” he asked of Anastaysia.

“Like you care,” Peaches said, walking past him.

Marat would not deny it.  He didn’t care – not really.  If Anastaysia and Nadei were fucking, that was their personal business.  But he also knew that Anatoly would ask about his little sister’s disposition as soon as they spoke later in the day.

All of that was beside the point.  Keeping his voice low, he followed her closely.  “We need to talk.”

Peaches shook her head emphatically.  “I’m not going to help you spy on her.”

“We need to talk about that sneaky Daniil fucker,” he lowered his voice, “and your trip to Russia.”  Marat grew impatient with her ignoring him.  “Now.”

Peaches stopped and turned to face him.  Looking up into his eyes, she saw urgency and concern that didn’t match his voice.  “I have to go and get Anastaysia something to eat.  We can talk after.”

Marat glanced down the hall at the closed door guarding Anastaysia.  There was no way the guards were going to let her out of there.  Anatoly had ordered 24-hour details for the duration of their stay after the fiasco downstairs.  The only way she was going to get any privacy was in that room or by becoming invisible.  “I’m sure she won’t die if you make her wait a few minutes.”

“My orders were to…”

Privacy was paramount. Grabbing her arm, he led her to one of the empty bedrooms on that floor where their conversation would not be heard by the other guards.

“Marat,” Peaches protested, snatching away.  “What is wrong with you?” This was not the time to assert his faux control over her.

Marat closed the door and yanked out his earpiece.  “I don’t want you around Daniil.  He couldn’t keep his eyes off you during that meeting.  He wasn’t even watching his fucking ward!  One more glance, and I would have...” His brows rose.  “Stay away from him.”

“Now is not the time to petty.  Plus, I don’t think that Daniil will be an issue. If you remember, I have to pack my shit and head to a place I’ve never been for God only knows how long.  So, I’m more focused on that then your pissing match with a complete stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger.” The circles of the Vory v Zakone were relatively small.  Everyone either knew everyone or knew of each other.

“To me, he is a stranger.”  Peaches brushed off Marat’s jealousy.  “What is really wrong with you?”  It wasn’t like him to let other men get under his skin.

“I just told you,” he snapped.

“Well then, you just lied.”  She twisted up her lip. “Tell me.  What is it?”

“Moscow is a dangerous place, especially for women.  And you’re going to stick out more than others.”

“Because I’m Black?”

“Because you are American and Black, and you don’t speak a lick of Russian.”  He could not hide that his resignation, but how could he overstep his boss?

“Dmitry would not be sending me if he didn’t think I was not capable of doing the job.  Plus, I’ll have a liaison and a team.  Sex trafficking is the same, no matter the country.”  She wanted Marat to understand she wasn’t stupid enough not to be cautious, but she was not afraid.  There was a difference.

Marat brooding eyes dropped.  “Watch your ass over there.  Trust no one.”

“I will do my job, Marat.”  She licked her lips.  “Don’t be afraid for me. I’ll be fine. I’ve done this before a thousand…”

Marat was not a man who was comfortable showing his vulnerabilities.  In the middle of his girlfriend’s declaration of independence, he pulled her close and put a hard kiss against her lips.  Spearing her mouth with his thick tongue, he moaned a lusty growl.

Time was ticking.  She might be gone by the end of the day.

Pulling at her belt buckle with one hand, he reached behind him with the other hand and locked the door.

Peaches pulled her shirt off, revealing pert little breast held up in a black lace bra and crashed into him, wrapping her long, slender arms around his neck.  Without a word, she helped him shimmy her pants and thong down to her feet; then she kicked the discarded clothes across the room.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she confessed in between their kisses.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he breathed into her mouth. Dropping his slacks, he turned and pushed her body up against the wall.  One hand against the wall beside her head, he felt her ease down on his steely, upward-pointing shaft.

Her mouth parted in pure glee as he thrust himself fully inside her, pushing past the folds of her body to her core.  The hard shaft she had learned to love had returned, and she welcomed it freely.

Their eyes locked, happy to finally be back where they belonged.

Marat groaned in ecstasy, pent up with unbridled sexual tension.

Carrying her to the bed, Marat threw her down and was on top of her before she could blink.  Grabbing a handful of her breast, he pulled her bra down and suckled at her aching nipples.

“This is mine,” he grunted, moving his hips against her pelvis.

“Yes,” Peaches said, body jolting against his powerful force.

“I know he wants it.”  Marat felt the heat around his face.  “But it belongs to me.”

Hands planted beside her, he grabbed her ankles and held her legs in place as he rhythmically pushed inside of her.  The sound of her slickness filled the room.  Leaning into her body, he let her legs go and kissed the side of her neck.  Armani perfume transferred to his lips.

Suddenly, they heard the toilet flushing in the bathroom connected to the bedroom.

They weren’t alone.

Marat rose up.  “Shit.”  He looked across the room to see their clothes too far away to fetch in time.

“Don’t move,” Peaches whispered loudly.

As the door to the bathroom flung open, Daniil emerged, hands unwashed.  He stopped abruptly at the threshold when he saw the pair locked to each other on the bed.

“Damn.”  Daniil ignored Marat, instead, keeping his eyes squarely on Peaches.  “Is this an invitation?”

Peaches covered her breasts and sat up, grateful that it wasn’t one of the family members – Coral or the kids.

Marat grabbed a pillow and threw it over to her, not bothering to hide.  He was not embarrassed, just pissed.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Marat asked with accusation in his thick Russian accent. “You’re supposed to be on the other wing of the house.”

Daniil twisted up his lip and smiled. His gaze trailed reluctantly from Peaches to Marat.  “There was not enough room in the guards’ quarters, so I was sent up here.”

“By whom?” Marat asked as Daniil walked past them to the bedroom door.  Bending down, he picked up their clothes and threw them over to the bed.  “Vasily told me to stay here until other arrangements could be made.”  Grabbing the knob of the door, he turned back and looked at Peaches one last time.  “I’ll let you two get dressed before I return unless you want me to stay.”

“Just get the hell out of here.”  Marat stood, back erect, muscled flexed.

Peaches cut her eyes at Daniil.  “Asshole.”

“So, they say.”  Walking out the door, Daniil closed it quietly and stood in the hallway with a smirk on his face.  His suspicions where correct.  Marat and Peaches were a pair for now.

“Vasily needs to tell you everything, especially where he puts outside people.” Peaches pulled her shirt over her head as she stood by the bed.

Marat didn’t need a lecture on protocol; besides, he was sure she was just deflecting from the fact that Daniil had just walked in on them fucking.  He understood the possible breach for what it was.  “I’ll talk to him.” Shoving his leg into his pants, he cursed.  “Motherfucker.”

“Don’t let him know that he got to you,” Peaches warned.

“That’s not why I’m angry.”  Marat slipped his gun holster over his shoulders.

“Then why?” she asked curiously, thinking of a hundred reasons.

“He knows we are together, for sure.  Probably going to try to use it against us.”  Looking at his watch as he slipped his earpiece back in his ear, he waited for her to get fully dressed before they left together.

Peaches did not bother asking why that was a problem; she already knew.  They had both just exposed their vulnerability to an outsider.  It was a big no-no among the guards.  The private life of a guard stayed private.

“You go talk to Daniil.  I’m going to get Anastaysia some food and talk to Royal.  She needs to know what happened.”  Reaching up, she kissed Marat’s lips.  “If I don’t see you later…”

Marat nodded, hating himself for complicating things further. “Yeah, me too.”

With scrambled eggs, blinis with honey, an assortment of fruits, and a carafe of robust coffee on a wooden serving tray, Royal headed straight to their bedroom to feed her husband before he fell asleep after the talk with her mother.  She needs respite.  Coral had offered herself up to be crucified instead of offering excuses, and Royal had not been prepared for such honest, open-ended dialogue.

To retreat, lick her wounds, and gather her thoughts with the person who knew her best, was the best option possible...  She had started out starving, but after seeing her mother, she lost her appetite and settled for coffee, but now she hungered for something for vital – knowledge.

As the guard opened the door to her bedroom, she stepped inside with the tray balanced in her hands to find Dmitry already in bed, reading a newspaper and relieved of his clothing.

With one leg hiked up, he laid under the cover naked with fresh gauze over his wounds.

A smile crossed his lips when he saw her. Putting down the paper, he pulled the silk sheets over his body, so that she could place the tray before him

“I hope you’re still hungry.  It took me a while downstairs,” she said, walking to his side of the bed.

“Famished.”  He raised his head to receive a peck from her lips.  His blue eyes searched her own before he exhaled a breath at the feast in front of him. “Thank you for breakfast. I wasn’t sure if you would have the time, considering.”

Royal put the tray over his large lap and cocked a hand on her hip.  “I managed.” Her thoughts lingered longer than usual.

“Did you see your mother?” he asked, marveling at his breakfast.  The presentation was outstanding; now, it was a matter of the content.

“I did.”  Royal walked over to her side of the bed and sat down.  “She wants closure – acceptance.” That is what it boiled down to for Royal.  But the question remained as to if she could actually forgive her mother.

Dmitry turned to her, pulling the glasses from his face.  “And what do you want, my love?”  He had a way of asking her questions, getting down to the core of the problem. Even now, his words resonated deep within, as though by looking at her, he understood her turmoil.

Royal smirked as she shimmied off her pants by the side of the bed. The crisp sheets felt sublime to her bare skin.   Resting her head back on the headboard, she exhaled a breath.  “To be honest, I want her to grovel a bit more.  It’s not like she forgot my birthday or the kid’s ages.  She abandoned my sister and me, and now she wants total forgiveness like it never happened.”

Dmitry wasn’t surprised.  Royal had never been one to forgive quickly.   “Well, normally, I would agree.” He put his finger in the honey and brought his index finger to his red, pouty lips to taste it.  The suckling sound sent a vibration through his wife’s thighs. “But we are pressed for time, so I would suggest expedient forgiveness. What more can she offer you except an apology and a chance to make it right?  She can’t go back and fix what’s already been done.”

“Time will tell.” Her cryptic response was only due to the larger problem in the house, which seemed to monopolize her brainpower more than the issues with her late-blooming mother.  Reaching behind her, she popped her bra loose and threw it on the floor.  Soft nipples hardened from the ceiling fan above.

Dmitry cut his eyes downward, hating he had expended all of his energy with their love-making session the day before and the all-night meeting that had exhausted him to the point of continuous yawning.  His mouth watered as she shifted in the bed, unaware of her effect on him.

“We’re a mess, Dmitry.  Everyone is at each other’s throats.  Anatoly is mad at Nadei.  Anastaysia is mad at Anatoly. There is no telling who else is mad at whom.” Scratching her heavy breasts, she rolled her neck. “If we don’t get our shit together, we will be no shape to face Popov or anyone else.”

Dmitry poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe as she offered a keen observation.

“And then there is Simeon.” Her finger rose.  “I have to tell you that I don’t trust him completely.”

“You should trust no one outside of the family completely.”

Royal agreed.  “And Daniil.  Are we comfortable with him here?”  Her head snapped toward him as she caught him sipping on his coffee.

Dmitry blinked fast.  “As comfortable as we can be.”

His calm further rattled Royal’s nerves.  “No more one-sentence answers.  Talk to me.  What do you feel about the things happening under our roof?”

Putting down the coffee cup, Dmitry stared across the room at the photo of Alexander the Great and surmised that he would not get any rest until he did exactly as his wife instructed – purge.

His tongue slipped out of his mouth and slicked his bottom lip. Picking up his knife and fork from the tray, he explained to Royal what she was missing in her analysis as he cut into his food. Keeping his eyes on his task, he pressed his back to the headboard and lowered his voice to barely a whisper.

“Simeon Kurdin is the closest thing we have to family right now.  You can trust him to do what I ask of him and his men.  He will risk his life and all he has for me because he is my brat because he is a true Vor.”

Royal watched her husband eat, soaking up his words as her breakfast.

“Daniil is an asset that we will use to be our eyes and ears in Siberia and to get us what we need without having to leave the estate.”  He placed a morsel of food in his mouth.  Closing eyes his eyes, he nodded. “It’s good, baby.  Delicious.  Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Royal answered shortly.

Dmitry continued.  “Erik Popov and his men, while I don’t underestimate them, are not the caliber of men that I’m worried about taking on.  When the time comes, we will be ready.  For now, what we are experiencing under our roof is the same process any familial body goes through when suddenly snatched from their lives and shoved into an unfamiliar environment with the expectation of successfully completing a task.”  He tasted more food, pouring honey over his blinis.  Glancing over at her, he was pleased to see he had her full attention.  “Now, I did not go to college.  Never had the pleasure.  But I spent some time around Oxford graduates and read a few books.  More than that, I’ve run a couple of successful businesses.  What our family and guards are going through is team formation.  Textbook team formation.”

Royal had taken a few business courses herself and had a full degree focused on it.  “The four stages you mean.”

He nodded. “Forming. Storming. Norming…” He waited for her to finish his statement.

“Performing,” she said, more relaxed, glad that he had thought through this all more than first appeared.

“Exactly.”  He swallowed hard.  “We’ve already formed.  That was the happy stage when we are all just glad to be alive, and as a result, we are all nice to each other.  Plenty of hugs and kisses.” He sucked his pearly white teeth as he motioned with his hands, still holding his silverware.  “Now, we are storming.  Everyone is trying to establish their territory, pushing against the boundaries, defying authority, etc., etc.”   He cleared his throat.  “Are you sure you don’t want any of this.”

“No, I’m fine.”  Royal rested her head back again.

“So, we will normalize soon.  Everyone will settle into their places and start to work together just in time for the performance of their lives.”  His voice hardened.  “This war will prove to be one of our greatest successes as a family or our last failure.”

Royal felt the air trapped in her chest.  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she admitted.

Dmitry stabbed his food, putting equal parts egg and blini on the shiny silver fork, then turned and put it to his wife’s lips, watching her slowly eat it.  He winked at her and leaned in with an endearing kiss to her forehead.

“It’s fine to be scared, my love.  Every smart person is.  But after you master the fear, you must be prepared to act.”  He tapped the small space between her.  “Come closer.”

Scooting closer to her husband, she rested her head on his wide, muscular arm.  “You always know how to make me feel better, Dmitry.” The strain in her chest started to dissipate slowly.

He smiled, eyes sparking with gratitude for her kind words, but behind his eyes, something darker and far more dangerous was brewing.  He didn’t intend to let the chaos around him continue, but he wouldn’t make it his wife’s issue. After getting some sleep, he would handle all of this once and for all on his own.

For now, he let her fall asleep beside him with a small sense of calm in her spirit.  Moving the tray off his lap to the end table, he nestled down beside Royal and thought intently on how to tear down Erik Popov, piece by piece.

Chapter 21

The Medlov Guard

London, England

The Savoy Hotel

Two Weeks Later

7:00 a.m.

“The Pawn moves only one square at a time, and then straight forward, except in the act of capturing, when it takes one step diagonally to the right or left file on to the square occupied by the man taken and continues on that file until it captures another man.”

-Howard Staunton

B oris had only been to London once but not on a social visit.  In his previous life, for a short time, he worked for a mid-level Russian mob boss, who sent him to kill a cosmetic surgeon responsible for altering his ward’s face to escape capture during a Scotland Yard investigation.

Hey, no one liked loose ends.

As instructed, he did the job quickly and efficiently, but the trip was short and void of enjoyment.  It consisted of a one-day layover, a cheap little dive in a shitty part of town to coordinate the hit and very few resources.  Once the job was done, he was ordered back to home base immediately without the chance to take in the sights or, most importantly for him, to see Big Ben – one of the items on his bucket list.

Conversely, upon Boss Medlov’s orders, Boris was sent to London in first-class style this time.  He was based out of a suite at an upscale, Grand Dame hotel boasting a breathtaking view of the River Thames and a butler to tend to his every need. There was a generous per-diem with plenty to spare after incidentals, and he was assigned a team of capable, young assassins to do all the tedious grunt work. Their skill and competence allowed him plenty of time to visit Big Ben, the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, and watch a rugby game with front row seats at Twickenham Stadium.

Boss may have called this a job, but Boris considered the assignment a much-needed holiday and a chance to get some justice for a family who had given him everything.

While everyone else labored in the mountains of Siberia to prepare for an impending confrontation, he was given leave of family politics and over-inflated egos and was sent to do what he did best - kill.  Only this time, it wasn’t about money or territory.  It was to settle a score with a second-rate mob boss who chose to throw a very large rock and hide his tiny hand.

Eric Popov was a snake who feasted off the hard work of others.  His reputation was well known in underworld circles as being a blowhard who stirred trouble and then enlisted his more powerful cohorts to defend his actions.  Everyone also knew that if he were not the old man’s son, he would have been run off the scene a long time ago.  For years, he had been tolerated, though often not respected.  But this time, he had gone too far.

Putting a hit on Dmitry Medlov was the last straw.  The war that originated between the men had spilled out to each families’ allies, but unlike the opposing side, Medlov was smart enough to target Erik’s associates first.

Oleg Rabinovich was the most reliable and most powerful tool in Erik’s toolbox.  If he were taken out of play, most of the strategy and resources available to Erik would be neutralized. But going after Oleg directly, while simple enough, would not dismantle his empire.  First, they needed to disable his operations at its core.

Medlov’s men had to cut Oleg and his intricate network of subordinates off from their money because no war could be waged without it.  Assassins, guards, crooked government officials, thieves, whores all had to be paid.  Without cash, Oleg was simply asking for charity, and in their world, there was no such thing.

As a result, Oleg’s Rabinovich’s golden boy, Troy Green, was now Boris’s primary target.  The secondary target was a team of bean counters in a well-guarded tower in the business district that fronted as a dull, run-of-the-mill CPA office but was responsible for laundering several hundred million pounds each year for Rabinovich.  The third target was thousands of miles away in Russia, where the hub of Oleg’s prostitution ring was headquartered.  If Dmitry terminated all of them-then, essentially, he crippled Oleg, thereby making him useless to Erik.

Dmitry wanted the hit on Troy Green to send a clear message to Oleg and everyone backing Erik Popov.  He wanted them to know he was coming for them all.   Everything he didn’t destroy; he would keep in the spoils of war.  Everyone who had chosen to fight against him would die.  Everyone connected to them would die.

“Keep it simple but make it epic. I want to read about it in all of the papers,” were the last words Dmitry told Boris before he sent him off to do his bloody bidding.

“A1, above the fold, boss,” Boris had promised.

For two weeks since his arrival, Boris and his London-based team had watched Troy Green and the bean counters’ every move, studied their routines, monitored their guests, and identified security weaknesses before they finalized a plan.

Today, it was finally time to make the news.

It was just another workday in London.  A yellow-gold hue broke the horizon as morning rose in the distance over the darkened waters of the River Thames.  Boats moved sluggishly down the channel, and cars danced over the roads in a hurried pace, while bikes roamed up and down the sidewalk.

The markets would open soon, and everyday trader, banker, and accountant in the city would be off to the races, including the man that Dmitry Medlov wanted dead.

But the man who would be responsible for overseeing the hit was still peacefully sleeping.

With the finely upholstered curtains drawn to receive the new day, Boris rested between a pair of naked blonde bartenders he had met the previous night. The heat of their voluptuous bodies and the scent of their sweet perfume had lulled him to sleep only a few hours ago.  Having been deprived of a woman’s touch for several weeks in the wake of a war, he jumped on the first opportunity to make up for the lost time.  These nice young women had been kind enough to oblige him. Needless to say, it had been quite an evening, full of food and drink, and ending with him ravaging both women thoroughly.

They slept beside Boris now with a glaze of sticky residue atop their soft skin – a combination of his seed and expensive champagne he had showered them in as a just reward for their outstandingly depraved performance.    Long strands of golden hair were splayed against white pillows.  Legs and breasts were angled toward the Russian assassin.

All was right in the world until…

His eyes flitted open as the double doors to his bedroom burst open, and the butler emerged in a perfect, black suit.

Popping up like a prairie dog, Boris pulled a weapon from under his pillow but kept it out the view. Where am I? He thought to himself before he recalled his mission. He eyed the butler curiously, adjusting his blurred vision with quick blinks.

“Oh, it’s you,” Boris groaned.  A cowlick of black hair stuck up in the back of his head, and lipstick trailed down the side of his neck.

“Good morning, sir,” the butler said, bowing his head just enough to apologize for the interruption.  “You asked me to wake you when your guest arrived.”

Stepping out of view, the butler motioned toward a man waiting for Boris in the middle of the parlor and then raised a suggestive brow.  He had hosted his fair share of mafia types over the years.  And there was no mystery that these were those types of men, but he dared not allow his judgment of their surly affairs to show on his face or in his very aristocratic British tone.

“Spasiba.”  Boris sucked his teeth, feeling the groggy liquid diet from the night before rattle awake in his stomach.  It was time to eat and time to get rid of the distractions.  He looked on either side of him at the sleeping women and suddenly felt claustrophobic.  They had to go…now. “Can you help me with this?”

“Of course, sir,” the butler answered, moving into the bedroom to pick up the discarded clothes littering the floor.  Grunting as he bent over and piled the items in his arms, he continued.  “I took the liberty of placing your breakfast out on the balcony for you, per your request.  Shall I have your guest join you there while I tend to your…” he stopped and looked at the women, “other needs?”

Boris threw a hairy leg over one of the unconscious women and rolled out of bed in one fluid motion.  Naked and sweaty, he stood with a shiny Glock in his hand.  There were too many people he didn’t know or trust around him at once.  It made him uncomfortable and shifted too much control from him to them.

“Da, da.  Tell them last night was great, but I’ve got shit to do, eh.”

The butler lowered his head; cheeks denied the natural inclination to turn red at Boris’s sinewy, muscular frame covered from head to toe in elaborate tattoos.  “Of course, I will let them know their presence was most appreciated.”

Boris didn’t want to get bogged down with the details.  “I’m not a poet.  I’ll leave you to the explanation.”  He grabbed a white, terrycloth hotel robe draped over the nightstand and slipped it on, then moved quickly past the butler, weapon still in hand.

“Before you take your leave, sir,” the butler said, stopping Boris before he could leave. “Will the ladies require payment before their departure?”  Just as he spoke, one of the girls shifted in her sleep, bringing her freshly waxed vagina into view.

Boris snickered with a rueful smile. The balls on this guy.  “No, they’re not working girls, Mr. Belvedere,” he said with a wink at the butler.  “Not everyone has to pay for it or take it.”  He whispered as though he was telling him a big secret.  “The trick is just to ask really nicely.”

“Forgive me, sir.”  The butler blushed outright with embarrassment, knowing he had overstepped.  It would surely cost him a tip later.  “I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken,” Boris said, quick to let small things roll off his back.   It was too early for bullshit.  If he woke up fighting with the butler, it was possible he’d go to bed tonight killing the maid.  His time was too precious for such trivialities.  “Just get rid of them, eh. Do your fucking job.”

“Right away, sir,” the butler said with another bow — this one much lower to the floor as a sign of his utter submission.

Exiting the bedroom and closing the French doors behind him, Boris nodded at the man waiting on him.  Now that one uptight asshole had been handled, he was left to deal with another.  C'est la vie.  It occurred to him at that moment how taxing Boss Medlov’s life must be with people continually pulling him in every direction at the same time.  For fuck’s sake, he had just gotten out of the bed, and he was already exhausted.

“You wanted to see me,” the man said in an English brogue, standing straighter as Boris locked eyes on him.

“Walk with me,” Boris ordered as he headed toward the balcony, where a table had been set with his breakfast.

As Boris stepped out on the balcony, he inhaled a welcome breath of fresh air and took in his peaceful surroundings.  How anyone ever got tired of this view was beyond him.  One day, if he lived long enough to retire, he was going to find a place just like this to grow old and die.

Sitting down, he placed his weapon on the table by a crystal vase with a single red rose and unrolled the cutlery tucked tightly in a white linen napkin.  He said a prayer so quick; it was over before he could blink, then rested his elbows on the table.  Exhaling, he glanced across the table toward the waterway.

“I was surprised that you wanted to see me at the last minute,” the man began before given permission, interrupting the silence.  “Is there something wrong?”

Boris slowly turned his head from the view and looked at the man standing in the threshold with a frown. “Come across the doorway already.  It’s bad luck to give news over it.  Don’t you know that?  You’ll disturb the ancestors.”  It was an old Russian superstition, but Boris held its belief to be true.  He thought poorly of the man instantly, considering the hitter’s family was originally from the old country.

The man stepped fully across the threshold and came to stand directly beside the table.  “Sorry.”  He gave a lukewarm apology though he thought Boris to be ridiculous and possibly even archaic.  The next thing he would be telling him would be to knock-on-wood to prevent a jinx.

“You have breakfast yet?” Boris asked, Russian accent thick.

“I never eat before a job.”

“I eat before and after a job.  Murder makes me ravenous.”  Stabbing his breakfast steak, Boris used the knife to cut into its perfect pink center.  As he bit into his food, dabbles of meat juice fell into his thick black beard, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away, more as a fuck-you to the hitter’s fragile sensibilities.

“Mmm.  Now, this is delicious,” Boris smacked obnoxiously.

The man shifted in his locked position, wondering if his operation was going all to pot.  Watching Boris, he also wondered if this was the best leadership that the great Dmitry Medlov had to offer.  It would at least explain why the Czar of the underworld was at war with another influential crime family.  If one did not demonstrate leadership on every level, his strength would automatically be questioned.  He’d been a hitter for years under the Medlov regime and had never witnessed assassins courted by their employers in such a manner.  Lavish suites.  Personal butlers.  Fine dining.  It seemed absurd and decadent.  And it seemed wasteful to be spent on a man like Boris, who had the sensibilities of a Billy goat.

“Sir, why did you want to see me?” the man finally asked after several minutes of listening to Boris smack like a fat-mouthed cow.

“You’re too uptight,” Boris said bluntly. There was no judgment in his matter-of-fact tone, just sincere observation. He glanced up, brown eyes red from a looming hangover. His wing-like black lashes flapped as he talked.  “I’ve been watching you very closely for two weeks now, and…” he cut another piece of steak, then picked it up with his fork before slathering it with golden egg yolk, “you’re very good at your job.  And that’s a compliment coming from me.  But trust me.  If you don’t lighten up, brat, you’re going to burn out before your forty.”  He said, so knowing the hitter was already the ripe old age of 38.

The man’s face tightened.  He averted his head and looked straightforward as he squared his shoulders.   “This is a serious profession.”  He wanted to elaborate but felt the need to be very brief in his responses.

“No, shit.  Baby doctors usher people into the world, and we usher them out.  In my opinion, what we do is a natural part of the human life cycle.  We thin out the herds.”  Boris tasted his food again and shook his head at the taste, which seemed to get better with each bite.  Nodding as he swallowed his food and made his Adam’s apple dance, he continued on his philosophical rant.  “It’s what’s in between life and death that matters in this short time on Earth, not the beginning or the end so much.”  He pointed his fork toward the man in an accusatory fashion.  “And that’s where you have your problem.  I’ve seen it before in torpedoes.  You don’t know how to enjoy life, and it shows all over you.  Early frown lines around your mouth, crow’s feet on the sides of your eyes — premature balding and premature other things.  Your family came to London after immigrating from the old country, so you’re more Russian than English, but your skin isn’t like porcelain; it’s more like leather – too much fucking sun and not enough water.  I bet…I am willing to put everything I own on the bet that you drink too much; you internalize everything.  Am I right?”

“Some would say so…” The man didn’t blink. In fact, he had stopped breathing all together at Boris’s spot-on observation.

“My advice to you is to be who you are, whoever that is before it’s too late to live at all.  If you don’t, you’ll start to envy the people that you kill, because you’re ending their suffering and prolonging your own.” Boris’s eye twitched.  “Then one day,” he put his finger to his temple like a gun, “you just step in the shower in your shitty flat, pull the curtain and end it.  All because you didn’t know how to live a little.”  He flicked his thumb like he was pulling a trigger and made a rather vulgar noise.

The man didn’t appreciate the unwelcome advice, but he was a mere soldier in the Medlov army, where Boris was a lieutenant, so he had to hold his tongue.  He did, however, wondered where this conversation was going.

“You have a wife or girlfriend or something like that?” Boris pried further.  He gave special care with his question, watching the man’s every movement.

The man clenched his jaw.  “I’m divorced.”

“I’m not surprised,” Boris chuckled as his robe slipped open, exposing his hairy thighs.  He held his knowledge of the man close to his chest, revealing nothing.  “Since the divorce, anyone special?”

There was a pause from the man to which Boris looked up from his food.  “I want you to speak freely,” Boris ordered.

The man relaxed his wide shoulders and drew just enough courage to be his smug self.  “Not special enough to have whisked out of a hotel first thing in the morning by the butler.”

Boris laughed.  He could take it as well as he could give it. “I’m not big on serious relationships, but I am very fond of temporary ones.”  He picked up his coffee cup.  “When was the last time you got laid?”  He knew the answer to that as well but again didn’t speak on it.

The man released an aggravated sigh.  Was this guy taking a piss or what? “Sir, today is the day we have been preparing for now for two weeks.  What does that have to do with the last time I got some pussy?”

“I didn’t ask about pussy.”  Boris raised a thick black brow.  The inflection in his voice was cryptic.  “My question has a lot to do with today.”

Looking past the man into the hotel room, Boris watched the butler escort the half-dressed girls with severe bed hair and hands full of clothes out of the suite and felt a ping of relief.  At least that was done.  He never liked to talk business with too many ears around to eavesdrop.  Instead, he had kept the conversation light until the butler did his job, but now he needed to say what was really on his mind.

Boris trailed his gaze back to his offended guest and gave him a once-over gaze.  “Here’s what I’m going to do for you.  After we finish this hit today, I’m going to take you out on the town.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the man said, wanting to get to the details of the hit, which would take place in less than an hour.  They were wasting valuable bloody time.  He checked his watch and licked his lips impatiently.

“It’s very necessary,” Boris said, pointing at him.  “I can see it.  I can see you.”

At this point, the man was willing to say whatever Boris wanted to move things along.  “Fine.  Take me out.  Show me a good time and get me laid. I prefer brunettes if you must know.  But for now, can we focus on the job?”

With a start that made the iron chair scrub against the concrete floor, Boris pushed back in the chair and sucked his teeth, debating whether to verbally castrate his insolent subordinate or compliment him on his focus.  Finally, he gave a menacing smile that revealed his pearly white teeth.

“What if I told you, you were the job?” Boris asked.

The man stepped back and looked at the weapon on the table, unsure if he had pushed Boris too far with speaking freely.

“Not the mark.  The job.”  Boris grinned at the man’s skittishness and inhaled his mortal fear.   “Last night, before I went out on the town to find a midnight snack, I went over our plan one last time.  This job is very important to me and to my ward, whom I serve very faithfully.  So, you understand this must be done perfectly.  There is no room for mistakes.”

“I understand.”

Boris snapped at the man’s affirmation.  “No, you don’t.  You think you do.”  He shook his head emphatically as a fleeting thought was pushed to the back of his mind.  “But you don’t…understand.  Boss Medlov is a figure to you.  He’s never talked to you.  You’ve never been in his presence.  You’ve never been worthy enough to up until this very moment to even be a conversation for him, and so you don’t feel the full weight of what is happening.  You don’t realize that this isn’t just another fucking job.”  His canines showed as he talked to the man.  “This is personal.  Do you know this term?”

“I know it.”

“Have you ever killed someone, because it was personal?”

“I haven’t,” The man answered quickly and with more respect.

“And so, you don’t fucking understand, eh?  But you will.  That’s why I picked you because you will.”  He nodded with an enigmatic foreboding.

“Forgive me if I offended you,” the man said with a slight bow.

Boris sucked his teeth.  Again, it was too early to trifle with trivialities.  “Forgiven,” he said gruffly.  He tried to maintain a level of coolness, but inside he was still seething over the attempt on Boss Medlov’s life.  He was there when the hit happened.  He saw the blood and the mayhem.  It was because of that personal experience that he wanted to carry out the hit himself, but Boss Medlov would not let him.  So now, he had to depend on this smug shit to do it for him, and if this pawn fucked it up because of his inability to take criticism, he would gut him with the steak knife he was using to eat his meal and throw his unworthy ass over the side of this balcony, so help him.

The man saw an instant transformation in Boris’s demeanor.  He went from cold to hot in a matter of seconds. Darkness emerged in Boris that made him finally start to see the duality of what initially appeared to be a very dull, one-dimensional man.

And Boris knew what people saw in him.  The butler, the hitter, the world.  Everyone thought him to be stupid until it was too late.  By the time they figured out just how clever he actually was, he was removing a blade from their stomachs or putting away his weapon after a perfect kill shot.  The only genuine respect was given after the results.  And his results, so far, had been damn near flawless.

Boris leveled himself.  “As I was saying, I’ve gone over the plan again, and there is one fatal flaw.  You are going in to fix his Wi-Fi, correct?  It’s been down since the early hours of the morning.  We’ve been fucking with it for two weeks using his own IT guy against him.   The only problem is that you’re six-foot-two and what 108 kilograms?”

The man nodded.

“He’s going to take one look at you and know you don’t fit the bill.  You’ve got that whole Slavic thing about you.  Buzzcut.  Blue eyes.  A nasty, permanent scowl.  It’s not going to work.  They will take one look at you, and even though you have that shitty English accent that makes my food curdle in my stomach, they’ll see a hitter.  You might not make it to the door before one of his guards pops you.”

“If you knew that before, sir…”

Boris raised a finger to quiet the man.  “I knew it for sure just now.  When I told you to lighten up, when I asked you if you had a lady friend, when I offered to get you laid, I knew.  How do you think I’ve managed to kill over 198 people in my career?  Trust me; it wasn’t just because of my dashing good looks.”

The hitter inhaled a breath.   He had barely killed 30 marks during his time on the job.  Boris’s number made him feel woefully out of his depths.

“I thought about you last night,” Boris said, looking at his food. His fists were balled up as he made the cryptic statement.

The man glanced down at the top of Boris’s head of wild black curls.

“Not the job…you.”  Boris looked up at the hitter.  “Killing is a complicated action.  Anyone can pull the trigger from 200 feet away, but to kill up close is a different thing altogether.  First, you have to get close, eh.  You have to gain their trust, and then you have to betray it.  That can be a tough thing to do.  You work so hard to build a connection, and then like a building a house of cards, you have to knock the fucker down.  It makes you sick to do it.  I’ve cried before when the time came.  Have you?”

The man nodded no, finally realizing he could learn something invaluable if he allowed himself to lower his guard.

“It’s not that you don’t have a personality somewhere under all that bravado.  I’m sure you do, but it doesn’t translate.” Boris stood up and walked over to the man.  His voice lowered as he put his hands on both of the man’s arms and squeezed.  “When they say kill a person with kindness, people often take out the verb in that sentence.  But that word is the key. You have to be kind, angelic even.  You have to be none of what you are and everything they want to get past their first inclination to distrust.”

The hitter didn’t understand.  What did Boris want him to do?  Was he going to be used or not?  How had the fucking plan changed?

Boris walked back into the hotel and picked up a leash that was on the desk in the parlor.  He turned and waved the leather strap in his hand.  “We’re not going with the cliché repairman bit this time.   Tell Troy Green that you’re looking for your dog.  Ask if he has seen him on his property.  It will be more compelling, more believable.  It fits you better.”

The man trained his face but was baffled by the deviation.  He stepped inside the patio door back into the hotel room.  How did Boris know he was a dog person?  What else did Boris know about him?  His pulse started to race.

“I don’t follow you,” the man said.

“Every time you come in here, you have fucking dog hair on your pants, mostly around the ankles, sometimes all the way up to your knees.  You may not have a woman at home, but I bet you have a little bitch.”  He threw the leash to the man.  “Am I right?”

The man put the leash in his jacket pocket.  “So far, you’re spot on.  But how did you know it was a female?”

Boris didn’t answer that.  “Let’s stay on task, shall we?  Take her to work with you today.  Leave your weapon at the flat.  Set the dog loose on his property and then have the mark help you find her.  When Troy’s guard is all the way down, kill him quickly, and get the laptop so we can move on to the next job.  Now careful with the leash I just gave you.  It’s lined with a very sensitive explosive.  Once you’ve got the laptop and done the job, set off the leash with this in the house.” He pulled a small detonator switch from his robe pocket.  “Made it myself.  Don’t worry.  It won’t go off unless you want it to.”

The man took the switch and carefully put the device in his jacket pocket.

Boris raised a brow. “My boss wants this done by noon.  I’ll meet the team downtown at the designated spot for the next phase.”

“So, you want me to leave my gear and take my dog instead?”  He shrugged in confusion.

“Yeah, and wear something nicer than what you have on now.”  Boris swept a look over the man in his boring black suit pants and a black button-down shirt.  It was drab and did nothing for his muscular frame.  “Khakis, a polo, something like this.  Something that makes you more approachable.”

“How do you expect me to kill him without a weapon?  He has an entire security detail.  They have to be on the alert with everything that’s happening.  Oleg must have told them to be on guard.”

Boris debated whether or not to explain.  In his experience, enlightening a person before sending them out to do a job wasn’t always the best idea.  “Oleg doesn’t even know we know about Troy.  As far as killing without your weapon, you’re a fucking professional, aren’t you?  Find a way.  For now, I’d like to finish my breakfast and have a nice shower.  After all, it’s about the shit in the middle of a life that’s most important.”

“Yes, boss,” the man answered under his breath.

“You’re excused for now, but check-in after, and don’t forget tonight.”  Boris winked at the man.  “I’ll bring you a brunette and remember, more importantly, don’t fuck this up, or you fuck yourself.”

With a nod, the man departed with a new respect for Boris and Dmitry.  In less time than Boris took to eat his breakfast steak, he had broken him down, figured him out, and set him straight.  It was sobering really, to be schooled by a man who seemed to dumb down his intelligence all while outthinking others.

Boris watched the man leave and felt suddenly envious.  Running a crew wasn’t all it was chalked up to be.  He should have been the one carrying out the hit on Troy Green this morning, but Boss Medlov wanted him in a different capacity now.  It should have been an honor to be rising up the ranks finally, but the anticipation was killing him.  He felt the control he usually had ripped from his hands.  If the hitter fucked this up, it would be on his head.  If the hitter succeeded, it would be his success.  Maybe this responsibility was what Marat had been complaining about since he took over as the head of security.

Walking to the door of the hotel, he opened it to find a guard sitting outside in a chair.  It was odd for him to be the one who needed protection.  He looked down at the young man and motioned for him to come inside.

“Yes, boss,” the man said, jumping up from his hard, wooden chair.

Boris walked with the man into the bedroom that was still disheveled from his sex session the night before.  “Sweep it for bugs, just in case the entertainment left something behind.  If you find something, let me know.”  He didn’t trust anyone – sometimes, not even himself.  One could never be too careful in this line of work.    Picking up his phone, he dialed Marat to check-in.

The Medlov Family

Siberia

3:23 p.m. (local time)

Marat was waiting.  He had not moved from this one spot for nearly an hour.  With his legs crossed and his eyes straight forward, he sat breathing slowly, his body locked into a statue form.  This hit was the first of a wave of retribution to be carried out, all under his supervision.  And all with him to pay the price, if they were not done properly.

When his phone rang, he picked it up quickly, disappointed that the phone call had come from London and not Moscow.  It had been a few days since Peaches had checked in, and the clock was literally killing him.

With a gruff tone, he lurched from the chair in the corner of the kitchen and walked over to look out of the window.

“Talk to me,” he said, hoping Boris had good news.  This new assignment was something he had supported from the beginning.  Boris needed more responsibility if he was ever going to prove his worthiness to the family.

“Our man is headed to the rally point,” Boris said, putting down his fork and knife as he looked out over the Thames River.  “As discussed last night, the plan changed.”

“How did he take it?” Marat asked.   He had been a hitter long enough to understand the logistics of a hit.  Any changes were considered a breach of contract and more so and breach of trust.

“Not well, but I think it’s better this way.”  Boris licked his lips.  “I could be wrong about what I saw in him, but I don’t think that I am.  He is…” he shrugged, uncomfortable saying the word, “a pidor.”

Marat moved the curtains and gazed across the breathtaking landscape of trees and mountains beyond the perimeter of the property.  “Who cares.  At this point, it was the smartest move.”

“What do you want me to do with him when he comes back…if he comes back?” Boris asked.

Marat held the phone for a second.  The Brotherhood did not allow such things, but there was no proof, only hunches formed by Boris after watching Benjamin closely over the last week and after Boris followed him the night before.  “Pay him.  Thank him.  Send him on his way,” Marat said, closing the curtain.  “It’s a hunch.  You could be wrong.”

But Boris knew he was not wrong.  His brother had been a homosexual, and he had loved him dearly, but the societal norms of Mother Russia had led to his brother committing suicide one morning in their meager box of a restroom.  Boris found him, hanging by a belt, blue in color, cold and hollow.  He knew what he saw in Benjamin now, which was why he had given him the advice to live his own life before it was too late.  It was his responsibility to report even the smallest news to Marat, and Boris had done that faithfully, but he was relieved to receive orders to allow Benjamin to live untouched by his growing suspicion.

“After Troy is complete and the laptop is secure, we’ll move to the next step.  It won’t take long.  Just a quick sweep of the seventh floor of the building by the exterminators.  They won’t know what hit them.  It will be over before they knew it started,” Boris said, moving the conversation along.

“Good, report back once it’s complete.  Boss is waiting.”  Marat checked the time on his watch.  “Once it’s done, your vacation is over.  Head back with the goods.”

“Of course,” Boris answered respectfully.  His thoughts trailed off to a friendlier capacity.  “Have you heard from her?” he asked of Peaches.

Marat shook his head.  Was he wearing his emotions on his sleeve, or did his best friend know him that well?  Either way, his personal life had no place in their conversation.  Had it been anyone else, he would have quickly reprimanded them, but this was Boris.  The rules didn’t necessarily apply.  “No, she’ll check in soon, though.  It’s better for her to be there than here with Daniil.”  His left eye jumped as he said the man’s name.

“Just remember to keep it cool around him,” Boris reminded as he stood from his table.  “I’ll be home soon to help you with the lightweight.”

“Take care of yourself,” Marat said, ending the call.

Chapter 22

Hamilton Terrace

St. John’s Wood

London, UK

“There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”

― Arthur Conan Doyle

T roy Green was a consummate professional, even though he had a severe millennial flare.  He believed in his work and had a great worth ethic. He just had a different way of doing things.

While his father had been a traditional CPA, who wore a three-piece suit five-days-a-week, reported to the same office by 8:00 a.m. and ate at his stuffy private club for thirty-six years of his miserable, mundane life, Troy shied away from working in the office, because it stifled his creativity.

Instead, he worked from home, only wore jeans and specialty T-shirts, always had a pair of BEATS headphones around his neck, rarely cut his mop of messy curls atop his head, had lunch delivered, and despised the status quo.

Take that, Dad.

Technology was Troy’s god, and the bank was his holy temple.  He dealt in cryptocurrency and offshore accounts, intricately fabricated ledgers, and mastered the skill of manipulating financial systems.

Unorthodox methodology mixed with classical training in financial arts allowed him to never to step foot in “the tower,” a building in the business district his father’s firm had owned since the Great Depression of the 1920s.

How he hated that place.  It wreaked of pretentiousness and stood as a tangible symbol of the things he despised in the world.

A man once jumped out of a tenth-floor window of the building after losing everything but his shirt when the stocks plummeted, but that wouldn’t be Troy.  No.  He was always one step ahead.  And at 28 years old, his track record beat many middle-aged competitors.

In three generations, the Green family had become masters of disguising dirty money for criminals while keeping a few legitimate clients to mask the stink of their misdeeds.

His father had taught him well, beating into his head from the time he was a boy that the skill of accounting would be necessary for his survival, especially since Troy had no alpha qualities to speak of and was the only male son in the family.  His knack for accounting had been the only thing his father ever liked about him – everything else had been showered with disapproval and sometimes outright disdain.

Troy didn’t do sports.

Troy didn’t do social groups.

Troy didn’t do…

His father had expressed hundreds of complaints over the years, save his knack for numbers.

Managing hundreds of millions of dollars for bad guys was Troy’s specialty, and while he was born rich, he had become much richer because of his unique, high-demand skill.  There was something far more exciting and challenging in laundering versus the same old tedious accounting practices used worldwide with their rules and their morality.  Maybe it was the challenge of deceiving whole governments, or perhaps it was the fact that he excelled in this even more than his father, but whatever it was, this job made him feel whole.

Pimps, drug dealers, traffickers, corrupt public figures, and even corporate sharks all wanted a piece of his action.  Unlike others who quibbled over the origins of the money or what the money would be used for, his moral compass only pointed toward the bank.  Screw ethics.  Screw civic responsibility.  Screw fairness.  He didn’t care if the money came from selling women or selling children or selling drugs or selling illegal munitions.  All he wanted to do was get paid a percentage and be left to his work.  Some would call him a monster for what he was willing to do.  He helped terrorists.  He helped pimps and pushers, but what they didn’t understand was that he was helping himself.

It was a dog eat dog world, and he might have been a little dog in stature, only standing a frail 5’9”, weighing 150 pounds soaking wet, but in this world, he was a bull mastiff.

To ensure longevity, he had recruited a team of accountants who shared his values and secured his clients’ success.  They worked tirelessly for him down at the tower, and he paid them well for their services.  They maintained the front while he worked from home.  It was the perfect set up.

But to carry out his job, he had to have a fucking Wi-Fi encrypted connection, which he lacked at the moment.

“Bloody fucking wanker!” His reddened nostrils flared.

Standing up, he hit the curved, supersized monitor and screamed, shooting specs of spittle against the screen.

The markets opened thirty minutes ago, and his entire Wi-Fi network was still down.  Nothing made him angrier.  He could deal with the unexpected nature of life with humans – they were unpredictable – but when technology failed him, he truly felt betrayed.

Over the last two weeks, the system had crashed several times, slowing down his work dramatically.  Then this morning, he woke up with no Wi-Fi.  What next?  What else could possibly go wrong? He was tempted to pick up his equipment and throw it across the room, but he’d done that twice already this week, and it had brought him no closer to figuring out what the problem was.   The walls were starting to close in on him.  He needed a release.

“I can’t believe this shit is happening now!” he screamed again.

His midnight-black pit bull, Maverick, sat up on the edge of his plush dog bed and looked at his master with concern.  Maverick knew that strained tone well.  His master was upset again.  He grunted a little and stretched his legs over the bed and scratched the carpet with his claws.

“Sorry, boy,” Troy apologized to his pet as he walked over to the panoramic windows that gave a perfect view of his sprawling backyard.  Not even this incredible view was enough to center him.

He’d been locked up with his computer for too many days.  The tedium was starting to set in despite several bumps of cocaine in the last twenty-four hours.  Maybe what he needed was a bit of fresh air and a little sun on his skin to reset his ramping frustration.

“What I really need is to get laid,” he said aloud.  Troy had grown accustomed to talking to himself and prolonged droughts of intimacy.  Working alone for long hours in a confined space made for a less-social lifestyle.  No one wanted a workaholic as a significant other.  He’d try it before but found in the end he was always the one given an ultimatum to compromise.  They had all wanted the same things – more time, more attention, more control.  But those were all things that Troy could not offer because his first love had always been his work.

As he battled between reflecting on his work and on his private life, he found that they had blended into one.  The last relationship ended with a huge argument, a bag packed in the middle of the night, and a changed number by the next day.  He had honestly tried to make that relationship work, but in the end, it had failed.  That had been three months ago.  Since then, he had been working nonstop, barely taking time to eat or sleep.  His clients had been happy with his performance, and his competition was getting further behind him, but moments like this when he looked out of the window of his multi-million-dollar property, he wasn’t sure if it was paradise or a prison of his own making.

Rubbing his hands roughly over his stubbly beard, Troy moaned and leaned against the glass wall.  There was very important work to do today on behalf of his clients, and they didn’t accept excuses – not even legitimate ones.  He pushed in thoughts of his ex to the back of his mind and focused on the job at hand.  If he couldn’t get online soon, he’d instruct his security detail to take him down to the tower.  He shuttered at the thought of having to go to that dreadful place.  The smell of it, sterile and old, reminded him of his father – a man who had a heart attack at his desk instead of a respectable retirement.

Maverick rose from his comfy little bed in the corner of Troy’s office and came to stand with him at the window.  At first, his tail wagged easily, but then he went rigid, and his ears perked up.

“What do you see, boy?” Troy tried to follow the dog’s gaze.  He squinted and looked closer at the lawn, where a miniature Doberman Pincher with a hot pink collar ran about unattended.

Maverick barked loudly at the intrusion.  Scratching at the window, he attempted to get out and play.

“I see her,” Troy laughed, bending to rub Maverick’s massive head.  “You wanna get out there and hump her, don’t you, boy?” he asked playfully as he scratched the dog’s ears. “Well, you aren’t the only one who needs a proper shagging.  Daddy’s dry spell is driving him crazy.”  Nuzzling his head to his dog’s, he heard a voice over the intercom.

“Sir, we have a security breach,” an English male voice said.

Troy exhaled another breath of frustration.  “It’s a fucking dog, you plunker,” he answered, looking up at the speaker.  He rolled his eyes.  “If you want to do something, yeah, fix the fucking Wi-Fi so someone in this house can earn their pay.”

There was a pause before the voice answered as if the man was holding back a snide remark.  “We’re working on it now, sir.  The tech guy is just on the way.”

“Excuses, excuses.”  Raising from bended knee, Troy gave one more glance toward the dog frolicking in the yard and decided to go down and see the animal for himself.  It wasn’t like he was getting any work done up here. Besides, he might be able to find a signal in a different location.  If nothing else, he needed a change of scenery.

He grabbed the laptop from his desk and trotted downstairs with Maverick following closely behind.

“Sir, we need you to stay back,” a guard warned Troy with a raised hand, as he stood in front of the patio door that led to the backyard.  “The perimeter has not been secured, and with the Wi-Fi down, our cameras are inoperable.  Then men are walking the property.  Once we’re done…”

“It’s just a dog.  A little fucker at that.  I’ll take Maverick with me if it makes you feel better.”  Troy pressed his laptop in the man’s chest.  “Put this over on the kitchen counter and arrange for transport to the tower within the hour.”

“But, sir,” the guard protested, taking the laptop.

“No buts.”  Troy scoffed at the man.

Nothing ever happened in this neighborhood, and not once had he ever suffered a real security breach, just squirrels and moles, who tripped the alarms every once in a while.  Still, he was forced to have a security team as mandated by his shady clients and forced to pay them top dollar out of his own money, even though all the guards did was walk around in their tight-fitting shirts and cargo pants.

“Sir, I have to object,” the guard warned.

“You have to object, huh?  That’s so cute.  Out of my way.”  Pushing past his guard, Troy opened the door and received a gust of fresh air.  Ahh, that felt good. He stepped out on the patio and saw the dog in the distance.  She turned to look toward them and started to bark.  Maverick broke out in the run, which made Troy pick up his speed to a light trot.

“Careful, now!”  Troy yelled as Maverick jumped around the dog, sniffing at its bottom. He whistled at the miniature canine, to which she quickly responded by running up to him.

At least she wasn’t afraid.

Troy bent and picked her up.  Based upon her healthy black coat, it was clear she was well taken care of, and the hot pink polish on her little nails indicated that she was loved.  But it still didn’t explain why she was in his backyard.

“Are you lost?” Troy asked.

The dog playfully licked the side of his face as he read her collar. “Daisy.” That was a cute enough name for a sweet enough dog. “Did you get away from home, Daisy?” He kissed her head and put a hand up to cover his eyes from the sun.  Glancing around the backyard, he tried to figure out where she had come from.  “How did you get back here, little princess?”

“DAISY!” a deep English male voice yelled.  His voice carried over the light breeze and wreaked of worry.

Troy turned toward the voice.  It was coming from the front of his property.  The guard who was standing at the back door stepped out on the patio as he pressed a finger to his earpiece.

“This is the most exciting thing that’s happening to them in years,” Troy said to Daisy snidely.  Walking through the immaculate blades of green grass, he raised the dog in his right hand.  “Here is your security breach.  You might want to call in reinforcements.  She seems hostile.”

Maverick jumped on Troy’s leg, begging to play with the little dog, but Troy kept her safely in his embrace.  “No.  You’ll hurt her,” he said to Maverick.  “She’s too little for you.”

The guard pulled his sidearm out.  “A man is rutting around in the bushes.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Troy’s annoyance ramped up a notch.  “Don’t run off my neighbors.  Whoever is out there is clearly looking for his animal, not a fucking shootout.”

“We’ll take care of it,” the guard said, walking toward Troy to take the dog.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, walking over to his fence door.  “Go back inside.”

“Daisy!” Benjamin called out, truly worried that his baby girl was hurt.  It seemed like a good idea when Boris suggested that he take his prized possession on the job with him, but just a few minutes after he set her free, he almost had an anxiety attack.

“Daisy!!!”  Digging through the large bushes on his hands and knees, Benjamin tried to see to the back of Troy Green’s property.  Had she managed to get back there?  That was the plan, but she had run off so fast until he wasn’t absolutely sure.   Like a scared child, he pawed at the earth, wrought with bizarre anxiety until he heard footsteps approaching.

“She’s here,” Troy answered as the white-picket-fence door creaked open.  A small-framed man appeared in jeans and a Van Halen T-shirt, looking very nondescript and unassuming.  Skin pale from vitamin D deprivation, Troy Green stepped out in the driveway with the small dog safely tucked in his embrace.  Obediently, Maverick trailed closely behind, disappointed with his inability to play with their newfound friend.

“I found her in my backyard roaming around,” Troy explained with a smirk on his face.  He could see the genuine concern on the stranger’s face that could only be understood by another dog parent.

Benjamin’s shoulders dropped in sudden relief.  Just seeing Daisy’s little face put his mind at ease.  Her ears shot up when she saw her owner, immediately wanting to go straight to him.

On his knees, Benjamin looked up at his mark with flushed red cheeks and a trickle of sweat that ran down the side of his face.  He wiped his wiry brow and threw his head back.  “Thank God.”  Putting a hand over his heart, he spoke directly to Daisy.   “You scared the life out of me, girl.”  Leaving a smudge of dirt on his shirt as he dropped his hands to the concrete to push himself up, he felt Troy watching him.

“Does she get away from you often?” Troy asked, still nudging Maverick away from Daisy.

“Yes, more often than I care to admit,” Benjamin answered, standing up.  He wiped the dirt from his starched, khaki pants and inhaled a breath, making his large chest contract.  “I took her out for a little stroll, just in case the day gets away from me once I head to the office.”  Raising the pink leash given to him by Boris, he offered a suitable explanation.  “Taking her off-leash was a bad idea.”

“They do have a mind of their own,” Troy said, walking closer to Benjamin. “Maverick has learned not to run off, but it took years of training.  Before then, he’d shoot right into traffic, if I dared unleash him.”   He passed the dog to her master.

“Well, I’m glad she managed to run into your yard and not someone else’s.  Not everyone likes dogs.”

“Maybe it was fate.”  Troy’s eyes were unreadable.

Benjamin couldn’t put his finger on Troy’s temperament, now that he was up-close.  Looking at a man over a closed-circuit computer or via pictures was never the same as breathing in the same air with him and having a conversation.  However, he remembered Boris’s advice.  Kill them with kindness.  “Well, if you believe in fate, believe in it, at least for your own good,” he said, quoting Ralph Waldo Emerson.

The reference was not lost on Troy, who had received a classical education long before ascending to his current status in life.  Blinking fast, he inhaled an unsteady breath like his nerve was escaping him.  “I’m Troy Green.  And you?”  He offered his hand.

“Benjamin Johnson,” he lied easily of his surname.  To reveal that he was a Russian immigrant might alert Troy to his true identity.

But Troy was quick to refute Benjamin’s claim.  “You don’t look very English,” he said, slowly releasing Benjamin’s large hand. “No disrespect.  It’s just the buzz cut, and the facial features are very…”

“I was adopted,” Benjamin explained, cutting him off.  “I’ve heard it all my life.  Eastern European features but all British heart.  Never known anything else.”

Troy could hear the man’s genuine British accent and could sense a natural inclination to denounce his unknown past.  “Do you live around here?”

“A few streets over.  Just moved in.”  Benjamin rubbed Daisy’s head and rocked her like a child, moving the conversation to a more comfortable place.  “Don’t you do that to me again,” he said as he kissed her.  “You had Daddy worried.”

Being an introvert, Troy had never gotten to know his neighbors.  It was very possible that the man was telling the truth.  Plus, it was clear the stranger was a dog lover, just like him.  Maybe today was the day to believe in fate.

As they spoke, a guard emerged from the front of the property and eased up behind Benjamin with his hand lingering near his holstered weapon.  He had grown suspicious of the unexpected interaction and the length of their conversation.  “Sir, are you alright?” he asked Troy.

Benjamin glanced over his shoulder at the guard, then turned back to Troy.  “Should I go?”

“Don’t mind him,” Troy said, rolling his eyes.  “He’s the help.”  He side-stepped Benjamin to speak with the guard.  “We’re fine,” he replied roughly.  “Go away.”

Ignoring Troy’s order, the guard walked closer, determined to do his job, even if his client was acting his normal asshole-self.  “Of course, sir.  I just need to check him first.”

Troy knew it was the smart thing to do.  This man was a stranger who had just popped up on his property out of nowhere, but he didn’t want to scare him off. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Check me for what exactly?” Benjamin asked.

“For guns, weapons, bombs…” Troy didn’t bother to explain why.  He was a very important man with a very important job; that was reason enough.

Benjamin shrugged with a furrowed brow, trying to seem as caught off guard as possible by request.  “No, I don’t mind,” he answered.

The guard was directly behind him now, breathing down his back like a jailhouse rapist.  As Benjamin raised his arms at his sides, he let the man pat him down, first the back and then the front.  At that moment, again, he was glad that he had heeded Boris’s advice to leave his weapon behind.  It would have been impossible to explain away and derailed his mission, if not gotten him killed on the spot.

Once the guard was finished with his search, he nodded toward Troy. “He’s good, sir. I’ll leave you now.”  Cutting his eyes at Benjamin, he reluctantly excused himself, talking on his earpiece as he disappeared around the corner of the house again.

“My men are very overprotective,” Troy explained before Benjamin could ask questions, “but their harmless unless otherwise provoked.”

“That explains the gun but not the extra tug,” Benjamin referenced the more-than-thorough check of his inner leg.  For that little infraction, someone would pay later.  “Unless you’re into that type of thing.”

Troy sucked his teeth at the suggestion. He was getting mixed messages from Benjamin but wanted to make his intentions plain.  “Not really.  He’s sharp as a wooden spoon, that one.  I’m more into the intellectual man.  Don’t get me wrong,” he paused and raised up on his tiptoes as he gave Benjamin a sweeping once-over gaze that landed on his crotch, “muscles are nice, but they can’t be a man’s only quality.”

Benjamin repressed a sigh.  Everything was starting to make more sense.  In retrospect, he should have picked up on Boris’s earlier insinuation, but it had gone right over his head.  Now, however, was not the time to nut-up.  Processing a million thoughts, he trained his face on Troy.  “Well, I didn’t graduate from Oxford, but I’m not a complete brute. And as you can see, I make time to hit the gym a few times a week.”

“I can see that well,” Troy complimented. He was half-expecting the stranger to retreat, but Benjamin’s quick quip gave him hope that this unexpected interaction could possibly go somewhere.

The dating pool had not been kind to Troy.  Lately, he had been swiping left so much on dating sites that his index finger had gone numb.  Unfortunately, most men wanted a quick hook up instead of something serious, and he was a man of very discriminating taste who didn’t like to waste his time playing the field.

Troy looked at his watch and then back behind him at the open gate.  Work was calling, begging him to return to his unfinished business.  However, it wasn’t every day that a bear of a man came walking upon his lawn.  If he let this opportunity go, he might not get a second chance.

His mark seemed to have suddenly zoned out, consumed with other thoughts that might lead to him being prematurely dismissed.  “What do you do for a living?” Benjamin asked, breaking Troy’s sudden silence.

“Investments, accounting, nothing exciting.”  He bent and rubbed Maverick’s head.  “And you?”  To live around here, he had to be something important to someone.

“I sell gym equipment, mostly to large facilities, hospitals, universities…”

Blah. Blah.  It was all very dull and out of Troy’s purview.  He had no inclination to the physical fitness world.  To even pretend would be a small sin.  Cutting Benjamin off before he began his long-winded explanation, he tried his newfound luck.  “I’m pushed for time this morning, but I was just about to have a cup of coffee.  Would you be interested in joining me?”

Jackpot.

“Sure, I’ll take a mug.  You have Columbian roast?” Benjamin asked, clutching his dog tighter.

“Is there any other kind?” Troy asked, waving Benjamin to follow him. “I have mine flown from South America every week.  Trust me. You’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will.”  Scratching his brow, he walked behind Troy through the fence and entered the expansive backyard.  With care, he closed the gate, making sure to latch the entry close, then set Daisy back down on the grass. As he did so, he stealthily removed her small collar and slipped it in his pants pocket. “Do you mind if they play outside for a bit?  She doesn’t have many friends, and she seems to like your dog a lot,” Benjamin asked.

“If you don’t mind, I don’t,” Troy said with an indifferent shrug, watching the dogs quickly start to run and play.

“Your dog seems nice enough.  People often think pit bulls are dangerous, but in my opinion, they are quite docile as long as you know how to treat them.”

“I completely agree,” Troy said, walking toward the patio door.  He felt another ping of excitement.  Already their pets were playing together.  It wouldn’t be long before they were doing the same.  Opening the door, he motioned for Benjamin to join him.  “Shall we?” He felt small butterflies erupt as the sun caught the specs of gold in Boris’s irises.

“Absolutely,” Benjamin answered, taking his attention fully off Daisy.

The guard at the patio door carefully watched the pair but expected to be sent away directly.  Troy didn’t like anyone around when he was in his element.  There were no misconceptions about their boss and his sexual orientation.

Countless men had been invited to Troy’s home over the years, most of them immediately intimidated by his security detail but eventually getting used to the needed protection.  Not one had been a security threat.  They were mostly butch johns intrigued by the allure of Troy’s eagerness to please them and his lavish gifts.  They all had the same bulky build and sturdy exterior.

Each was derivative of their predecessor, a cookie-cutter replica of Troy’s type.  Alpha.  Rough around the edges.  Large and imposing but not very talkative.  And they all had been dog lovers.   This guy fits the mold perfectly.  Within days, if things went well, Troy would be in a great mood again, not so prone to bitch and complain about their presence, and the honeymoon stage of his new relationship would begin.

“I’ll call you when and if I need you,” Troy told the guard as he stepped inside of the patio door.  His voice was low as he walked away from Benjamin.    “Did you arrange for me to head downtown per my instruction?”

“Yes, sir, however, the IT guy thinks he knows what the problem is and says he hopes to have you back online within the hours.  So, it’s your call.”  He knew Troy’s answer, even before he posed the question.

Troy looked over his shoulder at Benjamin, who looked around the airy space in awe.  “We’ll give him an hour, I supposed, but not a second over.  Now, go.  I don’t want you hanging over my shoulder while I entertain.”

“With the cameras still down…” the guard began in protest.

Troy raised a hand to quiet the man.  “I doubt with six well-trained guards in this house and no weapon on his person, Benjamin serves as a threat, unless he plans to fuck me to death, and if that’s the case, I would ask that you don’t interrupt my passing.  Now, don’t be an annoyance.  Find something else to do, somewhere else in the house until I call on you.”

“Of course, sir,” the guard said, nodding and walking away.

Troy turned back and around and clasped his hands together. Elevating his voice, he smiled.  “Seems we have more time than I thought.”  His voice echoed as he made his way toward the kitchen.

“Great,” Benjamin said, noting the cameras embedded in the ceilings.  “Nice place, by the way.  It’s very eclectic.”

Troy pulled two gray mugs from the cabinet and hid a smug grin.  “Thank you.  I designed it all myself.”  Turning around to face Benjamin, he motioned toward the bar, wanting Benjamin closer to him.  “Have a seat.  Take a load off.”

Benjamin could feel Troy’s eyes watching him as he moved across the room to the barstool.  To be treated like a piece of meat, made him feel uncomfortable.  But now that they were alone, he expected things to ramp up a little, and he assumed that was the point.  Boris had intentionally chosen him, not just because he was most qualified to do the hit, but also because he was obviously Troy’s type.

“So,” Troy pushed out an awkward breath as he put one of the mugs on the Keurig machine.  “Do people call you Benjamin, or do you have a nickname?”

“People call me Ben.” With both elbows planted on the island countertop, he laced his fingers together and flexed his massive biceps.  The small movement was not meant to elicit a reaction, but it did.  As he looked toward Troy, he saw the man visible swoon.  Shit.

“Big Ben,” Troy toyed with the man.  “Fits you.”

Benjamin swallowed down his pride.  “Thank you.”  He eyed the large block of Japanese knives on the counter beside the coffee pot.

“Are you married?” Troy asked, looking at Benjamin’s ring finger.

“Recently divorced.”

“To a woman?”  Troy’s face tightened in suspicion.

“No, to a life-sucking witch on a broom of volcanic flames and a cunt made of lava.”

Troy laughed at the description.  It was clear he hated the woman.  Good for him, not so much for her.

Benjamin tried to carry the conversation, seeing that he had managed to disarm the mark with his momentary streak of humor.  If he were going to pull this off, he’d have to get over his shyness.  “She left me, and I came out.”  At least one part of that statement was real, and it showed as he relaxed his shoulders.  Taking jabs at his ex-wife in any context always calmed him.  He inhaled a breath.  “So, I can’t thank you enough for finding Daisy.  She’s all I’ve got now.”

Troy retrieved the mugs of hot coffee and walked over to stand on the other side of the bar where Benjamin was sitting.  “I can think of a few ways you can thank me.  Have dinner with me tonight.”

Benjamin raised a brow at Troy’s directness, but Troy took it as newbie jitters.  Newly admitted gay men had a hard time accepting advances from other men after years of suppressed emotion.

“Only if you let me pay.”  Benjamin picked up his mug of coffee.  He might have to go through the motions, but no matter the situation, he was still the man.

Troy shrugged. “Only if you let me pick the restaurant.”

“If you pick restaurants like you pick your coffee, it’s a deal.”

“If you like the coffee, just wait for dessert tonight.”  Troy licked his lips and pushed up to the counter, hiding a growing erection.

“I look forward to it.”

“So, how did your father take you coming out?” Troy asked.  It was always his first question to any possible suitor considering it was one of the driving forces that had altered his relationship with his own father.

“He doesn’t know.”

“Are you afraid he won’t approve?”

“He’ll disown me.”  Benjamin sipped coffee with a brooding disgust on his face.  The sound of a smoke alarm in need of a new battery echoed behind him, and for a moment, they both lingered in their past quietly.  “And your father?  Is he the live and let live type?”

Troy smacked his lips and lifted a brow in relief.  “He’s dead, but I think my news quickened his heart attack.”

Benjamin nodded in understanding.  “He wanted you to be more alpha.”

“He wanted me to be straight,” Troy recalled an argument with his father as a teenage boy.  The day his father walked in on him and another boy kissing and holding hands in the foyer had been the best and worst day of his life.  He could still hear his father’s words slice through his soul even though the man had been dead now for several years.   “Any children with the ex?”

“God, no.  I never made that mistake. You?”

Troy gaffed.  “I don’t like kids.”

“Me either.  I’m not really into the family thing.  I go to certain holiday functions when I’m summoned by my mum, but the entire time, I’m looking at my watch, praying for it to be over.”  Boris found it incredibly easy to talk to Troy.  It was like they had known each other forever.

And Troy found Benjamin’s honesty and bluntness to be a welcomed distraction from work and life.  He imagined briefly what it might be like to wake up every morning and have conversations like this over coffee before they headed off to do their daily chores.

But Benjamin was oblivious to Troy’s sudden state of bliss.  He was too focused on another one of Boris’s gems.  Gain their trust, just to betray it.  He had never done that before, but he understood it now.  In the same moment that he was discovering a possible friend, he was also formulating a plan to kill him.

Pity.

After a long conversation spanning music, food, and life, Troy finally looked at his watch.  He had leaned across the counter, only inches from Benjamin, glad to be able to inhale the spicy fragrance of his cologne and look into his aqua green eyes.  His hour of relaxation had come to an end.  “Our time is up.  I have to make a run downtown,” he explained regretfully.

Benjamin knew his time was also up.  It was time to make a move.  “There is never enough time.”  Standing up, he walked around the counter to face Troy.  Standing nearly half a foot taller and much wider, he shadowed the young man.

Troy’s eyes grew with anticipation.  He retreated to the back counter, unsure of what the man’s next move would be.  Had he misread things?  Had he pissed him off or had he felt the connection between them that was obviously there.

Benjamin closed the space between them – standing only a hair’s breadth from Troy, he breathed down on the young man’s face. “A sample before I go then?” he asked, lifting Troy’s delicate chin.  With his thumb on Troy’s skin, he could feel the desperate stubble of a man unable to grow more than a scraggly little beard, and he could see the fear of loss in Troy’s eyes.  But instead of recoiling from it, he used it.  “I’ve been watching your lips for an hour.  It’s time I at least know what they taste like before I go.”

Troy’s heart boomed in his chest.  The excitement was almost too much to bear.  Breathing heavily, his nostrils flared.   “Just a sample.  You’ll have to save the rest for tonight.”

“I’m a greedy man,” Benjamin admitted.  “But I’ll try to make this quick.”

Closing his eyes, Troy lifted his chin to receive the sweet kiss reminiscent of the David Leer a decade before in his father’s house only this time, there would be no father there to interrupt and throw Benjamin out on the lawn after beating him to a pulp; This time, it would be perfect.

With a jolt of force, Benjamin pulled Troy close into his embrace, pressing his rugged frame against his own.

“Eyes closed,” Benjamin ordered playfully.

“Shut tight,” Troy whispered.

As Benjamin lowered his head toward Troy’s mouth, Benjamin reached behind Troy to the gleaming knife block.  With a fluid motion, too quick to see unless watching closely, Benjamin yanked one of the sharp knives by the handle out of the block, then planted a deep kiss on Troy’s open mouth.  As he pulled away, Troy’s eyes flashed open just in time to see the point of the Japanese blade come down swiftly to pierce his Adam’s apple, slashing his throat open.

Bloodshot out of Troy’s wound in a thick, crimson red river of warm liquid that spurted across Benjamin’s face, the counter and the cabinets.  The look on Troy’s face – shock and betrayal, pain, and confusion – was only matched by the profuse determination to breathe.  However, the more he tried, the more blood spewed.  His hands went to cover his neck, and he fell backward on the counter.  Fear ripped gripped him, making his heart pound with a thunderous boom.

“Why?” Troy asked, eyes watering with bitter tears.  For the first time in his young life, he was on the receiving end of his misdeeds, and he had no time or ability to process the fullness of his sin.  It was evident in his plea for help, in the blood in his eyes and the paleness of his color. The Grim Reaper had come calling for his due, and the payment was more than he could afford.

Benjamin’s face was tight now.  There was no more sentiment or nostalgia.  The blanket of deception had fallen from him, leaving his true form to stand boldly against his adversary.  He strained to find the words to explain to Troy the why of his question.   His thin lips curled and quivered in his truth.  “Because as unique as you are, you’re still just a mark,” he responded.

Sliding the knife into Troy’s upper abdomen, he fought back a sincere need to cry out himself.  This job took so much more than it gave.  He blinked fast as he stepped back, knife still in his grip, and watched Troy collapse to the granite-tile floor.  “From Dmitry,” he said, chest heaving heavy breaths.

As Troy’s blood pooled around his dying body, the same guard who was shooed out of the kitchen the hour before came walking back through the doorway.  He knew his disobedience might be met with consequences, but he had a niggling distrust for the stranger with the dog.  When he made eye contact with Benjamin, his hand went for his holstered gun.

“Breach!” the guard yelled, pulling his sidearm.

With a powerful throw, Benjamin released the bloody knife, sending it flying across the room as he ducked behind the counter for cover.  Had he been able to see, he would have witnessed the blade rip into the guard’s neck right before the guard managed to get off one warning shot.  The bullet lodged in the wall above Troy’s body.

As soon as the guard’s body hit the floor, Benjamin was up leash in hand.  He grabbed Troy’s laptop off the island and went for the gun lying right beside the bleeding guard.  He pulled it toward him and quickly assessed his threat.  Two entryways were connected to the kitchen – two different ways he could die.

Time sped up.  His movements so swift, he could barely process them.  Benjamin could feel the seconds ticking away as he heard the heavy footfalls of the other guards responding to the ruckus.  He trained the weapon on the next guard who came down the corridor.  Shooting in the guard’s direction, he ducked behind the wall with his newly acquired weapon against his chest and took a deep breath.  It wouldn’t be long before he was surrounded.

Bullets rang out from the hallway as two guards advanced information.  As tactical as they presented themselves, they were still amateurs in the presence of a man who killed instead of providing protection for a living.

Throwing the leash out in the middle of the floor, Benjamin looked toward the patio.  Maverick and Daisy were pawing to get inside, anxious to protect their masters.

“Daddy’s coming,” he promised Daisy.

Another shot rang out, and in the opposite doorway, a guard appeared just in time for Benjamin to shoot him square between the eyes.

“Time to go,” he said under his breath.  Without looking, he stuck his arm out and sent several shots toward the oncoming guards.  As he did, he felt a sharp strike to his forearm.

He was hit!

The flesh wound only quickened his movements.  He darted toward the patio door, the laptop still in his hand, and slipped out right before pushing the detonator.  It was a heady risk.  The explosion might take him out in the process, but he grabbed both dogs, dropped his gun, and hit the deck.

The C4-laced dog leash did the rest.

Glass and shrapnel exploded with only the bricks on the outside of the house to protect Benjamin and the dogs.  The sound was deafening, breaking through the calm of the otherwise calm morning.  Bleeding and dazed, unable to hear, Benjamin made his way from the backyard with the laptop and the dogs without further delay.

Chapter 23

The Medlov Family

Siberia

Present Day

“Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.”

Sun Tzu

I n the 21st century, everything is reported in real-time.   Waiting for the evening news to report on the day’s events is preposterous and archaic, like using a rotary phone to make a call or an eight-track to listen to music.   Internet rules supreme as the breaking news vessel for communities the world over.  SMS texts and social media updates ding on cell phones, interrupting the lives of the important and unimportant alike with reports on terrorist attacks, forest fires, hurricanes, and school shootings.

At 8:00 p.m. local time, the drop phone in Marat’s pants pocket rang again for only the second time that day.  He felt the vibration on his thigh as he leaned over the worktable in the war room while he charted the next wave of their assault with Anatoly, Gabriel, and Vasily.  As the slight interruption, he paused.  The glow of the halogen lights above shone down on him as he marked on the map with a black Sharpie.  “Here,” he said to Anatoly, finishing his sentence.  “This is where Oleg will be according to our surveillance.”

Anatoly raised a brow as he looked down at the location. It would be tricky to get to their adversary in the remote location he was holed up inside but not impossible.  The most important thing would be to spook Oleg into making a stupid mistake – like fleeing.   “And we have a number on him?” he asked, running his tongue over his teeth.

“This is it.”  Marat pushed a small piece of paper over to Anatoly with the number they had acquired a few days prior.  That also had not been an easy task. It had taken great promises to friends in high places and the buyout of a few disloyal guards.   He felt the buzz in his pocket again, urging him to answer.   “I’ve got to take this.”

“Go ahead.  We’ll wait,” Gabriel said, wiping his red eyes.  He was honestly relieved for a minute to pull away from the table and gather his thoughts.  Plus, he had to go and say his goodbyes to the family before he headed out on his own trek.

Reaching into his pocket, Marat retrieved his phone.  “Is it done?” he asked, putting his cell phone on speaker.  The Bluetooth speaker picked up the call and magnified the conversation so that everyone could hear.

All the eyes in the room were landing squarely on the phone, awaiting the news in hopes of a successful maneuver.  One of the men working the computers in the corner pulled up the London news outlets to monitor the reports immediately, while others hacked into London police networks to scan for possible witnesses.

“It’s done,” Boris answered, trying to catch his breath.

There were still explosions in the background as Boris sped away with his team in an unmarked vehicle through the narrow, clogged thoroughfares leading away from the burning building.  People on the streets ran down the sidewalk while others stopped in their tracks to look on at the historic Tower erupt in explosions and plumes of black smoke and hot red flames.

Boris wiped his face with a dingy rag.  “We have the computer and access to open the operating system.  All the marks have been terminated.”

“Get it to the drop point.  Our man will begin the process of going through the accounts.”  Marat heaved a small sigh of relief, biting down on his lip in contemplation.  “Were there any problems?” If so, now would be the time to take care of them.

“Not one to our knowledge,” Boris replied, pride lacing his voice.  Professionalism prevented an outright gloat, but he could not deny the inner desire to do so.   “Once I make the drop, I’ll wrap things up here and head out tomorrow.”

“Good job, Boris,” Anatoly said, walking up to the phone.  He placed a hand on Marat’s shoulder, happy that their plan had worked.  “Congratulations, I’m sure we’ll celebrate when this is all over.”

“Spasiba,” Boris answered. It was an honor to be recognized by the family and to know that he had proven himself worthy of future jobs.  But he couldn’t get too excited yet.  There was still so much to do in such a short period of time.

“Just one last thing before you leave London,” Anatoly added.  “I need you to stop by Erik’s home on Billionaire’s Row and leave my father’s calling card.  We want a direct and obvious link for our friends on the Yard to follow.”

Boris cracked a grin as he looked from the back window of their SUV.  “Consider it done, boss.”

Hanging up the phone, Marat allowed himself a subtle grin.  “Boss will be pleased,” he said to Anatoly.  “So, who is going to give him the news?”

Anatoly looked back at Gabriel and Vasily, who still stood at the table and winked.   There were plans in the making for Marat, and he had just proved their interest in him worthwhile.  He turned back to Marat and shoved his fists down his jean pockets.  “It’s your operation. You tell him.”

Gabriel cracked a smile.  “You’re moving up in the world, kid. Staking your claim with the old man always has its benefits.”  He was proud of Marat.  They had been through hell and back over the years, but he couldn’t be sentimental yet.  Putting down his coffee, he walked up to Marat and patted him on the shoulder.  “We’ll have a drink when I get back.”

“Is there anything I can do for you while you’re gone?” Marat asked, already back on task.

“Be prepared.  I’ll let you know once we get there.” With that, Gabriel excused himself from the team in the basement; his marching orders burned in his mind.

Dmitry had spent the last two weeks in a constant state of planning.  Every single moment awake was focused on the one collective strategy of ending this war before it began.  His bedroom had turned in a paper mill with notes and stickies littering their space, maps strewn about the walls, and even handwritten notes on the walls by his bed.  There was no room for error, no time for relaxation.

But to do this very important thing, possibly one of the most important in his life, he had to heal. More people had succumbed to their injuries after being shot than not when they were not able to get to a hospital for exploratory surgery.

Even the average hospital stay was six days for wounds of his magnitude.  But he had been lucky.  Lucky to have his health and fortunate to have excellent care.   Every day began with the rehabilitation of his body with Royal and the dressing of his wounds by Coral.

His son, Anil, came around three times a day to check his vitals, administer meds, and help him regain his former glory.  What could he say? He was grateful, but he was also torn.  Too many people were doing more than he was, and the thought of his state was driving him mad.

A knock on the door of his bedroom pulled him out of his thoughts.  He looked up from the bed and pushed away from the LED bed light and adjusted the pillows under his arms.  “Come in,” he said, pulling off his glasses.

“It’s me, sir,” Marat said, announcing himself before he opened the door.  He moved into the room and stepped over a stack of blueprints on the floor.  “I came to give a report on the London situation.”

Dmitry perked up.  “Good news, I hope.”

“It is,” Marat said, coming to stand at the foot of the bed.  He stood with his hands behind him and waited for permission to continue.

Dmitry threw his legs over the side of the bed and picked up his tablet from the nightstand.  “Where am I going?” he asked, grunting.

“Every outlet.”  Marat watched Dmitry’s face brighten as he read the reports.

“Every outlet?” Dmitry curled his lips up.  “Boris made good on his promise, I see.”  Turning up the volume, he listened to a young female reporter standing outside of the Green Tower in the business district.  Her voice trembled as she held on to the khaki-colored trench coat.  Debris and black smoke filled the air, choking her as she tried to report.

“I’m standing in just a few kilometers from the Green Tower, where the hub of Green and Tuttle CPA firm is located.  Less than one-half hour ago, there was an attack on the offices by armed men in tactical gear wearing masks and seemingly only targeting employees of the firm, who worked on the tenth floor of the building.  Sources tell us that law enforcement is still scurrying to find those responsible for an attack, but so far, there are no leads.  As reported earlier, there are at least 10 dead and 20 injured.  One man was thrown from one of the windows and fell to his death with a laptop still in his embrace.  According to the London Police, files and computers were taken in the attack. They know this based upon witnesses who saw the armed men exiting the building with ‘large file boxes.’  While the London Fire Brigade rushes to put out the explosion in one of the Central Business District’s busiest areas, eyewitnesses are being escorted to a secure location for questioning, and those who live and work here are left wondering why this has happened.  However, they know it must be in connecting with the head of the firm, Troy Ernest Green, who is believed to be found dead at his home, where an explosion happened just an hour before.  Sources say they cannot confirm all of the parties who perished in that explosion because of the severity of the fire and the disfigurement of the remains.  We’ll be here throughout the day to report as we learn more.”

Dmitry put down his tablet and stood up from the bed, making the mattress raise a few inches.  “Were there any injuries to anyone who was not a part of the operation?   Collateral damage?”  He stopped breathing as he awaited Marat’s answer.  It was something he could not turn a blind eye to – innocent people being harmed.  Anyone involved in the underground operations of their business was fair game, but one life touched or taken by his war had to be acknowledged and as much as possible compensated.

“No, it was very surgical, per your orders, sir.”  Marat moved out of the way as Dmitry passed sluggishly by.   “The laptop at Troy’s house was secured as well as the finger needed to access the files.”

“The downside of fingerprint recognition, no doubt,” Dmitry said, making his way into the bathroom.  He turned on the faucet and lowered his head to throw water on his face.  Grabbing a towel, he dried his face and looked at Marat’s reflection in the mirror.  “Is that all?”

“One last thing.  Anatoly asked that a calling card be left at Erik Popov’s estate to allow investigators to link the explosions at the Tower and Troy’s home to him.”

Finally, Dmitry smiled. “Then, it’s time to make that call.”  He reached back and offered his hand as Marat placed an untraceable phone in his palm.

“The number is already programmed.  Once you make the call, the phone will be destroyed.”  Marat stepped back across the threshold to give Dmitry some space.

“Good job, Marat.  Please extend my appreciation to Boris when you speak with him again and ensure that he is safely transported back to us tomorrow.  I will be glad to see the boy’s face.”

“Yes, boss.”  Marat bowed slightly.  “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Marat.” Dmitry flipped the phone open and went to the address book.  A chuckle escaped him.  “I’ve nearly forgotten how to use these things.”  He turned around and looked down at Marat.  “You’ll excuse me while I tend to the rest of my business.  I’ll be down shortly to prepare for our next phase.  Inform the men.”

Without another word, Marat excused himself, leaving Dmitry alone to make the call.  This new success only brought him more hope that they might all make it out of this alive.  If he could ensure that every operation was handled this smoothly, it might also take some of the worries off his boss.  But they were very early in the game, and the next move would be from the opposing side.

Oleg’s Rabinovich was a proud man from a legacy of noble men, who had grown to power over several generations and as oligarchs of Russian origin and royalty of the underworld.  All the Rabinovich men felt entitled to certain privileges of their status.

Oleg was no substitute.

So, being attacked by the likes of Dmitry Medlov, a man of lowly origins, a bastard who had grown to power through sexual relations with English billionaires and underhanded dealings with African warlords, was an insult he could not abide.

“I want his fucking head on a plate!” Oleg screamed, knocking the silver service tray full of food off his dinner table.

Oleg’s closest confidant, Borya, pushed back from the table, avoiding the red wine that seeped from the wooden surface down the cold floor below.  He looked across the table at Oleg and raised a hand of reason.  “We must keep our heads, even as we plan to take Dmitry’s.”  He had seen Oleg barrel full of emotion into situations before, and amazingly he came out victorious, but this was not one of those times. Dmitry Medlov was a dangerous man.  He had to be regarded with respect in order to be conquered.

Oleg plopped down at the head of the table in the formal dining hall of his late uncle’s home and propped his elbow on the armrest of his chair.  “How did he know about Troy Green?  We have gone through great lengths to ensure that he was kept secret.”  As a man of secrecy, his first thought leaned toward betrayal in his own camp.  “How did he know?” he asked again, voice strained in anxiety.  “What else…does he know?” he finished quietly.

There was no answer.  The men around the table sat quietly, stunned by the news that their money man had been assassinated and his laptop stolen.  The backup to such a catastrophe would have been to reach out to those assigned to his account and Green and Tuttle CPA firm, but they had also been terminated.  10 people dead, others wounded.  There would be no reaching them with such a significant police presence afoot.

“We assumed too much.”  Oleg swallowed hard, feeling a large lump in his throat that refused to budge.  “Dmitry has turned his sights from Erik to his allies first.  If he has waited two weeks to mount his first attack, we can rightly assume that his plans have been formulated well.”

Borya spoke up immediately.  “This is why we relocated.  Dmitry has no idea where you are now.  This could be an attempt to flush you out.”

That idea brought Oleg a minute’s relief.  “We need to regroup, figure out our most vulnerable points, and fortify them.”

At that moment, Oleg’s cell phone rang. A guard reached below his ward’s foot and picked up the phone to find a blocked number showing on the screen.  Passing it to his boss, he watched Oleg turn a translucent shade of white.

“Who is this?” Oleg answered the phone.

“It’s a shame you have to ask,” Dmitry said with giddiness in his voice that made Oleg nauseous.  “But since you have asked, it’s your dear friend, Dmitry Medlov.”

Oleg sucked his teeth to hide his growing fear.  Not only did Dmitry know where his money was, he knew how to reach him.  “Only a few friends have this number, Dmitry.  May I ask how you came to acquire it?”

“You may ask, and I will tell you it was for a great sum of money.  Purchasing your allies’ loyalty is not cheap.  They are expensive whores.”  Dmitry sat down on the side of his bed, savoring the conversation like a well-aged bottle of wine.  “But that it’s what you really want to know.”

“What is it that I want to know?” Oleg asked, pointing at his guard to hurry and track the call.  The echo of the man’s feet running out of the room could be heard in the background.

“You want to know if I know where you are, and the answer to that question is yes.”

The men around Oleg’s table sat straighter at Oleg’s sudden silence.  It was the man’s grimace that was alarming.  What words were being spoken?  What news had been shared?

Oleg stood from the table and walked over to the fireplace behind his chair.  Gazing at the embers crackling in the fire, he placed a hand on the mantle just below a large portrait of his great aunt.  “And just where am I?”

“On my shit list,” Dmitry answered, being obscenely coy. “That’s a bad place to be, brother.  But I assure you one thing, if you give me Erik’s location and yield to serve me by way of signing over all of your companies, holdings, and estates, I will make this stop.  There will be no more hemorrhaging for the great and powerful Rabinovich family.  You can return to a life of your own choosing, just a few hundred million pounds lighter.”

“Fuck you,” Oleg growled.  “I am no coward, and I am no suka, unlike you, a mere chainik in a three-piece suit.  No matter what you do, Dmitry, you’ll never truly be one of us.”

“I’m sorry to hear you will not accept my offer. At least bitch-ass cowards live, but on this day, I can promise you one thing, brat, you won’t live for long.  And as far as being one of you, that is not my desire at all.  Before this is all over, your beloved council will take on my image, and you will be forgotten forever,” Dmitry said, hanging up the phone.

Borya stood from his seat, wiping food from his lap.  “Does he know where we are, Oleg?” For all he knew, they could be under attack at this moment.  Every piece of information was valuable. Nothing could be taken for granted.

Oleg shifted in his stance and threw the phone in the fire. They would have to go off the grid to be safe. “Of course, he does,” he answered, watching the device burn.  “He knows everything.”  Walking toward the double doors leading out into the rest of the large mansion, he heard the scuttle of chairs at the table moving back and the men jumping up to follow him.  “Get Erik Popov on a fucking secure line.  We leave at dawn.  And find out who in my camp is a traitor.”

Dmitry felt stronger after he hung up the phone. That was good stuff.   The pain that was in his side before was no longer there, only because the fear he heard on Oleg’s voice had its own therapeutic values.   He hit his chest triumphantly.  Oleg was only the first.  Slipping his feet into boots, he propped his leg up on the stool in front of him and called for his guard.

“Luka,” he called out in frustration.

The door opened swiftly.  “Yes, boss.”  Luka appeared from outside of the doorway with quick obedience.  He had grown accustomed to Dmitry calling on him.  In fact, he believed his boss preferred his help over his wife to ensure that she didn’t see him weak, and it was his pleasure to be of help to his ward.

Dmitry motioned toward his feet.  “Lace me up, boy. I need to get on with it,” he ordered, handing off his phone to the guard when he came to stand in front of him.  “Get rid of that.”

“Yes, boss.”  Luka dropped to his knees after putting the phone in his pocket and quickly began laced up his boss’s boots.

Dmitry looked down at the crown of Luka’s bowed head in gratitude but refused to speak the words.  “Are the men already in the war room?” he asked instead, trying to shift the conversation.

“They have been there for several hours.”  Luka moved from one foot to the other.  “Should I help you downstairs?”

“No, I can make alone now.”  Dmitry rubbed a hand over the comforter and smoothed it.  Looking around the dirty room, he wondered where his wife was.  She was always busy now, working with her own team on their part of the plan.  In truth, he missed her dearly.  It would have been better for his pride to have her here by his side instead of working diligently toward their greater end, but he knew that kind of thinking was illogical.

“What of my wife?” Dmitry asked, voice lower.

Luka looked up at met his ward’s crystal blue gaze with the concern of a young son.  “She is with the women, boss.  Would you like for me to get her for you?”  He lowered his head back to Dmitry’s boot.  Tying a tight bow, he rose up and stepped back, awaiting direction.

Dmitry grunted again as he planted both feet on the floor and used his hands to push off the bed.  “No, I need a bit of fresh air before I go down to the basement.”  He stood up, straightening his shoulders and waved off the cane that Luka offered.  “I’m fine.  I don’t need that anymore.”  Throwing on his gray hoodie, he limped out of the room with Luka following behind him, thinking the one he needed the most right then was unavailable.

Royal counted back from ten in her head, praying for strength not to grab her daughter and shake her to pieces.  The insolence in that girl!  Since they had arrived in Siberia, all Anya had done was provide the opposition, at every turn, and over every subject.  If she told her to go left, the young girl went right.  If she told her to do something, she questioned why.  Alas, her patience finally ran out when Anya was supposed to be practicing her violin in the study but had instead broken the bow and carved the word suka in the side of her instrument.  During a break in the women’s council meeting, Royal decided to bring a snack to Anya while she practiced and found her daughter alone in the study sitting beside the aftermath of her private fit.

“Why did you do this?” Royal asked, screaming to the top of her lungs with the broken violin bow in her hand.  Eyes wild, she flared his nostrils and felt heat boiling near the surface of her collared shirt.  What would it take to get her daughter under control?

“I don’t know why I did it!” Anya screamed back.  The fury in the young girl was evident now.  She refused to back down, despite being caught red-handed.

“You don’t know?” Royal’s eyes bucked.  Swallowing hard, she shook her head.  “That is no excuse.  You know why you did this!”  And she wanted an answer, a real one this time.  “I’m sick of your attitude.  I’m sick of your disobedience!”  She stepped closer to Anya, who was sitting on the edge of the sofa with hands over her head.  “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Anya’s head popped up.  Shoulders slouched; she rested her elbows on her long thighs.  Her blue eyes darted to water.  “I don’t know why I did it.  I just did.”  Long strands of curly black hair fell over the frame of her reddened, ambivalent face.  They had been at this for nearly 15 minutes and had gotten no closer to resolving.  At this point, Anya was willing to say anything to make it stop.

But Royal wasn’t going to allow Anya to use ‘I don’t know’ as an excuse for the thousandth time.  “Tell me the truth!” she pushed. “Why did you break this bow?”

With a dirty scowl on her face, Anya cut her eyes at her mother.  “I hate you.  That’s why I did it. I hate you!  You ruined my life.  You made me come here and leave my friends and my school and my life.  I’m sick of everything being about everyone but me!  It’s your fault. You’re supposed to be my mother, not my travel agent!”

Royal froze in her tracks momentarily.  The pain of her daughter’s words was a paralytic.  She had expected something different from her daughter, but instead, all she felt the slice of a knife through her heart.   If it had been anyone else, she would have attacked her, but it wasn’t someone else’s child.  It was her own.   Still, despite the setback, she showed no weakness. “How dare you?”  She pointed toward the door behind her.  “Your father is upstairs recovering from being shot and…”

Little hands flew up as though she was giving up.  “And you don’t think I know that!”  Anya’s shrill voice broke on her words.  “It’s doesn’t change that this is not a normal life.  Grandma said so!”

Roya’s eyes gleamed over as she made a step closer toward jumping off the cliff of insanity and falling deep into a hysteria of Anya’s design. “Grandma!”  Now Royal wanted to throw up.  A woman who had never done anything for Anya was suddenly getting more credit than her.  “Don’t you ever call that woman your grandmother!”

“That’s who she is.”  Anya stood from the sofa as though she was going to barge out of the room, but Royal pushed her back down with an open palm to her bony chest.  “Sit your ass right there until I’m done talking to you.”

“Ladies!” Coral said, bursting through the study door.  “Everyone can hear you down the halls.”

“Let them hear! This is my home!”  Royal turned back to her daughter.  “This was a gift from your father and look how you treat it.  You should be ashamed!”

“Look at how you treat me!”  Anya screamed back with more veracity now that Coral was there to defend her.  “You should be ashamed!  I’m more valuable than a stupid wooden instrument!”

Coral slammed the door shut behind her to get their attention.  “Enough!” Both her daughter and granddaughter looked over at her.  Clasping her hands together, she lowered her voice.  “Nothing is going to be accomplished by screaming at each other.  Anya apologized to your mother.”

Royal’s face grew red. “I don’t need you to tell my daughter to apologize to me.  She will do what I say when I say it!”

Anya stood up again now that her mother’s back was turned. “Grandma is the only normal thing I have in my life, and you’re trying to get rid of her. Everything is about you.”  She darted past her mother and ran toward the door.

But Coral stepped in front of Anya, blocking the door and sticking to her guns.  What Royal needed right was someone to have her back, and she aimed to do just that.  “You will not leave this room until you apologize to your mother, young lady.”

Anya frowned in confusion.  She thought her grandmother was on her side.  “But even you said I deserved better.”

Royal’s eyes watered.  With her lip trembling, she dropped her shoulders.   “How could you, Coral?”

Coral looked between the two most important women in her life and shook her head.  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds.  I meant that…” She turned up her lips.  “I only meant that Anya is in desperate need of normalcy.  A girl her age needs positive, healthy outlets.”

“Like you would know,” Royal said, throwing down the bow.  “Anya, go straight to your room. I’ll be up shortly to speak with you.”  Suddenly, the violin was the least of her troubles.

“Not before she apologizes,” Coral said, insistent that Anya comply.  She looked at her granddaughter and raised a brow. “I won’t ask you again, Anya.”

“I don’t want her apology until she means it.”  Royal walked past Coral and opened the door.   She pointed over the threshold. “Out. Now.  I want you to go straight to your room or so help me; I’ll paddle your little ass.”  Across the hall, she made eye contact with Stepan and shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but can you please escort her?”

“Of course, mistress,” Stepan answered, walking to the door.

Storming out, Anya was quickly tailed by Stepan, who had heard the argument and went to get Coral to calm things down.  He kept in step with the little girl, making sure she followed her mother’s orders.

Slamming the door back, Royal turned to her mother.  “Don’t you ever usurp my position with any of my children again.”

“That was not my intention.”  Coral took a deep breath.  “Look, it just needs to be said.  Anya clearly is acting out.  She’s angry that her life has been so turbulent.  You need to get her a therapist when you return back to Memphis, but for now, you need to carve out more time with her.”

“This is rich!  A mother who never lifted a fucking finger for my sister or me…”  Royal could feel her entire body trembling.  Her daughter had disrespected her, and her mother had betrayed her.  What the hell was going on under her roof?

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” Coral snapped, standing up for herself.

Coral clenched her fists tightly.  “I am still your mother. I deserve some respect.”  Tears welded to the sides of her eyes.

Using her mother’s words against her, Royal stepped closer to the woman who dared to call herself her grandma.  “You deserve nothing, and you will get nothing.  Now keep your poison out of my child’s ears, or I’ll kick you out on the mountainside on your fucking ass,” Royal said, snatching the door open.   Barging out, she slammed the door behind her and bolted down the hall, wiping a tear and in desperate need of a drink.

I need my husband, she thought to herself.  I need him now.

Stepan walked Anya to her room without uttering a word.  In his time as a butler of sorts, he had seen a few things, but as a brother and once as a father, he knew young girls.  They were gardens of Eden-like beauty and rich, bountiful reward, but they also had to be tended to constantly and sometimes, cut down to size.

As he watched Anya, chin up, eyes forward, marching toward her destination, he could see the leader in her dying to be let out, but he knew that like anything else, if guided in the wrong direction, her stubbornness would eventually lead to her demise instead of her victory.  The boss was busy, and the mistress of the house near a breakdown, so he took it upon himself to step in and say something that might help adjust the pre-pubescent girl’s rampage.

“I can take it from here,” Anya said, arriving at her bedroom door.  She put her hand on the knob and rolled her eyes. “Let mom know, so she doesn’t have to put herself out by coming here and checking for yourself.”

Stepan put his hand on the girl’s thin shoulder and turned her around.  “Hey,” he said, kneeling down on one knee in front of her.

Anya frowned.  “Are you proposing?”

“I’m proposing a new attitude for you.”  He exhaled a breath.  “All of this is too much for you, I’m sure.”

“What gave me away?” Anya snapped.  Folding her arms across her chest, she looked down the hall.  “Isn’t it inappropriate for you to be talking to me alone?”

“I’m not alone.”  He pointed toward the cameras in the corner of the hallway.  “No one here ever is.”  Twisting up his lip, he wiped a hand over his beard.  “I remember what you were like when you just a little bitty girl running behind Davyd in Prague.”

Just the mention of his name made Anya tense.  “Things have changed since then.”

“And not always for the better.  You feel sad, and I’m sure scared that you’re in the middle of another battle for your survival.”  He could see Anya’s eyes start to glisten.  “It’s okay.  Everyone sympathizes with you, your mother, most of all.”

“So, why doesn’t she say so?” Anya asked, sincerely.  There was a changing look on her face, like she wanted to be honest, but was afraid to with a man who had just recently come barreling back into their lives. “She’s always busy.  Always.  Before this, we used to spend all of our time cooking and shopping and doing things together, but now, she’s locked in a room with the women of the house, and I’m left with my stupid baby brothers.  The only thing that keeps me sane in this house is Dylan because he’s bored too.  Even Daddy is always busy now.  It’s unfair.  Grandma told me that I deserved the world, that I shouldn’t have to be going through this.  Then, mom got mad when I told her.”

Stepan shrugged.  All her other points had been legitimate, except for the last one.  “If it were any other little girl, I might be moved by your pity party.  I might even have played a little violin for you, but you broke the bow.  Nothing you say or do is by mistake, little Anya.  You told your mother what your grandmother said to hurt her.  That is the truth.”

Anya stopped her theatrics.  Evidently, the old man was smarter than the average bear.  “I might have.  But she hurt me first.”

“She’s been too busy trying to make sure you stay alive.”  Stepan lifted her chin to make sure she heard his every word.  “To be a mother is a great thing, but it’s also very taxing.  Right now, she’s just trying to ensure your future. You have to be patient and loving with her, instead of such a problem.  When this is over, I’m sure she’ll make up for lost time.  But this attitude, it could be bad for you, if something were to happen…”  He raised his brow.

“Like what?” Anya asked.

“In times like this, tomorrow isn’t promised.  If you couldn’t wake up tomorrow and apologize to your dear mother because she was not here, how would you feel?”

Anya licked her lips and darted her eyes.  “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“Then why do it.  Be an obedient, good little girl.  Help your mother through this and then afterward, talk things out, eh?”

Anya nodded.  Blinking away the tears, she offered her hand.  “Thank you, Stepan. You’ve been a great counselor tonight.”

Stepan rose from his knee, though slowly.  He was not as young as he used to be.  Shaking her small hand, he bowed.  “It is a pleasure to serve you, printessa.”  He opened the door to her bedroom.  “Now, in you go. I’ll send up the nanny to watch you.”

Chapter 24

The Rabinovich Family

Southwestern Siberia

Omsk, Russia

Ural Mountains

“Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.”
― Napoleon Bonaparte

O leg’s blood pressure was tipping over the no-return point.  First, the attack on his money, now a cryptic threat from Dmitry on his private line.  There was no doubt that the next move would be to attack him in person.  He had to get ready.  When this war first began two weeks ago, Oleg assumed that they had Dmitry Medlov over a barrel, but now the tide was slowly starting to turn against them.

Two weeks was a long time to be silent.  No movement had been made.  They had expected the Medlov Crime Family to retaliate immediately after the attempt on Dmitry’s life and the confrontation in St. Petersburg, but the bastard had gone dark, refusing to communicate with any of the soldiers in his camp, which put Erik’s allies at an immediate disadvantage.  They had spies in Dmitry’s network, but they were not up high enough to gather valuable Intel.  Unlike other syndicates, Dmitry kept his council small and close to his chest.  Everyone who sat on the Medlov Crime Family Council was family, or so close to it until the lines were blurred.  And smartly, Dmitry had taken every one of his councilmembers underground with him.  That kind of cohesiveness was dangerous.  It meant no one would know his movements or his intentions.

“Get that shit packed quickly,” Oleg screamed to a guard, who yanked the drawers to his dresser opened and clumsily snatched the clothes out in large armfuls.

“Yes, boss,” the man replied, dumping the clothes into the Louis Vuitton luggage at his feet.

“Anyone who isn’t ready to go with me in the morning will be left behind,” Oleg snarled. As he turned from the guard, he caught his wife, Misha, looking at him as she sat on the bed, brushing their daughter’s hair.   Even in the middle of the chaos, she appeared flawless.  The younger woman, nearly twenty years her husband’s junior, had always been an obedient wife with little to add to the rearing of his family or the way he ran his businesses.  But now, she had to speak up for herself.

“Where will we go?” she asked her husband, feeling helpless in their current frenzy. Typically, Oleg was a very cool man.  To see him like this, so hyperaware, made her scared for their safety.  “You told us this was a safe place, Oleg.”  They were in the mountains, far from civilization, surrounded by guards and off the grid.  How much safer could any other place be for them?

“Not in front of the girl,” Oleg snapped, looking at his six-year-old daughter.  What the hell was I thinking, he asked himself quietly.  He and Erik Popov had been friends all of their life, and when trouble had come calling, he had answered by supporting the Popov Family in hopes of sharing the bountiful spoils of war upon defeating Dmitry, but all the talk and planning so far had resulted in little benefit.  Erik should have killed the giant when he had a chance.

His wife tapped their daughter on the shoulder.  “Go with Nasir,” she ordered her daughter, helping her to the edge of the bed.  “I need to talk to your father.”

Immediately, Nasir stopped packing his boss’s clothes and walked toward the girl to take her out of the room, but Oleg stopped him.

“He’s working.  Can’t you see?  He doesn’t have time to take her out of the room.”  Oleg snatched open the door to their walk-in closet and started to pull out their automatic weapons.  “Just sit there and be quiet.  Let me think.”

Misha inhaled a breath and stood up beside the bed.  “Nasir, take her now,” she said, voice strained and determined.  Her eyes darted from her husband to their personal guard.

Nasir, confused about what to do, looked to his boss for final direction.  Should he take the girl like Misha said or keep packing?

Oleg placed an AK-47 against the closet door, barrel up, and relented to his wife’s pleas.  “Five minutes,” he said, nodding at Nasir.  “Then come back and finish.”

As soon as they were alone, Oleg stalked across the room and put a finger in the young woman’s face as a warning of a more physical consequence if she defied him.  “If I were you, I would not choose now to grow a fucking backbone,” he warned.  “Do not ever question me again in front of my men, or I’ll make an example out of you.”  He had not beaten her often over the years, because he had no taste for it.  But every once in a while, when she dared show an ounce of impertinence, he would beat her just to remind the Czarina of who was really in charge.

Misha blinked fast, pushing back tears and memories of previous assaults.  “I’m sorry, my love.  But I’m scared.  You told us leaving Moscow was best.  You told us this war would be over before it started.  You told us we would be safe in Omsk.”  Clenching her jaw, she balled her small fists.  “Now, you tell us we must run, but you don’t say where we will go, and you don’t know if we are safe.”

Oleg stepped back.  Who was he kidding? He was afraid, as well.  “Things have changed.”

“How?” she dared ask him, even though he had already warned her.

Trying to explain to a girl who didn’t know the difference between a rifle and a handgun, the most complex parts of a strategic mafia war would take more than five minutes.  It was a waste of brainpower and time.  Instead, he reinforced his position.  “You don’t ask me how. Just know that I know what I’m doing.”

But did he?  Misha might have been young and maybe even in some ways stupid, but she had listened all those years to the stories about Dmitry Medlov, and on a few occasions, met him.   That man was terrifying even when he was kind.  It was impossible to think of his disposition when he was angry.  She knew that they were up against more than they could handle, but she wasn’t sure if Oleg did.  She needed to know just what he knew about what was happening around him.

“I just want Tanya safe,” Misha said, sulking.

“Don’t doubt me, and she will be safe,” Oleg said, turning away from her.  Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room, he saw the defeat in his weathered face.  “I’m taking us out of the mountains at first light to a safer, more reinforced location in the city.  Once we’re there, I’ll make arrangements for you and Tanya to go to St. Petersburg.”

“Why St. Petersburg?” she asked.

Oleg knew the council law well, and it still prevailed, even as their plan turned to shit.  There could be no fighting in St. Petersburg.  And although he was not allowed in the city until the war was over, per Andros’s order, he could still send his family to ensure their safety.

After that, he would have to find a place to prepare for battle.  There was no doubt that Dmitry was coming for him.  On the phone, the bastard sounded strong again.  The only way to be safe would be to keep moving until he could find out just how strong Dmitry was and how much the man knew.

Nasir knocked on the door and stuck his head inside.  He glanced at Misha first, seeing her stream of tears and then over at Oleg.  “Sorry, boss. I know it hasn’t been five minutes, but we finally have Popov on the phone.”  He showed the new phone given to Oleg since the last one was thrown in the fire.

Oleg waved Nasir inside and quickly shooed Misha out.  “Go, go.  I need to work,” he told her.  Grabbing the phone from Nasir, he let out a growl as again he was left to handle his affairs.  “Did you receive my message?”

“I did,” Erik said, looking at the aftermath of the explosion in London.  That money was supposed to fuel the war.  That money was why he had aligned with Oleg in the first place.  SHIT!  He sat back in his seat and glanced over at Peter, who had presented him with the news only an hour before.  “This is a fucking problem.”

Oleg wasn’t concerned about bringing the war to Dmitry anymore. It had already come to his doorstep.  “The bastard had the nerve to call me.”

Erik curled his lips.  “What did he say?  Does he want to negotiate for the laptop or the accounts?”

Oleg narrowed his gaze.  “Did you just hear what I said?  He called me on a number that was just established after the council meeting.”

Erik ignored the worry in Oleg’s voice.  Skittishness was not a sign of leadership.  “Do we know how to trace the money?  Do we have anyone in Troy’s network who can get to it now?”

“Fuck the money,” Oleg snapped.  “He knows how to contact me.  He possibly knows where I am.  This wasn’t an attack on just you, Erik. Most of my business is run through Green’s accounts.  He’s crippled my operations, and he could be after my family.  We’re relocating in the morning.  I’m sending the girls away.”

Erik didn’t give a damn about Oleg’s dumbass wife and his ugly little girl.  He cared about the money.  “Have you called to see where the funds are?”

Oleg threw up his hands.  It was clear that he’d have to answer these questions before he could get to what really mattered.  “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?  Yes, I’ve tried to trace the money.  It was the first thing I did when I found out.”

“And?”  Erik waited, tapping his foot impatiently.

“And it’s gone.  Dmitry’s hackers got the accounts and diverted the funds somewhere else.”  Oleg started to pace.  “You need to send men to me.  I need to reinforce the ranks.  It’s clear he’s going to come after your allies first; more specifically, he’s coming after me!”

Erik was not about to send any of his men or the ones that Oleg and Renat had sent to him and risk his own protection.  “That’s not possible.”

“What do you mean that is not possible?”  Oleg stumbled over the luggage. Getting his footing, he caught the phone before it could drop to the floor.  “Shit!” he screamed out in frustration.  Pressing the phone back to his ear, he leaned a hand against the wall.  “Hello.  Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here.  And I said, in case you missed it, that it’s not possible to send the men.”  Erik lied without hesitation.  “Moving an army of guards across Russia is impossible right now.  It would take too much money.  Money we don’t have at present, because fucking Dmitry stole it.”

“You motherfucker,” Oleg cursed.  “The only reason we are in this situation is because of you!  I don’t give a fuck how much it costs, send me more men!”

“I’ll see what I can do.  For now, you need to see what you can about finding out how to track the money Green was responsible for hiding, or Dmitry Medlov will be the least of our worries.”  Erik pulled at his colored shirt.  “Until then, keep yourself scarce.  It sounds like you’ve got a fucking mole in your camp.”

That was the second time Oleg had heard that.  Once from Dmitry and now Erik.  Before he left here, he had to find out if it was true.  But there was also another possibility – one more easily explained.   “Did you ever think the mole was in your own camp?” he asked Erik, thinking of Peter.  "Your uncle has always been fonder of Dmitry Medlov than he was of you.” It was, after all, how all of this began many years ago.  If Old Man Popov and his brother had not taken such a liking to that gutter rat and brought Dmitry to the council, things would be much different now.

Again, with the fucking reminder.  “If that were the case, my uncle would already be dead,” Erik said right in front of Peter.  “But he didn’t know where the hell you were. Just me, and why would I give you up?”

Oleg ran a hand over his freshly cut hair and sucked his teeth. “Just remember this.  Something happens to me; it leaves your fucking ass wide open.  Andros finds out about Lev breaking the neutrality…”

“There is no need for threats, brat.  I have not sold you out,” Erik said, softening his fuck-you position.  “I’m not the one who killed Green and his men.  Let’s not forget.  If it will make you feel better, come to me.  Stay here until this is done.  You’re sending off your family.  What purpose do you have for being there in fucking Omsk anyway?”

“We all agreed to stay separate until this was over.  If we find ourselves together, Dmitry will be able to wipe us all out at one time.”  Oleg reminded Erik, yet again, of the bond between them.  “If one of us loses, all lose.”

Bullshit.  All Erik cared about was the money and saving his own ass.  He didn’t have time to protect Oleg and his people.  “Do what you think is best.  My door is open.  For now, I can’t send back the men.  Besides, you’re not even sure if he knows where you are. You’re speculating.  Just find the money first.  We can do a lot more with it then we can do without it.”

Oleg knew he was beating a dead horse.  At first signs of problems, the great and powerful Erik Popov seemed to have no problem turning on his brothers.  “Oh, I’ll find the money,” he promised Erik.

“Good.”  Erik treaded carefully now.  To lose Oleg as an ally was not smart either. He had to placate him until he could no longer use him for his resources.  “Until then, I’ll send the men that we can afford…the best ones.  In the meantime, consider coming to me.  I know what we agreed to before, but obviously, things have changed.”

Oleg wiped a hand over his chin.  “Things have changed.”  He blew out a breath.  “Look, I’m busy now. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.  Let me know if you hear anything from Renat.”

Erik tried to remind Oleg of what was on the table. “Of course, I will.  Just don’t get sidetracked.  Dmitry Medlov is worth over $200 billion, at least.  What we sacrifice now will be well worth it in the end.  If you divide that money by four, we will all be able to fortify our families and take over the council.  All we have to do is not fall the fuck apart in the process.”

“I’m not falling apart.  Send me some of my men back, and I’ll get to the bottom of this.  But first, some people have to be paid off.  Omsk is a very expensive government to manipulate.  They will not cooperate or provide more protection unless they are paid more money.”  Oleg realized at the moment that he might very well be on his own.

“I’ll do what I can. I promise,” Erik lied.   “Just watch your back.”  It was the best advise he could give.

Hanging up the phone, Oleg forgot about packing and headed downstairs to talk to his counselors about the change in Erik’s support.  He was not going to get caught with his pants down on this.

As he yanked open the bedroom door, he saw his wife, daughter, and Nasir standing in the hallway patiently awaiting entry back into the bedroom.  Misha’s face was flushed, and eyes watered from evidently crying, but he didn’t have time for that now.  Misha would have to console herself; he had bigger issues to tend to – like keeping them all alive.

Breezing past all three of them, he shoved his new phone down in his pocket.  “Finish packing,” he ordered all of them.  “I’ll be back up when I’m done.”

Nasir nodded as his boss passed and ushered Misha and Tanya back inside of the bedroom and closed the door.  Moving quickly to the clothes on the floor, he bent down and scooped them up while Misha went to the closet and retrieved a pair of sound-blocking headphones for her daughter to put on.

“Here, baby,” she said, kissing Tanya on the crown of her reddish-blonde locks.  Slipping the headphones over her daughter’s ears, she connected the chord to the Kindle Kids Fire and turned to Nasir.

“What if he finds out?” she asked, voice low.

Nasir shook his head and put his finger over his lips to quiet her.  He pointed toward the door.  “Did you lock it?” he mouthed.

She nodded as they slipped into the closet, leaving the door open to watch Tanya while she played on her device.

Nasir quickly turned off the light in the closet and pulled her up against him.  It killed him to watch her worry, but in front of his boss, he could not show the slightest of emotion.

“He’s scared, Nasir.  He’s going to find out about us.  I just know it,” Misha said, falling into his arms.  She inhaled his masculine scent and longed to be alone with him again, making love, instead of subjected to the whims of her aging husband.

The young man held her, kissing her cheek and feeling the warmness of her small frame against him.  “He won’t.  Not until it’s too late.  We just have to keep our guard up.  Dmitry’s men promised me the money. I checked my account.  It’s there.  All we have to do is wait until the morning, and this will all be over. We can start over somewhere else, where no one knows us or Tanya or Oleg.”

Misha hoped Nasir was right.  They had placed every hope and dream they ever had on this last-minute plan.  Oleg had aligned himself with Erik Popov, and Nasir had served Oleg faithfully until now.  But like many men in their circle, Nasir did not believe going against the Medlov Family was wise.  So, he jumped at the opportunity, when it was presented, to get away out of this war once and for all.  All he had to do was keep giving their location to Dmitry’s men and keep them abreast of the changes.  These were things that the Medlov Crime Family would eventually have found out anyway; only if they had used someone else, he wouldn’t be a millionaire when this was all over.

“I love you,” Misha whispered as she averted her gaze to see her lover’s eyes.

“I love you both,” Nasir promised Misha.  “And I’m going to keep you safe and take care of you.  You just have to trust me.”

“Who do you think the mole is?” Erik asked as he hung up the phone with Oleg.  Another unexpected glitch was making their original plan of world domination move further out of view, but Erik was developing a new strategy in its wake, something where he didn’t have to share power.

Peter scratched his itchy scalp.  “Could be anyone.  Oleg has never paid his men what he could.  Loyalty costs.”

Erik had also shied away from over-indulging his men, but what he didn’t offer in money, he threatened in pain and suffering.  “It would be unwise to send men to him right now.  Why would I send away my own reinforcements at the first sign of Dmitry showing his hand?”

Peter glanced over at his nephew.  “Be cautious not to seem too quickly removed from your allies’ problems.  In an hour, call him back and tell him you are sending men, even if you are not.  False assurance is better than no assurance at all.”

Erik agreed.  “Green is dead.  Most of our money is now lost.  It’s time to regroup.  If Dmitry knows where Erik is, he’s as good as dead.  And if he knows where Oleg is, he might also know where Renat is.”

“And you,” Peter reminded.

“Yes, but I’ve got most of the men and still a little money.  And if you think I’ll be giving that up lightly, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Peter was not surprised by Erik’s quick change in loyalty.  He had been that way since he was a boy, but he still advised against seeming too callous.  “Call Renat and warn him.  Tell him you’re worried about Oleg and see if he’ll send some of his own men to help in Omsk.  I’m sure that Oleg will call Renat himself.  It will be more advantageous for you if Renat can report your concern for their welfare.”

“Oh, it’s not that I don’t care for their welfare.  It’s that I can’t forfeit my own for them.  They are my brothers, but they knew what they were getting into when we agreed to make a move on Dmitry.”

Peter had no argument with this nephew there.  “There must be some show of strength.  Right now, your men are looking to you for retaliation. If you don’t do something…”

Erik cut his uncle off.  “What makes you think I’m not doing something?  We might not know where Dmitry and his flunkies are hiding out, but we know how he makes his money.  If he can attack us, we can attack him. Eventually, Raina will find out his location, and when she does, I’ll use all of my men to hunt him down like the dog he is.”

“So, you are going to attack?” Peter asked directly, tired of going around in circles with the cryptic conversation.

“I said I would, and I will,” Erik answered, sucking his teeth. It always drove him insane the way his uncle seemed to question him or second guess his decisions.  “It’s being arranged.”

Looking back down at the tablet where the story in London continued to unfold on Facebook, Peter had another thought.  “If I were you, I would also send Zoya away for now.”

Erik shot his uncle a pointed look. “Why?  She’s been here for two weeks.  She has no phone.  No internet.  But she’s perfectly fine eating, taking long baths, and fucking me in the absence of the technology.  Trust me.  She’s a pet, not a spy.”  In fact, Erik could use a little of her attention right now.

“Why risk it, is all I’m saying?” Peter asked, putting a seed of doubt in his nephew’s head.  “I don’t trust her, and I don’t like being in the dark. If you’re making plans, you should consult with us.  It’s the only way to be thorough.”

“You don’t think I’m capable?” he asked his uncle.

“No man is an island.”  Peter reminded.

“Look, we might be here for a while.  Dmitry seems slow to pull the trigger.  And I don’t like yanking my own dick.  That is why Zoya’s here.  I need entertainment.”  Standing up, Erik prepared to excuse himself for the rest of the evening.  “Since you want to be helpful, why don’t you call Renat to show my concern and for that matter, call Lev as well.  Get them on the same page, so that Oleg doesn’t run off telling Andros about our plans.  I’m going upstairs to get my dick sucked.  Is that okay with you, uncle?”

Peter nodded though he didn’t approve.  Erik’s place was here at the table, planning the attack and securing their success.  As he told him before this all began, Dmitry Medlov was not the type of person you let slip up on you.  But Erik had a false sense of control.  He felt fortified in this city and with all these men around.  It was a stupid false comfort that would probably get them killed.

Chapter 25

The Medlov Compound

Lake Baikal, Siberia

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”
― G.K. Chesterson

The sun had already set on the day, and a fat yellow moon had emerged to guide the night, but still, the men toiled away at their tasks like their lives depended on it.  Very few breaks had been taken for nearly twelve hours.  Food was brought out, instead of going inside.  A team of guards led by Nadei, Anil, and Andriy worked outside of the estate walls, down the side of the mountain trailed by the roadway, clearing out the debris, cutting down trees, and digging trenches to be later lined with detchord and hidden by leafy camouflage.

The idea had come to Dmitry earlier in the week as he drove the area with a small crew to identify possible vulnerabilities in their location, but the plan had been further reinforced by Valeriya, who had extensive experience in trench warfare.  After asking Dmitry for a more active role in security, she had taken on her new job with zealous detail that proved to add quality they might have forgone without her.  It had also helped her mood, providing busywork that kept her mind from traveling to the dark recesses of her past, but it did little to help the tension between her and her husband.

To keep from losing progress with nightfall that made seeing even two feet in front of the workers impossible, Simeon had his men deliver a truck full of remote industrial lighting charged by batteries that lit up the area and kept the wolves lurking around at bay.  But every once in a while, someone would crank off a round to send them back into the darkness and away from an unsuspecting human meal.

While the men worked by night, Valeriya and Lilly had set up remote cameras in some of the trees to connect to their surveillance system back at the house.  After nightfall, they were sent back to the house for protection, but everyone else stayed to continue the project.  One stayed longer than everyone else, but it was not just to keep the work going, it was also to keep him sane.

A sharp intake of breath preceded Nadei’s angry blow to a tree the size of a telephone pole with his falling ax.  Taking all of his frustration out, he cut into the wood, sending splintering shards into the night sky.  While the other men working around him used chainsaws, he used the mindless labor with his manual tool for both a workout and an escape from his gloomy mind.

For days now, he had avoided Anastaysia, except when she came to check on the baby, but every time that she walked into the room, he stopped breathing altogether.  The smell of her perfume made him dizzy, and the absence of her touch made him ache to his core, but he tried hard not to go against Anatoly’s wishes.  After all, he had a child to think of, but maybe death was better.  To be alive and without Anastaysia, didn’t seem to be a fair trade.  He had lost all taste and smell of life and was left with a longing that made his days on this fucking mountain tortuous.

Whack!  Whack!  Whack!  The sharp blade of the ax caught in the heartwood as the wounded tree threatened to tip southward down the mountain.  A flash of Anastaysia’s face entered his mind, driving him to fight against his exhaustion.  With a mighty yank, he freed his tool and drew back, one leg planted firmly behind him, the other out front, before he swung again, this time chopping the tree in half.

As it fell, he stood back and watched it drop to the earth below with a thunderous and clumsily bang before rolling several feet below.  He breathed hard, wiping his brow with a gloved hand before turning to look behind him toward the incline of the mountain where the other men were chatting as they worked.  Lucky bastards.

He remembered a time before he had fallen in love, where work was just work, and life was just life.  And then everything had gotten more complicated.  Now he was a slave to his emotions, and he hated himself for it.

The radio on his hip sounded.  “Someone’s bringing you coffee.  Take a break,” Valeriya said from the surveillance room.

Nadei’s left eye twitched.  He grabbed the radio from his hip and responded. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Drink it anyway,” Valeriya responded before the radio went dead.

Coming down the clearing, he saw Anastaysia in a red flannel top, jeans, and brown boots.  Her long hair was pulled into a messy bun, her eyes covered by red-rimmed glasses.  In her hand, she carried a Yeti of coffee and a bag of treats made just for him.

He turned from her, pulling off his goggles and wiping the debris from his face.  Why did she have to come out here?  It had to be the doing of her friends who were determined to defy Anatoly to the very end.  But he couldn’t deny he wanted to see her – not really.  With each step she took advancing toward him, his heart thudded louder in his chest.  Spitting on the ground, he buried his ax in the stump beside him and made his way up the mountain toward her.

“I figured you could use this,” she said, smile bright.

Nadei walked up to her, towering over her small body and looked down into her angelic eyes.  “Thanks.”  He took the container and slowed his breathing.  “You didn’t need to come out here.  It’s not safe.”

“I’ve been in worse situations,” she said, rubbing her arms.  It was cold on the mountain at night, even in the later summer.  Glancing around, she turned up her lip.  “It’s coming along well, da?”

Nadei sipped his coffee and tried to make himself seem as comfortable as possible.  “So far.”  He looked around to see who was watching.

“Maybe when you’re done, we could talk for a little while.  I’ve put the baby down for the evening for you.”  Her voice trembled with nervousness.  She prayed he wouldn’t reject her again, but based upon the tension in his shoulders, she knew that he was about to say something that she didn’t want to hear.

“Tonight isn’t good.”  He rolled his eyes, hating himself for his little lie.  “I’ve got a thousand things to do.”

“Oh.”  Anastaysia rubbed her hands together.  The weather wasn’t nearly as chilly as his tone.  “Well, maybe tomorrow.”  She handed him the baggie of food and fought back the sudden need to protest.

“Maybe.”  He raised the container.  “Thanks, though.  I’ll eat this as soon as I get time.”  That was her cue to leave before the guards took notice and reported back to Anatoly.

Anastaysia knew she should have turned back and headed toward the house, but she held her ground.  “I…”  God, he looked good in his tight-fitting jeans, a gray long-sleeved shirt, and boots.  The shirt hugged his chest tight, showing the meaty curve of his pecs and the boulder-like bulge of his arms.  She wanted at that moment to fall into him, make him hold her, make love to her, take her from this place.

Nadei’s brows knitted.  Please, don’t say anything, he thought to himself.  He was trying to be strong for both of them, but if she pushed just an inch, he might give in and face the barrel of Anatoly’s gun.

“You should go,” he cut her off before she put them both in peril.

“I know my own mind,” Anastaysia said, caught like a deer in headlights.  She looked up at him, bottom lip quivering.  “And…” she swallowed hard.  “I love you.”

Nadei’s shoulders drooped.  Looking away from her, he dropped the cup from his lips.  “Don’t do this, Anastaysia,” he begged.

“Do you love me?” she asked tears at the sides of her eyes.

“You know I do,” he answered.  He looked several feet beyond them to see a guard stop working and get on his radio.  Paranoia gripped him.  He wanted to run up the side of the mountain and bash the man’s head in, even though he probably had paid either of them no attention.  “This can’t happen. I have to think about my daughter.  I have to think of you.”

“He will change his mind. He just needs time.”  Anastaysia made a step toward him, but Nadei put up his hand in protest.

“Don’t.”  He stepped back.  The single tear that fell down Anastaysia’s cheek slashed through his heart and left him further wounded.  “Don’t do this to him.”

“My brother?” she asked, confused.

Nadei shook his head.  “Right now, your brother is trying to keep you safe.  Even if we were back in Memphis and everyone was safe, I can’t say that what he’s doing, keeping us apart, is a bad thing.  I’m not good for you.”

“How can you say that?”

“I don’t deserve you, Anastaysia.  I’m not a good man.  I’m not even sure if I’m a good father.  But I won’t be the thing that comes between you and your brother.  He loves you too much.”

“I love you too much.”  Anastaysia put a hand over her mouth and stepped further away from Nadei.  She shook her head in disgust.  Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Nadei bit his lip but didn’t move from his spot.  All of his emotions were now evident on his reddening face, but he refused to be an impediment to this family now.  “There is no other woman in this entire world for me, just you.  I’m not doing this for myself, just you. But this can’t happen without your brother’s blessing.”

Anastaysia wiped her face and took a deep breath.  “Well, if that’s all it takes, then get his blessing, Nadei.”  Turning away, she walked back up the mountain with her head down.   She had said all that she could say.  The rest was up to him.  She would do her part and talk to Anatoly again, but Nadei felt so strongly about adhering to his boss’s wishes, he would have to fight for her ultimately.  The question now was, would he?

Gabriel knew where to find his wife.  She had already put their twins down for the night and assigned the nanny to keep watch, which meant she had hunkered down in the surveillance room going over her lists and checking them twice like a rogue Santa.

Once or twice on the short walk to the surveillance area, he thought of leaving without saying goodbye, but he knew if he returned from his operation alive, there would be hell to pay.  So, like a good husband, he went to say his farewell, expecting a more-than-salty departure.  That seemed to be the running theme for the Medlov couples since they arrived, but such was life when everyone was holed up against their will.

He knocked on the door but opened it before she could respond.

“Hey,” he said, sticking his head in.  He looked around to find her alone with the wall of monitors. “Where’s the guard?”

“I gave him five minutes,” Valeriya answered, taking her feet off the desk.  She sat up in the chair and swept her gaze over his tactical all-black wardrobe.  “You’re headed to Omsk, I see.”

Gabriel stepped inside and closed the door behind him.  “Yeah, but I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Valeriya stood up and walked over to him.  “Did you stop by and see the babies.”

“Of course.”  He knew she had watched him do so over the monitors, just like she had watched the movements of everyone on the property, but he took it as small talk to keep him with her longer.  It was just her way.

Reaching for one of the snaps he missed on his vest, she fixed it for him and smoothed a hand over his chest.  “Be safe.”  Her brown eyes were fixed on the five o’clock shadow of his stubbly beard.  He had been working so hard lately until he regularly forgot to shave.  What else would he forget in his exhaustion?  What would he miss?

Gabriel raised a thick black brow.  “Is that all you have to say, woman?”  He wasn’t expecting a full missive or declaration of her undying love, but he wanted more than what he would get from Anatoly.

“Come back in one peace.”  She dropped her head, knowing it was a contrite sendoff.  “Sorry.  I don’t want you to go.  My enthusiasm fails me at the moment.”

Gabriel lifted her chin to see her fiery eyes again.  “We can’t trust anyone else to do this.  It has to be Anatoly or Vasily or me every time we go after a high-value target.”

Valeriya nodded.  She knew that.  She knew the plan, but it didn’t change her concern for his well-being.  “Why don’t you take me?  I could help you.”  It wasn’t the first plea, but the last of many that had come over the last 24 hours.

Gabriel smacked his lips.  “No, we’ve gone over this.”  He put his hands on her shoulders.  “You’re doing great work here, but that’s where it stops — no venturing out.  No jobs.  No ops.”  And there would be no buts about that.  He would keep her safe even if he had to tie her to a chair until this was over.

“I would just feel better watching your six myself.”  Pursing her lips together, she glanced away. “Just promise me that you won’t get comfortable out there.  No matter how good the operation goes this time, don’t ever walk out of that door with the least bit of ease.  Treat every job as the first job.”

Gabriel smirked, condescension lacing his words, he tried to bring levity to the situation.   “I think it’s cute how you give me these pep talks before.”

Valeriya wanted him to take her seriously now.  Damn it!  She had lost her brother in the same way.  It was supposed to be easy.  It was supposed to be routine, and now he was dead.  Men often confused skill with luck, which ultimately leads to their demise.  Well, she could not let that happen to Gabriel.  She couldn’t live without him.  He needed to understand it, even if she had to drill it into that thick skull of his every time he headed out of the door!

A vein in her neck protrudes as she prepared to go into a rant, but as soon as her head shot up to scold him, Gabriel planted a kiss on her mouth.

Forcefully pushing her up against the wall, he pressed his barrel chest against her, shoved his right hand down the front of her cargo pants, and gently slipped his fingers inside her womb.  The shock on her face was priceless.  He would have laughed had he not been so turned on by the thrill of finding new ways to be unpredictable.  Still searching her mouth, he kissed her lush brown lips deep and hard then ebbed into softness as he felt her inner flower silken.  Ahh, that was better.  Finally pulling his hand away, he moved his mouth from hers and licked his lips.

Valeriya was speechless.

“All I need is that to remind me why I need to be careful on every job,” he said, voice husky.  If he had a few more minutes, he would have taken her right there on the table, but time was ticking, and he had a flight to catch.

Valeriya was still leaning against the wall.

“Nod, if you understand,” he ordered sternly, rolling his neck and slipping his slick fingers in his mouth.  Her small nod of submission made him instantly hard.  He’d savor that taste all night, but he’d savor the look on her face at this moment for the rest of his life.   Giving her a wink, he walked over to the door and gave her one last lust-filled look that sent chills over her body.  “Love you.  Miss you.”

“Love you, too,” Valeriya said, mouth still open.  Did he really just do that?   She stood up and adjusted her drooping pants.  How dare he use sex to disarm her?  And how stupid was she to allow it to work!  Still, she couldn’t deny the fire he had left boiling inside of her.  Her anger was now hampered by the flood between her thighs.  Damn him for doing that!  Damn her for loving it so much.  She didn’t know whether to blush or scream.

“We’ll talk about the rest of this when I get back.”  Disappearing out of the door, he closed it behind him and nodded at the surveillance guard as he returned from his mini-break with a Danish in his hand.

Now that was a proper fucking send-off.  Gabriel’s footfalls were heavier and more confident than before.  A smug grin covered his deviant, handsome face.    “Give my wife a second to regroup before you go in there, chief.”

“Yes, boss,” the man answered, doing an immediate about-face toward the opposite direction without question.

The fresh night air felt refreshing to Dmitry’s lungs.  Standing out on the back patio under cover of the dark with a glass of scotch, he looked just beyond the tree line at the maze of lights that led down the mountainside, where one of the crews was working, and popped two pain pills in his mouth.  It was strange that he needed something so small to stay balanced, but every time he let his pain get out of control, it took half-a-day to get sorted.  When he had conquered his enemy, the first order of business would be to get rid of the little white demons he ate like candy, but for now, he needed them.

The sound of the patio door sliding open made him stand up straighter.  A whiff of his wife’s cologne informed him of his guest.  Offering his hand, he felt her slip her small hand in his before he raised it to his mouth.  “I’m glad you joined me,” he said, looking down to find her cheeks wet.

The moon was bright enough, even without the exterior light to see his wife was yet again troubled.  “I just needed to stand here with you,” she sniffled.  Taking her hand away, she wiped her cheek.  “We don’t have to say anything.”  She gazed out toward the lights in the distance.  “Just stand here with me.”  Pulling the red and black checkered throw around her shoulders, she nudged up beside him.

Dmitry put his arm around her.  “What happened?”

Royal shook her head, nose red from sobbing.  “My daughter hates me.”

Dmitry was nearly relieved to hear something so typical for a change, but he did not lose sight of the fact that Royal was in pain.  He offered her his tumbler of scotch.  “You sound like you need this more than me.”

Royal took the scotch and downed it quickly.  The burn made her shiver. Wiping the excess from the side of her mouth, she chortled. “I remember when we first met all those years ago at your restaurant, you gave me a glass full of vodka.”  She sniffled again.  “I was so young then.”  A lifetime had passed, maybe two, since the day she walked into his restaurant.

“You’re still young and even more beautiful,” Dmitry said, rubbing her arm.  “Why do you think our daughter hates you?”  He was certain Anya did not. She adored her mother.  There had to be a misunderstanding of some kind.

“She told me that she hated me.”  Royal took another gulp, finishing the drip, and placed the crystal glass on the concrete dividing wall in front of her.  The large diamond on her right hand gleamed under the moonlight.  Rubbing a hand through her short locks, she scratched the back of her head with her long fingernails.  “My mother evidently told her that she deserved more than what we were giving her.  She said she deserved normalcy.  Basically, we’re horrible parents.”

“Coral said that to her?” Dmitry asked, suddenly as offended as his wife.  “What makes her think she has that right?”

Royal’s head shot up toward her husband. “That’s the same damn thing I said.”  A wave of comfort rushed over her knowing she was not alone in her astonishment.  “I told Coral I would kick her ass out on the side of this mountain if she meddled again.”

Dmitry needed a seat.  He looked behind him and found a chair in the corner.  Royal followed and sat beside him.

“Are you alright?” she asked.  “Maybe I should turn on the light.”

“No,” Dmitry stopped her.  He didn’t want her to see that his eyes were dilated from the pills with the boost of the alcohol.  Instead, he opted for the darkness.  “What led to this?”

“She broke her bow and scribbled suka on the side of her violin when she was supposed to be practicing.”  Royal could not believe, even as she told Dmitry what had happened, that her daughter had been so insolent.  “This isn’t like her.”

“She’s acting out.”  Dmitry wiped a hand over his mouth.  “It’s our fault.”

Royal froze.  That was not the response she was expecting – not from him.  She had run to his side for comfort and support, not the cold-hearted truth.  Still, it had to be admitted, and before admitted, it had to be said.  She just had not been strong enough to do either until that moment.  “I know.”  A guilty tear ran down her face.  Wiping her cheek, she lowered her voice.  “What’s worse is that I know my mother is right, but I…” she blinked fast.  “I hate her for being right.  I hate her for being involved.”  She slumped in the chair, gripping the armrest to hold herself up.  “What are we doing to our little girl?” She looked over at the shadow of her husband’s face as she spoke.  “Even in my womb, I could not protect her.”

Dmitry dropped his head in embarrassment.

“While she was still forming, Ivan invaded her safety.  When she was born, I was too self-absorbed to care for her.  I wallowed in self-pity fueled by pain pills and alcohol.  I let her slip from my hands and be kidnapped.  I allowed her godfather to give his life instead of offering my own to keep her safe.  I…”

“Stop,” Dmitry said, leaning away from her.  “It’s not your fault.  It’s mine.  I’ve done this to her.”  His breaths were shallow.  Heart racing, he balled up his fist.  “You didn’t ask for this life.  I pushed it on you.  You stayed, because where could you go?”  He turned to her finally.  What started as something trivial and straightforward had quickly tripled into another complex layer of madness created by his own hand.

“I would never leave you, Dmitry.  I have stayed because I want to stay,” Royal said, reaching a hand out for him.

“You were barely a child when I took you.  You were still innocent before Ivan…took you.”  He could still see in his mind’s eye, his brother holding a knife to Royal’s neck many years ago, slashing through the delicate skin in an attempt to take both his future wife and his child from him.  And what did he do?  Whatever it was, was not enough.  Reaching out, he placed a gentle hand on her neck and felt the scar of a wound that only healed on the outside.  On the inside, he was sure the blade was still cutting.

“I just want my baby to know I love her, that we love her,” Royal confessed.  “But all this happening around us is tearing our family apart.  Everyone is wrapped in chaos.  Renee barely comes out of her room.  Valeriya has become hyper-vigilant and barely spends time with her babies.  Lilly paces all night.  Anastaysia is in love with Nadei, and she’s not allowed to see him.  Coral is driving me crazy.  My boys…what’s going to happen to my boys?  What’s going to happen to Dylan?  Stepan?  Us?”  Royal’s voice strained in a state of helplessness and sudden realization of their bleak situation.  “And you?  Look at what they did to you?  What if this is how it ends, Dmitry?”

So many questions?  She had so many fucking questions?  They swirled around in Dmitry’s head in a soup of despair that he was forced to take in heaping spoon fills.  He wanted to choke on it, but as the world began to swim, he was not sure if it was because of the drugs or the truth.  Both were potent and all-consuming.

“Boss,” Marat said, swinging open the patio door.

“Not now,” Dmitry growled, teeth showing in his anger.

Royal turned to look up at her guard, knowing he never interrupted like this unless something had happened.  “What’s wrong?”

Marat didn’t move quick enough for Dmitry.  “Boss…”

“Not fucking now!  Did I stutter?” Dmitry yelled, startling Royal. His deep voice boomed across the dark cascade of the patio.

“We’ve been attacked,” Marat continued voice void of aggression.  He lowered his eyes as a slant of light crossed his face from the kitchen lamps.  “One of our major munitions factories right outside of Moscow, where we are getting our supplies.”

Dmitry jumped up, forgetting his stitches.  “When?” He clutched his side but moved toward the door.

“Careful, Dmitry,” Royal warned, standing up quickly.  She forgot her blanket, letting it drop to the concrete below.

“I’m fine.”  He motioned for Royal to go in first.  “Get inside.”

Marat moved out of their way but was equally concerned with his boss’s physical state.

As one of the guards closed the patio door behind them and another stepped out to stand his post, Dmitry stood in the doorway and took the iPad from Marat’s hands.  He watched a real-time video of one of his major plants going up in smoke.

“It happened just a few minutes ago.  The hub was bombed in several places.  There are at least twenty casualties.  Erik must have had men ready to attack after we hit London.”  Marat looked toward Royal, who was wiping her teary eyes and then up at his boss, who didn’t bother to wipe his own tears.  He had interrupted something major, but this was too big to ignore.  “What would you like for me to do?”  he asked, waving off the other guards.  They didn’t need to see the boss like this.

The two men standing guard at the door quickly moved out of sight as Dmitry read the detailed report.  20 dead.  More injured.  Millions of dollars in damage.  His supply from that source was now crippled.  FUCK!  He gripped the tablet so tightly in his hands until the screen broke down the middle.

Royal looked down at Dmitry’s side and noticed the blood seeping through the fabric of his shirt.  “Oh, God.  You’ve opened it back up,” she said, going to the island in the kitchen to get gauze.

“I’m fine,” Dmitry said, throwing down the tablet on the floor.  “Get everyone to the war room.  Where is Gabriel?”

“Gone.  He left 10 minutes ago with Daniil,” Marat said, picking the tablet up off the floor.  Standing back up, he felt his phone rang.  It had to be their contact in Moscow again.

“Someone get Anil in here!” Royal screamed absently as she pulled out bandages to tend to her husband.

Dmitry overruled her.  He didn’t need a doctor; he needed a hitman.  “Get everyone else downstairs now and tell Peaches to hold her position in Moscow.  I want her to go to ground immediately.  I don’t want her walking into an ambush until I’ve sorted this out.”  Ignoring the pain of his side, he limped quickly toward the stairwell leading down to the war room while Marat jumped on the radio to rally the troops and send for Simeon, who had retired to his suite on the other side of the property.

Dmitry barked orders as he made his way down the stairwell, voice echoing as Marat followed.  “I want a team making a move within the hour on anything of Erik’s that’s insight, every bar, every restaurant, every nightclub, every fucking thing with his name on it in Moscow, London, Miami, and Toronto.  Get the street boys on it.  Pay them double, if you have to, triple if they insist, but I want his properties razed to the ground before the sun crosses my horizon again!”

Marat nodded, texting quickly.  “Yes, boss.”

Simeon wasn’t alone in his suite.  Coral had found him there half an hour ago, covered in tears and needing solace.  When the light tap of her knuckles first hit his door, he thought it was Anya coming to hear another one of his magnificent stories, but he found to his surprise the new reason for his dreams waiting at the door with a box of Kleenex and the need of a hug.

She had fallen into his arms, pouring tears on his shoulder and drenching his tailored shirt with agony.  He had received her warmly, hugging her close and wiping her tears, sitting her on the edge of his bed to help her calm down, but what started as a friendly gesture, quickly turned to kisses, first on her cheeks and forehead and finally on her mouth.

Simeon was a simple man, beneath the suits and the bravado.  He didn’t entertain young women; they brought too much trouble.  He liked the seasoned flavor of women closer to his age and their refined company.  And he was a man who knew what he liked as soon as he saw it, which was why he knew he wanted Coral to be his.

Over the last few days, he had joked with Dmitry about her, inquired about her life, but his friend had been cryptic in his responses, too consumed by the hard work ahead of him.

Now, he had her alone, and her vulnerability allowed him the opportunity to pry into the life that had become the subject of unrest in the house.

With lipstick still on his mouth and cheek, he sat on the floor with her at the foot of his bed, arm wrapped around her, socked foot propped up as he listened to her explain how her situation came to be.

“I was young,” Coral said, wiping her face.  “I didn’t know what to do.  I was on drugs and homeless, and even though I loved my girls, they deserved better.”

Simeon glanced over at Coral.  “Who was their father?”  It was one of the few things even Dmitry didn’t know.

Coral glanced across the room like she was skimming through time and space to a far-off place in a distant land.  “My mom passed early when I was only five, and I was left with my father.  I guess that’s why I was always worried I’d be a horrible mother.  Then, Daddy was killed in a car accident, and I was left to fend for myself.  I didn’t have any siblings, and the family around town that I did have weren’t eager to take in a teenager with a bad attitude.  So, I got with the wrong crowd and eventually got into bad things.  The local sheriff had a son who was in the department.  His name was Vincent, wasn’t much older than me, maybe five years.  He patrolled the area I lived in. I had a place over the top of a juke joint I worked in to make ends meet, and he had a thing for younger girls.”

Simeon knew enough before she could finish her story where things were going.  “Sometimes, I’d get caught shoplifting personal hygiene items at the local store or get in trouble disturbing the peace after I’d drank too much.  To pay my penance and not get thrown in jail, I’d have to throw him a little tail.”  She looked over to Simeon to see if he was judging her yet, but the look on his face was one of understanding.

“I got pregnant with his first child,” she said, ducking her head and twiddling her fingers.  “He promised he’d stopped bothering me after that.  And for a while, he did.  His father knew it was his kid, but they didn’t want anything to do with a black girl with no family.  So, they acted like I didn’t exist.  Then, one day after drinking downstairs at the juke joint, he came up claiming to want to see Royal and gave me another baby before he left…Chloe.”  Her eyes watered.  “I still didn’t bother him about the kids, but shortly after Chloe was born, he got married, and his wife heard about the kids and me.  She came to my apartment with a bus ticket and an ultimatum.  Get out of town or pick out three plots at the cemetery.”  She heaved a breath.  “We left that night.  I ended up in Memphis, TN, almost eight hours from home, where no one knew who I was.  I tried to take care of them, but it was impossible.  My drinking and drugging got worse, and I started to hate what I was becoming.  Those girls deserved better.  So, this nice lady at the mission who used to feed us told me about how I could drop the kids at the fire station, and they could have a better life.  I didn’t know any better.  I wasn’t even 16-year-old.  I thought I could get my life together and find them.”  She smiled at Simeon with a face full of tears.  “I was wrong.”

Simeon was no angel, but he didn’t believe in taking advantage of young women.  When he found out what had happened to Royal, he had been the first to call and offer his regards to Dmitry, but this was unacceptable.

He reached over and wiped a tear from Coral’s face.  “That’s some bad luck, lady.”

Coral laughed.  She needed a little levity.  “Tell me about it.”

“Did this Vincent ever get his sweet karma for raping a young girl and leaving her with two of his bastard children?”  Simeon asked, fishing for information on his newest enemy.

“Vincent Boreadux is the mayor of that little slab of Louisiana with no recollection of Coral, Royal, or Chloe Thibeaux.” Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Simeon.  “Is it bad that telling you all of that somehow took a weight off my chest?”

“That was the purpose,” Simeon said, moving the hair from her face.  If she let him, he could stare at her all day.  He scooted closer.  “Is it bad that I want to get you in bed consensually.”

Coral laughed.  “Whatever gave you the idea that I’m that kind of woman,” she joked, hitting him square in his rock-hard chest.  “You work out?”

“I get it in when I can,” he said, taking her hand.  “I jest and joke with you, but it’s only to see you smile.”

“I’m not sure I deserve to smile, considering the pain I’ve caused my children.  One dead.  One wishes I were dead.  When I told Anya that she deserved better, it wasn’t to be spiteful.  I was explaining to her that this situation she and her family…”

“Your family,” Simeon corrected.  “This is your family, Coral.” He made her look at him, holding her chin in place.  “They may have a hard time accepting you, but they will accept you.  It will just take time.”

“Well, when I told my granddaughter that she deserved better, I was explaining that it was not fair what happened to her father and her mother and that she deserved a better life filled with normal things and eventually Royal was going to give that to her, she just had to be patient.”  Coral bit down on the side of her lip.  “But the last thing I wanted to do was correct Anya on something she clearly might have been confused about.”

“That girl is not confused about anything,” Simeon said, raising a finger in protest.  “She’s smarter than most grown women I know.  The intent of her telling Royal that was to hurt her.  Daughters have tempers, and young girls headed toward puberty…”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me.  I was that age once.  I just…” she shook her head. “I want to be there for them.  Even if Royal is mad at me, she needs to see her choices before she makes the same mistakes I did.  And it’s okay if she hates me as long as she avoids my pitfalls.  I don’t ever want Anya to look at her the way she looks at me.”

Simeon arched a brow.  “The more things change, the more they stay the same.  Girls will be girls.  It’s not as bad as you think.  Give them some time to sort through their own problems.  Trust me; this isn’t your doing.”

Coral frowned.  “I was under the impression that you just met Royal and Anya?”

“Dmitry and I go back many years.  We served at the same prison.”

“You were in prison?” Coral asked.  Why did she always fall for the bad boys?  She was too grown to be doing the same thing, but there was something special about Simeon.

“In this world, there are bad men, and then there are really bad men.” Simeon winked at her.  “I’m one of the really, really bad men.”

Coral laughed.  “That’s hard to believe.”

“One day, I’ll tell you my story, but tonight, I just want you to talk until you feel better.  You’re the matriarch of this family.  If you don’t have a level head, how can your daughter or your granddaughter.”

“Oh, I’m not the matriarch,” Coral said, waving off the title. “I’m just a guest.”

“You’re the matriarch until you die.  That’s the proper way of things.  And in this way of life, the way of things is the only way.”

Coral nodded, and at the same time, she had a hundred questions.  “Just what kind of life is it?  No one has ever explained anything to me, really.  They tell me where to go, what to do, but that’s it.”  She shrugged. “I’ve googled Dmitry, and there is a lot out there about him, but surely that can’t be real.”

Simeon laughed again.  “I guarantee not only is it all true, but it’s also only a small part of the truth.”  He winked at her.  “But he’s a good man, one of the few.  We do what we must, but he keeps his hands clean.  No kids. No women.  No drugs.  That’s his way, and I respect it.”

“And you?” Coral asked.

“And I…we’ll talk about another time.”

A knock on the door drew their attention.  “Come in,” Simeon said, taking his arm from around Coral as to not put in question her respect.

Stepan stepped through the door to address them but kept his eyes away from Coral.  It was far too uncomfortable to see her sitting on the floor of a dimly lit bedroom with Simeon Kurdin.  “Forgive the interruption, but Dmitry has requested your presence in the war room.”

“Both of us?” Coral asked.

“Every person in the house, of age, must be present, minus the guards,” Stepan clarified without looking at Coral.

“We’ll be there directly,” Simeon said, getting off the floor.  He turned and offered Coral his hand as Stepan quietly closed the door behind him and left.

“Thank you,” Coral said, grunting as she stood to her feet.  She wasn’t as young as she used to be.  Sitting in one place for a long time messed with her knees.  She straightened her shirt and slipped on her shoes.

“He’s got a thing for you, I think,” Simeon said, standing at the mirror as she buttoned his shirt and slipped on his suit vest.

Coral raised a brow at that. “He’s a nice enough person.”

“But maybe your eye has moved to more serious prospects?” Simeon offered, watching her reflection in the mirror.  He was a grown man and completely unable to trifle with games and innuendo.  The war post had been struck already.

Coral stood behind him and smiled.  “Oh, I’m definitely starting to look your way, Simeon, but you’ll have to work for it.”

Simeon laughed at that and how, regardless of how serious the situation, Coral found a way to find the silver lining.  It was a learned skill, of course, one he knew well, from being so far down in the muck of life, until one simply had to imagine a better day. He remembered many moons ago when he was at the mercy of life, locked down behind Vladimir Central with only an idea of what he would do once given another chance.  Needless to say, he took hold of that one opportunity and went from a starving knucklehead to a billionaire crime boss.  Dmitry found him after he was released, sent him a care package of money and contacts, got him a fresh start with some serious players, and vouched for him until he carried his own weight.  After he got settled and carved out a nice piece of the underground pie in Siberia, far from the prying eyes of Moscow, Dmitry returned with an idea. Half legal.  Half illegal.  The young blonde giant had discovered a new way to make money.  Instead of focusing solely on the illicit trades within the Vory, he proposed to use their money to invest in legitimate enterprises, strengthening their power and reach.  Others had thumbed their noses at the idea and blew Dmitry off.  But Simeon had not.  He took him up on his offer to turn millions into billions.  Simeon invested heavily in real estate, start-ups, stocks, and insurance.  He even went back to school to learn to manage his money better.  A decade later, he was one of the richest men in Siberia with a vein in every legitimate industry in the region.  So, when other oligarchs went belly up after Putin took over and rolled out a new game plan for the old guard, Simeon was able to hold out, buy out, or simply be looked over because he had become a powerhouse.

Dmitry had done that for him.  He didn’t have to, but he did because he saw the potential in the gutter rat.  Because Dmitry Medlov believed a man made his own bones in this world, he didn’t just get them handed to him.

Afterward, Dmitry invited him to the International Council and ensured a seat at the table for him.  Andros and Old Man Popov blessed it.  And with a slim vote, minus the Rabinovich and Sherkov family, he was chosen.

What could he say?  Dmitry was true to his word.  They had come up together, found their way together, and now, if necessary, they would go down together.  They were brothers, not by blood, but by oath.  The Vory v Zakone had solidified their bond, and no man would break it, not even those who were at the top ranks with them.  If a war had to be fought, he would fight it.  If blood had to be shed, he would shed it.  If life had to be given, he would give it.

But that was the price for real loyalty, and Simeon Kurdin didn’t mind paying the bill.  In fact, he fucking insisted.

Chapter 26

The Medlov Compound

Lake Baikal, Siberia

(Continued)

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”
― G.K. Chesterson

A nya wasn’t sleepy.  There was too much happening in the house.  Although Stepan had sent her to her room, she was anxious to reemerge and find out what the adults were playing at while the kids were sent off to unseen and unheard.  Throwing her long legs off the side of her bunk, she pushed a breath out of her mouth, making her lips vibrate.

“What is it?” Dylan said, unable to sleep with her rattling around.  He rolled to one side and glanced over at his partner in crime, waiting for her to explain why she had been lectured by Stepan outside of their door before being sent into her room.

“Something is going on,” Anya said, standing up.  She paced around the small space while the twins snored lightly, gripping teddy bears and listening to the calming sounds of Beethoven in the background.

Stalking over to the entertainment cabinet, she grabbed the remote from the top shelf and turned off the soft music.  “I need to get out of here.”

“Why?” he asked, raising up slightly.  His mass of brown locks was like a mop atop his head.  He licked his dry lips and reached through the opening in the bunk bed for the glass of water on the nightstand.  As he pulled the glass toward him, he couldn’t get it through the cracks.  “Ugh,” he grunted, placing it back on the table, but not before spilling liquid on the hardwood floor.

Anya rolled her eyes at Dylan’s gaff.  If he couldn’t get a glass of water without spilling it, there was no way he was going to help her get out of here.  She folded her arms across her chest and huffed again.

“What’s with the damn huffing?” he asked, sitting all the way up in his red pajamas.  Dylan was known for his cursing, using all the language, sometimes at once, that he learned from the guards and his father when they weren’t paying attention.

“Mom has gone crazy.  I swear she would have slapped me stupid if grandma hadn’t come in to stop her.”

“It’s too late for that. You’re already stupid,” he joked.

But Anya wasn’t in a playing mood.  She walked to the door and cracked it open to find the guard, Luka, sitting across the hall.  “Perfect,” she whined, closing the door shut. “We’re being watched.”

“When aren’t we being watched?” Dylan rubbed his tired eyes.  He had been playing all day in the backyard while his father worked in the forest, but Anya had chosen to stay inside, gabbing with her grandmother.  Since Coral and Simeon had come, she seemed to spend all her time running up behind him, soaking in their every word like a dry, desperate sponge.

“You don’t understand,” Anya said, turning to Dylan.

“Well, explain it to me, so we can get some sleep,” he said, walking over to the nightstand.  He gulped down the water and regretted it instantly, knowing shortly he’d have to pee.

“I can always tell when something is wrong.  I get that feeling in my gut,” she said, touching her stomach.  Her big blue eyes were wide with excitement.  “Something bad is going to happen, and when it goes down, you know where we’ll be?”

“Here.  Where it’s safe.” Dylan plopped back down on the lower bunk.  “Whisper, or you’ll wake up Alexandria, and she cries all night when she doesn’t get her beauty sleep.”

Anya rolled her eyes.  “Yes, we’ll be here, genius.  They will forget all about us, and we’ll be kidnapped by bad people with guns.”  She stopped in front of Dylan.  “Do you know what happens when they kidnap you?”

Dylan wasn’t convinced.  “Why would they let us get kidnapped?  Mom and Dad wouldn’t let anything happened to us, and neither would your parents or your brother or cousin.  You’re being paranoid again.”  He yawned, deciding quietly to get back to bed before someone came bursting inside with threats of punishment for tomorrow.

Anya bent to Dylan, meeting him at eye level.  “We’re not untouchable.  The only thing that will keep us safe is knowledge, and they’re keeping it from us.”

“Well, what do you want to do about it?” Dylan asked, irritated, and starting to feel the need to pee.  He wiggled on his bunk bed and dropped his head.

“What is it?” Anya asked, eyes narrowing on her best friend.

“Nothing.  I just have to pee is all.”

Anya smiled as an idea hit her.  A devious smile crossed her cherry-colored lips.  “Good.”

Lilly and Vasily stood on the opposite side of the media room watching Anatoly rub Renee’s belly.  Just a few hours earlier, she had started having labor pains, but she insisted that it wasn’t time yet.  With worry on his face, Anatoly knelt at his wife’s stomach, looking at it with a twisted frown and occasionally looking at his watch.

“I’m not sure if this just Braxton Hix or something more serious,” he said, raising up.

“Why don’t we get Anil in here to check it out, instead of guessing,” Vasily said with his arms folded across his chest.  “I’m no doctor, and I wasn’t around when Lilly had Dylan.”

“It’s Braxton Hix,” Lilly insisted.  “The full moon isn’t for another two weeks.”

Anatoly rolled his eyes. “Enough with the full moon shit.  This is a kid, not a werewolf.”

Renee loved her husband and how closely he watched her, but she had already told him once not to worry.  The baby was dropping down further, and with that came the pain and sometimes contractions, but Anatoly was worried.  This was not the way they were supposed to bring their child into the world.

“I’ll be fine, baby,” Renee promised.  “I’ve done this before. Remember?”

“Not under these circumstances,” he mumbled under his breath.  Turning from his wife, he walked over to the doorway as he heard footsteps approaching fast.  One of the guards headed toward him and whispered in his ear.  “When?” Anatoly asked the guard.

“Just now,” the man responded.

Vasily immediately perked up, something new and possibly bad had gone down.

“We need to go to the war room,” Anatoly said, turning around to nod toward Vasily and Lilly.  But when he looked over at his wife, he had another alternative.  “You can stay here with your feet up till we’re done.”

“I can, but I won’t,” Renee said, extending her hand as she tried to push off the sofa.

Anatoly quickly made his way across the room to help her up.  “Right now, you need to rest, not worry yourself.”

Renee touched his face lovingly, understanding because of their previous debacles the lengths he would go to to keep her safe.  “Baby, I told you, until this is over, and our family is safe again, the only time I’ll be out of the loop is when I’m pushing out this baby, and even then, you need to give me updates.”

Anatoly shook his head.  “Just walk slowly.  I don’t want you to drop my child on the floor while you’re trying to be nosy.”

When everyone was crammed into the war room, the briefing began.  Dmitry sat at the table, in his usual spot, but as the people filed in, he popped three more pain pills to stop the pain, forgetting that he had taken a couple on the patio not even 30 minutes earlier.  After pouring himself another glass of scotch, he planted his elbows on the table and looked down at all the peering eyes waiting on him to speak.

“We’ve been attacked at our main munitions plant in Moscow,” he said, wiping sweat beads from his forehead as they popped up like ears of corn under the lights.  “The problem is that this is the main pipeline for our arsenal right now. It’s the closest to Siberia and the one location we keep off the grid.”

Anatoly sat back in his seat and sighed.  “How much damage are we talking about here?”

“Total,” Dmitry answered.  He placed the balls of his fingertips on the table.  “I’ve told Marat to order our street soldiers to rally and attack Erik in response at all of his businesses.  They are mobilizing as we speak.”

Vasily frowned and looked over at Anatoly.  “That’s not what we planned.”

“I know it’s not,” Dmitry snapped.  “But what we need right now is a show of force.  We cannot look weak.”

Anatoly waved a hand at the news.  This was bullshit.  They had spent a month on their plan; now it was just supposed to be thrown out on a whim?  “Papa, our strategy was not about a show of force at one time.  It was about strategic force, long-term.  We said at the onset of this that the goal was to send them out.  Let them pay for security details for weeks on end.  Let them worry about when our next move would be carried out.  Hit where it hurt them the most.  High-value targets only.  No mom and pop shops, no little shitty storefronts.  No uncoordinated mayhem.  Macro then micro.”  He pushed forward in his seat and knitted his hands together on the table.  “This goes against everything we’ve worked toward.”

Dmitry was dripping in sweat now and pissed that Anatoly was questioning him.  While his son talked, he continued to drink, and as soon as Anatoly was done, he slammed the glass on the table.  “Last time I checked, I was the Czar and the head of the family.  Not you!  You gave up the job when I gave it to you, or don’t you remember?”

Royal turned to her husband in confusion.  First, the outburst on the patio, now outright confrontation with Anatoly.  This was not her husband.  She placed her hand on his and tried to calm him without outwardly defying him in front of everyone, but Dmitry snatched away.

Anatoly’s wheat blonde brow furrowed.  Inhaling a breath, he shook his head.  “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“That has everything to do with everything!” Dmitry said, hitting the table.  “Now, I know I seem vulnerable, but don’t mistake a few bullet holes for complete incapacitation.”

Anatoly snapped.  “I don’t have to be the Czar to see that you’re fucking this up!” He stood up and pushed the chair back.  “Now, you grilled us, down to the smallest detail on this plan, and suddenly, you want to scrap it because we lost the warehouse.  That’s not a strategic move, that’s based on emotion.”

“You dare to lecture me on emotion?” Dmitry growled loudly.

Royal looked at the nearly empty glass and up at her husband.  Under the lights, she could see the daze in his eyes.  He was high.  “Stop this, Dmitry!” she said, breaking her silence.  She shot out of her chair.

“Shut up!” he yelled at her and pointed to her now vacated chair. “And Sit. Down!”

Simeon spoke up quickly. “I have to agree with the other members of this family.  Going after Erik, instead of sticking to the plan to focus on his allies is not smart.”

Dmitry leaned forward, scowling to the point of veins popping in his neck, sweat pouring from his face and eyes reddening like a mad demon.  “Let’s get one thing straight.  I don’t ask permission. I tell all of you what the fuck to do and when the fuck to do it!  I’m running the show!”

Anatoly had had enough.  Even though he could feel Renee trying to stop him, he flew off the handle.  “You’re running the show, huh?  Well, isn’t that what got us into this fucked up situation in the first place?  You always have to ruin everything, and now you’ve run us right into the fucking ground!”

Vasily shook his head. “Anatoly, no,” he warned. “Don’t say something you can’t take back.”

“No, let him speak!” Dmitry yelled.  “Say what’s on your mind. Speak, damn you!”

“Da, da. Let me speak, Papa!”  Anatoly sucked his teeth and pointed toward his father.  “You could have told us you were going to war with the Popov family. You could have told us you were putting a hit on a council member’s life. You could have asked us as your own fucking council members what we thought before you put our lives, our children, and wives lives in danger and had us pack up and run halfway around the world!  But you didn’t because it’s your motherfucking show!  And now my kid is going to be born in this shithole because it’s YOUR FUCKING SHOW!”

Renee pulled at Anatoly’s arm, but she couldn’t get him to calm down. Tears ran down her eyes.  She had never heard Anatoly talk to his father like this.  It needed to stop now before it was too late.  “Maybe we need to all just take a minute,” she pleaded.

“You don’t think this is my fault?” Dmitry asked incredulously with a laugh that caught everyone off guard.  He hit his chest hard with a balled-up fist that echoed through the room.  “Oh, I know it’s my fault.  It’s my fault my grandchild is being born up in a mountain because otherwise, her mother’s throat would be slit at the hospital, and my other grandchildren are holed up in their bedrooms like prisoners, pulled away from their schools and friends and lives.  It’s my fault, my friend is here, putting his entire life on the line for my choices.  It’s my fault my wife was raped by my brother while she carried Anya in her womb.  She paid the price for my faults, did she?  She was fucked by my brother and then sliced like a pig, not because she did something wrong, but because of me!  My fault my nephew was locked in a neo-Nazi camp and tortured.  My fault my daughter was kidnapped, and her childhood stolen.  My fault your mother is dead, Gabriel’s’ mother is dead.  Elsa is dead.  Ivan is dead.  Davyd is dead!  Sanaa is dead!  My sister is dead.  My mother is dead!  All I do is kill, murder, and destroy.  Everything I touch, everyone I touch, I ruin.  You damn right, it’s my fucking fault, boy!  I am the grim reaper!”  Tears streamed down his eyes as he hit the table again and shook his head in agreement. “It’s my fault that you’re running for your lives.” He looked around at all them, facing their judgment like a man instead of a coward. “It’s my fault that you’re here!  That you could all die!” The room began to spin.  “Now damn it, let me fix it!  Let me fix it before I lose one of you because I can’t do that!”  His voice broke as the blood ran down his side.  “I can’t fucking afford it!  I can spend all my money, down to the last fucking penny if that’s what it takes, but I need to fix it before you lose your wives, your husbands, your mother, your daughter, your love interests, your minds, your futures…I need to fucking fix it because it’s my job and my job alone!”

Anatoly stood frozen in place, wishing he could take it all back.  Royal sat crying, wanting to apologize to her mother and make her husband understand he didn’t have to carry his burden alone.  Simeon held a hand over his mouth, having never seen Dmitry so unhinged, while Vasily covered his face in utter disbelief.  Valeriya shook her head, knowing what she was witnessing was a breakdown of a man who had tried to stand too strong for too long, and Coral cried because she understood his guilt better than most. Anil was confused about his emotion, believing somehow this was a breakthrough for his father.  Nadei fought tears as he looked across the room at Anastaysia wishing to have her as his own, and Marat refused to cry at all because he wanted to kill something or someone so badly.

“Just let me fix, boy!” Dmitry pleaded, saliva on the sides of his mouth.   Tears streamed down his face to his cheeks, and his eyes filled with thick veiny blood vessels.  “Let me fix it!  Please!”  He glanced in the corner to see his daughter Anya, peering through the doorway with tears in her eyes.  She had heard him say it all, and now she could finally shift the blame to who it was meant for.  Him.  It was Daddy who was the bad guy, not Royal.

“Mommy,” Anya said, all eyes trailing to her, standing in her pajamas.  She stepped into the room with her hands clasped together and her body trembling.  All this time, she was told the scar on her mother’s throat was a birthmark.  “Who raped you?” In her mind, she knew that if the culprit were not already dead, she would kill him with her bare hands.

“Anya, baby,” Royal gasped mortified.

“Shit…”  Blacking out, Dmitry lost his footing and fell headfirst into the long table, causing everyone to jump to their feet.  His massive body sent papers flying to the floor and beverages toppling over to their sides.

“Dmitry!” Royal screamed as Anil ran over to him.  “Oh, God! Is he alive?” She tried but could not roll him over.  He was too heavy for her.

“Papa!” Anatoly ran to his father as Anil checked his pulse.

“He fainted,” Anil said, raising his head from his father’s chest.  “Help me get him to his bed.”

Chapter 27

Omsk, Siberia

Lake Baikal, Siberia

4:00 a.m. the next morning

“Older men declare war.  But it is the youth that must fight and die.”
― Herbert Hoover

G abriel had already heard the breaking news if it could be called that.  On the way to the airport the night before, shortly after he left the Medlov compound with the crew, his cell phone rang with Anatoly frantically explaining on the other end.

“I lost my shit,” Anatoly had fumed, angry with himself.  Pacing back and forth in his suite with Renee looking on quietly, he confided in the one person he knew would understand him.  No one understood Daddy issues better than Gabriel Medlov.

“Relax, it happens,” Gabriel had told his cousin.  “Just give me the rundown on what happened.  I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

Basically, the great and powerful Dmitry Medlov had fainted after a bit of a mental breakdown in the war room.  Fainted.  That was something a Czar simply didn’t do.  But as a man in one of the most stressful situations of his life, Gabriel could understand precisely how Dmitry had come to that point.

However, Anatoly had sounded surprised, the fear in his voice palpable as he detailed how in a rage over the worry for Renee and their unborn baby, he had lost his cool for the first time ever with his father.  Things were said.  Bad things that couldn’t be taken back.  There was a first time for everything.  Gabriel couldn’t even count the number of times over his short life with his father that he had said things – most of which he meant – to his father when pushed beyond the point of reason.

But in short, the end result of Anatoly’s very public first spat culminated with Uncle Dmitry face planting into the table, which caused him to bust his lip and suffer a few other superficial bruises, but not before Anya, who was spying as usual, found out her mother had been raped by Ivan Medlov. There really was no cure for the family.  No amount of money, power, or stress could change their dynamic.

Bra-fucking-vo.  If Gabriel could have rolled his eyes any harder as he listened to Anatoly, they would have come barreling right out of his head.

He immediately recanted his statement to Anatoly upon hearing the whole story.  “Maybe it is as bad as it seems but look at it this way, after the business with Anya finding out about my beloved father, your shit doesn’t look bad at all.”

It was funny how even though Gabriel’s infamous father had been dead nearly a decade, Ivan still lingered in the shadows of their lives, resurfacing at the worst moments to remind everyone how treacherous his existence on this earth had been.

“You’re not helping.”  Anatoly stopped pacing, hating to admit that Gabriel’s glib remark had put things into perspective.  What must poor Anya be feeling right now?  The stain of self-pity was quickly removed before it was allowed to leave a long-term residue.

“That depends.  Do you feel like shit anymore?” Gabriel asked as they arrived at the Irkutsk private airstrip to board their jet.

Anatoly cracked his neck.  “I still feel like shit, just for different reasons.”

Gabriel opened the door and stepped out of the SUV under the large halogen lights shining down in the hangar.  The sound of men’s footsteps drowned out his voice slightly.  “We never really stop feeling like shit in this business, but if it’s shifted to different reasons, then that’s better than nothing.”  Hiking up the steel staircase with his men behind him, he pressed the phone closer to his ear.  “Alright.  Good talk.  Now, one favor before I go.”

“Yeah.  Sure.  What it is.”

Gabriel hesitated.  “Watch my wife while I’m gone.  She seems a bit off.”  As he ducked into the plane, he threw his backpack on one of the sofas and proceeded to back to take a quick nap before they landed in Omsk.

“You don’t have to ask me that,” Anatoly said, taking a deep breath.  Sharing his emotions was exhausting.  Now, he just wanted to move on and forget that he had ever purged.  “Watch your ass out there.  We’ll talk later.”  Hanging up the phone, he looked over at Renee and licked his lips.  “I need you to talk to Valeriya. Find out what’s going on with her.”

Renee frowned.  “What does Gabe think is wrong with her?” she asked sincerely.

Anatoly didn’t pretend to be a mind reader.  “He didn’t say. I didn’t ask.”  He walked over to her and bent to rub her stomach.  “Something is bothering her.  Ask her what it is.”

Renee shook her head. “You want me to spy, Ana?”  She grunted as she shifted in the rocking chair.  “The same thing is wrong with her that’s wrong with everyone here.  This place is driving us all crazy.  Being holed up here on top of each other is like throwing rats in a barrel and putting it over a fire.  Everyone is clawing and gnawing to get out.  It’s bringing out the worst in us.”

Anatoly ran a hand through his blonde buzzcut.  “Maybe you’re right.  But ask her anyway.”

“Fine, but if she asks me why I’m asking, I won’t lie. Being sneaky with my girls makes me uncomfortable.”

Anatoly kissed her lips.  “Do what you must, say what you must, just find out for me, da?”  He rose and rubbed her shoulder.  “I have to go back to the war room.  Send for me if you need anything.”

Renee kicked off her shoes and turned on the television.  “I just need to have this baby.  Can you help me do that?”

Anatoly looked over his shoulder and grinned as he walked to the door.  He had a few ideas to help her along.  “Maybe later.”

Silently, Gabriel had battled with what happened to Royal for years.  The scar on her neck haunted him.  The story of how she came to have it, even more so.  He often wondered if Royal harbored ill will toward him because of his father’s attack, though she never uttered a word.   And a few times, when he was alone with Royal, he had often been tempted to bring it up, try to make amends, however, something in him told him to let sleeping dogs lie.

Dmitry had shied away from the subject altogether – probably due to his own guilt and embarrassment.  That was one of the earmarks of being a Medlov – you knew the secrets, the worst of people, but you never talked about it.  It was normal to watch someone murder someone else hours before dinner just as a regular course of business, but you didn’t come home and discuss it like other people analyzed their day.  You never discussed it.  No matter what it was, no matter how bad it was, it was left behind, because a long memory in this family was an Achilles’ heel.  In order to move forward, you had to forget. Otherwise, you’d go down in flames.

As he looked out of the window of their SUV at the changing landscape of city streets of Omsk to mountainous terrain while one of the guards drove and Daniil played Angry Birds on his cell phone, Gabriel pondered Royal’s attack again by his father.  Years ago, when he was told about what happened, it had been hard to imagine, but now as a husband and a father, it curdled the food in his stomach.

If anyone ever did that to Valeriya, he was certain that he would kill everyone in that person’s family.  Revenge wouldn’t be enough.  Regret wouldn’t be enough.  Retribution wouldn’t be enough. Sometimes, the only thing a man could seek was redemption, and the only way he could get it was to move beyond himself to another plain, where his life and soul were no longer meaningful, just the act of reclaiming what was taken from those he loved.

Maybe that was what this was all about.  It was more than a turf war or a call-to-action after the attempt on Dmitry’s life.  His uncle had to find redemption -not for himself but everyone who depended on him and everything he had worked to build.  Only Dmitry couldn’t do it by himself, especially in his current state.  Gabriel knew that all too well.  The only way this family was to find its footing again was to do it together. The young men would have to fight the old wars of the older men, and someone would have to win only after someone died.

Today that someone was Oleg Rabinovich.

“Give me an ETA,” Gabriel said, pulling his eyes from the window.  He glanced toward the driver’s seat at the guard, who gave a quick glance in his rearview mirror.

“Fifteen minutes,” the guard answered, glancing at the monitor tracking their journey on a digital map. “Possibly 12, boss.”

It was time, then.  Gabriel texted his contact.  Where are you?

The reply was almost instantaneous.  Leaving in 30 minutes with the entire convoy.  The response had come from Nazir, Oleg’s most trusted guard. After serving his ward for nearly a decade, he was turning on his Czar over the love of a woman.  Priceless and yet, pathetic. Regardless of his opinion on the matter, he was grateful for finding someone so close to turning in Oleg’s camp, and in return, all Nazir wanted was an opportunity to start over and a few million dollars.  That wasn’t a hard task, as far as Gabriel was concerned.

Be ready, Gabriel texted back, anxious to get on with things.  The wait right before an attack was always the longest time on the clock.  He closed his flip phone and cut his eyes at Daniil, who sat right beside him.   This guy… “Looks like we finally get to see just how good you are.”

Daniil didn’t look up from his game, but a smile pulled at the corner of his thin lips.   “I make the best stew in Russia,” he boasted.

The fact that Daniil called it stew was somewhat disturbing.  “You don’t eat it, do you?” Gabriel asked curiously.

Daniil frowned as though the question was absurd.  “No.”  He finally stopped playing the game long enough to fish a mint out of his pocket and pop it in his mouth.  “I’m not a cannibal.  I’m an artist.”

“Whatever you say.”  Gabriel pulled at the top of his bulletproof vest where it scratched at the base of his throat and adjusted in his seat.  Daniil made him uncomfortable – not fearful but fretful.  Something about the man was not right.  He had a screw loose up there, but he didn’t seem to know it.    “Just make sure when you’re working on your stew, you keep it away from the main house.  I don’t want any of the women to know what you’re doing.”  Anya had already heard too much as a result of carelessness, Gabriel didn’t want to traumatize her to the point of insanity with what Uncle Dmitry had cooked up, so to speak, for his big reunion with Erik Popov.

With a blank look on his face, Daniil turned to Gabriel.  “You don’t have to worry about that.  I need peace and quiet when I work, and there is neither in the house with all you people.”  Daniil had his own opinions about the Medlov family – never in his life had he seen anything like them.

Gabriel had to chuckle.  “That’s saying a mouthful.”

“How do you handle that chaos all the time?  The women.  The children.  The bickering.”  Daniil took a deep breath like the idea of juggling so many things at once gave him heartburn.  “It’s enough to drive a man to drink.”

Gabriel corrected him.  “Not to drink, to kill,” he nodded.  “That’s how we handle it.”  With a wink, he picked up his M4A1 assault rifle and placed it over his lap.  “This isn’t a job.  It’s therapy, my man.”

“That it is.”  Daniil cracked a smile.  He liked Gabriel.  Out of all the Medlov men, he was the most laid back and relaxed of the small council, but there was something very sinister right below the surface of Gabriel’s cool exterior.  He was a hardened killer.  It took one to know one, and Daniil could see the wildness lurking, waiting, begging to get out.  “Maybe I show you sometime how to make stew of your own,” he offered, testing Gabriel’s resolve.

Gabriel rubbed a hand over the cold steel of his weapon in adoration.  “Everyone has a tool.  Mine is this baby.  I’ll leave the culinary arts to you.”

The fog was thick, making it hard to see even a few feet ahead.  Crickets chirped in the dewy grass and the moon, not yet released from its nightly obligation, shun down on the property with angry veracity. But where most would have been asleep, stealing those last few hours of rest before morning arrived, the Rabinovich family was scurrying under cover of darkness to a new, safer location.

In a processional guarded by armed men, they moved quickly out of the front doors of their ancestral mansion and rushed down the bricked stairs toward the vehicles awaiting them in the front driveway.

“Come, come,” Oleg grabbed his daughter and put her in the SUV.   His face was illuminated by the lanterns lining the drive.  An urgency in his face twisted it into a grimace.  “We have to go now.”

Arrangements had already been made to get his wife and daughter to safety, but with each passing hour, Oleg felt an impending doom drawing near.  Without confirmation, he had come to accept that Dmitry Medlov knew where he was and was coming for him.

“I left BoBo,” Tanya whined, sitting in her mother’s lap.  The light baby blue jacket she wore made her appear even chunkier than she was.  Reddened cheeks were flushed, having been woken from her sleep just a few minutes ago.  “Can we go back and get him?” she asked of her favorite stuffed animal.

“No, baby, you can’t,” Misha said, smoothing out her daughter’s tangled hair.  She’d have to brush it later, make her more presentable before they arrived at their final destination, but for now, she wasted no time.  Tanya still wore her pajamas and night slippers, while Misha dressed in a simple black shirt and jeans.

“But I want Bobo.”  Crossing her arms, Tanya threatened a terrible pout. Sticking her bottom lip out, she jutted her chin and whimpered.

“I’ll buy you another Bobo,” Oleg promised.  The guard closed the door for him while he put on his seat belt.  Fumbling with the buckle, he cursed under his breath.

“You can’t replace him.” Tears welled in the sides of the girl’s eyes.  “Why can’t we go back?  It won’t’ take me long.  I know exactly where he is.”  Tanya was used to getting her way and didn’t see why her parents seemed so frantic at the moment.

Misha knew Oleg was growing agitated. She could see it as his forehead wrinkled.  Trying to prevent him from snapping at Tanya, she lied to her daughter.  “We’ll have him sent ahead.  Bobo will be there when we arrive.  Promise.”  Her smile was deceptively warm, but her eyes were filled with the same worry that her husband felt.

“Where are we going?” Tanya asked, ignoring her parents' urging.  “Who is going to send BoBo to us?”

“Keep quiet!” Oleg snapped as the belt finally clicked shut. He turned to his daughter and warned with a pointed finger.   “No more talk about fucking Bobo.  Just sit there silently until we get to the airport.”  He never used that language with his daughter, although he often did with his wife.  She’d have to learn to adjust.  Bad behavior right now could not be tolerated.

Misha pulled her daughter closer to her protectively, hating Oleg at that moment for his harsh rebuke.  “She’s just scared, Oleg.”

“That means you too,” Oleg warned his wife.  Maybe Tanya wouldn’t be such a brat if Misha didn’t give in to her every whim.

Lowering her head, Misha wrapped her arms around her daughter and prayed after today she would be rid of her husband.  And this was why.  He was literally the most insensitive person she had ever met when he wanted to be.

Jumping in the front passenger seat, Nasir slammed the door. “Let’s go,” he said to the driver as he checked the side-view mirror.  There was a convoy of three SUVs behind them and two in the front.  Penetrating their defenses wouldn’t be an easy task.  He hoped Gabriel had a…

“What in the hell took you so long?” Oleg snapped.

“Sorry, boss.” Nasir lowered his voice. “I, uh... had to use the restroom.  No stopping on the way.”

Oleg shook his head, aggravated by his guard’s inability to control his faculties.  “How you can take a shit right now is beyond me.”

But Nasir hadn’t used the toilet; he had thrown up in it.  Betraying his ward was something he never imagined he would ever do, and the prospect of what was about to happen had his nerves in a bundle.  Last night, he had to find someone to blame for the cell phone breach.  The only man who was in charge of those duties had been a longtime friend and colleague, but in an effort to protect himself and Misha, he had blamed him, then killed him.  Now, at least that part of his trail was cold.  The sacrifice seemed to sate Oleg’s worry of a mole momentarily, but Nasir knew his ward’s defenses were up.  Any wrong move could tip him off.

“And another thing.  When we get to the airstrip, before my plane takes off, I want you to put a bullet in that fucking helicopter pilot’s head.”  Oleg pulled off his suit jacket.  “I pay him a fucking arm and leg to keep that chunk of metal ready to collect me, just for times like this.  Driving on a fucking road is suicide.  Now, the one time I need him, he says the fucking thing has broken down?”  He shook his head. “Well, you will see to it that never happens again.”

“Yes, boss.”  Wiping his mouth, Nasir kept his eyes ahead, afraid to make eye contact with Misha in fear that Oleg might get an idea of their plan, but he could feel her watching him.   As far as the pilot, there was no need to kill someone who was already dead.  The Medlov men had taken care of that as soon as they arrived in Omsk, but Oleg would never live long enough to find out.

As they pulled out to the road, Nasir checked his phone. “Do you want to get Renat on the phone now or once we arrive at the airport?” he asked, pretending to be handling tasks for his boss while he secretly texted Gabriel.  Leaving now.  Third vehicle carrying package and extra cargo.  Be careful.  He looked over his shoulder while putting the phone face down in his lap.

“Now,” Oleg answered gruffly.  His stomach gripped with pain, but he ignored his ulcer.  It was a short drive to the airport.  He could relieve himself there and take his medicine. Rubbing a hand over his abdomen, he checked his watch.  “Tell the one in the front to put his foot down on the accelerator and hurry the fuck up!  We’re moving as slow as snails.”

Nasir pulled his radio off his hip.  Pushing down on the receiver, he put the radio to his mouth and spoke.  “Pick up the speed,” he ordered.

I need to hear what’s going on in the vehicle.  Call me and leave your phone on where I can hear.  Gabriel had thought of everything. He had combed over the details a thousand times, trying to figure out any possible way he could extract all the Intel he could get out of Oleg before the attack.

Nasir used one phone to call Renat and his private phone to call Gabriel, but as he dialed the numbers, he had to make his hands stop shaking.  The driver was right beside him.  One glance over, and he’d be screwed.  Adjusting the vents so that the air would blow over his sweaty face, he made the call to Renat.

In the backseat, Oleg was still ranting.  “I can’t believe that lanky bastard has me out here running like a rat,” he seethed aloud.  “And my daughter too.”  He sucked his teeth and rested back in his seat.

Misha looked over at Oleg but didn’t say a word.  She had barely slept a wink the night before, daydreaming about what they would do as a family once Oleg was out of the picture and worrying about what would happen to her and her daughter if everything didn’t go as planned.

“Are her headphones on?” Oleg asked of his daughter.  He had turned away from Misha and Tanya to look out of the window, ashamed that they had to see him in this state.

Misha nodded then realized he could not see her.  “Yes.  She can’t hear a thing.”

Rubbing a hand over the black leather console, Oleg rested his head back and calmed his voice. “When you get to St. Petersburg, my men will take you to a safe place. You will not hear from me for a while, at least until I get a handle on things.”  He trailed his gaze over to her to find tears running down her eyes.  Was it possible that she genuinely cared for him?  He reached across and took her hand.  “Do not worry.  This won’t last forever.  Dmitry Medlov will be dead before the month’s end.”

Misha wanted to pull her hand away, but instead, she clenched the hand that she had held on to for most of the years of her adult life and nodded.  “Everything will be okay.  I know it.”

The softness of her blue eyes cradling large tears threatening to wet her pale cheeks and the pout of her soft pink mouth disarmed him.  Oleg was comforted by her words, unaware of their true meaning.  For a brief second, he felt guilty for how harshly he had treated her over the last few months.

“Boss,” Nasir said, looking down at Oleg and Nasir’s locked hands before quickly making eye contact with his ward.  “Renat is on the line for you.”  He reached between them and handed Oleg the phone, then turned around and made sure to keep his own cell phone in his lap where Gabriel could hear every word.

“Renat.” Oleg sat up slightly in his seat.  “We’re leaving now.  I’m setting up shop in Omsk for a few days to prepare.  What have you heard?”

Renat Sherkov clenched his cell phone as he sat in a high-backed chair in the study of a Moscow penthouse that he had commandeered from a business associate just the night before.  “I’ve heard nothing from Dmitry’s camp.  That is the problem.  But I did get a call from Peter Popov.”

“What did he say?” Oleg’s breath caught in his chest.

“He says that Erik has already sent men to you.  He did it right after he spoke with you last night.  He’s determined to protect our interests and us.  He apologized for…not sounding more concerned, but…” Renat pushed a breath out.  “It’s not that I don’t trust our dear friend and partner, but the truth of the matter is that I’m not sure that we’re not being fed a bunch of bullshit.  We have no way of knowing if Peter has sent anyone.”

“You don’t believe Peter?” Oleg asked, feeling his worries multiply.

“We set this strategy in motion – you and I, along with Lev.  We told Erik that Dmitry would come after him first, and we sent most of our men to fortify him, to prepare for the inevitable attack so that we would be ready to pounce.  Our strategy was flawed.  Dmitry moved into the darkness instead of coming out fighting as we assumed.  He had drained our resources, and it seems he has planned to attack us first.  I think Erik knows that now and plans to allow us to fend for ourselves.”  It was a painful reality, but one that Renat could not deny.  “I could be wrong.”  He rubbed his fingertips together and shrugged.  “But I doubt that I am.”

“So, we’re on our own?”  Oleg asked rhetorically.  He already knew the answer.

“We are,” Renat responded.  “I’ve relocated.  I’m still here in Moscow, but we plan to move every few nights to keep the scent off us.  I suggest you do the same.  Eventually, we will find out where Dmitry is hiding, and then we do ourselves a favor by attacking him there, but we shouldn’t move until then.”

Oleg didn’t know what else to do but assert his waning manhood.  “Oh, we’re going to find him.  And when we do, I’m going to dig his heart out with a spoon and use his daughter’s pretty little head to eat cornflakes out of her fucking skull.  I’m going to turn his wife into my personal toilet and his sons into my footstools.”

Misha looked over at her husband and turned a pale shade of white.  He was more of a monster than she thought.

“Our numbers will be more powerful together.  You should come to Moscow with me.  I have a feeling that Dmitry is holed up with his men for the same reason.  Simeon Kurdin has been out of sight for weeks.  No one knows where he is.  The same for Pushka.”

“What about Maksim?  Has he shown any signs of collusion with his former ally?  If so, we have every right to go after him.”  Oleg was hopeful that something was going their way.

Renat had been keeping an eye on Maksim as well, but he was up to business as usual.  “He’s been very public and very neutral.  It’s all business as usual.  The council will not approve of an attack on him unless he is found to be working with Dmitry.  So far, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Oleg scratched under his neck and pondered going to Moscow.  “If I were to come to Moscow, what would be the plan?”

“Send out the men.  Shake the trees. Disrupt everything Dmitry owns.  Go after his interests…together.  Eventually, he’ll have to show his face.”  Renat was more strategic than Oleg, possibly the most strategic of them all, but he understood as a result of his ability to strategize, the fragile situation they were faced with.  “If we are going to draw Dmitry out, we’ll have to put our resources together to do so.”

Oleg looked at his watch.  “I’ll be there in five hours.”  He reached inside his jacket and took out a pen and paper.  “Give me your address.”

“I’m not sure that’s smart.”  Renat knew of Oleg’s breach.  It was best to keep as much information about what was being planned between them only.

Oleg flipped open his small notepad. “This is between us.  No one will know.  But I’m not going to get to Moscow and go looking for you.  In the event something happens, I need a place.”

Renat sat quietly on the phone debating then decided to give Oleg the address.  They would be relocating again in two days anyway.

After Oleg took down the address, he placed the pen and pad back in the inner pocket of his jacket and hung up the phone.  “Change of plans, Nasir.  We are going to Moscow.”

“Yes, boss.  Do you want me to call it in?” he asked, picking up his radio.

“No. I’ll tell you where we’re going when we get there.  Tell only our closest men.  Leave everyone else behind until I notify them of where to meet me.”  This plan might work.  Even though Erik deserted them, they could find Dmitry themselves.  After that, no one would be able to save them.

Gabriel hung up the cell phone and crouched down on the side of the road in the thickets of high grass and cool earth under him.  With Nasir’s phone on long enough, they had been able to triangulate their exact location, and he knew that in less than five minutes, a convoy of SUVs would be traveling past them on the quiet stretch of two-way road that led from Oleg’s mountain retreat to the city.

He rechecked his scope, following two of their men as they pulled spikes across the road.  When they were done, they quickly retook their positions out of sight.

“Lights are approaching about a mile off,” one of the guards radioed into Gabriel.

“Copy that,” Gabriel answered.  Spitting out his gum, he angled his weapon.  “Third vehicle goes untouched.  A kid is inside.  Over.”

“Copy,” the guard replied.

Gabriel wasn’t really worried about the woman.  She wasn’t as innocent as she seemed, but he didn’t want innocent blood on his hands.   Yawning, he looked up at the moon, mossy green eyes sparkling under his gaze, and suddenly he felt energized.  “Best part of the job,” he uttered, hearing the sound of approaching vehicles breaking the silence in the distance.

“Oh yeah,” Daniil agreed from a few feet away, weapon trained on a fixed point in the distance.  “I’m not sure what’s better, setting the trap or the actual attack.”

“Definitely the attack.” Gabriel felt headlights brush over the tall blades of grass.

“Move, move!” a voice on the radio ordered.

As the six SUV’s moved into the ambush in a single-file line, Gabriel racked his weapon.  The first SUV hit the spikes and spun out sideways.  The large tires exploded, going flat instantly, as it veered off the road.  By then, Gabriel was unloading, putting bullet after bullet in the side of the vehicle, just below the window line to ensure bodily injury.  The sound of glass breaking and the engine humming was drowned out by the rapid gunfire.

“Pick them off quickly!” Gabriel ordered, rising from his position as he advanced carefully toward the disarmed vehicle with his weapon trained on his target.

The second SUV screeched its tires, leaving skid marks in the road, right before it ran directly into the first SUV.  The windows to the vehicle came down and the muzzle of handguns stuck out as the guards returned fire toward the few men on foot, they could see coming toward them, but Gabriel was ready.

“Give them a limonka,” he screamed into his earpiece as one of his men ran past the second SUV’s blindside and threw in an F1 grenade.  As the door opened, the explosive went off, and fragments of arms flew out on the ground.

Jumping up from their positions, some of the men went on an immediate attack, shooting up the second car and moving in on the men who tried to escape the first car.  Bullets whizzed through the air; muzzle fire exploded from powerful automatic weapons.

“Shit!  We’re being ambushed!” Nasir warned, pulling his weapon from his holster.  He looked back at Misha.  “Keep your head down.”

Misha grabbed her daughter and held her tight.  “What is happening?” she asked, genuinely surprised by the chaos surrounding her.  She had expected something, but not this.  The sound of booming weapons rattled her chest.

Oleg pulled his weapon out.  “Drive through them or put it in reverse,” he ordered the driver.

But the vehicles trailing behind were currently compromised.  The Medlov men were out of their foxholes, shooting the vehicles to bits.  The last vehicle in the convoy tried to reverse out of the attack but was met with side blast from an RPG-7 Daniil was carrying on his shoulder.  The explosion could be seen for miles.  Watching as the car exploded on impact, Daniil dropped the weapon and picked up his automatic weapon, finishing off one man who miraculously jumped from the SUV’s front driver’s seat on fire.

Oleg put his weapon to the back of the driver’s head.  “Go left, go right, go front, go back.  I don’t give a shit, but if you don’t move this vehicle right now, I’m going to blow your brains out.”

With his hand on the gear, the driver looked behind him to put the SUV in reverse, but as he did, a bullet shattered the glass and drove from the front of his head to the base of his neck.

“We can’t stay here, boss,” Nasir warned.  “We need to make a run for it.  They have us trapped.”

Oleg rolled down the window slightly and shot on the Medlov guards across the road.  “We stay here!” he ordered.

“But we’ll be sitting ducks,” Nasir warned.  “Our best…” he ducked as a bullet hit the motor of the car.  “Fuck!”  That was too close for comfort. He had to get Misha and Tanya out now.

Suddenly, the road became quiet. Just as quickly as the night had been interrupted, it was silent again.  Dead bodies laid out in the street, the vehicles behind Oleg and in front of him burned while Gabriel and his men circled him.

“Oleg Rabinovich,” Gabriel shouted.  “Get out.  We only want you, not the woman and child.”

Oleg gripped his weapon, wondering if he should make a last stand now.  Glancing over at Misha and his daughter, he took a deep breath.  “Stay here,” he told his wife.

“Alright.”  The back door flung open.  “Alright.”  Oleg stepped out, gun in his hand, dangling from his thumb.  With his hands up, he looked around at the small contingent of assassins around him.  He only recognized one.  The cocky Gabriel Medlov was standing up front, gun still pointed.

“Drop that piece of shit and kick it over to me!” Gabriel ordered.

“Don’t hurt my family,” Oleg pleaded.  “They have nothing to do with this.”  He dropped his weapon as ordered and kicked it across the road in front of one of his dead guards.

Nasir stepped out of the SUV, gun in hand, but also dangling from his right thumb.  With his hands up, he stepped toward Oleg.

“You!”  Gabriel said, pointing toward Nasir.  “Get the woman and the child and bring them out where I can see them.  Don’t try to be a hero, or you’ll join your dead comrades.”

Nasir looked over at Oleg, who only nodded for his guard to comply and then walked to the other side of the SUV to take Misha and Tanya out.  The door slammed, and small feet could be heard tiptoeing around the large vehicle.  Standing in front of the headlights with the woman and child, Nasir waited for Gabriel’s next order.

“Bring them to me,” Gabriel ordered.

Nasir’s eyes widened.  Why did he want them?  That wasn’t part of the agreement.  Shaking his head, no, he frowned.

“Here!” Gabriel pointed beside him.

Misha cried loudly.  Holding her daughter, she looked back at Nasir first and then over to Oleg.  Had she made a mistake?  Had they both been double-crossed.  “Please,” she begged, snot and tears covering her face.  Clutching her daughter tightly, she came to stand beside the tall, dark-haired man in tactical clothing.

“Whatever you want!” Oleg blurted out, afraid for his family. “I’ll give you whatever…”  Hands still up, he looked around him at the carnage.  It had happened so quickly that he barely had time to process the attack.

Gabriel knew the clock was ticking.  It wouldn’t be long before some local worker came putting down the road in his shitty little box of a vehicle, or one of the police officers who hadn’t been paid yesterday showed up to respond to the chaos.  Grabbing Misha roughly, he put the gun on her.  “You love her?”

Oleg swallowed hard and stuttered. “They don’t have anything to do with this.”

“I don’t care,” Gabriel said flatly.  “Do you love her?”

When Oleg stuttered again, Gabriel grabbed Tanya from Misha’s arms; only he didn’t put the gun on her.  This time Oleg quickly spoke up.  “Yes, I love them.”  He clasped his hands together. “Please.  Tell me what you want.  I’ll tell you, just let my daughter go.”

Nasir was frozen in place.  Daniil walked up to him and put a gun to the back of his head.  “Say a word, and I’ll kill you,” he told Nasir, cocking the gun.

“Where is Erik Popov?” Gabriel asked Oleg.

“He moved,” Oleg answered.

Gabriel put his hand on the trigger and looked down at the girl. “I won’t ask again.”

“I really don’t know.  We sent him away, but then he moved.  By then, we had already sent our men.  The only way we communicate with him is by phone. I’ll give you the number, but don’t hurt my daughter.”

“Where is Renat?” Gabriel asked.

“I have his address right here.”  He touched his jacket; as he did, Gabriel pointed the weapon back at him.  Oleg threw his hands back up and stepped back. “I have the address here. I just wrote it down!” he screamed.

“Check him,” Gabriel said to one of his guards.

The guard stalked over to Oleg and roughly opened his jacket to retrieve the notebook stashed inside of his inner pocket.  He took it back over to Gabriel and then got into position.

“Watch him,” Gabriel said, opening the notebook.  He flipped to the pages where he found the address Oleg had written down while he was on the phone.  Taking a picture of it, he sent the location over to Anatoly and Marat, then stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

“Walk,” he said, motioning toward the south side of the burning rubble and dead guards.  “Call it in.  We’re ready to move.”  In the distance, they could all hear the sound of a helicopter.    It approached quickly, more visible as it came barreling through the fog to land in the clearing just a hundred feet away.

“Stop here,” Gabriel told Oleg before they could walk off the gravel onto the soggy grass.  “I bet you think that ride is for you.”

Oleg turned around, expecting Gabriel to shoot him.  He took one last look at his daughter and wife.  “Whatever you are going to do to me, do it out of my daughter’s sight.”

“Of course,” Gabriel said, lowering the muzzle of his weapon momentarily.  “Your wife and daughter are going to be fine.  The helicopter is for them.”

Oleg saw Daniil out of the corner of his eye.  His gun was still pointed, but a smug smile was on his face.  He didn’t understand, but he appreciated the kindness.  “Thank you,” he said to Gabriel.

“Well, eating cornflakes out of your daughter’s skull or turning your wife into my personal toilet, really isn’t my thing.”  Gabriel’s smile became wider.  As it did, Oleg put the pieces together.  The only people who would have known about that conversation were the same people who were with him now, minus the driver who was already dead.

Oleg turned to Nasir, who had dropped his hands and moved closer to Misha.  “You son of a bitch!” Launching for his guard, he was quickly caught by Gabriel, who happily yanked him by his collar and put the cold muzzle of his Glock to the older man’s temple.

“Do you feel that?” Gabriel seethed, jerking Oleg.

“Yes!” Oleg answered.

“Good.”  Gabriel pulled Oleg away from his family.  “Nasir, happy trails.  Don’t spend all that money with your new wife in one place.  Spread it around a little.”

“Misha, you’ll never be safe!” Oleg screamed, spittle flying from his mouth.

His wife was smart.  She had placed the headphones back over her daughter’s ears and turned her away from Oleg.  Moving into Nasir’s arms, she shook her head.  “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to be free from you.  Whether it’s a day or the rest of my life, it’s worth it.”  The wind from the helicopter blew her blonde hair off her shoulders.

“Nasir!” Oleg screamed.

But his old guard had no parting words.  He escorted Misha and Tanya toward the helicopter without turning around to look at Oleg once.  The plan had worked.  They were free.

Gabriel enjoyed the moment more than anyone.  “I think he really loves her,” he said sarcastically to Oleg as their convoy of trucks pulled up to collect them.

“Shoot me.  I’m not afraid to die,” Oleg said, still standing in place.

Daniil walked up to him with a syringe, and the men pulled out a man’s sized box from the back of one of the SUVs.  “No one is afraid to die quickly.”

“Tell Dmitry Medlov to suck my dick!” Oleg growled.

“What a generous man you are,” Gabriel smiled.  “But I don’t think he’ll take you up on your offer. You aren’t his type.”  He watched Daniil shove a syringe into Oleg’s neck without warning.  The potent contents made him drop to the ground.  Standing over him, Gabriel gave him a parting gift.  “Don’t worry about all that dying shit just yet, chief.  My uncle wants to chat first.  And boy, does he have plans for you.”

Drifting into unconsciousness, Oleg dropped his hands from his neck.  A couple of guards came over and collected him from the mud, threw his limp body in the box and placed it in the back of the SUV, while Gabriel loaded up in the backseat with Daniil. What had only taken 14 minutes to complete felt like a lifetime.

“Two birds, one stone,” Gabriel said with a wink to Daniil as he pocketed Oleg’s notebook.

“Now, I get to make my stew,” Daniil answered, sitting back in his seat.

“You know, I almost found a way to forget about that.”  Gabriel rested his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.  Finally, he could get some sleep.

Chapter 28

Moscow, Russia

30 minutes later

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
― Winston Churchill

T hey had an insufferably tight window ahead of them with absolutely no room for mistakes.  As Peaches listened to her instructions over the secure line in her third-story hideout, she memorized every single detail of the impending hit, avoiding writing things on paper to prevent the potential leak of information.

According to the Intel at home base, it was time to move, not on the original target, but on Renat Sherkov directly.  Shit.  This was major- the kind of job given to someone with a Medlov surname – the sort of job to build a career upon.  Yet, it had landed squarely in her lap.

One had to wonder if there was a benefit attached to sleeping with the boss.  Though it was not the reason she had been given this opportunity, it was undoubtedly what others in the ranks would think, if she did not come through successfully for her lover and for herself.

The voice on the other side of the line was sullen.  “This is what you wanted, right?” Marat ended the details of the hit, trying to hide the flurry of emotions building inside of him and his need to ask her to pass on the assignment, though he knew she would not.

The Medlov Crime Family had men all over Russia capable of leading this assault – men who didn’t have the value she offered to his own existence.  He didn’t want it to be her to do the job.  But just like him, she was a soldier in the Medlov army, and just like him or even more so, she wanted a chance to prove herself.

“This is more than what I wanted,” Peaches answered, avoiding the desire within herself to make their conversation more personal.  She didn’t know who else was listening, didn’t want to lose focus or have Marat rattling around in her brain today.  “I’ll check in after.”

“Before,” Marat responded quickly.  He clenched his square jaw and lowered his eyes to the floor as he gripped the back of his neck. “Call me before and after.  We need to know the status.”  Turning his back to Anatoly, he lowered his voice.  “Be careful.  This isn’t like anything you’ve ever done before.”  Saying I love you would have been too much for the situation, but it was not nearly the words to describe his emotion.  He was mad for her, and that was the problem.

“I understand, and I will,” Peaches promised.  She tried to add a little levity for Marat’s sake.  “After this, no one can say the women didn’t put in work, huh?”  A chuckle escaped her, instead of the nervousness that hid just below her surface.

Marat didn’t see the bright side at the moment.  Maybe after she was home safe…maybe then he could joke about it, but for now...  “I’ll be awaiting your call.” Hanging up the phone, he shoved it into his pocket along with his deepest, darkest fears, remembering why for so many years he had avoided a girlfriend in the past.  He must have been crazy to allow her to do this, to put herself in harm’s way.  If she made it out alive…

“She’ll do fine,” Anatoly said, loading bullets into an empty magazine on the conference table.

A voice of reason drew Marat out of his temporary insanity.

Anatoly knew the relationship between Marat and Peaches was serious, and for that, he genuinely felt for his guard, but this was their business – a chosen profession, not an appointed one - and with it came the burden of worry when things became personal, which was why it was always a bad idea to allow things to get personal.

Marat turned back and exhaled a breath, resuming a stoic glare and tamping down his emotion.  “Of course, she will.”  Guilt and pride overwhelmed him in one mixed portion as he awkwardly walked back over to the table. Fucking women.  He picked up one of the empty magazines beside Anatoly and started to load it with bullets as well, feeling the need to keep his hands busy with something useful.  At that moment, however, he wished to be in Moscow beside her, making sure this was done the right way.

“Do you love her?” Anatoly asked.  It was a question he could no longer avoid.  As Marat’s boss, he had to know for the sake of the mission and their future jobs. As a friend, he cared to know.

To that question, Vasily looked up, eavesdropping on the conversation only because of the quietness in the room as all the men worked on their various tasks.

Marat ran his thumb over the brass casing of the bullet as he pushed it down in the clip. “If I did love her,” he asked, not bothering to look up to meet Anatoly’s pensive glare, “would that make me foolish?”

Anatoly had experienced his fair share of foolish over the years.  Dating a maid in his employ, then passing her along to his cousin, Gabriel, was foolish.  Screwing an undercover cop in his pool and recording it for the world to see to get her thrown off the case was world-class foolish.  Dating a psychotic nanny, who had a thing for his father, and then tossing her off to work for the family vineyard, knowing she would possibly turn on the family, was universally foolish.  But love…

“No,” Anatoly said confidently.  He cleared his throat and continued with a fraternal air only shared with men who were his equal.  “Loving her is not foolish.  It’s just dangerous.  As long as she’s out there doing the same thing that you do, you’ll always be vulnerable.”  He winced as though giving the much-needed advice was painful.  “That’s not a good position for a man like you.”

Marat stopped working for a second – stewing in his own awareness.  Nothing that Anatoly was saying to him was a surprise. He had thought about it often, especially since their arrival to Siberia, but even with all his knowledge, he was still at this disadvantage.  “I know you don’t pay me to be vulnerable, boss.”

Anatoly stopped him with the ice-blue prisms of his glance.  “That’s not what I mean, brat.”  How could he say this without sounding like a hypocrite?  Raking a hand over his bearded chin, he tried to explain.  “You’re correct. You are under the employ of this organization, but you’re also family.”

Marat inhaled a grateful breath for Anatoly’s words but didn’t allow himself to get too sentimental by his ward’s kindness. Surely if Anatoly were saying something so heartfelt in one breath, something heartbreaking would follow in the next.  It was just his way. He braced for the downside of the conversation, eyes flitting around the room.

Anatoly placed the finished clip down on the table and picked up another empty one, glimpsing at his wedding band as he spoke.  With a wide stance in his dark denim jeans and brown boots, broad back dressed in a gray Henley shirt under a black leather holster, he found himself chatting about relationships like a woman instead of a mob boss.  How the roles had changed over the years.   “We don’t expect you to give up your life completely.  It’s a matter of focus.  You meet a girl, not necessarily in the business, you bring her into the fold, things work out better.  Tem ne menee, you fall in love with a soldier, something happens out there, and eventually, it will…” he paused, “it will complicate your judgment forever.  You’ll start to second-guess yourself.  You’ll start to second-guess your men.”  Did Marat see where he was going with this or was he just spinning his damn wheels?  Anatoly’s wing-like, blonde lashes flapped as he pictured a gruesome death for Peaches and what that would do to his friend.

“So, you think she’s a bad choice?” Marat asked.

Anatoly shrugged.  It was ultimately Marat’s decision, but he was trying to head him off from a very depressing future.

Vasily interrupted before Anatoly found a way to eloquently put his foot in his mouth.  “Marat, if I may say something?”  Walking over to the table to prevent airing their business any further with the other guards in the room who would surely gossip later, he offered Marat a different perspective.  “You’ll never just be a soldier again.  I was in your place once. And just like me, you keep climbing the latter.  People are putting more stock in you.  The old man has come to trust you.  Eventually, you will move higher, and where will her place with you be then?  If she is to report up to you, can she stand beside you at the same time?”

Marat was sure that she could not.  It was impossible.  All he did know was that he loved her.  Her strength. Her beauty.  Her courage.  Her spirit.  Still, there was a pull, not toward Peaches, but away from everything that made her perfect.  They were moving in opposite directions regarding their careers but headed the same place as far as their emotions.  It was a catch-22.

“I can’t win,” Marat said aloud.

“Who can?” Anatoly asked.

“These women,” Marat shook his head in utter dismay.  “They are as hungry as we are.  I’ve never seen anything like it. Most mafia wives and girlfriends just want to be pampered and protected.  Why could we not get a few of those?  The kind who wants to shop and play in their hair all day, make babies and throw parties without plotting strategy in the backrooms and coordinating hits on sex traffickers in between pedicure appointments.”

Anatoly laughed at that.  Once, even Renee was a soft creature.  But now, she was sharp as diamonds around the edges, determined to leave her mark on the world.  Power had changed her.  “These are GI Joe fucking Barbie dolls we’ve got.  Full-on action figures complete with evening gowns and automatic rifles.”

Vasily’s hearty laugh was most definitely genuine.  “Batteries not included.  It seems like the more we try to keep them from the life, the more they want in.”  Even Lilly, of late, had expressed a desire to have an active role in the family, something that had surprised him greatly when she first brought it to his attention.  When they first got together, all she wanted was a normal existence. Now, she wanted complete domination of the world.

“The difference between our wives and your girlfriend is not a matter of a name change,” Anatoly explained, stressing that his conversation was not to encourage him to marry her.  “It’s the fact that she’s a soldier.  Her place is outside of the walls.  She serves the family.  She serves the Vory v Zakone.”

“Serves us well,” Vasily admitted. Not many men had been able to best her.

Anatoly agreed in a conciliatory nod.  “She serves us very well, or we would not have chosen her to do this job.  But the question you should ask yourself is this, if you ask her to come inside of the walls – to no longer serve, will she choose you or the work?”

There was no doubt of the answer to his ward’s question.  Marat might have been in love with Peaches, but he was not blind. “She wants what I want,” Marat said seriously. He sucked his teeth, thinking of the countless conversations they had held in the middle of the night, wrapped in each other’s embrace.  All Peaches ever spoke about was getting ahead. “She wants to be a captain in her own right.”

“A decade ago, in this brotherhood that would have been laughable,” Vasily said, picking up an empty magazine. He might as well help ready the stockpile while they talked.  “But now, with their little women’s council and their power, it’s not unthinkable.”

Anatoly thought of his baby sister.  Anya was headstrong and demanded respect even as a child.  To think of her as a woman was almost frightening.  “It wouldn’t surprise me if Anya was the first woman to head the International Council.”

Vasily bucked his eyes and slowed his jovial laugh.  “You think the old man would allow that?” It seemed a far reach to him, especially considering Dmitry’s overly protective way.

“I don’t think she’s going to give him much choice.”  Anatoly had a second thought, one more germane to their current situation.  “We want to protect them and keep them safe,” he said, thinking of his sister, Anastaysia, “but it is possible that the only way to do that is to move out of their way and let them make their own decisions.”

Marat realized at that moment, the conversation had moved from him to the other members of the family, which made him feel slightly better.  Being the center of attention was not his style.  “I need to do my rounds.”  Finishing the magazine clip, he tossed it in a pile.  “I’ll be back before Peaches, and her team is ready.”

Anatoly nodded but had drifted off into thought.  “We’ll be here.  There is a shitload more of these things to finish.”  Scanning over the boxes of bullets and clips lining the table, he grappled with the nagging thoughts of his headstrong sisters in silence.

Vasily pulled out a seat and settled into work with him while Marat exited the room.  “He’ll make the right decision,” he said of Marat.  “I’ve watched him for years.  He’s incapable of putting himself first.”

“Da, da.  I know.  Let’s just hope he comes to that much-needed decision on his own instead of after someone puts a bullet in his girlfriend’s head,” Anatoly said with concern.  “If it comes to that, we’ll have another war on our hands.”

Downtown Moscow, Russia

Krasnogvardeyskey Area

The Petrov Penthouse

Renat Sherkov might have been a legacy in the royal mafia structure, who had come to greatness as a result of his father’s work, but he was no coward, unlike some of his counterparts.

Every move he had made against Dmitry had been about business, nothing personal.

The hypothetical arrangement of removing Dmitry from the council by force had been discussed several times over the years between himself, Oleg, Lev, and Erik.  They all felt Dmitry Medlov had too much favor with the old heads on the council and too much money to be controlled, but up until Dmitry killed Erik’s brother – an unforgivable sin among the Vory, he had been untouchable.

And still, even in that action, the council had not turned on Dmitry fully as they all first had expected.  Instead, the council had allowed an all-out war, because instead of reporting Dmitry for his crimes as Erik should have, he put out a botched hit on the most powerful crime boss in the world.  A moronic play, yes.  But not one Renat had any intention of replicating.

Going against Dmitry had been a risky bet, but not one without a significant payoff, if it happened successfully.  Upon Dmitry’s death, the four of them (Renat, Oleg Lev, and Erik) would be able to enjoy the spoils of this messy war, which meant inheriting Dmitry’s entire underworld fortune along with that of Simeon Kurdin and Maksim Pushka.

The total number was in the hundreds of billions of dollars – a considerable purse.

Plus, they alone would have complete control over the council and the appointment of the empty seats.   That kind of revenue stream and absolute power would propel the remaining families into a new era.

Renat wanted the arms trafficking portion of Dmitry’s empire for himself.  He had dabbled under the radar in the selling of a few nuclear arms over the last couple of years and had managed to make a killing.  If appetite came with eating, as the old Russian proverb said, then that little taste of easy money had made him ravenous.

His main revenue stream was still prostitution, which was legal in Moscow, but it was a fickle business that demanded the constant payoff of local government officials, the payment of security details, and upkeep of his high-demand inventory.

However, if he could move from human assets being his primary revenue stream into arms trafficking, and if he had no true competition and no oversight, he could become invincible.  For that, he was willing to put it all on the line.

When Dmitry came to the council meeting just over a month ago, still bleeding and beaten from his attack, Renat had hope of their success.

Like his cohorts, he assumed that Dmitry would lash out immediately in an attempt to protect his name and honor.

That had not happened.

They assumed he would be trackable, at least by some of the soldiers on the ground whom they had paid to turn on Dmitry, but that was impossible because Dmitry went to ground, communicating with no one.

They had assumed Dmitry would attack Erik first, but it seemed his main enemy was the only one who had gone untouched – a strategy that was mostly used by the Japanese mobsters, not Russians.

In essence, their strategy had failed, which had been a deafening blow to their egos.

Erik Popov was left smelling like a rose with all their collective resources pulled together to keep him safe, while Renat and the other allies were left to fend for themselves.

So, now, the strategy for Renat had to change again.

Upon Oleg’s arrival, they would go to ground as Dmitry had done, and use Lev as their eyes and ears in the world since he was still technically neutral.  Together, they would turn on Erik, if they must, once they had what they needed, regain their resources and attack Dmitry head-on, instead of waiting to be picked off individually.

All they had to do was get a location on Dmitry, which Erik promised was coming.

However, in the event, all of that didn’t happen as planned, and Renat did find himself at Dmitry’s mercy, he had another plan.  It was in the form of a little tracker that he kept on his person at all times.

Dmitry might have been a monster, but he was not completely unpredictable.  There was no way he would capture them and resist the opportunity to interrogate them for more information or extort them for their private earnings.  The butcher pretended to be an animal, but he was, at his base, a businessman.

Renat was betting most on that one fact.

“The building is secure,” Renat’s head guard, Boroda, said, walking into the large den overlooking the skyline of downtown Moscow.  He pushed a tray of food in front of him.  Being reduced to a high-priced butler was a bit embarrassing for a man of his skill set, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Boroda closed the door behind him and moved past the guard standing post by the entranceway.

The silver service rattled as he pushed it across the black marble floors. “We already have men waiting at the private airstrip for Oleg and his people.”

“Good. Now, if only time would just move a little faster.”  Renat cracked his knuckles and uncrossed his legs.  Sitting up in his high back chair, he glanced up as Boroda took the food from the tray and placed it on a table in front of him.

Boroda continued with the rundown.  “We will move locations one hour after Oleg’s arrival at our brothel in Begovoy.”

“Why, one hour?” Renat asked.

“That’s the turnaround for sweeping the area one last time to make sure I’m not moving you into a trap,” Boroda answered.

He glanced at the meal. It was barely time for breakfast, but unable to deny his fate as a creature of comfort, Renat had already sent across town to one of his favorite chefs to prepare a meal of moose lip dumplings, smoked eel, horseradish, and honey cake.

“The chef sends his regards,” Boroda said with a disgruntled glare, worrying it was a last supper of sorts.  He only wished his boss shared the same level of concern.

Rubbing his fingertips together, Renat felt giddy as the top was removed from the plate.  “In a time of chaos, a man can choose to cower or prepare boldly,” Renat said, pulling the small single-serving table to cover his lap.  “I choose anything bold.”  A moment of civility flashed over him. “Did you have something prepared for yourself?”  Boroda, after all, was his most trusted guard and friend.  He prided himself on sharing the opulence of his lifestyle with him, having no one else in the world to do so with.

“A small plate for later in the day,” Boroda answered, though he was much less enthusiastic about a tasting-menu breakfast than his boss.  Lately, the luster of fine food and loose women was lost on him.  It all wreaked of stale defeat, leaving a bad taste in his mouth and even worse indigestion.

“You shouldn’t sulk. It’s bad form,” Renat warned his friend.  Picking up his 24-carat-gold flatware, he cut into the dumplings.  “Don’t let anyone ever deprive you of your appetite.  Remember that, Boroda.”

“I will try, boss,” the guard answered with a sardonic smile.  Was his ward trying to keep up appearances for the men’s morale, or had he completely lost his mind?  What they needed to be doing at the moment was fleeing Moscow, not eating a fucking moose.

“I know what you are thinking in that steel trap of yours,” Renat said, smacking.  He pointed his fork at Boroda.  “You think this has taken a bad turn, but it’s only a minor glitch.  This is what you must tell the men when they ask you.”  Sucking the horseradish from his thumb, he picked up the Russian Standard vodka and took a swig straight from the bottle.

“I have already told them in so many words,” Boroda lied.  He turned from his boss.  “They understand our movements and the necessity for a more confined location.  What they are looking for now is a chance to act.  We all are.”

In truth, the trepidation that was sweeping through the ranks of the Sherkov Crime Family had to be addressed and sated as rumors stirred of Dmitry Medlov’s looming attack, but Boroda had not been able to handle that in-between coordinating runs to the chef and moving from one location to the next in the middle of the night.  Were they mobsters or refugees?   He could barely tell anymore.

“Once Oleg is here in Moscow, in front of my face, we will hold a meeting with Lev.  This entire charade has gone on long enough.  It’s nearly time to strike, but remember, do not draw your bow until your arrow is fixed.”  With that, Renat returned to his food.

Listening to Renat enjoy his succulent meal, Boroda strode over to the bullet-resistant, panoramic windows and looked across the muggy skyline.  He needed a damn drink.  The streetlights were starting to flicker off below, giving way to a sluggish morning sky and with it an eerily ominous day, yet he hadn’t been able to get any rest for the last two days.

Grabbing his right arm, he massaged it roughly, kneading the muscle damaged 23 months ago by a hollow-point bullet meant for his ward.  It had been his honor to protect his boss, and it still was now, but he would have preferred to do it on his own terms.  Covering every scenario in a continually changing environment was impossible. They needed to get somewhere stable.

“Should I send you some pussy?” Renat asked, thinking that might be what he needed to take the edge off.  Women had a way of making a man forget just how fucked up his situation was.  “I know how you like Asian girls.”

“No,” Boroda answered.  Looking over his shoulder, he softened his tone.  “Thank you, though, boss.” It was a nice enough gesture, but nothing would help him feel better until he got out of this place.

“Suit yourself.  I’m sending over for some of my own for lunch.  I feel like twins today.”   The quip was supposed to cause a laugh, but his guard’s mind was in the deep recesses of planning.

“Can we trust Oleg now?” Boroda asked, dropping his hands to his sides first and then slipping his tattooed hands into his pockets.  “He might be compromised.”

Renat stared at the back of his guard’s broad mountainous build and saw the worry in his stance.  They had been together for years, and in that time, the boundaries of ward and guard had muddied into something of a caregiver friendship.  Because of that, Renat was willing to share his thought process with Boroda more than others in his employ. Besides, who else could he talk to?  He didn’t have a wife or children like other men on the council.  Instead, he preferred the old ways, and times like this proved why.

“Oleg is my oldest and truest friend.  He might not be a warrior type, but he’s no snake in the grass.  He can be trusted.”  After all, they both had more to lose than to gain by turning on each other.

Boroda wasn’t so sure.  He had seen many people change alliances when they were faced with the wrath of Dmitry Medlov.  The man was a legend in the brotherhood, known for his callous and often over-the-top responses to the slightest infractions.  “I think we should move you now, and we can collect Oleg later.”

Renat blew out a breath at Boroda’s insistence but was unperturbed.  “What’s the point?  If Oleg is going to be with me, he’s going to be with me.  If he’s going to turn, he’ll do that also.  Moving won’t matter.”  He had never been a man who added inches to his own cock, and he was not about to start now.  “What will be, will be, Boroda.  Our alliances are set in stone, in the very blood of this brotherhood. There is nowhere to run.  There is nothing left to do until we get a fix on Dmitry Medlov except wait on Oleg to arrive so that we can put our heads together.”

Boroda worried that the blind faith Renat put in Oleg was misplaced.  All the warning signs were flickering red inside of his head, but he dared not question his ward or his final decision.  It would only make things worse.  “Very well.”  He turned around, standing just over six feet tall in his black suit, white dress shirt, gun holster, and a buzz cut.  He glanced over at his ward, a man just over fifty with a small frame, red curly hair peppered with strands of gray and felt completely vulnerable for them both.   “You will let me know if you change your mind on this.  We can have you out of the city by afternoon and somewhere safe up in the mountains.”

“Moscow is as safe as it will get,” Renat answered gruffly.  “If Dmitry comes, this is the best place for me to be.”  He had a certain assurance that running to remote locations would only be good for protection for a while, then the surroundings would turn on him, especially with a cold winter expected in a few months.  At least with an urban terrain, he would have options. “Let the man come if he must.  We’ll settle up when he arrives.”

Boroda tensed at the thought.   It felt as though Renat was tempting the fates with his statement.  “Any man who comes to collect you will have to go through me first,” he promised.

There would not be a man coming to collect Renat’s head, per se, but there would be a Medlov soldier, nonetheless.   Methodically, Peaches slipped on the final parts of her body armor as she stood in front of a tall, broken mirror leaned against the wall in the corner of her shabby bedroom in one of Dmitry’s safe houses not far from Kopotnya.

Mentally, she went down her checklist.  Vaseline on the cheeks. Extra mags in her pockets.  Black tactical cargo pants complete with a knife wrap for her seven-inch blade on her left leg and a leg wrap for her secondary M&P 380 Smith & Wesson on her right thigh, a Coolmax black bulletproof vest under her black GORE-TEX jacket atop a sports bra and tank top. Earpiece.  Radio.  Work backpack with special gear for the big show.  Syringe with cyanide just in case.  And under all of that, a supermax pad attached to her boy shorts, in the event, she pissed herself.  Hey, worse things had happened when putting her life on the line.  She’d acquired that trick only after learning about degrees of fear the hard way.

Putting in her earpiece, she kissed her cross necklace and tucked it inside of her shirt, praying for a complete success.  She might have been a murdering bitch, but she still had a soul somewhere deep inside.  Times like this only magnified her mortality more, but the questions of life beyond or the untimely push to the thereafter didn’t deter her from her goal.

For years, she had wanted this assignment, maybe not to kill Renat, but to be assigned to a real high-value target.  Now, due to the unfortunate situation, the Medlov family had been thrust into, she had finally gotten a chance to lead her own team.  No one else to call the shots or second-guess her strategy.  Just a 19-man team, plus herself, ready to carry out the job.  Damn, that felt good.

At first, when Marat assigned her such a large contingent of soldiers upon arriving in Moscow, she thought it to be overkill – a direct reflection of his distrust for her skills.  But now, with the assignment to go after Renat, she wasn’t sure if she had enough.

Those petty concerns from before were moot now.  All the king’s men were just outside her door, waiting on her word to move out.  It was time to see if she was as good as she purported to be.

“You can do this,” she said to her reflection.  Hearing the words move from her mouth to her ears fueled her with determination.  “You have to do this.”

Even though she had never had such a big job before, she did have a significant advantage.

No one ever saw her coming.  She wasn’t tatted up like Marat, gigantic like Gabriel, brooding like Anatoly, forceful like Valeriya or enigmatically beautiful like Royal.  She wasn’t larger than life like Dmitry or mountainous like Vasily.  Peaches was young, in her early twenties, slim in frame with blonde-tinted box braids pulled up in a perfect bun.  Nothing was striking about her.  In a crowd, she simply blended, which was why, even in Moscow, her presence had not stirred the smallest attention.  Most people thought she was still a teenager until she opened her mouth and revealed that she was wise beyond her years, or maybe it was her raspy, deep sultry voice that gave away her real age.

Without shoes, she stood nearly six feet tall with a medium brown complexion of skin riddled with scars in the most unlikely places – trophies from years of fighting.  Her face showed her Ethiopian roots of high cheekbones, warm brown eyes, a thick bottom lip, and a naughty grin.  She wasn’t voluptuous like the Medlov women, who had given birth to their fair share of children.  Instead, she was thin with small perky breasts, a tiny waist, and full hips.

She wasn’t a runway model, didn’t like fancy clothes, hated the adornments of the rich, but she was good at killing.  It was an art for her, and the brushes for her masterpiece were tucked away in their holsters.

When she first started with the Medlov Women’s Council over a year ago, she had been assigned low-grade targets like pimps and pushers.  After the Magic City incident with Anatoly, she had proven herself valuable for more aggressive operations, and now, she was finally where she wanted to be – in the big leagues.

Looking at herself in this mirror, fully dressed and ready to go, she knew that this was what she was meant to do in life.  No babies.  No husband.  Just this.  And that was why she had to push Marat out of her mind.

Walking to the bedroom door, she yanked it open with authority to find the second-in-charge on her team, Karp, waiting.  His brilliant, hazelnut-colored eyes were filled with unspoken words, words he would never utter in her presence.  They had been working together for a few weeks, had shared a few private conversations, maybe shared a few glances, but the broad, attractive blonde with his enigmatic charm and suckable lips was her subordinate, nothing more, and her heart still belonged to Marat.

Karp swept a glance over her small frame and stepped back, dropping his eyes from hers to the floor as a sign of respect. If Dmitry Medlov had sent this little girl to handle Renat Sherkov, she must have been far deadlier than she appeared, so he dared not test her or put himself in an unwinnable situation.  Sure, he was attracted to her, but she was off-limits.  Word through the ranks was that her ass belonged to Marat, while her gun belonged to Dmitry.  Untouchable.

“We’re ready when you are, boss,” he said, moving out of her way.  He could smell the faint fragrance of her jasmine soap from an early morning shower and the coconut oil in her braids.  Inhaling a breath of her unique scent made him hungry to taste her.

“I’m ready,” Peach

es said, breezing past him while repressing a wicked grin.  Her small voice boomed through the tight space.  “Everyone load up!”

As she walked past the processional of Russian men brandishing a military-grade weapon and waiting in the hallway, she felt butterflies erupt in her stomach.  They all were looking to her, and today, she would not disappoint them. She would, however, prove that the Medlov men had chosen wisely in allowing her to lead, and in the wake of this war, she would make a name for herself.

“You heard the lady,” Karp yelled, holding his weapon in front of him as he followed closely behind her.  Best not to look at her tight little ass molded perfectly in her black tactical pants.  Someone might see.  His eyes shot up to the back of her head.  “Load up!” he said into his encrypted radio to the other team members waiting on the ground floor.

Peaches could not describe the pure exhilarating excitement racing through her at that moment.  Either she was marching with a team toward her death or bringing death upon its intended target.  No matter the end result, this was going down as one of the best days of her entire life.

The element of surprise was a very delicate method of stealth.  Once it was lost, all hell usually broke out, with one side paying the ultimate price.  Men of this underworld did not care for surprises ever and went through great precautions and exercised extreme vigilance to prevent it.  Surprise caused distrust throughout the ranks.  Surprise indicated a level of ineptitude in the leadership.  Surprise, the most basic sense, meant one didn’t necessarily have their shit together. It had been explained to her that surprise translated into failure and tarnished the prestige and veracity of any organization – hence the Medlovs’ signature use of the age-old tactic.  Catch the bastards by surprise, and the rest would fall into place.

Peaches understood that the window she was given was for the sole purpose of catching Renat off-guard before he could adequately prepare for her arrival, and it was the only way she would be able to win because if he saw her coming even a second before she intended, he would kill her dead.

Her explicit orders from the home base were to kill everyone in Renat’s camp except him.  Conversely, he was to be brought back to the compound alive and unmolested for questioning.  But before she got to the killing part of her morning, she had to get through all of his security protocols.  That alone would be taxing.

Exactly thirty-seven minutes from her hideout, Renat Sherkov was holed up in a penthouse on the top floor of a newly renovated high-rise.  The building housed a range of high-priced hookers, pimps, cons, and showgirls, who all reported to a middle-weight mobster named Petrov, but ultimately belonged to Renat.  All the other tenants were either purveyors of the criminal enterprise of bureaucrats in it.

Anatoly had deemed everyone in the building fair game but had expressed a desire to avoid any entanglements that didn’t directly connect to the primary target.  “Kill accordingly,” he had said.

According to Marat, the biggest obstacle she had outside of Renat, who was a skilled boxer and gunslinger in his own right, was his second-in-charge, Boroda.  The man had been shot several times over the years, tortured a few times more and once thrown from a fucking building, but after all of that, he was still kicking.  Marat had warned Peaches, “Be careful of him.  Kill him quick if you can. But no matter what you do, do not go hand-to-hand with Boroda.”

Peaches was 142 pounds soaking wet.  Boroda was 247 pounds butt naked.  It didn’t take a genius to understand the possible outcome of her situation if she were faced to force him outright.  So, if she could, she would avoid having to face Boroda alone, but if he was the only thing between her and her objective, she’d rather get her ass kicked then come back empty-handed.

Picking up the phone as her small convoy raced through the streets of Moscow, past the morning grind crowd headed to their jobs, Peaches dialed Marat when they were only five minutes out from their destination to check in before, as he instructed.

“Yes,” Marat answered.

“Ten minutes,” Peaches said, gripping the cell phone as she looked out of her passenger side window at a group of women standing outside of Starbucks laughing and talking to each other, seemingly without a care in the world.

Marat looked at his watch.  “Exactly ten minutes?” He needed clarification.

“Yes,” she said quickly.  Please don’t doubt me now, she pleaded inwardly with Marat.

“We’ll be ready on our end.  No matter what, don’t be late on yours.  We only have a forty-minute window with the local cops.  After that, they have to move in, whether you are still there or not.”  Hanging up the phone, Marat tapped the shoulder of the guard working on the computer.  “Call it into our contact at the power company.  ETA ten minutes.”

After putting away her phone, Peaches looked over at Karp after phone and nodded.

“Are we still good?” he asked.

“Put your foot on the gas.  We can’t be late.”

Boroda was like a cat on a hot tin roof.  Standing made him uncomfortable, sitting made him restless.  Pacing back and forth in the small well-lit stainless-steel kitchen of the penthouse, he kept going back to the island, where the camera monitor was located, to check every angle of the building.

The guards had become anxious as well with him calling down every few minutes to check-in, but he didn’t care about their anxiety, only the safety of his ward.

Something was about to happen.  Something bad.  Something unexpected and uncontrollable. It was in the air, choking out all sanity.  Mayhem.  He could feel it down in his balls like the strain of an angry ejaculation.  Nothing strange or out of sorts had happened to lead him to this very paranoid conclusion, but still, for him, all the signs were there.

Pulling off his suit jacket, Boroda threw his clothes over the side of the island bar and leaned against the counter.  Pulling at the neck of his dress shirt, he sucked in a breath and grimaced.

“Come on, you, bastards.  Show your fucking face to Boroda,” he said aloud to the monitor as one of the guards walked past the doorway.  Instantly, his head snapped up, eyes burning through the man’s face, before trailing his gaze back down at the monitor.  “Did you finish your rounds?” he asked the young guard.

The guard tracked back to the door.  “Yes, boss.”  Resting his hand over the automatic weapon, he stood straighter as Boroda gave him a sweeping glance.

“Good.  Do it again, now,” Boroda ordered. “And when you’ve completed it that time, do it again and then…do it again.  That’s the only reason that you’re here.  To protect your boss.” He hit the counter with a balled-up fist and glanced up at the man as though he would kill him for no reason. “Do you get my point, boy?”

“Yes, boss.”  The man nodded and quickly disappeared.

Turning back around, Boroda sucked his teeth.  “It’s the only reason that we’re here.”

Chapter 29

Siberia, Russia

Five Minutes before Showtime

“The first method for estimating the intelligence of a ruler is to look at the men he has around him.”

― Machiavelli

K nock. Knock.  Knock.  She didn’t know why she felt the need to announce herself to her own husband in her own bedroom, but she did.  Opening the door slowly, she peeked inside.

“Baby, are you up?”  her voice was soft and demure.

Royal expected as she walked into their bedroom to find Dmitry as frazzled like the hours before when he passed out on the table of the war room and had to be carried by seven men to their sleeping quarters, but instead, she found a showered, fully-dressed, well-composed mob boss sitting at his desk.

Hearing her voice, Dmitry turned slightly from his written notes and glanced over at her.

“Come in,” he said, urging with a wave.

Royal closed the door behind her and leaned against it.  Wasn’t he a sight for sore eyes?  “Wow, I wasn’t expecting to find you up already.”  She bit her lip, trying to decide just what the hell was happening before her.

Dmitry smiled warmly.  “I’ve got work to do.  A quick nap got me on the right track.”  In the past, he had never needed more than eight hours a night to sleep, but in situations like this, he barely needed four.

However, Royal wasn’t so sure that Dmitry was as re-energized as he claimed.

She pushed off the door and walked over to him.  “Baby, we need to talk about earlier.”  Striding over to stand at his back, she placed her hands on his wide shoulders. As she did, she noticed the bottle of pain pills in the garbage can.  It was a step in the right direction.  “You got rid of your medicine?”

Dmitry followed her gaze and picked up his pen to continue writing.  “I think it’s safe to say that we don’t need those little devils anymore.”

Royal was relieved in some ways.  Massaging his neck, she exhaled a breath.  “How are you, really?”  It was apparent by his outburst that the emotional pain he was experiencing far outweighed the physical burden of his wounds.

“I’m better.”  His answer was short – a prelude to beginning to forget that embarrassing episode downstairs had ever happened.  Raising a brow as he averted his eyes to the ceiling, he recalled something and then started to write again.

“You might be better, but I’m worried.  I’ve never seen you so…vulnerable.”  She swallowed hard.  A hand moved from his neck up to the heavy curls in his blonde hair.  “Tell me what you need me to do to help.”

“We’ll get to that in a moment.”  Dmitry twisted around his chair and grabbed her soft hand.  Pulling her to his lap, he made her sit down.  With a huff, he leaned in and kissed her pouty, bare lips.  “I’m truly sorry that I scared you.  It was definitely out of character, but you don’t have to worry about that anymore.  No more pain pills.  I can manage without them.  And no more alcohol.  It dulls my senses.”  He had never been a man who depended on artificial stimulation to take the edge off, and this was why.

“What about the pain?” she asked, genuinely concerned.  Even now, she wondered if sitting on his lap was causing him pain.

Dmitry found a way to smile despite the physical pain he might have been masking.  “I’ll manage.”

Royal thought at that moment, Dmitry seemed bigger than before – almost larger than life.  His eyes were crystal clear, the shade of an arctic blue sky, his voice minty, and free of the stench of alcohol.  He was suited again, shedding his jogging suits and T-shirts for his designer suit and a fresh, crisp shirt.  Maybe he had undergone some metamorphosis that had provided more clarity, but it was also possible that he was just putting on a strong face for his family.  “Anil said that you needed to get your rest, but it appears that the doctor’s order is more of advisement.  So, what’s the play here?”

Dmitry ran a hand down the spinal column of her back.  “The men need a leader right now, not a lame duck.  I’ve had my moment to bellyache and feel sorry for myself.  That’s over.  I need you to pull the women together.  Get them on the same page — the same for the kids.  I’ll do the same for the men.  No more infighting.  No more debates.”

“I can do that.”

“Good.”  Dmitry pushed the paper he had been writing on over to Royal.  “I might have been a bit overzealous about my desire to react swiftly over the attack of my factories.  I see that now, but my poor form doesn’t make it a bad idea.  I need these things carried out in the next few days.”

Royal looked down at the paper and read it carefully. Frowning, she looked up at him.  “All of this?” It seemed excessive.

“All of it.”  Dmitry kissed her again.  “I also need to make a trade with you.”

Royal stood up.  This had turned from an intervention of sorts to a business meeting in a matter of seconds.  She walked across the room, grabbed a chair from the corner, and carried it back to sit beside him.  “Go on.”

“Peaches is making her move with the team we assigned to her,” Dmitry looked at his watch, “right now.”

“I’m aware.”  She tapped her fingers on the desk as she looked at her husband.

“I want her.”

Royal cocked her head to one side.  “My best girl?  That’s a huge ask.”

“That is exactly why I don’t ask this thing of you lightly.”  An arched brow rose.  “But I ask it, no less.”

“In trade for what?” Crossing her legs, Royal pushed back in the chair, giving herself just the amount of distance she needed from her husband to keep from giving in to his demands.  For this kind of request, he would have to explain, and she would most certainly put up a fight.  “The Medlov Women’s Council is growing by leaps and bounds, Dmitry, but we are successful because of the women who serve us, Peaches, more so than the others.  I’ll give you that Nadei recruited her, but it was the other women and me on that council who put in the work.  We cultivated her, had Nadei train her and Marat for that matter.”  This wasn’t what she wanted.  The protest in her voice marked by the strain in her words indicated she was not going to budge lightly.

Damn the woman.  She was as shrewd a business person as himself.  “Fine.  I’ll give you your pick within reason.” His face was void of emotion.  A slow blink toward the paper urged her to consider his offer seriously.  The ask was originally intended to be presented without a trade, but now, it seemed, one would be required to get what he wanted.  And he always got what he wanted, one way or another.

“Why now?” Royal folded her arms across her chest, breast popping up in her royal-blue shirt.

Her cleavage stole his attention for a second, but he quickly regained it.  “Because things need to happen now, and after those things happen, it will be too late to reassign people.”  Dmitry cleared his throat.  “She’s useful.”

“Is she useful, or is her relationship with Marat a problem for you?” Royal asked, twisting up her lip.  “I know you well.  Moving around people to suit your environment is something you have a knack for.  I found that out the hard way when you were still my boyfriend, and you made Anatoly move in with me over at the clothing store before we married.”

Dmitry blew out a frustrated breath.  “Now, now.  Let’s not get off track.  We’re not talking about me.  We are talking about Peaches.”  He licked his chops at the prospect of adding her to his roster of killers and captains.

“Well, if we are talking about Peaches, you still didn’t answer my question about why you want her.”  He might very well play hardball with others, but she was his wife and knew of his tactics well.  Seduction.  Reason.  And if all else failed, force.

“I want Peaches, because I have plans for her in Moscow, upon the completion of her job, and I’m fairly certain considering the pressures that are on her to succeed, that she will do so in rare form.  If she doesn’t, it will be unfortunate to lose her, but I don’t think she’ll suffer a defeat and come home alive.”  Dmitry might have been a gentleman with his wife, but he was the head of a crime family.

He understood the collateral damage that came as a result of wars like this.

Eventually, someone would die.  Those on the front lines increased their odds severely.

Now, Royal seemed amused.  A dry laugh escaped her.  “You think she’ll fall on the sword for you, do you?”  Her eyes narrowed on him. He was definitely a crime boss, but she was no saint. “Or will she do all that for me?  After all, this job is more of a reflection on my council than yours.  She’s been working for years to get to this point.”

As always, his wife had a point.  Still.  “Give her to me, Royal,” he demanded in a low warning voice. “I have more use for her skills. I can give her more of an advantage working for me than you can.  Sure, she’s been able to sharpen her knives working for you and doing your bidding, but I’m offering her a chance to lead like never before.”  He knew that would whet her appetite.  He leaned closer.  “Give her to me,” he said again.

“Or what?”  Royal stood up and walked into the bathroom.

She didn’t like his insistent nature at the moment.  Maybe it was the return to the suit or the fresh shave, but his proximity to her and the manner in which he spoke – low, deep, slow- that was turning her on, but it had no place in their present conversation.  “Your charms don’t work on me like you think, Dmitry.”  She lied poorly, even as her voice trailed off into the restroom.

“Now is hardly the time to relieve yourself,” Dmitry taunted.

Royal reemerged from the bathroom with a cup of water that she used to put in the soil of her Aloe Vera plant by the window.

Bending over, where he could see her heart-shaped butt in her jeans, she cast a sultry glare over her shoulder at him.  “Oh, I’m not running from the negotiations.  I’m simply multitasking.”

He gave a divisive sniff.  “If you continue to bend over like that, you will only be doing one thing, I assure you,” Dmitry warned, voice stern.  If she dared try to make him hard right now, he’d make her pay for it.

Royal snapped up.  Placing the glass on the windowsill, she shook her head.  “Then answer the other question.  Is this about Marat and Peaches?”

Dmitry always had an ear to the ground, even when he was having a mental breakdown.  Nothing happened in his house that he didn’t eventually find out about, especially when it came to people sleeping together.

He rubbed his right eye with his index finger.  “It’s true that I don’t think the relationship between Marat and Peaches will bear the best fruit,” he answered, dropping his hands to his lap, “but I’m not as concerned about that as I am how I can use her after all of this is done.”  Were they really talking about boyfriends and girlfriends right now?

Royal didn’t believe in blocking a woman from achieving her goals.  Lord in heaven knew she understood the glass ceiling.  And she knew that Peaches wanted advancement in the workplace if one could call this that. More than that, even though it had never been adequately discussed, she knew Peaches wanted to be on Dmitry’s team.

Who didn’t?

The Women’s Council was a new franchise, where Dmitry had two-hands full of championship rings.  However, even with her knowledge of both the benefit for Peaches and the upward mobility he offered her guard, she had another concern that was closer to home.

Dmitry shrugged.  “One way or another, we need to come to an agreement, Royal.”

“Promise me that you’ll take care of her,” Royal said, coming to sit back down in front of Dmitry.  This detail was too important not to stress with sincerity.

“What would make you think I wouldn’t treat her fairly?” he asked, genuinely offended by her off-handed accusation.

“Boris was in London in a suite for weeks with every amenity he wanted offered to him.  Meanwhile, my girl was in a hovel with a twenty-plus team in Moscow.”  Royal didn’t see how that was right.  She had started to say something to Dmitry earlier but didn’t know a way to bring it up without starting a fight.  However, now, it was a point of discussion, and she didn’t feel bad highlighting the perceived bias.

Dmitry’s eyes widened. Wow.  “She picked her location, not us.  We offered her better safe houses in better neighborhoods.  Peaches wouldn’t hear of it.  She felt the luxuries of a suite, and anything else that might draw attention to her would compromise her location and the job.”  He watched as Royal drew back, relieved that there had been no real bias, but embarrassed by her lack of knowledge. Was it wrong that proving her wrong felt this good?

“Well, Marat didn’t tell me that.”  She blinked fast.  Her long lashes flapped like wings over her big, almond-shaped eyes.

“Because she was working for him, so for me, and to that end, it was a moot point.”  He grabbed her chair and pulled it closer to him, jerking her body in the process.  “Do you really think me to be that type of leader, or are you fishing for a fight so that we don’t have to continue this negotiation?”

Royal avoided his eyes.  “You already know which.”  Her mouth parted in defeat.  “I don’t want to lose her.”

“Sometimes, you have to reorganize your assets. You know that.”  Dmitry took her hand.  “I thought I taught you to remember yourself.  Getting close to your guards…”

“It’s something you men do every damn day,” Royal said, cutting him off and cutting his argument down.  “Fine,” she finally bit out.  “But I want to be there when you offer this to her to ensure the terms of her reappointment include the things that maybe she might come to need eventually…like money.”

Dmitry had seen many contract killers like Peaches.  They were all married to the job, uninterested in the money.  Those who scoffed at the idea that hitters were not called to the job evidently didn’t know enough hitters.  “If you’d like to negotiate on her behalf, then I’d be happy to hear your terms…in her presence, of course.” That had not been as hard as he thought.

Royal couldn’t complain about it so far. “She needs a property, something large and insulated and with her name on the deed.  She needs the money and the best guards and our devoted protection to whatever you are sending her off to do after this.”  The motherly attributes of her role as head of the Medlov family emerged.

“She’ll have all of that and more.”  Dmitry lifted her dainty hand to his mouth and kissed it.  “It’s always a pleasure to do business with a Czarina.”

“The price is great,” Royal warned.  “I want Luka in return for Peaches.”

Dmitry laughed at the second insult.  “No.  Luka is irreplaceable.  I have plans for him.” He quickly raised a finger to stop her from arguing.  “But I will give you Gideon.  He’s just as trained. You’re coming out smelling like a rose, and it shows that I am also willing to reorganize assets.”  There, that would take the plank out of his eyes.

“You’ll also have to help me find a woman to recruit as well.”  Royal planned to bleed this deal for everything she could get.  “And since I can’t have Luka and you get Peaches, then I also want you to do one more thing.”

Dmitry threw up his hands.  “Sure, why not. You’re already extorting me.  What else would you like me to throw in?” He prepared for a gut punch.

“A conversation with Anatoly about his treatment of Nadei and his unwillingness to adhere to Anastaysia’s wishes.” Royal knew her final request was the biggest, but for it, she was willing to break the deal altogether. As she warned, the price was great.

Dmitry scratched his head with both hands, lowering his gaze to the gap, in-between his wife’s legs.  He moaned loudly.  “You’re killing me.”

“It’s a deal-breaker,” she reminded.

Dmitry knew that it was.  Royal always saved the best for last.  It was her way.  “You know how I feel about getting involved with another man’s home life.  Even though we live under the same roof, his family, and his rules…”

“What do you call what you just did with Marat and Peaches?” Royal asked.

“Marat and Peaches pay the price of doing business with a king.  They are my employees, my…” He caught himself as he felt a vein bulging in his neck. He lowered his voice. “Whatever they are, they are not my son.”

Royal didn’t care about Dmitry’s rules or his fucking pride.  “Anastaysia is Ana’s sister, and although there is a tiny gap in age…”

“Oh, you just love bringing up that I’m an old man,” he interrupted, raising his head to look directly at her.

“Because you are,” she joked.  “And as I was saying, even though we are not that far in age, I consider her to be like my own daughter.  What I’m asking is for you to help me do my part in righting this family.  You want to stop the infight.  So do I.  A big part of what we are dealing with here regarding unrest is due to the unspoken problems that we had well before the attack on you in Memphis.  This war just brought it all to ahead.  Face it.  We had major issues boiling just under the surface of our perfect little home.  We just weren’t the Cleavers.”

“Who?” Dmitry asked, not understanding the reference.

Royal moved on with her demand. “I don’t expect you to tell Ana what to do as a grown man, but I do expect you to understand that Anastaysia’s happiness is as important to this family as Anatoly’s.”

“I never said that it wasn’t.”  Dmitry would break his rule for once, and while he was at it, he would put out a few more fires.  “But, since you want to raise the stakes, then the same must be done between you and your mother.”  He almost laughed at her ghastly look toward him.  Who had the plank in their eye now?

“My mother and I don’t exactly have a problem.” Royal’s ears suddenly burned red.

Dmitry gawked at her.  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, my dear.  If you want me to talk to my son, you need to talk to your mother.  It seems the only one who isn’t being unreasonable around here is me.”

Royal’s brow furrowed.  “You can’t be serious.”

He argued his point without missing a beat.  “I’m willing to meet your demands with Peaches and Gideon. I’m willing to smooth things over for other people. I’m willing to break my rules.  Now, what do I get in return?  Quid pro quo doesn’t work unless…”

Royal finished his sentence again. “Unless someone is getting screwed?”  What could she say? He had managed to work her into a corner.  “Consider it done.”

Dmitry was pleased. Offering his hand, he stretched it out to her.  “Shake on it?”

Royal rolled her eyes, but she still slipped her hand into his. “Shake on it.”

Dmitry picked up the glass of water placed right beside his hand-written list.  “Now, about the rest of those action items.”

Royal looked at the paper again.  “It’s quite a robust list, I’ll admit, but it’s doable.”

Dmitry was glad to see that she was in agreement.  “There are times when we actually do see eye-to-eye.”

“Well, as long as you aren’t planning on carrying any of those items out yourself, I’m fine with it.” She watched his body language suddenly turn inward.  “Dmitry?”  Were they back at ground zero already?

He smacked his lips again.  “I can’t promise that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am leaving as soon as Gabriel arrives with my jet.”  He locked eyes on her and silently made it clear that she had finally reached the territory that was not under her control.

“Can I change your mind on this?” she asked, voice much grimmer.

Dmitry stood up, grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, and slipped it on with a finality that indicated the conversation was over.  “No, my love, you cannot.  Trying would be a waste of time that we don’t have. Truly, I enjoyed our conversation.  I enjoyed our negotiations.  I’m happy to have your support and your shared vision.” He glanced down at her in her seated position and knew at that second she wanted to hit him right in the crotch.  He stepped back a few feet, just in case she was more than tempted.  “But I’m done asking anyone to do anything.  This has gone on long enough.”

“There is always a catch with you, isn’t there.”  She stood up and pushed her chair to the side.  Running a hand through her short black tresses, she snarled. “You buttered me up with this idle talk when what you really needed to say is that you’re going back out there.”  The idea scared the hell out of her.  He wasn’t healed enough.  He wasn’t ready.

Dmitry was unwilling to change his course.  “I can’t lead from the rear.”

Royal begged to differ.  “A good leader can lead from anywhere.” She wasn’t sure where she had heard it, but it popped back in her mind now.

“This isn’t a business class.  This isn’t Theory 101.  My men need a show of force that they can get behind, and I’m going to give them one.  Now, while my general attitude a few hours ago was horrible and while I still need to talk to my daughter about my outburst, what I was insisting of the men who serve me still applies.”  Dmitry stepped closer to her.  “There were four major targets when we first started this – Oleg, Renat, Lev, and Erik.  We managed to knock off a few other people from the list, but the list is still primary.  Gabriel has acquired Oleg.  Peaches will acquire Renat momentarily, and I’m going after Lev’s punk ass tonight.  That will leave Erik Popov exactly where I want him.  Before that plan was good enough, but now, I’m not interested in just cutting off the head of the snake. I want the whole thing skinned and gutted.  Now, if you’d like a pair of new shoes from the deal, I’ll be happy to cut you in, but do not get in my way on this.”  His eyes gleamed with malice.

“Even a Czarina knows her place, Dmitry.”  Royal knew better than to argue the point any further.  She had seen him like this before.  He was out for buckets of blood.  It was best just to let him get to it.  She put her hands on his hips and dropped her head.  “I’ll talk to Anya about what she heard in the war room.  Don’t bother.  Just be careful out there.”

Dmitry was quite fed up with careful.  Kissing her forehead, he passed her the written document.  “Keep this.  If something happens, you follow through with the men on every one of those items until it’s all done.”

“Why is this so important to you?” Royal asked, glancing at the orders.

Dmitry turned and looked down at her one last time.  He paused for a moment and then took a deep breath.  “Because the only way any of you will ever be safe again in this world is when all of my enemies are dead.”  Walking out of the room, he left her alone.

Chapter 30

Moscow, Russia

Showtime

“Don’t blame God for creating the tiger; instead, thank Him for not giving him wings.”

― Ethiopian Proverb

P eaches and the team knew better than to pull right in front of Renat’s building, where there was surely heavy surveillance.  Instead, they pulled into the dock of the neighboring high-rise and parked in the basement, while their sniper ran across the street to a building directly across from Renat’s penthouse to take his position on the roof.

Pulling out her cell phone, Peaches logged into a live feed of Renat’s building, where she was able to see an army of men, who were posted up at all four entrances leading into the high-rise and several more in the parking garage that doubled as a loading dock.

This wouldn’t be easy.

There had been little time to study the schematics, even less time to develop a sound plan.  As far as she was concerned, they might as well have been running in blind.  But her team was only as strong as she was.  If they saw even the slightest fear in her, they would lose all confidence in the mission.  So, she had to seem strong now and find her footing later.

“Eagle eye in position,” the sniper said upon arriving on the roof.  Checking his binoculars, he confirmed.  “The bird is perched.  The pilot is watching porn on his phone in the cockpit.”

As the men parked in available spots around Peaches, she got on the radio.  “Copy that, Eagle Eye. Stand by for instruction.  Team Two, come in. Over.” Releasing her thumb from the transmission button, she waited for a reply.

“Go ahead, Team one,” a man responded over the radio as he sat within a black Mercedes Benz SUV only a few feet from her in the parking garage.

“Are you linked into the feed yet?” Peaches asked.

“Affirmative.”

“As soon as the lights go dark, you know what to do.”  Peaches looked at her watch.  Two minutes were left on the clock.  Each second, however, seemed to tick-tock right down in the center of her soul.

“Copy that,” the man replied.

The doors to the Benz SUV opened across from Peaches, and the five men of Team Two bolted out in tactical gear, brandishing automatic weapons and moving with telepathic-like synchronization. They advanced hurriedly to a side exit door that leads straight across the property to the adjoining building.

The collective understanding was that it was possible that one of the many cameras around Renat’s building might pick up their movements and alert the target.  However, the best move was often a bold one – something that Sherkov’s shitheads, as they were called by Peaches, wouldn’t expect.

Peaches took a deep breath that steadied her jerky movements. It was showtime, and for the first time ever, her hands were trembling and her palms sweaty to the touch.  It was prom night all over again.  She looked over at Karp and smiled.  “You good?” A stupid question, but one that calmed her mildly.

Karp looked at her small, trembling fingers and then back into her big brown eyes.  A certain amount of fear was necessary for a situation like this, he supposed.  Anything less would be foolish.  “Yes, boss,” he said with a warm smile in return. “We are ready when you are.”

As soon as the lights went out over the feed, Peaches got on the radio.  Her voice quivered.  “Move!  Move!” she ordered, jumping out of the truck and slamming the door.  “Team Three and Four on me!”

Team One, which consisted of herself, Karp, and three other men, were already moving toward the exit.  In that instant, her heart leaped in her throat. She was really doing this, no turning back, no starting over.  Shit. Shit. SHIT!

“Team Two, what’s your position?” she asked as she emerged out into the muggy morning.  The fog was a blessing for cover, but a bitch to see more than a few feet in front.

“First assault underway,” a voice responded.

Across the street, Team Two was swift.  In a two-by-two formation, they sprinted across the manicured lawn, guns pointed, to greet the guards awaiting them on the other side.

The point man ran up to the dock of Renat’s apartment building, shot a guard, who peaked his head around the corner to see what was making the commotion, and then slung a pack of explosives into the garage. As his second man provided cover fire, he managed to scurry out of the way just in time to avoid a thunderous explosion that rocked the dock and started a chain reaction of car fires.  The boom was unmistakable.

Metal shrapnel flew through the air along with large chunks of concrete and debris.  Bystanders walking on the street took cover, running to get out of the way and watching on in disbelief.

“The dock is now blocked,” the voice reported over the radio.  “Move to the second phase.”

“Copy that.  All teams to the entrance!” Peaches ordered.

Fire alarms rang out all over the building, blaring into the otherwise calm morning and alerting Sherkov of their arrival.  It would only be thirty-two minutes before emergency services, and law enforcement was activated, and they still had quite a hump in front of them.

“Scramble the cell signals now!” Peaches ordered her tech guy, who hung back in the other garage in an unmarked car.

“Signals scrambled,” he confirmed.  “No one is getting a call in or out for at least three blocks.”

Running at full speed, Peaches approached Renat’s building as smoke billowed from the back exit, where the first explosive had been detonated.  “Watch your six!” she screamed out, shooting one of Renat’s guards, who had trained his weapon on one of her men moving in front of her.

The sound of her weapon firing rang in her ears as she dropped the guard only a few feet away.  He fell slowly, surprised by the shot. Jumping over him as she advanced with her men behind her, Peaches kept her eyes on the doorway.

Gunshots rang out around her.  She knew she was losing men already. Their screams could be heard over the radio, but she couldn’t turn back, couldn’t go to help them.  Anyone who fell was on their own.  They knew that before this began.  She had to advance forward.

All four teams came through the gilded gold front entrance and side entrances nearly at the same time.  As soon as they entered the marble-floored, spotless lobby adorned with fine upholstered furniture, a mahogany receptionist desk, and large crystal chandeliers, gunfire rang out from covered areas by the Sherkov guards who had responded to the explosion.

“They’re ready for us!” Karp warned, jumping in front of Peaches and returning fire on her left side.  “Go! Go!” he screamed at her.

A hail of bullets was sent in their directions, knocking out the glass windows, but her team had the advantage with the night vision goggles in the blackout.

Running and diving behind a large black leather sofa as a bullet snapped over her head, Peaches held her weapon close to her chest. Holy fuck that was close!  Wiping a trickle of blood from her face, she looked down the side of the room and saw several of her men dead on the floor.  Blood pooled like a river all around.

“Son of a bitch!” she blurted out, wiping sweat from her brow while pushing against the back of the sofa.  Knees to her chest, butt to the ground, she made herself as small as she possibly could.

Bullets continued to follow her even as she hid out of sight.  They penetrated the sofa, barely missing her on both sides, determined to mangle her fragile flesh.  Slouching lower, she retook a deep breath.  Now, it was not the time to freeze!

Laying down on the floor with her belly pressed hard against the marble floor, she managed to stick her weapon out beyond the leg of the sofa and shoot several men in the legs and knees.

Once they hit the ground, crying out in agony, she finished them off quickly with a shot to the head or center mass.  It didn’t matter to her which, just as long as they were dead.

“Give her cover,” Karp yelled from across the room, shooting in Renat’s men’s directions to pull their attention away from her.  Marat had given specific instructions before he left the hideout.  Peaches were to be protected at all costs.

“Gas deployed!” someone yelled, near the front entrance.  It was a Medlov guard.  With a world-class throw across the room, he sent the deterrents toward Sherkov’s shrinking force.

While the Medlov men slipped on their masks, Peaches returned fire over the sofa hitting at least two additional men in the chest.  She fired in rapid succession, out of her mind with adrenaline-fueled rage, until the room became a misty fog, forcing her to put on her mask as well.

Inhaling another deep breath, she retook cover behind the sofa.  “Move to the stairwell,” she coughed into the radio, wishing she could wipe her burning eyes.

With twenty men making four teams for Peaches, she was able to push back the small army of guards that Renat had in place to protect the lobby, but not at great cost.  Her numbers were also dwindling and fast.  They had to keep moving or risk more casualties.

“Push these motherfuckers back now!” she ordered.

The sound of rapid gunfire from automatic weapons on burst mode drowned out every other sound.  Water from the sprinklers filled the lobby, making the blood puddles expand and run in squiggly lines over the marble-like a modern art piece.  No one could tell who was shooting or who was returning fire.  Everyone kept shooting until finally, there was silence on the opposing side.

“What’s your location?” Karp asked from behind a marble table.

Peaches knew he was talking to her.  He didn’t care where she was really, as long as she was alright.  “I’m still on earth,” she responded.

Sticking her head out from the sofa, Peaches saw Renat’s men lining the floor in piles.  Cockroaches.  All of them.  For their outrageous numbers, nothing had prepared them for a direct, surprise attack.

Standing up, gun still pointed in the general direction of the dead guards, Peaches motioned toward her team.  She could hear her own heavy breaths in the mask and feel her racing heart as she managed to utter words.

“Drop the load,” she said over her earpiece as a stream of air escaped her lungs.  Kicking a puddle of shell casings away from her boot, she ignored the carnage before her.   She’d think about that later, once this was all over if she thought about it at all.  “Let’s lock this place down and move up the stairs.”  She checked her watch.  What felt like hours of gunfire had only been five minutes.  “We’ve got 27 minutes on the clock,” she reminded.

“Copy that,” her explosives man said, throwing C4-packs in strategic places around the lobby.  The goal was to ensure that Sherkov was wholly cut off from the outside world.  If this didn’t do the job, nothing could.

As they headed up the stairwells, hearing straggling guards cut and run into other floors of the building, the trigger to the C4 packs was activated, causing a ripple of explosions on the first floor that left the possibility of leaving implausible for anyone, including themselves.  It was all or nothing now.

There would be no moving down from the 60th floor for the target, which left one final option.

He had to advance upward.

As soon as the power went out in the penthouse and the explosion out on the dock quickly followed, rocking the building and blowing the generator, there was no question that the Sherkov men were under attack.

Immediately, the camera feed on Boroda’s surveillance equipment went dark, and only the lights of the early morning illuminated the penthouse.

“I fucking knew it!” Boroda growled, grabbing his automatic weapon from the kitchen table after he had properly holstered his sidearm.

Running at full speed toward Renat’s bedroom, past the guards who scurried through the narrow hall, he burst through the door to find his ward dressing in a bullet-proof vest.

“We have to go!” Boroda yelled to Renat.

“Where?” Renat asked, grabbing his weapon from the bed as he put down his cigar.  A billow of smoke pushed from his mouth into the air, and his green eyes sparkled with pure insanity as he dressed slowly.

Slipping on his suit jacket, Renat checked himself in the mirror across the room.  There had not been one day in over thirty years that he had not stepped out impeccably dressed.  Today would be no different.

“The bottom floors have been compromised.  We need to get you up to the roof, where the helicopter is waiting.” Boroda looked behind him as the guards took their positions.

Baffled by Renat’s slow response, he turned back to Renat and watched his boss continue with his daily routine, right down to slipping on his Rolex watch and gold pinky ring.  Pizdets!  They needed to hurry!

“And…what makes you think that the fucking helicopter isn’t compromised as well?” Renat asked, racking his Glock.  He glanced over at Boroda without any fear.  He had come to terms with his play already.  It was time to cash in the chips on this shit show of a game.

Running a hand over a piece of curly hair that fell over into his face, he smiled with finality at Boroda.  “I told you, boy.  What will be will be.  The safest place for us is in this fucking penthouse.  Now, get the men in position.”

“They are already in place,” Boroda replied, gun in hand.  He was not in fear for his own life, but angry that he had allowed his ward to be put in jeopardy.  For that, he was willing to die a soldier’s death.

“Well, what more can I ask then?” Renat asked under his breath with rancid cynicism lacing every syllable.

Even if Renat had come to terms with this attack, Boroda was not ready to face the reality they shared.  There was always another option.  One merely had to look for it.  Sitting around, waiting to die, was not his style.

“At least let me send someone to check the roof,” Boroda pleaded in a strained voice with Renat.  A vein shot through his forehead, protruding out, tattling on his rising blood pressure.  “Boss, it’s worth a try to get you to safety.”

“A try?”  Renat made a tsk sound with his mouth at the bad move.  “Losing one man, at this point to test your theory, is one too many, Boroda.  No.  We stay here.”

Renat could admit that even he had not expected such a swift attack from Dmitry, but one had to face the facts.  They were under attack.  There was nowhere to run.  The only option was to fight.  Three facts.  Three truths.  Three options had been offered since Boroda needed one so badly.

Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out a small device as small as a jump drive and tossed it into his mouth.  Picking up the tumbler of vodka on the end table, he swallowed it down.

“What the fuck is that?” Boroda asked.

“Insurance,” Renat replied.  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Renat walked past Boroda into the hallway, where a host of men awaited him.  All eyes were on their boss.  Everyone ready to die for him.  He could feel the conviction in their stares.  Now was the time to be a titan, not a coward.  “One fucking rule, gentlemen!” he yelled, voice echoing through the dark corridor as he held his M4 Carbine Commando machine gun in the air.  “No one makes it through the front doors alive.  If we die, we die fighting!  Fuck Dmitry Medlov!”

The men erupted in fervent agreement, screaming cheers and vowing their allegiance, even as their futures hung in the balance, but behind Renat, Boroda stayed deathly quiet.  It was too early to celebrate a victory or to incite undo praise with bellicose boasting.  Right now, he needed a strategy.

Ready to face his end with dignity, Renat walked past the men and headed toward the front entrance of the penthouse as a quiet lay over the large room.  Pointing his gun at the double doors, he heard the heavy footfalls of his men running to take their places.  This was where it would all unfold.  Dmitry could come in if he’d liked, but he’d never get back out again.

His voice broke the silence. “If you piss your pants, do it shooting, eh,” Renat advised, cocking his weapon.

The strategy was never to storm Renat’s penthouse with a hail of bullets in a straight-forward attack, though the Medlovs’ wanted it to appear as such.  Anatoly had already made it clear that he didn’t want to lose unnecessary men in a pointless show of force.  Instead, he wanted his adversary subdued, and Renat’s men killed with as little effort as possible.  And he wanted it done with one last big birthday surprise.

As Peaches and what was left of her team approached the top floors, the sniper on the roof of the building across from Renat reported in over the radio that no movement on the roof had occurred yet.

“Good.  He’s staying in place,” Peaches said, stopping on the 59th-floor door.  According to the schematics they had downloaded before the attack, there was only one flat on this floor as well.  It served as a mini suite for guests of the penthouse, but it was never occupied daily.

Knocking the door down of the penthouse directly below Renat, the team stormed the space to find it empty. Thank God.

“We’re clear,” one of the team members reported after he swept each room in a buddy system.

In the main ventilation area of the flat, Peaches quickly snatched off her backpack and pulled out the special mixture her team had paid the Russian government for earlier that week.  In aerosol cans with a skull and bones on the front with Cyrillic words at the bottom, she walked the cans slowly over and passed them to their specialist.  No one would ever know how scared she was with that shit piggybacking with her through a firefight.  Marat wanted someone else to carry it, but she insisted on doing that part herself.  It was too critical to the mission, and as such, she could not allow anyone else to be responsible.

The concoction they were handling was supposed to be used on Renat’s main whore house during the previously planned attack, but since the call from Marat, they had changed their plans.

Peaches spoke through her mask.  “Is it still in one peace?”

The handler didn’t look up to respond.  He kept his eyes squarely focused on his task.  “It’s still good to go.  Remember, you must always keep your masks on .  This shit doesn’t care who you are or what side you’re on.  It will put you down regardless,” he warned in a heavy Russian.  His motions slowed as he placed the cans in a diffuser.  “As I warned Marat before, the problem with this shit is that it might kill the very guy the boss wants alive.”

“It’s a risk we’re willing to take,” Peaches said, watching on with eyes as big as walnuts.  She stepped back to stand beside Karp and folded her arms.  “How long does it take exactly?”

“Not long. A few minutes at most.  Once the aerosol gas goes through the ventilation system, there is no hiding from it.”  The handler stepped up on a chair as another man snatched the vent leading up into the ducts from the wall.  “This is the same shit they used in theatre hostage crisis back in 2002.  How did you get it?” He had wanted to ask before but did not want to run the risk of pissing someone off.  However, in the face of his own possible death, he figured what the hell? Why not be nosey?

“We asked for it,” Peaches replied cryptically.

She knew the real backstory on this stuff.  The Russian government sent in Spetsnaz into the hostage situation at a Moscow theatre back in 2002.  They used some special sleep agent made of synthetic opioid mixed with horse tranquilizers and a surgical painkiller to subdue the attackers.  The only problem was that it killed 129 of the 800 hostages.  For years, no one could get a hold of it, like it never existed, but Dmitry had a contact in the Russian Council for Chemical Security that needed a green card to the United States and debt poorly paid to a mid-level mob boss.  The end result landed a few cans in Medlov possession just in time to use on Renat.

“Okay, here goes,” the man said, clenching his teeth together.  Even with the mask on, it was apparent he was wincing.

Peaches watched as the cans were released in the ducts, and then motioned for her team to get in place.  “Boss wants everyone dead except Renat.  It doesn’t matter if they are awake or not.  Once we gain entry, shoot them in the head and move on.  One bullet per man or we don’t leave.   No witnesses on this one.”

The men nodded in response.

Peaches took a deep breath and counted her men.  They were down from twenty to ten.  Half her team was dead.  It was nothing to celebrate, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be bogged down with guilt.  “Alright.  Let’s move out.  This is it, men.  One last push, and we’re done for the day.”

Moving quickly out of the door with her weapon at the ready, Peaches braced herself for the final assault.

“Why aren’t they coming, boss?” one of Renat’s men asked, as he stood on one knee, gun pointed at the door of the main entrance of the penthouse.  He looked around with chaotic confusion on his sweaty face.

“Oh, they are coming.  Now, shut the fuck up,” Renat hissed.  He tightened his grip on his weapon, ignoring his pounding heart, beating like a drum in his chest and the muscles in his fingers locking up.

While the others anticipated a full-on front attack, Boroda had a feeling that something was coming before the Medlov men stormed the doors, and he was willing to bet it was going to be lethal.  Lowering his weapon, he stepped back beyond the thicket of men and ran toward the den closet, where he retrieved two masks from a trunk at the back of the space that he had found the night before while rummaging through the penthouse.

It was a shame they didn’t have enough masks for all the men, but he wasn’t here for them, just Renat.  There was no way to know what was coming, but it was better to be safe than dead and sorry.

Slipping one mask over his face, he looked at the air ducts in the ceiling and saw a strange, unidentifiable mist come through the vents as the water sprayed from the ceiling.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, voice muffled by the mask.  He was too afraid now to take it off and scream toward the men in a warning.  Whatever toxic mix had been released was more than likely deadly.

Running back toward the front entrance for his boss, he found the men dizzily falling to the floor, disoriented by the mist.  Some leaned over the sofas throwing up their breakfast and trying to gasp for air.  Others slid down the wall, falling on top of their weapons.

Covering his face with his jacket, Renat looked up with red, burning eyes just in time to see Boroda throw the mask over to him.

“Take this!” Boroda shouted.

“Where did you find it? Are there more?”  He looked around the room at his men and felt guilty for protecting himself and not them.  But it was a lost cause.

“There were only two,” Boroda explained.

The effects were already starting to kick in, but Renat had just enough strength to slip the mask over his face before he dropped to one knee.  He blinked hard and threw his head back, fighting to regain his bearings.  “The bastards drugged us,” he gasped. “Dmitry’s not man enough to face me head-on.”  That pointless observation somehow made him feel better temporarily.

“I’ve got you,” Boroda said, catching his boss.  Picking him up, he led Renat to the far corner of the large living room, where he laid him face down and strategically placed a few men on top of him to cover his mask.  Pulling the Glock from Renat’s holster, Boroda placed the weapon in his boss’s hand and had him grip it.

“Can you still shoot, boss?” Boroda asked Renat, leaning over him.

Renat nodded, unable to speak.  He muttered slurred words, but nothing that was understandable.

“Good.  Hopefully, with the mask, you can regain your senses fully.  If someone finds you, you know what to do.”  He looked down at the gun in Renat’s hand.  “I’ll be on the other side of the room with this.”  He took his boss’s M4.  “I’ll cover you as long as I can.  If I don’t see you after this….” Boroda blinked.  “It’s been an honor, boss.”

Going to the coat closet across from the front doors of the flat, Boroda slipped inside, found the perfect angle in the direction of the entry doors, and waited.

“Come get me, you cowards,” he snarled.

Arriving on the 60th floor, Peaches and her team regrouped.  There was a small, wood-floor corridor with white walls and recessed lighting that had turned off, due to the blackout.  On one side, a bank of two elevators was blocked by knocked out guards.  On the other, the double-door entrance to the penthouse stood.

Karp pulled out his weapon, topped off with a silencer, and put a bullet in each of the guards at the elevators, just as Peaches had instructed.  “They’re done,” he said with a nod.

“Buddy system on this,” she said over the radio.  Peached knew the doorway was dangerous.  Even with the toxicant, there was a possibility that someone was still conscious on the other side, and all they had to do was pick them off as they tried to enter.  Still, the only thing that was between her and achieving her goal was forcing entry through it regardless of what was waiting on her.  “Let’s mo…”

“Wait,” Karp interrupted as Peaches raised her hand to advance.

She stopped and turned to him, brows knitted in concern. Someone was keeping secrets from her.  “What’s going on?” she asked, stepping toward Karp to assert her dominance.

Karp stood his ground, unable to relent to her silent demands.  “Boss Marat said you were not to lead point through the entrance under any circumstance.”  Pointing toward the back of the line of men waiting to move in on Renat, he showed her her place.  “He wants you in last after we’ve cleared the flat.”

Peached huffed.  How was she ever to gain full respect of her men, if Marat, was always intercepting her orders?  “I can do this,” she bit out forcefully.

“We know that you can,” Karp answered with a nod.  There was no time to explain how much respect she had garnered from him in the last half-hour, but any expression of such things would have to wait until later.  “You have our respect, but our orders from Marat and Boss Dmitry are clear.”  He hoped she would not choose now, after all the work she had done, to go against the final orders of the big boss.  It would be a bad move, and probably cost more men their lives.

Peaches turned and looked at her men.  She had already lost half.  Losing the other half because she wanted to measure dicks was not an option.

She also knew that standing out in the hallway, debating her place was only putting them in more peril. Dropping her head slightly, she made her way slowly to the back of the line as some the men patted her on her slender shoulders.

Karp pointed toward the man behind him.  “On me,” he said as the man across from him counted down before using an ax to break through the door.

Peaches watched from the back of the line, expecting a hail of gunfire to greet them as they hacked through the door, but there were only silence and the beam of natural light coming from the large windows on the backside of the living room.

As the Medlov guards entered the front of the penthouse, guns pointed, masks on, they were met by a horde of incapacitated men on the floor.  Per the orders, they shot each man in the head, not wasting bullets or time.  It was gruesome to hear like a hammer against melon. Splat.  Splat.  Spoof.

Boroda could feel the heat under his collar, reaching his face.  Through the small slit in the closet, he watched helplessly as the men he had trained and worked with for years were dispatched one at a time.  No mercy.  No glory.  No more fucking options for them.  But giving away his position too early just to go Rambo on them would serve no point in protecting his ward.  Clenching his jaw, he kept the muzzle of his gun pointed, and arms locked tight until the last Medlov guard was inside of the room.

Peaches waited just outside of the entry with one man, watching the perimeter, wishing she had eyes on the room.  “What’s the situation?” she asked into her earpiece.

“Not yet,” Karp answered.  “We have to clear the entire house first.”

Peaches rolled her eyes. “Put a move on it,” she hissed, ready to get inside with her men.  Once she got back to the home base, she was going to have words with Marat.

As Karp moved toward the small pile of incapacitated guards in the far corner of the room, where Renat laid deathly still under three men with his weapon griped in his hand, Boroda slowly opened the closet door just an inch wider and aimed his gun in the direction of the eight men huddled in the living room.

“We’ve got radio shatter from the police department,” the tech-guard warned from the garage.  “Put a move on it.”

“Copy that.  Now stay off the radio until advised,” Peaches snapped in a whisper.

Karp felt immediately uneasy about the small pile of men in front of him.  Often, when something looked odd, it was wrong.  Everyone else was scattered about the space, but these guys were piled on top of each other like they were fighting for a football.  Renat had to be here.  It was the only thing that made sense.  Evidently, they all had passed out from the mist while trying to protect their boss.

“We might have eyes on Renat,” Karp reported into Peaches over his earpiece. His weapon was still trained on the pile. “Stand by.”

“Be careful,” Peaches warned, lowering her voice as she inched closer to the front doors of the penthouse with her weapon trained on the door.  She had to see, had to know.  The wait was killing her. COME ON! COME ON!  She screamed in her inner monologue.

“Fire in the hole, you fuckers,” Boroda whispered, pulling the trigger. He prayed for precision, knowing the element of surprise would be lost once he made his move.  At a five-meter radius, he was certain that the blast area would be devastated, but unless he was extremely accurate, he would not be able to eliminate as many targets as possible.

Just as Karp stepped within inches of Renat, the room boomed with the explosion of Boroda’s weapon.  A direct hit in the middle of the Medlov men knocked two of them forward, killing them instantly while leaving a blast hole in the wall behind them.  One man screamed out, leg blown off.  Another fell forward, arm shredded as he hit a glass table and fell through it. The glass did the rest, slashing his throat at the larynx.  Two others were knocked unconscious, leaving only Karp alone in the room.

Pulling the trigger while Karp’s attention was drawn away from him, Renat managed to shoot the guard in the upper right leg.  Damn it!  His aim was for shit on the floor with men piled on top of him.  From his vantage point, a direct hit in the face was nearly impossible.

“Aghh!” Karp screamed, falling back against a chair. He extended a hand just in time to grab the armrest and hold himself up.  “I’m hit!  It’s an ambush!” His voice echoed through the room and blasted into Peaches’ earpiece.

Switching from grenades to live fire, Boroda started to send rounds wildly into the room, mowing down the men in view, but unable to see Karp or Renat.  Two lucky shots went into the unconscious Medlov guards, dwindling Peaches’ numbers further.

“Hold on.  I’m coming for you!” Peaches screamed to Karp, yanking out her earpiece.

“Stay there!” Karp warned.

There was no time to wait.  Peaches and her man came through the door at the same time, steel-toe boots crunching the wooden shards of the door below them, giving away their location.  Her eyes met Boroda at the same time he met hers.  Gun pointed, she reacted in a millisecond.

“Shit!” she screamed.

They both pulled their triggers, sending rounds in both directions.  Her guard was hit, only because he jumped in front of her, giving Peaches time to get out of the line of fire.

Boroda dove out of the doorway of the closet and took cover behind a leather sectional.  He wasn’t sure how many bullets he had used, but he knew when they ran out, he was screwed.  There were no extra mags and no more grenades.

Peaches jumped across the fallen bodies onto the floor, gun aimed toward the direction of Boroda.  Crawling over the bodies, she barely missed the second barrage of bullets that Boroda sent her way.  Head down, she panted, feeling a burning in her right arm as she crawled face down over one of her men.

Seeing Peaches in trouble, Karp turned from Renat and started to send rounds toward the sofa that Boroda was using for cover.  At that moment, he saw Renat in the corner of his eye, stand in the corner, gun pointed.  Turning his weapon just in time, he shot Renat in his left arm, sending the man backward in the wall and the dead bodies crumbling over on him again.

Karp shot at the bodies piled on top of Renat but missed.

The sound of bullets going through their body matched by the blood that splattered against the walls stunned Renat for a second, but he managed to push the dead men off of him, using them as cover, while still sending bullets toward Karp.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a Mexican standoff, bitch!” Boroda yelled while ducking behind the sofa.  His voice was muffled due to the mask, but he knew she could understand every word.

Peaches found a safe position behind a granite-topped table that she managed to knock over to its side and took a deep breath.  Grabbing her bloody arm, she realized that she had been grazed by one of Boroda’s bullets.

“Looks like it,” she said, voice calm.  Breathing hard, she licked her lips and got on her radio. “Get the chopper ready.”  There was no way she was going to leave here without Renat Sherkov, even if she had to throw him over her back and carry him herself.

“Copy that,” the guard said who had been sent ahead of them.  Throwing the dead pilot out of the helicopter, he turned on the engine.  “ETA?”

Peaches pressed her head against the side of the table.  “Not sure yet.”

Boroda risked looking over the sofa to see one of his men lying on the ground with his machine gun tucked right under his arm.  If he dove and ran for it, he might be able to get her and the man across from Renat.

Peaches pulled her clip out and looked at it.  She was out as well. No more magazines, no more luck.  Pulling her long, serrated knife from the sheath on her leg, she heard the rumble of movement from across the room.  She quickly dropped her empty weapon and popped up from her location.

Hell no!

Diving over the table, she did a combat roll and jumped up in a sprint.  Everything moved in slow motion then.  Running head-on into Boroda, she stopped him before he could make it to the gun.

They crashed into each other’s bodies and fell over on the floor with Peaches landing on top of Boroda.  Oh shit.  By the time she realized what she had done, she was already straddling him.

WARNING!  WARNING!  The sirens in her head went off.

Again, face-to-face with her enemy, she found herself in the exact position Marat had warned her to avoid – a physical altercation with Boroda.

He punched her in the face before she could blink.

Her voice traveled across space.  “Ahh!”  She sliced his forearm as he raised his hands to protect his face, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from using his right hand to punch her on the left side.  The force made her jerk, but she held on to him with her thighs.

The powerful side-blow by Boroda broke a rib, she was certain of it, but it didn’t slow her down.  Wheezing, she gripped the knife and planted it in the meaty flesh of his shoulder as he rolled over on top of her.

She looked up at him with fire in her eyes.

Adrenaline spiking, he grabbed her by the neck with his tattooed right hand to pin her down and pulled the knife out of his tender flesh with the other.  Bloodshot across her clothes and the floor.

“Fucking bitch!” Boroda yelled, raising the knife in an attempt to stab her in the chest.

She caught the blade at the hilt, holding it just inches from her eyeball. Looking up at the weapon and Boroda, she struggled profusely under his large grip.

“I’m not dying today, you asshole!” she screamed out in declaration just as Karp hobbled across the room and dove on top of Boroda, knocking him off of her just before the knife sliced her open.

With the jolt, the blade turned sideways, and the stab meant for Peaches went into Karp’s side.

“If you fucking insist!”  Twisting the blade into Karp’s side, Boroda grabbed Karp’s wrist, and he attempted to land a blow.

Immediately, Karp went for a headbutt, knocking Boroda back.  Ignoring the knife wound, he proceeded with a barrage of punches, some blocked, some landing.  The sound of the punches and grunts from both men filled the room.

Pulling herself to her knees, Peaches crawled over to the weapon Boroda intended to snag for himself.  Taking a deep breath, she pushed the dead man off the gun and got to one knee right before she heard Renat lunge on her back.

“Medlov whore!” Renat screamed.

He was pulling at her mask, trying to get it off and at the same time, riding her back like a horse.  The weight of his body nearly made her collapse, but she bucked against him as hard as she could.

“Where are you going?  Huh?  Where the fuck do you think you are going?”  With a heavy donkey punch to the back of the head, he took her down, head face into the carpet, while Boroda and Karp fought just a few feet away from them.

Peaches fell on the weapon to keep it away from Renat.  Gasping as he wrapped his cold fingers firmly around her slender neck and pulled toward him, she ran her hands over the floor and found a large piece of glass.  Jerking her hand up behind her head, she landed the sharp end of the glass into Renat’s right eye.

“Ahh!  Ahh!”  he yelled in disbelief.

As soon as he fell off her back to grab his wound, Peaches grabbed the gun, spun around and shot Renat in the leg.  That was for Karp.

Pulling the trigger again, she shot Renat in the other leg.

“We’ve got cops!” the tech guy screamed into the radio, despite the previous warning.  “Unless you want to take a detour to jail, I suggest you wrap it up!”  He closed his laptop and jumped from the passenger seat to the driver’s seat and turned on the truck.  “I’m changing locations.  This spot is too hot.”

Peaches had pulled out her earpiece, but hearing her tech guy’s voice, she popped it in.  “Say again.  Over.”

“Time is up.  Run!” the tech guy screamed, pulling out of the parking space.

“I’m not going anywhere until everyone is dead,” Peaches snarled.  She looked over at Boroda and Karp, still beating each other to a bloody pulp.

“Hey!” she screamed, but they ignored her.  “HEY!” she screamed louder.

Both men looked up momentarily.

“Kind of busy… here?” Karp punched Boroda in the nose again and bent to bite into his face.

“Can you just…move out of the way…just a bit,” Peaches asked, hobbling toward the two, out of breath and bleeding profusely.  Her hands dripped with blood along with her arms and face.

Karp reached back to punch Boroda again, but just as he did, Peaches shot Boroda in the chest.

“Thank God!” Rolling off of Boroda, he collapsed on the floor and looked up at the ceiling.  “What took you so long?”

“Renat was a bit frisky.”  She dropped to her knees beside Karp after she glanced over at Renat to make sure he had not managed to get his hand on a weapon.  “You okay?” Peaches asked her new guardian angel.

Karp licked those luscious, bust lips and rested his hand on his chest.  “I’ll live…maybe,” he answered with a grunt as he pushed Boroda’s heavy corpse out of the way.  “Pretty sure he won’t, though.”

Peaches got on her radio as she went over to help Karp up off the floor.  They were only ones left, save a wounded Renat.  Everyone else in the room, whether friend or foe, was dead.

“Think you can help me get him to the chopper so we can get out of here before the cops make us?” she asked, coughing and wheezing.  After this, she was definitely going to need some more stitch work.

Karp grunted as he made it to his feet.  There had never been a more beautiful sight to behold as he glanced down at his boots.  He was still standing.  Holding his side, as he used the sofa to help him brace himself, he spits a mouthful of blood.  “Think so.”

“Your move, bitch,” Peaches said to Renat, who was curled up on the floor, blinded by the surprise attack and unable to move his bloody legs.  With the last energy she could muster, she drew back and kicked him in the spine.

“No, no,” Karp warned. “Don’t kill him.”

“He’s not dead,” Peaches huffed.  “But he’ll wish he was by the end of the day.”  Getting on the radio, she called up to the helicopter.  “ETA five minutes.”

Karp rolled his eyes.  “I don’t know if we can make it up there in five minutes with this guy.”

“Yes, we can,” Peaches assured.  “We have to.”

Chapter 31

Moscow, Russia

Showtime

“A hero is born among a hundred, a wise man is found among a thousand, but an accomplished one might not be found even among a hundred thousand men.”  - Plato

D mitry walked out of his room with his head held high.  Though there was no one among the scores of people in the compound who would dare mention his magnanimous breakdown just a few hours ago, he knew that they were all thinking about it.  As they passed him, their eyes widened with curiosity, wondering if their leader had become unhinged.  It was why he had chosen not to go to his room and terry long.  They needed this show of force.  They all needed to know that he had pulled himself together.  Limping slightly, he made his way down the stairs with his man, Luka, closely behind, with the intention of doing a little housekeeping.

When he got to the base of the stairs, Stepan was there, head down, reading a newspaper.  Stepan looked up, surprised that Dmitry had emerged so quickly, but understanding the need.

“Where to?” Stepan asked, rolling the paper and placing it under his arm.

Dmitry winked at him.  “I need to go to see Anatoly.  Is he down in the war room?”

“No, he’s with Renee.  Do you want me to go and get him?” Stepan moved from his perched position by the stair post.

“I’ll go to him.”  Dmitry looked around.  In the time he had been here, he had never gone to Anatoly’s room or anyone else’s and was not sure where his son had been assigned.

“I’ll lead the way,” Stepan said, motioning down the corridor toward the left.  “It’s a bit of a hike. You up for it?”

“I’m fine.”  Dmitry followed beside Stepan, mulling over in silence just what to say to his oldest boy.  They had parted on bad terms, and in his own opinion, it was due to his own faulty pride.  He had to make amends before he left.

The guards snapped to attention as Dmitry passed.  Nodding their way, speaking to each man as he passed, he finally got around to it.  “How is Anya?”

Stepan cleared his throat.  “She’s managing.”

“Angry?”

Stepan chuckled. “Furious.”

Dmitry assumed.  He wished he had time to talk to her, but the clock was ticking.  “Could you let her know that I’d like to speak with her upon my return?”

Stepan wasn’t aware that Dmitry was considering leaving the compound.  News to him, he shrugged. “Of course.” He cut his eyes up toward his boss.  “Anything else you’d like for me to pass on.”

“If I tell you to tell her that I’m sorry, she’ll take it as a sign of my own weakness.  Better you just let her know that I want to talk to her.”  He slowed down a little, feeling the strain of the stitches in his side.  “But I do have one favor.  I need you to order a violin bow.”

Stepan was certain it was to replace the one that Anya had surreptitiously destroyed to defy her mother.  A fine gesture to start the mending, in his opinion. “We can have it here tomorrow.”

“Good.”  As they arrived at the stairwell that led up to the Medlov men quarters, Dmitry looked up at the stairs awkwardly.  If he could manage to get up and down these stairs, he’d be one step closer to recovery.  “I’ll take it from here,” he told Stepan, knowing Luka would adhere as well.  This was something he needed to do alone.  “One more thing,” he said, turning back to Stepan as he placed his foot on the first step.

“Yes, boss?” Stepan answered, watching Dmitry’s wobbling stance with concern. Was leaving in Dmitry’s current state really a good idea?

Dmitry ignored the look of apprehension on Stepan’s face.  “I need you to be my eyes and ears around here while I’m gone.  No one needs to know, but there are developments underway, and I need to be on top of them.”

Stepan knew what he was talking about – Royal and Coral.  He nodded and left the words unsaid.

“Good man.”  Dmitry turned and held onto the wooden railing.  Now to get up those damn stairs.

Patting off the droplets of water running down Renee’s back with a fluffy white towel, Anatoly took extra care with his wife after giving her a long hot bath.  Alexandria cooed in the playpen, holding on to a teddy bear as she watched Sesame Street on the television, while the loving couple tried to do something normal in between Anatoly’s planning and working downstairs.

“Can you put some lotion on my back?” Renee picked up the container of lotion and raised it over her shoulder.

“If you want.”  Taking the bottle, he poured a small portion in his hand and rubbed it over her shoulder blade.

The pressure to her aching muscle felt good.  She closed her eyes and hummed, placing on hand on her belly.  “It’s almost time.  I can feel it.”

Anatoly kissed his wife’s bare shoulder.  “It’s been time. You’re overdue.”  Putting a hand on her lower back, he guided her toward the bed.  “Sit.  I don’t want you to get dizzy.”

Renee sat on the edge of the bed obediently.  Standing behind her, Anatoly rubbed her entire back down quietly, knowing she had something else on her mind.  She was dying to pry, but unsure if he’d respond.

“Go on and say whatever is on your mind?” He went over to the chaise lounge and picked up her robe.

Renee looked over at him and smiled.  “Say what?”

Anatoly rolled his eyes.  “Whatever it is that’s rolling around in that mind of yours.” He knew his wife well enough to know that she was chomping at the bit to put her two cents into the unspoken conversation, and after all that she had just witnessed hours ago in the war room, he was sure this time, she had a right.

Renee didn’t waste any time.  “It’s just that…”

Anatoly pushed a breath out of his mouth.

“Ana, you said to say whatever was rolling around…”

He cut her off by raising her hand. “I did. I did.”  Walking back over to her, he dressed her in the robe as she stood beside the bed.  From behind her, he tied her wrap to her side and ran a loving hand over her belly.  “Continue.”  He felt her sneer at him, even without seeing her face. “Please. Tell me.”

“I think you should smooth things over with your father.  In all the years that I’ve been a part of this family, I have never seen you two blow up at each other like that.”  She turned around to face him, belly poking him in his rock hard, lower abdomen.  Her brown eyes were bright and sparkling, her skin glowing.  Putting her hands on the sides of his bearded face, she looked into his ice-blue eyes.  “Ana, baby, I don’t want you to fall out with your father over this baby and me.  We’ll be fine.”

Anatoly raised a brow.  “It’s my job to make sure that you’re fine.”

“When has your father ever let you down?”

“Before now, never.” His answer was quick, which indicated he had spent some time thinking about it.

Renee licked her lips and darted her eyes away for a second.  “He didn’t try to let you down.”

“He could have been more honest about his dealings with the Popov family.  He could have warned us about what could possibly happen.  We are not just a family; we are a council.  Our movements are supposed to be transparent.”

Renee couldn’t argue the intricate nature of their business, but she did know one thing.  “A father does what he can to protect his family.  If he let you down, it was only because he was trying to do his job.  Maybe he was wrong for not sharing his mind or what he had done to this other Popov guy from Miami, but he did not intentionally put us in harm’s way. Now, I know Dmitry, not as well as you, but I know him to be an honorable man.”

Anatoly could not deny his wife’s reasoning, but it did little to cool his anger for the situation.  “What he was proposing was not smart?”

Renee usually had little to offer in the way of tactical warfare, but this time, she understood Dmitry’s response.  “Your father knows the mind of Erik Popov better than you.”

Anatoly gritted down, making his squared jaw jut out.  “I know that, as well.”

“And maybe he understood what it would take to get Erik’s attention.”  Renee paused, feeling the baby kick.  She looked down at her stomach and shook her head. “What’s happened has happened.  There is no turning back from it now.  The only way we all make it out of here is to stick together.”

Anatoly lowered his head.  “I can’t believe you’re the one giving me advice.”  He knew she was right.  “And I can’t believe that I allowed myself to get so angry at my father.” His voice trailed off.  Running a hand over his mouth, he blew out another frustrated breath.  “I just didn’t want this for you and Alexandria.”

Renee nodded.  “Nothing ever happens just like you plan.”  She smiled at him.  “But you can at least control how you respond to it.”  As she stepped toward him, a sharp pain hit her suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Anatoly asked, grabbing her.

Renee took a deep breath.  “Another Braxton Hicks.”  She frowned. “I think.”

“Lay down.”  Anatoly guided her back to the bed and pulled the covers back.  Putting her feet in the bed, he made her rest her head back on the pillows.  “I should go and get Anil.”

“I’m fine.  Trust me. I’ve done this before.  It’s just the baby getting situated.”  She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.  “He’ll be here any day now.”

A knock at the door made them both look toward it.  They weren’t expecting anyone.  Walking over to the door, Anatoly ran a hand over his weapon, resting in the holster under his arm.

“Who is it?” he asked, grabbing the doorknob.

“It’s me.” Dmitry leaned against the wall, waiting for Anatoly to open the door.

Slowly, Anatoly cracked the door open and looked up at his father.  His face softened at his father’s scowl.  “What are you doing out of bed?”  Opening the door wide, he noticed his father was in a full suit.  “You should be resting.”

Dmitry’s eyes went straight to Renee.  “Is she alright?”

“Come inside.”  Anatoly stepped out of the doorway and let his father inside.  Closing the door behind them, he walked to the corner and grabbed the chair.  “Sit down.”

“No time.”  Dmitry smiled at Renee.  “How are you?”

Renee lifted her head, glad to see Dmitry.  “I’m okay.”  She waved him to the bed.  “Come sit by me.”

Dmitry was happy to oblige.  Walking over the large bed, he sat right beside Renee and raised his hand. “May I?”

Renee nodded.  Grabbing his hand, she placed it on her belly.  “He’s sort of active today.”  She breathed through another pain.  “How about you?  Are you okay?”

Dmitry appreciated Renee’s warmness.  She had every reason to regard him coarsely now.  His large hand rubbed over her robe the large globe below it.  Just the sight of her made him feel the excitement that seems to only ignite with a new Medlov addition.  He sat quietly for a moment, feeling his grandson in Renee’s womb and basking in the sereneness of the unborn child’s presence.  Anatoly stood in the corner, watching on and softening with each moment of the beautiful interaction.

“I came up to personally apologize.”  Dmitry’s voice carried across the room as he kept his eyes on Renee’s stomach.

Anatoly knew his father was speaking to him.  He crossed his hands over his chest.  “I should apologize to you.  The men didn’t need to see that.  It was sloppy, unprofessional.”

Dmitry turned from Renee and looked at Anatoly.  “I didn’t come to apologize for business. I came to apologize as a father to a son for putting you and your family in this situation.”

Had he been listening outside of the door?  Anatoly cocked his head to one side.  “Papa, I’m not myself.  Neither are you.”

Dmitry stood up and made his way over to Alexandria’s playpen.  It hurt as he bent to pick her up, but he ignored the pain.  Holding her near him was worth it. He pressed her small body up against his chest and kissed her forehead.  “There is nothing more important for me than protecting my family – all of my family.”  He bounced his granddaughter and ran a hand over her dirty blonde curls.

“Papa,” she said, touching his face.

Dmitry kissed her again.  “Such a smart princess.”  Looking into his granddaughter's eyes and seeing his future was all that he needed as confirmation.  He was doing the right thing.  “I’m leaving for Budapest today.”

Anatoly frowned.  “You can’t.”  He stretched his arms out.  “Look at you.  You’re in no position.”

“I’m fine.  I’m better than I look.”  Dmitry bent back down and put his granddaughter back in the playpen.  Raising back up, he rolled his neck.  “I’m going after Lev.”

“I’ll go with you.” Anatoly forgot quickly what they had been quarreling about and snapped back into war mode.

Dmitry wouldn’t hear of it.  “Your place is here.  She’s going to have that baby soon, and she doesn’t need to do it alone.”  He glanced back over at Renee and then trailed his gaze over to Anatoly.  “What I said down there, it might have been borne out of hysteria, but it still remains true.  We need to act fast.”

Anatoly shook his head.  “But the plan…”

“The plan is still good.  We are going to stick to it, but we are going to augment it.”  Dmitry didn’t ask permission.  Anatoly didn’t argue against it this time.

“Who will you take?”

“Luka, Marat, Vasily, and a few others.”  Dmitry stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it, scratching an itch.  “It’s already in the works.”

“What can I do from here?” Anatoly refused to sit idly by while his father went out of the compound to wage war on another crime boss.  He glanced over at Renee, quietly urging him to give his father the space he needed to take control of the situation.

“Once Gabriel arrives back in what should be an hour or so, we’ll talk.” Dmitry walked up to Anatoly and put his hand on his shoulder.  They had always shared a few words between them, even though there was so much unspoken trust.  He needed his son to trust him now and to do so without an explanation.

Anatoly conceded.  “I’ll be ready.”  Feeling his phone buzz in his pocket, he pulled it out.  It was Marat, hopefully bringing him good news about the extraction of Renat Sherkov.  “Yeah,” he answered the phone gruffly.

“It’s done.  She’s on the way back with the package,” Marat reported. “And Gabriel just arrived in Irkutsk.  Simeon is there waiting for him.  He’ll be here shortly.”

“Good.  I’ll be down in a few.”  Hanging up, he reported back to his father.  “Peaches did it.”

Dmitry smirked. “I knew that she would.”  It was why he had already put a plan in place for her to be traded for Gideon. Even as they waged war with Popov and his allies, there was much planning to do for the aftermath, but this fine point of leading was something the boys under him would have to learn in time.  Walking to the door with Anatoly by his side, he called back out to Renee. “Don’t move from that bed, young lady.  We’ll send someone up directly to check you out.”

“Send Coral instead of Anil,” Renee said, adjusting the pillows behind her back.  She grabbed the remote to change the channel, having suffered Elmo long enough today.  “It’s not comfortable having my brother-in-law check my cervix.”

Anatoly rolled his eyes.  “For either one of us.”

Dmitry opened the door and turned to Anatoly.  There was still one more order of business.  “Can we speak for a moment outside?” he asked Anatoly.  He was a man of his word, never forgetting his wife’s requests.

“Sure.”  Stepping out, Anatoly closed the door behind him.  What did he need to say so important that it was necessary to be conveyed out of the prying ears of his wife?  Definitely, something not to do with the operation.

Dmitry lowered his voice.  “I promised I would speak to you about Anastaysia.”

Anatoly hissed. “Royal is at it again?”

“You know it’s not my usual way to get involved with a man’s personal business, but this thing between you and Nadei has to come to an end one way or another.  Now, if you truly disapprove of him, send him away or put a bullet in his head and be done with it.”

Anatoly remained silent.  Looking down at his boots, he crossed his arms again.

“But if you think him to be honorable now that he has proven himself and you think your wife affectionate toward Adeline, maybe it’s time to reconsider your position regarding their relationship.”  Even as he offered the advice, Dmitry felt uncomfortable, but his word was his bond.

Anatoly smacked his lips.  “Well, now, I’ve got something to think about, don’t I?” He looked up at his father and curled his lips.

Dmitry shrugged.  “It’s your choice.”  He patted his son on the shoulder.

Anatoly didn’t give his answer.  He would think about it, as he promised, but he would not be rushed to a decision lightly because the woman of the house wanted him to do so.  Royal might have gotten her way with his father, but not him.

Dmitry knew he was treading on very thin ice with his son, but he had done his part.  “Good job on Renat.  Congratulate Marat for me on an excellent operation.”

“Where are you going?” Anatoly asked, watching his father limp down the hall past the guards.

“I’ve got a call to make, and I need to send up Coral.”  Dmitry knew his son was watching him, more so, he knew he had hit a nerve. Hopefully, the nudge in the right direction would make Anatoly do the right thing.

Chapter 32

Irkutsk, Siberia

Private Hangar

“A hero is born among a hundred, a wise man is found among a thousand, but an accomplished one might not be found even among a hundred thousand men.”  - Plato

G abriel stepped off the private jet with a sense of accomplishment that could not be described.  They were moving full steam ahead on toward a success in this operation, which was a far cry from where they started out.  Now, he could get back to his wife, and hopefully, make her feel better than she seemed before he left.

Below him, the team was pulling out a box out of the cargo hold that held a very unhappy Oleg Rabinovich.  Pretty good for a day’s work.  He cast a smile towards Simeon, who was waiting below.  As he moved down the steel staircase, Simeon clapped slowly, standing in a full suit with his men behind him.

“Bravo, bravo,” Simeon chided.  He glanced behind Gabriel at Daniil.  “I take it that my man served you well.”

Gabriel shrugged as he made it to the final step and moved across to greet Simeon.  “He held his own.” Shaking Simeon’s hand, he looked toward the back of the plane where the box was being unloaded.  “Why are you here? It can’t be because you missed me.”

Simeon raised a brow.  “Could be.  But no, I’m here to show you this.”  He motioned toward the opening of the hangar.  There was a black military-grade helicopter out on the tarmac.  “No more long hauls from the compound.”

Gabriel stepped out so he could see it.  “Holy shit.”  Now, he really was impressed with Simeon.  “Where the fuck did you find this?”

Simeon shook his finger.  “I never expose my contacts.  Let’s just say a friend was willing to part with it.”

Gabriel slung his weapon over his back and walked toward the hangar door.  “This is a lifesaver.”

Simeon agreed.  “I had to deliver payment to the head of security at the airport to see it but not see it.  So, I figured while I was here, I’d pick you up.”

Gabriel heaved a sigh of relief.  “Where are we going to put it at the compound. I doubt it will fit in one of the garages.”

“There is a small town nearby that will house it.  Most of the people there are on my payroll.”  Simeon motioned for his men to load Oleg up on the helicopter.  “Don’t worry.  It’s already been taken care of.” A woman driving a cart passed the tarmac as they walked out caught his attention.  He knew everyone who worked here; most had been hired by his men.  But she, he did not know.

“Daniil,” Simeon said, turning from Gabriel.

“Yes, boss.” Daniil drug a little, tired from the long trip.  “Find out who that woman is.” He stepped closer to the man.  “Not directly.”

Gabriel sensed there was a problem.  Turning from the helicopter, he walked up to the pair. “What’s up?”

Simeon didn’t bring attention to himself. He watched the woman drive down the tarmac, waiting to see if she turned back.

When she didn’t, he put his hand over his mouth to cover his words, just in case surveillance was watching.  “I don’t know that woman.  Find out who she is.”

In Gabriel’s previous life, he had been a federal agent.  He knew that if she didn’t fit her surroundings, she was possibly a plant, but one could never be sure.  “Let Diane find out who she is,” he urged Simeon.

“Can she do that?” Simeon asked.

“Oh yeah.  She can do just about anything, including fly that chopper.”  Gabriel and the men started back toward the helicopter.  “I’ll have her do some digging since she’s here all day every day with the planes.  If something doesn’t feel right with her, she’ll find out.”

As they approached the helicopter, Boris stuck his head out and waved.  With a big grin, he motioned for the men to hurry up.

“He’s back?” Gabriel didn’t realize he was scheduled for home base yet.

“Arrived just an hour ago.”  Simeon looked one last time toward the mysterious woman as she disappeared into another hangar.

“Looks like the whole gang will be here by nightfall.  How did the thing with Peaches go?”  Gabriel hoped it went well.

“She’s got him,” Simeon said, loading into the helicopter.  “But the word is that she’s pretty banged up.”

Gabriel instantly thought of Marat.  He must have been going crazy to see her.  “Well, damn.  It looks like even our girls don’t fight like girls.”  Jumping in the helicopter, he grabbed a seat and put on his belt buckle.  “Take me home, man. I need to see my woman.”

Raina jumped off the cart and headed to the private plane of some anonymous billionaire, knowing she had possibly been made.

For weeks, she had been working with her head down, doing nothing to get noticed, but today, she had made a mistake.  Instead of quickly turning around before Simeon Kurdin could see her, she moved right passed him.

Her fingers trembled as she went to the back of the plane to unload the cargo with other employees.

“You okay, Natasha?” one of the men who worked in the same area asked Raina as he grabbed one of the large bags and walked it down the metal incline.

“Upset stomach,” Raina lied, barely changing her face from a scowl.

“Your shift just started.  You better go and get some medicine before the planes come rolling in for the evening,” he said, nodding toward another employee across the hangar.  “Boss doesn’t like for us to leave mid-shift.” She was new to their team and a nice girl, so he figured he would keep her from getting fired too soon.

“You mind if I go right now?” Raina asked, grabbing her stomach.  “Oh no, I need to go to the restroom.”

The man frowned.  TMI.  As cute as the woman was, the image of her bent over a toilet losing her bowels made him uneasy.  “Yeah, go on.  We’ll cover you.” He turned away, talking to another employee, and ending their conversation.

Moving quickly, Raina jumped on her cart and headed to the main building where her backpack and cell phone were stowed safely in her locker.  She needed to get a communication to Erik Popov quickly.  If Simeon Kurdin and Gabriel Medlov were in Irkutsk, Dmitry Medlov couldn’t be far.

The guards wouldn’t let her wait outside, so Valeriya stayed in the living room near the front door, patiently waiting for the moment that Gabriel would finally walk through the door in one piece.  Knowing she was anxious, Andriy chose to sit with her.  Thumbing through a book, he looked up at his sister and smiled.

“What?” she asked, putting down her notepad.

Andriy shrugged. “You’re doing that thing you always do when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Okay.”  Andriy knew his big sister. If it wasn’t that, it was the other thing. “What are you?  Since I’ve been here, you definitely haven’t been yourself.” No one else could say that to her, but he could, and if he loved her, he had to.

Valeriya blew him off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”  Andriy got up from his chair and walked over to the sofa to sit beside Valeriya.  The closeness of their proximity quickly brought down the invisible walls between them.  “When we lost Momma and Papa…”

Valeriya cut him off.  Snapping her head toward her brother, she tried to silence him. “Andriy, I’m fine.” Her brown eyes burned through him, but not enough to scare him off.

“When we lost Momma and Papa, you changed.  I watched you change.  You went from being happy to always nervous, looking for something to be wrong or something bad to happen in everything.”  He put his hand on her leg.  “The same when we lost Alexei.”

Valeriya rocked against the sofa.  Quietly, she turned from her brother and stared at the door.  “If I had not changed, we would not have made it.”

Andriy knew the great lengths that his sister had gone through to ensure his safety.  However, he felt like she was using that as a crutch now.  “But now things are better.”

“Are they?” Valeriya wasn’t so sure.  “I thought once we went to the States, everything would be better, but here we are again, right back in the same situation, only this time with more to lose.”   She grabbed the throw and placed it in front of her, feeling vulnerable all over again.  “Why can’t we just find peace?”  It was a rhetorical question that she didn’t expect her teenage brother to answer.

“Maybe there is no peace to find.”  Andriy was not a philosopher. He had learned not to question the whole of life, but simply to try to enjoy what he could of it.  If he spent all of his time wondering why he had lost his family in such a painful and violent way, he would never be happy again. “Maybe we were designed for war.”

“Well, that is a very depressing thought.”  She rolled her eyes again.

“I only mean that maybe this is our life.”  Andriy released her leg.  “But no matter what, sis, don’t go back to being so hard on yourself like you were in Ukraine.  It was hard to watch. It broke my heart.”

“I was not hard on myself.  I had an entire army to lead.  People were counting on me.  If I relaxed and let my guard down, people died.  There was no other option.”

“And now you don’t have to lead an army.  You don’t have to militarize the women.  You don’t have to wage war. And it makes you feel inadequate.  And…” he just had to say it, “if I know you, you’re taking out your insecurities on your husband.”

Out of the mouth of babes.  Valeriya ducked her head in shame.  “I’m doing my best.  If you only knew how hard I’m trying.”

Andriy was sure that she was, but that wasn’t the point.  “Do you think he’s not trying?”

Valeriya thought of Gabriel now, out there, fighting to keep them safe.  Of course, he was trying his best.  “I know my husband is doing whatever it takes.”

“Gabriel is a good man.  I like him.  He’s taken over the role of being my big brother.  He calls me three times a week when I’m at school to check on me, and he makes you happy.  He gives me a good life.  I love my school.  I love my life.  Dmitry and Royal are like my parents.  The entire family has taken us in and made us part of them.  Don’t hate them for it.  Don’t hate them for their own battles and their own problems, when we had our own.”

“He really calls you three times a week?” Valeriya had no idea.

“At least.  He also sends care packages, and sometimes, he comes to visit.”

Valeriya was glad to hear that.  Wiping a tear, she turned to face her brother again.  “That was all I ever wanted, Andriy, for you to be happy.”

“Now you have what you wished for, and you got it because of a war.  So, don’t go back to being untouchable.  Let Gabriel do what he’s good at doing and remind him of why he’s doing it by not being a complete bitch.”

Valeriya snorted a laugh.  “How did you grow up so fast, huh?” She leaned over and grabbed him by his head.  Kissing the crown of it, she realized he was right.

“War will do that to a boy.”  He sat back up as Stepan walked down the corridor toward the front door.  “Just promise me you’ll live again, the way you were before all that happened in our lives.  The twins are depending on it, and so are Gabriel and me.  Otherwise, what is all this for?”  He stood up as the front door opened, and the sound of men entering the house filled the hallway.  They were no longer alone.  He had said what he needed to say, just in time, he hoped.

“Where are you going?” Valeriya asked, standing up as well.

“Where every young man my age goes,” he said with a wink, “to the kitchen.”

Valeriya waited as a barrage of guards, and men came through the door until finally, Gabriel emerged.  His footfalls were different from everyone else, more forceful, more pronounced in her heart.  She took a deep breath as he walked past the doorway.  Catching a glimpse of her, he stopped in his tracks and turned toward her.

A wicked grin crossed his full lips. Pulling off his weapon, he passed it to one of the guards and stepped into the living room.  “Aren’t you a beautiful sight.”

Valeriya rushed over to him and planted a kiss on his lips.  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held him close as he pulled her into him and picked her up slightly off the floor.

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I’m glad you’re glad,” he said, realizing a small change in her demeanor.  He was grateful for her lightened mood.  Rubbing her nose with his own, he gripped her sides.  “I was thinking tonight after I take care of some business, we could get close, then binge, watch a little Netflix and chill with the babies.”

Leave it to Gabriel to try to sneak a date night out of war planning.  “I’d like that,” she blushed.  “Anything you want.”  She felt her eyes start to fill with tears before she could stop them.

“Something wrong, baby?” Gabriel asked, setting her down on the floor.

Valeriya quickly wiped her face and placed a hand on her hip. “No,” she said, licking her lips. “I’m just sorry.”

“About what exactly?”  Now, she had his full attention.  It was very rare that a woman actually apologized without being tortured, especially a Medlov woman.

Valeriya moved the hair out of her face and glanced behind him as the last of the guards disappeared.  “It was brought to my attention that I might have been a bit of a bitch lately.”

“Oh,” Gabriel raised both brows.

“And I know I have been,” Valeriya admitted.  “I’m afraid, and I’m anxious, and I love you.”  She took a deep breath and looked up into his mossy green eyes, surprised by the full attention he was giving her.

“I love you too.”  He stepped closer and wiped her cheek.  “And I know you’re afraid.  Under the circumstance, you’ve been handling it quite well.”

“No, I haven’t.”  Valeriya took his hands in hers.  “But I’m going to be better. I promise.”

Gabriel looked around the room and shook his head in utter bafflement.  “So, who do I have to thank and reward for this epiphany?”

Valeriya laughed at his much-needed humor.  “You know who.”

Gabriel bent and kissed her sweet, lush lips, savoring the taste. “Yeah, I know.  I’ll buy him a car or something when this is all over.”

Valeriya snuggled into his warm embrace.  “Just keep doing what you’re doing.  I think that’s payment enough.”

Gabriel hugged her tight in the silence of the lofty room.  It was an unexpected welcome, but one that somehow made him feel like everything was going to be alright.  That was the magic of Valeriya.  If she wanted, she could change his universe in a matter of seconds.

The mood in the war room was quite different than before.  As the heads of the family gathered for a quick update, they pondered what news Dmitry had to impart after his less-than-stellar performance earlier.

A few additional eyes were set on him with Boris, Gabriel, and Daniil also seated around the table, but the consensus was the same.  Whatever Dmitry was about to say was a game-changer.

“Thank you for coming to meet with me on such short notice,” Dmitry started formally.  Sitting at the head of the table in his full suit, guns holstered under his arm, he crossed his hands and leaned forward.  Under the light, his blonde hair sparkled with specs of silver laced into curly locks.  There was a determination in his majestic blue eyes, something that was pulled from the depths of him and made to leap forth through his declaration.  “Forget about what you saw just a few hours ago.  It’s moot.  Forget your reservations as to if we can carry this out successfully.  We can.  Forget your petty squabbles and differences.  They don’t matter.  What does matter, what is central to every conversation we will have from now until Erik Popov is dead is this, we are one collective body with one primary goal.  Everything we do from now until this end is important and non-negotiable.”

Anatoly looked down at the table, certain his father’s words were meant for him, but they were actually meant for everyone.  As Dmitry gazed around the table and around the room, he saw fault in each of them as well as within himself.  But guilt was not an effective driver. The only purpose could compel a man or woman to shed their shortcomings and grow a thicker skin to combat a potential end.

“I have given Royal a list that she will share with you.  While I am away, she will work with each of you to complete your tasks. When I return, all of Erik’s allies will be dead.”  Dmitry saw the eyes and ears perk up at the announcement of his departure.  “I’m not asking permission.  Don’t bother waiting for it or an explanation as to why.  I know what needs to be done, and I’m going to do it.”

The tide of the room changed from questions to submission.  This was not the time to express aggravation. It was apparent in the forcefulness of the Czar’s tone that everyone’s opinion would have to take a backseat to his fervent domination.

“From now on, we will work in tandem with a few mobilized teams to have boots on the ground in my absence.  Our original plan will be embedded in the new one.  Fifteen major sects are connected to Oleg, Renat, and Lev.  As of tomorrow, each will be targeted and eliminated by our soldiers.  They will be contacted tonight and given the resources to carry this out.  We are cutting the head of the snake off and skinning the body.”

Gabriel sat on the other end of the table in complete agreement.  This was just what he felt was needed — a full-on attack from the lower ranks all the way up to the head guys.  A grin crossed his face, indicating his approval of his uncle’s decision.

“While we’re working on this new plan,” Gabriel offered, holding up his finger to respectfully interrupt, “we might have a problem at the airport in Irkutsk.”  He glanced over at Simeon. “A woman is working there – someone we don’t know.  She could be a spy.”

Simeon nodded toward Dmitry.  “I have a bad feeling about her.  She doesn’t fit.”

Dmitry expected someone would be lurking somewhere.  “Send a team to check her out.  Find out if she’s alone.”

Gabriel licked his lips and picked up his coffee cup.  “Already on it.  Diane is checking her out.  Simeon is finding out where she’s living and what her backstory is.  If it doesn’t check out…”

“Kill her.”  Dmitry moved on.  “Once Peaches arrives, Daniil, you can start with your next phase.  The shed in the back has been prepared according to your specs.”

“Looking forward to it,” Daniil answered.

Royal’s interest peaked.  What was it that Daniil needed, and for what reason?  Once upon a time, a few hours ago, she might have asked, but now, it wasn’t even an option.  Dmitry had resumed his position at the head of the table, and it was clear that he had no intention of sharing it.

“Ladies, I need you to focus your efforts on Renee and the children. She’s close now.  The rest of your time, you are free to do as you please minus what Royal has for you to do on my list.  Gentlemen, I expect you to work around the clock in teams of your choosing to do the rest.”  Dmitry stood up from his table.  “That’s it.  Get to work.”

This was the first time that Dmitry had not asked anyone for feedback, and everyone could feel the shift in control, but oddly enough, the sudden change did not bring up feelings of hostility.  Instead, it made everyone feel better, safer.  There was a plan of action.  There were directives.  There was control.

“Vasily,” Dmitry said as everyone broke from the meeting to get to work.

Vasily turned from his conversation with Gabriel and Nadei and walked over to Dmitry.  “What’s up?”

“I need to make a trip out to the shed, and when I return, I want you ready to go with me.”  Dmitry put his hand on Vasily’s shoulder. “We’re going after Lev, but I don’t want to bring him back.  You understand?”

Vasily knew exactly what Dmitry meant.  “Da, da.  I’ll be ready.” He checked his watch and made a mental note to say goodbye to Dylan and say a few words to Lilly, but he was more than happy to get in on the action finally.

“Alright.”  Dmitry was done talking.  “Let’s go see our friend, Oleg.”

Chapter 33

The Medlov Compound

The Barn

“Fear is the parent of cruelty.”

- James Anthony Froude

T here was unnatural blackness that clouded the dark skies.  Blustery winds howled through the air rattling the large wooden barn in the back of the Medlov compound with angry, violent gusts, foretelling the tone for the rest of the evening’s activities.

The night was unsettled, and all manner of the creature below the moon’s glowing surface scattered in anxiousness. Wolves howled as they stood on rocky cliffs in the distance.  East Siberian eagle owls watched from the tallest limbs of ancient trees stalking their evening meals.  Under industrial lights, armed guards worked along the mountainside, toiling to dig trenches and lay detchord.  And in the quietness of the lonely barn reserved for Dmitry’s most heinous sins, a man awaited his judge and jury.

The crimson-colored barn with no windows and a metal rooster mounted atop its towering steeple was as equally gloomy inside as it was outside with rusty hooks that hung from drafty rafters and muddy farm equipment piled against the inner walls.  The floor of the barn was covered in hay and dirt, and three halogen lamps dangled from the center beam of the building, casting a portentous luminosity.

In the far corner of the barn, a stainless-steel medical examiner’s table had been placed flush against a wall and next to it a smaller table with surgical equipment laid out on top of a brown leather covering.

Six red-bottomed, white-topped coolers filled with ice were under the examiner’s table, and a standing lamp with an open face and a 200-watt bulb at its center was leaned over the table casting a reflection off the shiny metal surface.

But all of these things were not as disturbing as the black, cast-iron stew pot boiling hot water across the room.  The archaic 20-gallon stewer was fueled by wooden logs set afire below its belly.  The space around the stewer had been cleared free of hay, and a hole had been dug into the earth, and fresh garden rocks had been distributed evenly inside of large bricks around the pot to keep the fire controlled.

As Oleg stirred from a deep, drug-induced sleep, he found himself tied to exposed vertical planks on a damp, wooden wall.  Immediately, his blood pressure spiked as he finally realized he was trapped in an undisclosed location.  He turned his head frantically from left to right, glancing at the black zip ties around his wrists.  Both of his arms had been stretched and bound, along with each leg – the restraints so tight until his fingers had turned blue at the tips and ached from poor circulation.  Ironically, the Presidential Rolex on his left arm was still there, glimmering under the glow of the lights. The Medlov men were willing to kidnap him, just not rob him.  That would be in poor taste.

“…the fuck?” Oleg grunted, only muttering half of his thoughts aloud.  He grunted, struggling against his restraints.

Never in his privileged, royal underworld existence had he ever been so besmirched.  It was unnerving.  Embarrassing.  INFURIATING!   First, his wife betrayed him.  Then his ally abandoned him.   Now, he found himself at the mercy of a man who was known for cruel and unusual violence toward his enemies.  And all in one night, no less.

The base instinct in Oleg reared its head suddenly, and even in his grogginess, he tried to break free.  How dare Dmitry try to do this to him!  How dare anyone try to make him less than what he was! Did they not know who he was?  Did they not fear what he was capable of?

But even as his magnificently futile vanity cast him afloat in a monsoon of foolish pride, flashes of the attack just hours before filled his aching head anchoring him to a sobering reality - first slowly and then too fast to process. All Oleg could remember was his wife and daughter running off with Nasir toward freedom he now envied, and then the giant Gabriel Medlov standing over him with a needle and weapon.  The rest was a blur, a bad nightmare that he had yet to wake from.

He inhaled a shaky breath, remembering bits of a wooden box he was enclosed in for hours in the cargo bay of a plane, and with that memory, a panic of claustrophobic proportions overtook him.

“No,” he thought to himself.  “Not like this.”

Oleg’s vision was blurry.  Batting his eyes quickly, he adjusted his sight and surveilled around the room.  Mouth gagged with a dirty rag, he yanked ineffectively against the ropes around his wrists and feet again.  He grunted louder, throwing his head back and hitting it against the wooden slats behind him.

The foul scent of the rag in his mouth made him want to vomit, but he focused on holding it back, realizing in horror that directly across the shed was a horrifying end awaiting him.

His eyes scanned the equipment, remembering all the horrible urban-legendesque stories he had heard of Dmitry’s torture tactics, reserved for the only the men he most wanted to make an example out of.

“No,” Oleg grappled with the fear mounting inside.  Sweat beads formed on his forehead as his mind flitted from denial to utter desperation.

There had to be a way out of this.  While he was physically unable to escape, maybe he could talk his way into an agreement.  Dmitry had always been a rational man when it came to money.  Surely, he would listen to a reasonable offer.  Oleg’s mind raced to find an offer to appease the Czar.  At this point, he would propose just about anything insincerity, just as long as it didn’t result in him dying in this wretched place.  As he gathered his thoughts, a huge rat the size of a small dog ran past his bound foot and exited the shed through a hole in the wooden wall.

What he wouldn’t give to be a rat right now.  The thought was nearly as repulsive as the rag lodged in his mouth.  Another first for him.  He now wished to be vermin instead of a multi-millionaire under lord.

“Fuck,” he said, voice muffled.

Hearing footsteps just outside of the barn, he debated whether he should close his eyes and pretend to be out still or appear unmoved by the display and entirely in control of his own facilities.  Which one? Which…

The barn door jutted opened before he could make up his mind, and with it, a breeze of fresh air moved through the space.   A small entourage of men walked inside.  Heavy steps and small talk proceeded Dmitry and Simeon entering right before the door was closed shut, and the latch was secured tightly to keep others from interrupting.

Oleg chose not to pretend.  Instead, he glared across the barn at the group of men as a dollop of sweat dropped from his eyebrow to his eyelash.  He batted it away quickly, hoping they would not confuse sweat for tears.  It would be a sign of weakness – a poor way to start negotiations.

Simeon walked up to Oleg first.  With his hands down in his pants pockets, he stood in front of his former council member and shook his head in disgust. “Damn, you look a mess, brother.”  Reaching out, he pulled the duct tape from Oleg’s mouth and snatched out the dirty rag.

Immediately, Oleg took a deep breath, spitting an oozing, thick mucus-like residue onto his own chin. The pain of tape removal made his red eyes water, but it was good to be free of the bondage finally.  Licking his lips, Oleg raised his eyes to Simeon and heaved a breath.  “Are you enjoying yourself, Simeon?” he asked, voice cracking.  His throat itched, and all he wanted at that moment was a glass of water.

“No, I’m not enjoying any part of this,” Simeon answered honestly.  His left eye twitched.  “It didn’t have to be like this.  All you had to do was not pick sides, you dumb fuck.”  Anger laced his Russian brogue as he cast the tape and rag down the ground beneath him.  “You had a choice.  You chose wrong.”

Oleg raised a brow at the oversimplification. “It’s that simple, is it?”

Dmitry took off his jacket and placed it on the stainless-steel table across from Oleg.  “Occam’s razor in reverse.  The simplest explanation is often the right one.  Conversely, it seems for your situation, the simplest choices are often the hardest ones to make these days.”  He turned from the table as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing tattooed arms.  Wiping a large hand over his mouth, he inventoried the items in the room and felt a surge of nostalgia.  “You should have picked the simplest alliance, Oleg.”

“Would it make things any better for me if I told you that I was suddenly rethinking my alliances?” Oleg asked with a sardonic grin.  He tried to play it cool, even though just under his surface, his soul trembled with trepidation.

Dmitry laughed.  His deep voice filled the shed, making the other men laugh as well.  Walking over to Oleg, Dmitry waved his index finger at him like he was admonishing a naughty little boy. “Oh, Oleg.  It might make a difference. You never know.”  He came to stand beside Simeon, towering over all the men.  Rolling his broad shoulders, Dmitry toyed with Oleg.  “Are you rethinking your alliance, brother?”

The room went silent.

Oleg nodded, swallowing down his pride and feeling hot tears weld at the corners of his red eyes.  “I am, brother.”  His voice was solemn now.  It would only be a few minutes before he began outright pleading for his life.

Dmitry stopped smiling. To be forced to bring a man to this point was never a good feeling.  Looking down at Oleg, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the spittle from Oleg’s chin.  The gesture was so sincere; it took the room by surprise.

Dmitry swallowed hard, making his Adam’s apple bob.  His crystal blue eyes sparkled like diamonds under the halogen lights.  It was as if he was seeing through Oleg at that moment.  “I always give my boys the same advice, so they weigh the opportunity cost involved with a thing before they just jump into it.”

“What’s that?” Oleg asked, knowing that anytime he spent talking to Dmitry, was time he wasn’t being tortured to death.

Dmitry said the words slowly, making sure the meaning resonated with his enemy.  “Ambition is a dangerous thing.  If you’re not careful with it, it will consume you whole and eventually kill you and everything you love.  You must temper your ambition, control it.  Otherwise, it’s a bull in a china cabinet.”  He didn’t blink.  “You should have never stood against me, brat.  You had to know I would win eventually.” Putting the soiled handkerchief back in his pocket, Dmitry rolled his shoulders.  “I always win.”

“Because you’re so much smarter than all of us or because you know how to control your ambition?” Oleg growled.  He snarled to the point of showing his teeth.  The privileged arrogance that had fueled most of his life reared its ugly head momentarily.  “Because you’ve coveted the International Council and all of its grand trappings before any of us even knew that you existed?  I believe that was ambition that led you there, was it not?”

Dmitry's face never changed.  He shrugged indifferent to the man’s anger, sympathizing momentarily.  After all, who wouldn’t be angry if they found themselves tied to a barn wall.  Still, Oleg’s circumstance didn’t change the facts. His voice was deep, and even like he was reciting a text that had been memorized over many years.  “I always win, brother, because I have no other choice.  It’s the simplest answer, and the hardest at times.  Yes, my ambition led me to the council, but I was more than willing to serve beside you for the rest of my life.  Instead, your ambition has led me to take yours.”

“You started all of this,” Oleg reminded Dmitry.  “To kill a Vor is heresy, punishable by death.”

“Well, now, that’s debatable.”  Dmitry thought about his own biological brother, Ivan.  “Sometimes, you have to kill your brother in order to save your family.  It’s an oxymoron.”  He took one step closer to Oleg. The smell of his expensive cologne clouded Oleg’s thoughts.  “And that’s what I’m doing right now.  Familial triage of sorts.  The council, while partially shuttered right now, is still my family, and the family must continue on after this war.”

“What makes you think the council will be worth anything after this? The old men are close to retirement.  The rest of us are divided forever. You’ve destroyed everything our brotherhood worked to build,” Oleg snapped. He hated himself for further agitating Dmitry, but every time he opened his mouth to say something meaningful, the anger and animosity he had harbored for the bastard came barreling out.

Dmitry was certain of one thing.  “The council will continue. In fact, it will be stronger than ever.  The mere fact that you think this brotherhood is built solely around you is all the more reason why you have no business sitting at the table.  The brotherhood is about the men in the streets, the gutter rats, the boys putting their lives on the line, the soldiers who will never eat off gold plates or live in mansions.”

“Are you their Robinhood?” Oleg taunted.

“No, I am their future.”  Dmitry wouldn’t waste time espousing his plans with a relic.  It was useless.  He stepped back.  “It’s a brave new world out there, Oleg.  The men on this side of the war planning on taking full advantage.”

“And do you have plans for my family and me at your new council table?” Oleg asked, unsure if he should cling to the last bit of hope he had or release it completely.

“No,” Dmitry answered quickly.  “I’m afraid that there is no place for you at the table or even on this planet.”

“Then what the fuck do I care about your plans or your concern for the council?” Oleg asked deflated.

“Because even though you won’t be here with us to enjoy it, your legacy will live on through our joint success.”  Dmitry motioned toward Simeon, who cast a devious smile at Oleg.  “It will be through the businesses that you sign over, the accounts you unlock, the property that you bequeath that we will continue my new vision.”

Oleg blew out a breath at the idea that he was about to be extorted and then tortured. “You’re a joke.  You know that?  What makes you think I’m going to give you shit?”

“Now, now.  Be nice,” Simeon warned sarcastically like a scolding, overbearing mother. “If you keep that up, it’s off to bed without your dinner.”

“Fuck you, Simeon,” Oleg said, jutting out his jaw.

Dmitry stuck out his hand, and behind him, a guard passed him a handful of crisp, freshly printed papers.  “These are the deeds…”  He looked down at the documents and scanned through them.  “Everything you own.”

“Everything I own has already been forfeited to the council, remember,” Oleg said, dropping his head.  He licked his lips, dying for water.

Dmitry bit down on his bottom lip.  “Not illegal businesses.  I’ll gain control of them upon Erik’s death.  No, these are the legal enterprises you own or are invested into through some intricate money trail, here or there.  It was a great task to cipher through your accounts so quickly, but your money guy had extensive records on his computer.”

“What makes you think I’ll sign anything over to you?” Oleg asked again.

Dmitry dropped his hand, clenching the documents in his sweaty grasp.  “I had this same conversation with my father once.  It didn’t go the way he wanted.”

Oleg shook his head.  “You’re nothing but a thief.  This was all an elaborate scheme to steal our money.”

Dmitry raised a brow.  “Didn’t start out that way, no.  But to the victor goes the spoils of war.”  He turned and walked over to the table where he sat the documents down under the light.  “Like I told you, Oleg.  I always win.”

“Not this time.”  Oleg found his last bit of strength.  “I’m already going to die.  Why would I sign over anything to you?  You’re already going to kill me.  My wife and child are already gone.  Not even for my daughter would I give you what you want.  This is where I tell you to go fuck yourself and mean it, brat.”

Dmitry was certain Oleg would respond that way, which was why he had kept the purpose of the barn to himself until now.

“Do you know this man?”  Dmitry pointed toward Daniil.  “Look familiar to you?”

Oleg shook his head. “I’ve seen him with Simeon.”

“He’s a harvester.”  Dmitry waved for Daniil to come forward.  Putting his hand on the man’s shoulder, he stood behind him.  “I’ve hired him to do a special job.”

“I’m not one for blowjobs by men.”  Rolling his eyes, he turned his gaze from Dmitry and Daniil.  The sight of both of them made him sick.

“If you give me what I want, your signature on all of those documents, and you tell me where Erik Popov is hiding out, then I’ll kill you quickly.  A bullet to the head.  I’ll have your body cleaned and buried in a nice spot with a good view.” Dmitry ran a hand through his wheat blonde curls and stopped his hand at his neck.  He massaged it, kneading the tight muscle with his right hand. “But if you deny me this last request, I will have Daniil place you on that table.”  He turned and looked at it.  “While you are still alive, he will carve you into pieces, and those pieces, heart, liver, lungs, kidneys will go into that black pot to be boiled and then transferred into a stew.”

The men in the room looked over at the equipment with a ghastly pale glare.  No one had explained just what Daniil did for Simeon or even what this room would be used for, up until now.

Oleg blinked fast.  He had heard of many things, but this was barbaric.  He locked eyes on the examiner’s table with new ideas about cooperating.

Dmitry continued when he was sure that he had Oleg’s complete attention.  He knew the men watched on, terrified to be a witness to the actual lengths he was willing to go in order to solidify his position at the very top of this brotherhood.  “What will be in the stew?” he asked Daniil.

Daniil spoke up without the slightest emotion.  “Sweet beats, red wine sauce, blood oranges, carrots, onions, celery, vinegar, a little seasoning recipe I use to make the meat tasteless gamey.  I’ll cut the meat into little morsels so that it will last longer.  All in all, it’s pretty good.  I’ve perfected it over time.  It’s good enough for a tasting menu, in my opinion.”

“Served at some of my restaurants,” Simeon offered.  “Nobody. No crime.”

Dmitry nodded, certain he would never ask Daniil how he knew this particular dish was editable and noting to never eat stew at any of Simeon’s fine dining establishments.  “I’m going to serve that stew to Erik Popov after I catch him.  That’s a fucking promise.  You, Renat, and Lev will be his final meal.”  He looked over at Oleg, locking eyes with him.  “Your remains will be eaten and ultimately expelled from the very man who put you in this situation in the first place.  There will be no final resting place you, Oleg.  No headstone.  No grace.  The underworld in which you and your family lorded over for all those years will know that you were served up on a plate, literally, and eaten at a feast prepared for my enemy.  You will be the joke.”

His heavy footsteps echoed across the chilly room.  Coming to stand in front of Oleg again, Dmitry’s nose flared, but his voice remained low and calm.  A single vein struck like lightning through his forehead.  “It’s your choice how you die, Oleg. I’ll give you that, but that’s all I’ll give you, brother.  Everything else is mine.  Choose now, before I choose for you.”

The explanation of his death was just enough to tip the scale for Oleg.  With tears streaming down his face, he projectile vomited onto the floor all over his designer suit.  Alas, he had been defiled to the very last drop.  There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.  Dmitry Medlov would yet again get all that he wanted.

Simeon put a hand over his mouth at the stench of Oleg’s curdled vomit.  “I think he’ll sign the papers.”

“No.  I want to hear him say it with his own mouth.”  Dmitry was unmoved by the smell or the fear radiating from Oleg’s vomit-covered body.  In fact, the sight of his vulnerability only fueled more anger.  Standing locked in position, he waited. “Look at me, suka.  Look into my eyes and say it,” he demanded.  If Oleg did anything other than submit, he might well snap his puny little neck clean off his body.

Oleg jerked his head up, showing the busted blood vessels in his eyes.  “Da, da, Dmitry.  I’ll sign it,” he relented in bleak despair.  “I’ll sign whatever you want.” He was a broken man now, after hearing how the end would come to him, one way or the other.  The inevitable outcome snuck past his first cool exterior and exposed him for the coward he was.

Dmitry pursed his lips together and cocked his head to one side.  “Cut him down.”  He was tired of talking to the man — all he wanted Oleg’s signature on the papers.

A guard stepped forward and began releasing Oleg’s weak body from his restraints using a sharp blade, cutting first the ties to his ankles and then the ties around his wrists.

Oleg’s body hit the floor with a hollow thud. He planted his hands on the fresh earth below, manicured fingers mingling in the dirt, and looked at Dmitry’s leather shoes. How much lower could he get?

Dmitry looked down at the weak man and felt nothing.  Judgment had been passed.  This was the job.  This was the work.  There was nothing noble or generous about being a Czar.  At the end of the day, he had to make the hard decisions, and he had to do it without the perfume of pity.

“Help him up.  Make sure he signs all of them.  Simeon, witness the transaction.”  Dmitry stepped back as a few other guards picked Oleg up from the ground and dragged him by his arms over to the table to sign the papers.

Just then, a knock on the barn’s door interrupted the men.  Dmitry looked back at the guard who was standing by the entrance.  “Who is it?” he asked, hand on his weapon.

“Boss Gabriel,” the guard answered, glancing over at the monitor on the table.

“Let him in.”  Dmitry went over to a barstool in the corner of the barn and sat down.  The pain was dull but constant in his side.  A pill would have subsided the agitation, but he no longer wanted to be under the control of any vice.  “Bring me a bottle of water,” he told Luka.  Throwing one long leg out in front of him and placing the other on the stool brace, he looked blankly across the room.

Simeon walked over to Dmitry and lowered his voice, turning his back to the men.  “How are you doing?” He glanced at Dmitry’s side.

“Fine.”  Dmitry watched Gabriel breeze into the barn with a look of pure satisfaction at Oleg signing over his life on the examiner’s table.

Gabriel winked at his uncle and hit Simeon on the back as he came up to the men.  “Uncle, did I miss the festivities?”

Dmitry took a swig of the water and glanced over at Oleg as he leaned against the table, scribbling his name.  “There was nothing to see really, just Oleg throwing up all over himself before agreeing to sign the documents.”

“He put up a good fight until the end,” Simeon admitted. “I better go over and sign everything.  Who is going to witness this shit?”

“I’ve got someone,” Dmitry said, throwing his bottle of water over to Simeon.  “Give some to Oleg before he passes out.”

“Always the gentleman,” Gabriel smirked.  He pulled a recorder from his pocket as Simeon walked off.

“What’s that?”  Dmitry asked, eyeing the device.

Gabriel shrugged indifferently.  “Something I want you to hear in a minute.” He walked over to Oleg and leaned against the wall.  Propping a foot up behind him, he laced his hands together and cracked his knuckles.  “Where is Erik Popov?” he asked Oleg.

With one arm propped against the table to steady his weak body, Oleg signed the papers quickly as the guard pointed to where he needed to put his initials.

“Here too,” the guard ordered Oleg, putting his finger on the paper.  “And here.”

Gabriel observed Oleg.  Powerful men always forgot one crucial fact when doing evil deeds – eventually, those deeds came home to roost.  He spoke softly, barely above a whisper.  “Where is he?”

Signing the papers, Oleg cast a glare up to Gabriel.  “All I know is that he’s in Russia.”

“Where in Russia?”  Gabriel sucked his teeth.  “It’s a big place. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“All I know is that he’s in Russia. His location has changed a few times.  Renat knows more than I do.”  Oleg signed the last piece of paper and took the water from Simeon.  Gulping it down quickly, he wiped the residue from his mouth and took a deep breath.

“Why did he change locations so many times?” Gabriel asked, refusing to let up.

“He knew Dmitry would be looking.  We had no intention of this going on for so long.  No one had prepared for such a long campaign.  Staying in one place for an extended time put all of our interests in jeopardy.”

Gabriel tapped a hand on the table impatiently.  “Where was he last? Do you know that?”  His eyes narrowed on Oleg, looking for the slightest deceit in his answer.

Oleg threw down the pen and stood up.  He glared at Gabriel, realizing the man hated him for something more than the war against his uncle.  “What do you have against me, boy?”  It was a reasonable question for a man already sentenced to death.

Gabriel asked again, this time, more forcefully.  “The last known place that Erik Popov hid.  Where was that?”

Dmitry and Simeon stopped talking to listen on to the exchange. Gabriel used to be a calm character, but since Ukraine, he was a wild card, ready at any moment to go from zero to one hundred.  However, he rarely did so without cause.

Oleg wiped the drool from his face.  “I’ll answer your questions when you answer mine.”

Gabriel stepped closer to Oleg.  “You are not in a position to demand anything from my family or me.”  His face reddened as an untimely smile crossed his lips. “But okay. I’ll play ball. I think my uncle is giving you far too much grace.  You should be gutted and skinned.”

Simeon crossed his arms across his chest.  “Why do you say that, Gabriel?” Was there something that he was missing?

“Because he would have done the same to us.” Gabriel’s right eye twitched.  “Because he would have done worse to our children and our wives.”

Oleg shook his head.  “There is no point in discussing what I would have done.  If you haven’t noticed, I didn’t exactly win this war.”

“Answer my question.  Where was Erik Popov last?”  Gabriel asked for the final time.

Oleg glanced over at Dmitry and then decided against lying.  It was possible that they already knew, and at this point, any lie would lead him back to the stew he was desperately trying to avoid.  “Erik, his uncle, an unknown woman, and a small army comprised of all our men were sent to Makhachkala, where his father still has friends.  But he was transferred a week ago to an undisclosed location that we don’t even know about.”

Gabriel did not believe that men, once loyal to Oleg, would quickly discard him.  “Not one of your men reported in to let you know of their new location?”

“We stopped paying them. The reserves have been bled dry.”  Oleg threw up his hands.  It takes a lot of money to feed and pay an army for protection, pay the government to turn their heads, pay for the planes and the trains and the other fucking automobiles for transportation, pay for guns at a more expensive rate because we’ve obviously lost our connection to Dmitry and a hundred other fucking things that it takes to fund a war.”

“So, Makhachkala?” Gabriel asked again.

“Yes,” Oleg answered forcefully.

Gabriel nodded and walked back over to Dmitry.  “So, I’m assuming he didn’t want to join the stew?”

“He’s signing the paperwork,” Simeon answered.  “So, if that tells you anything.”

“But he didn’t exactly tell us where Erik is holed up.  That means he only held up half of his end,” Gabriel reminded.

“He’s got a point,” Simeon agreed.  “But Daniil is from Makhachkala.  We can send him there to investigate.  Find out where Erik might have gone.”

Dmitry looked at his watch.  “We need to speed this up.  I need to head to Bulgaria.  Send Daniil to Makhachkala and find out what he can.”

“Not so fast.” Gabriel handed his uncle the recorder.  “I’ve been keeping up with some conversations that might be useful later.  This one might be of interest to you now.   Push play.”  Gabriel looked over at Oleg.  “Hey, you ever heard of a sound bite?  They’ll make you famous.”  He smiled mischievously at Oleg, knowing this small recording would put the final nail in the man’s coffin.

Curious to see why Gabriel was so uptight, Dmitry did as Gabriel directed.  He pushed the button, and the sound of Oleg’s voice filled the room.

“Oh, we’re going to find him.  And when we do, I’m going to dig his heart out with a spoon and use his daughter’s pretty little head to eat cornflakes out of her fucking skull.  I’m going to turn his wife into my personal toilet and his sons into my footstools.”

The recording ending abruptly, leaving the silence in the barn palpable.  Dmitry handed the device back to Gabriel.  “Did he say anything else important?”

“Just what led us to Renat.”  Gabriel took the device back and slipped it into his pocket, seeing the dramatic change in Dmitry’s demeanor.  He stepped back to give the bull room to roam the china cabinet.

Oleg raised a hand.  “Dmitry, we had an agreement.  I give you what I have and you…”

Dmitry stood up to his full seven feet, forgetting the pain in his side or even the people in the room.  All he could see was Oleg.  “Eat cornflakes out of my daughter’s skull?  Fuck my wife?  Use my sons as footstools?”  There was nothing left to say.

“Oh shit,” Simeon stepped away from the paperwork on the table and out of the direct path of Dmitry.

“Let me explain,” Oleg begged.

The veins in Dmitry’s neck protruded like roots on an oak tree.  His skin reddened, eyes bulged.  Sweat formed across his forehead.  Advancing at full speed toward Oleg, he crossed the room with such speed until no one had time to react.

Picking Oleg up by his vomit-covered jacket, Dmitry forcefully pushed him up against the wood slats of the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs, and pinned him firm against it. His knuckles turned white as he stared the man in his eyes.  “No one threatens my family, Oleg.”

“Dmitry, I didn’t mean it,” Oleg sputtered.  “It was bravado.  It was…”

As Oleg tried to find the words, Dmitry released one hand and grabbed a shiny scalpel from the table.  Without another thought, he fisted the weapon and ran it directly through the center of Oleg’s eyes, burying it to the hilt into his skull.  The sound of Oleg’s screams muted abruptly as his feet flitted in the air.  A stream of urine ran down his pant leg as his head fell back against the wall, and all animation drained from his body.

Releasing him, Dmitry allowed Oleg’s body to drop to the ground once again.  He spat on his head and wiped the blood on his pants.  Standing over him, Dmitry glanced toward his guard; his voice was suddenly calm again.  “Is all the paperwork signed?” he asked, licking his lips.

Gabriel walked over, happy with the outcome of his well-crafted strategy.  He glanced at the body and grinned, just a few feet behind his uncle.

“It’s signed, boss,” the guard answered, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Good.  Daniil, get to work,” Dmitry ordered, blinking fast.  He wiped the splatter of blood from his face.  “I want him chopped up before Renat arrives.”  With that, he turned to find Gabriel behind him. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Gabriel answered truthfully.  His face contorted in rage.  “Everyone dies.  No deals.  No negotiations.”  He wasn’t about to give any of the men who were standing against them the opportunity to get close to their family.

Standing nearly eye-to-eye with his nephew, Dmitry saw the rage that Gabriel had tried hard to keep hidden before.  He respected it, understood it.  “No exceptions.”

Grabbing his jacket, Dmitry headed toward the barn door with his men following behind him.  “Let’s go get Lev, gentlemen.”

Chapter 34

The Popov Hideout

Baku, Azerbaijan

“All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” Sun Tzu

I n the Medlov household, no matter its location, everything was either all-calm or all-chaotic.  There was no in-between.  And since the head of the house, Boss Dmitry, had decided to remove the stick from his ass very abruptly, the energy in the home in Siberia rivaled the chaotic levels of Chernobyl.

At the helm of the organized chaos, Marat sat nearly alone, except for a few guards and computer workers, at the war room table under the dimmed halogen lights among a mass of papers with a radio, cellphone, encrypted computer and a mug of coffee, working on everything simultaneously.

So many moving parts.  So little time.

The status of every sector on the Medlov grid was at a critical point.

Legitimate businesses had been bombed, stock prices were plummeting, and strawmen were scrambling to pick up the pieces for their shadowed boss, who had not shown his face in months.

The illegal enterprise was not fairing much better.  Though the soldiers on the ground had already been trained on what to do in Dmitry’s absence, there were rumblings since the war began of how the territories would be divided internationally should their Czar fall.

Unexpectedly, Renee had gone into active labor just this hour, and all the women, plus Anil and Anatoly, had shifted their focus to help her prepare for the impending arrival of a new Czar.

The traitor, Oleg, was being tortured for his heinous crimes in the barn out back by Boss Dmitry and a few other men with the expectation of them soon departing for Budapest once they were done.

With much protest, the children were being corralled by Stepan in the upper rooms with the nannies and guards to ensure their protection.

Several Medlov guards were on a timed scavenger hunt in the city to find the true identity of the mysterious female worker Simeon spotted at the airport hangar.

And Peaches was just hours away from the compound with Renat in tow to begin his own interrogation.

Of course, there was a pause at the last bit of business.  And with the thought of her returning, a burst of butterflies had erupted in his stomach.  He was still mulling the advice of his superiors to separate himself from his beloved Peaches before it was too late, and at the same time, he was living on bated breath to see her face come through the doors safely.

Reports from the Moscow extraction team were that Peaches was in pretty bad shape physically, which conjured thoughts of bruises, lacerations, and broken bones.  Inwardly, he prayed for an opportunity to be left alone with Renat at some point to exact his own revenge.  But he had to put her in the back of his mind for now, because there was simply not enough room to focus on all of this and her too.

Tick tock.  Tick.  Tock.  The sound of time clanged in his ears.  Each second of each minute had to be used wisely.

Marat glanced at the large monitor mounted on the wall across the room and saw Dmitry and his entourage headed from the barn to the long line of SUVs in the driveway.   Immediately, he picked up the radio from the table.

“What’s your status?” he asked, releasing the button to wait for a reply.

The guard on the other end of the radio was many miles away in Irkutsk, rummaging through the apartment that the airport had on file for one Iyana Tournetiv, the mysterious airport worker.

Upon spotting the strange woman at the airport, Simeon sent a team, under the watchful eye of Marat, straight into the city to find out who she was and what she was doing near his private hangar.  They had torn up the one-bedroom apartment, ripping the mattress, destroying the television, searching for cameras or transmitters.

Kicking over a trunk of clothes in his path, the guard pulled the radio from his pocket and responded to Marat.  “We’ve got nothing, boss.”  He wiped his sweaty brow in frustration as he glanced at another guard, who stood across the room with a handful of the woman’s underwear.  “She’s clean so far.”

Marat’s eye twitched at the answer. Dmitry had been crystal clear in his orders.  He wanted the woman identified, and if her story didn’t fit for any reason, he wanted her killed – not tomorrow, not the next day.  Boss wanted her dead before he arrived at the airport tonight.

Sighing, Marat pressed his finger on the button of the radio.  “Keep looking.”

“Boss, there’s nothing…” the guard was ready to protest after several hours of going round and round in a 600-square foot flat.   There simply was nothing there.

“Keep…looking,” Marat said sternly.  “I’ll check back in later.”   Putting down the radio, he tapped his fingers on the table.  Think…think!

Sitting back in the chair, he thumbed through the personnel file that had been faxed over by the airport security staff one more time.  Their mystery woman had only been employed by the airport for a few weeks and had secured the job only after an opening was posted by the airport on its website.  She moved from a neighboring town and set up residence temporarily in a rooming house.  No kids.  No husband.  No boyfriend.  No life, from what he could gather.  She was a ghost.  Ghosts were a problem.  She might have changed her identity to run from a crazy lover or hide from a debt collector.  She might have stayed off the grid for religious or political beliefs, but none of those reasons were good enough to kill an innocent, which was why he had to make sure.

Still, he orders.

There was one final hope in the way of a very trained Spetsnaz officer, whose skills were unmatched.  He picked up the phone and dialed it.

“Yes,” Diane answered on the first ring.  She was going over the pre-takeoff checklist with the crew in preparation for Boss Dmitry’s arrival.

“The girl that Simeon spotted by the hangar do you recognize her?” Marat asked, picking up Raina’s picture.

“I have been here for two God-forsaken months. I can recognize everyone in this place,” Diane answered.  “Yes, I know her.”

Marat cut through the pleasantries.  “Is she there now?”

“She was earlier.  I can find out for sure if she is still here.  What do you want me to do with her?” Surely, she had not received a call from Marat for a perimeter status check.  There were tens of guards with boots on the ground at the airport to do that.

“Boss wants us to find out what her story is. If it doesn’t fit, he wants her out of the picture.  The guards didn’t find anything in her apartment that would confirm one way or the other. I don’t want an innocent’s blood on my hands or yours.  So, will you use your special talents to confirm that she’s a problem.”

Diane’s eyes iced over as her back went rigid.  “How much time do I have?”

Marat glanced across the room at the monitor as the convoy of SUVs pulled down the driveway.  He exhaled a voice.  “He’s leaving the compound now.”

Diane glanced at her checklist and waved over her second-in-charge.  “Handle this.  I’ll be back,” she said, handing over the log sheet.

It was finally time to do some real work, and after being cooped up in a jet for so long, she was glad to be activated.

Turning from the crew, she walked quickly toward the front of the jet.  “And if I do confirm that she is a problem?” She slipped a key in the lock of a small closet behind the door of the cookpot.  Opening it, she ran her fingers down a row of knives until she came to a large serrated blade.  “What shall I do with her?” she asked, plucking the weapon from its sheath.

“Dispatch her.”

“And if she doesn’t confirm what we are looking for during our conversation?” Slipping her blue, finely cut jacket over her gun holster, Diane smoothed a hand over her hair in the mirror then closed the closet.

Marat spoke in a low monotone.  “Dispatch her.”  He clenched his square jaw.  “But do everything in your power to confirm one way or another.” It was his own request, not his boss’s, but he felt he could ask at least that of Diane.

She spoke fast now, ready to get to her job.  “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

As the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months in the war between the Popov and Medlov families, Erik Popov grew from skittish and unsure of himself to serenely calm and at peace with his circumstances.

It was a curious thing for his uncle, Peter, to watch, even as news reports continued to come in about the peril of their allies.  Oleg and Renat had been abducted without a trace, attacks had been made on their financial interests, and their circle had dwindled from a large corps of resources to a small niche of renegades.

Over the last few weeks, Erik had been forced to move all essential operations from inside the protective borders of Russia to Baku, a coastal city in Azerbaijan with access to the Caspian Sea.

Fearing detection by Medlov sympathizers in the mother country, who had gone to the streets in droves to express their displeasure with the attack on their Czar, Erik fled the formerly safe confines of Russia for a place less familiar with his surly background.

The simple truth was, with the money running low, Erik was no longer able to pay the Russian government for protection, and they didn’t provide such a thing to the Bratva or anyone else for free.

As a result, Erik had redirected what was left of the collective ally funds designated for the war to his own security detail and lifestyle.  After all, it was survival of the fittest now.  Each man for himself…

And rightfully so…

It seemed out of nowhere Medlov fanatics were growing dangerously in number among the ranks in the Russian underworld.  Deals had been broken or re-brokered, alliances had been severed and lines drawn.  Countless street gangs were retaliating all over Moscow and other large cities throughout the country in their Czar’s name, even without orders directly from Dmitry.  Buildings had been bombed.  Drive-bys carried out.  Murders were directed toward rival gang leaders who outwardly supported the Popov family.  Things were getting out of control, and most expected the violence to increase, especially if Dmitry reared his head and showed any sign of strength against the Popov allies.

After word arrived to Erik that the Vladimir Central Prison warden, Sasha Kuznetsov, who was responsible for getting a message to his father about Dmitry’s treachery, had been brutally murdered along with his wife. Erik knew that Dmitry was wrapping up every loose end.

The two-part assault on Oleg’s extensive London operation had been internationally publicized.  The story spread like wild-fire - covered on every major news outlet, discussed endlessly on social media, analyzed by every former law enforcement official on prime-time television, and deemed more sensational than any breaking story of the year.

As Dmitry had meticulously planned, Oleg had been made to be a leper, and in his absence, incapable of defending himself, which made the circumstance even more wrought with speculation.

The infamous computer that was delivered to the London Police and MI-6 implicating Oleg and his entire syndicate, by Dmitry’s men a few weeks back, revealed human trafficking operations, long money-laundering trails and links to political figures that went all the way up to the top offices, detailing outrageous sexual proclivities of some of the most influential men in the world.

To ensure the scandal went public, the incriminating laptop had been delivered to the London Police by an anonymous pizza delivery man wearing a Go-Pro, who recorded and uploaded the entire interaction on YouTube.

The Pizza Man claimed every human trafficking and terror group associated with Oleg was on the laptop, along with years of money laundering activities and bribe receipts. With the release of the YouTube video came the immediate demand from others to start an investigation and provide swift action.

It was a complete and utter disgrace, and as such, it took the attention off of Dmitry Medlov’s shoot out in the States and transferred all eyes to a more tangible villain.

The story around the attack on Dmitry had settled in the back of everyone’s mind, only to be replaced by the men who had sworn to protect and fight for the Popov family.

Peter thought the move ingenious.  He only wished that the idea had come from their camp.

Now, Oleg’s numbers guy was dead, and the money he controlled and funneled toward the war was frozen, which impacted Erik’s mobility.

The tower in London was burned to the ground, along with the employees who worked for the syndicate. With that blunder, most of Oleg’s second-tier allies had bowed out ungracefully, running for the hills before Dmitry could do to them what he had done to his own international council member.

To make matters worse, Oleg had disappeared into thin air.  None of his men or family could be located, and only rumors of a possible attack on the road to the Omsk airport lingered.

The second wave of attacks was even swifter.  The assault on Renat in the heart of Moscow during the early morning rush hour was not only ballsy; it sent a clear message that Dmitry was only warming up for the main act.  Coverage of the Moscow attack had been sparse, but only because Russia guarded its information carefully.  The Kremlin didn’t want the story to reach fever pitch in the middle of their own campaigns against America.  So, they had downgraded the orchestrated hit on Renat and his penthouse from a major coordinated assault by an organized crime syndicate into a simple gas explosion.  No eyewitnesses would come forward, and all videos of the attack had been seized by the government.  Another blunder…

The whispers of Dmitry’s treachery were slowly getting louder.  Even those who had no stake in the war took a position; many siding with Dmitry because of what he stood for, or more so, who he stood against.

No one was safe.  Not a Czar.  Not a Captain.  Not a Lieutenant.  Not a nameless soldier.

All of this bedlam had landed them here in Baku.  From Peter’s estimation, it would only be a few more months before they couldn’t afford to feed all the men who were now working for them, and then it would be complete disarray.  Someone would eventually jump sides and reveal their location.

Yet, Erik seemed unaffected.  Instead of being humbler and admitting his strategic mistakes in order to correct them, Erik Popov seemed to become more brazen and egotistical by the day.  Even in his mounting losses, he kept a cool head, as though he had some monstrous trick still up his sleeve.

Well, the charade had gone on long enough for Peter.  He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

There was a sharp intake of breath before the brittle croak of an old man’s voice erupted.  “Give us the room,” Peter ordered, extending arthritic fingers to wave off the large entourage of sycophants gathered among Erik in the sunroom of their seaside hideout.

“Uncle, you never fail to ruin the mood,” Erik replied at Peter’s foul mood.

“Be nice to him, Erik.  He’s old,” Zoya said sympathetically as she shot Peter a devious grin.

“With age comes wisdom.  You can see the festering cracks in even the most gilded pieces of art,” Peter responded.

“Don’t let him get in your head,” Erik said to Zoya.  “If he’s not picking at someone, he feels helpless.”

“Better than being useless.” Peter’s quiet rage was now directed at the woman.

An extended glance at Zoya from Peter made her smile.  “Useless, helpless, what’s the difference?” Picking up her half-full champagne glass, she followed the guards and masseuse out of the room and closed the door behind them.

“What seems to be bothering you now?” Erik asked, slowly opening his eyes and lifting his head from the massage table.

“I just received a text from Raina. She’s awaiting a call back from you.”  Peter took a seat in the corner of the room and looked out of the pane glass windows at the waves coming in off the shore.  “Do you really think it’s smart to lounge in the room of the largest windows in the castle?  A bullet could come…”

Erik sat up on the table and threw his legs off the side.  Rubbing his oily shoulders, he huffed. “The glass is bulletproof.”  He sucked his teeth at his uncle’s insinuation.  “What news does Raina have?  I told her not to call unless she had located Dmitry.  Anything short of that, I don’t give a shit about.”

Peter’s head snapped toward his nephew.  “Well, you should.  You should give a shit about every detail.”

Erik picked his nose, keeping his eyes on the floor.  “Careful, old man,” he warned.

Peter lowered his voice.   “I’m assuming you’ve heard that Renat has gone missing.  That means you only have one more ally at the high table,” he said, holding up a trembling finger, “and Lev is in no position to publicly take up arms for you.  Dmitry has his boot on our necks.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”  Jumping down off the table with only a towel wrapped around his lower waist, Erik strolled across the room to the sofa table where a glass of champagne had already been poured for him.  He glared at his reflection in the ornate golden mirror on the wall and felt absolute power.  “Dmitry’s boot is nowhere near our necks.  He’s doing exactly what I want him to do.”

“I see.  Do you know something I don’t?”  Peter asked, mildly hopeful.

“Would that be so shocking, considering I am the head of this family?”  Erik turned to his uncle and narrowed his gaze on the relic.  The intensity in his eyes heightened.  “You know, since I was a young boy, no one has ever bothered to really ask me what I wanted.  Not father, not you, not even my greedy-ass, worthless brother.  You all just assumed that I was happy existing in the world that you all created for me.”

Peter rolled his eyes.  To speak ill of their dead like that was just disrespectful.  But besides that, they didn’t have time for this.  “Well, you’re not a young man anymore.  Thank God.  And it’s obvious that we are all trying to do exactly what you want right now, but to what avail?” They were still twiddling their thumbs.

Erik continued as though he did not hear his uncle’s whining.  “Since I was a boy, I’ve only wanted one thing, and that one thing was to be head of the International Council.”  He shook his head as he revealed his most personal secret. “Everyone assumed that I was a fucking idiot, running hot on emotion and led by my cock.  But sometimes playing into the stereotypes everyone places on you can be very beneficial, especially when those stereotypes blind everyone to your true motives.  And that is what I have done, Uncle.  I have allowed you all to be…blind.”

Peter slowly lifted his eyes to his nephew, but he didn’t speak, fearing he would cut short one of the few opportunities he had ever had to peer into the mind of his sociopathic nephew.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, and at that moment, Erik was glad to shed his façade and show his real face.  He seemed taller at that moment, larger than before.

“Climbing to the very top of the food chain takes stealth, skill, and patience.  It takes supreme manipulation and learning the strategy of everyone around you so that once you finally make your move on the chessboard, it’s to win the game.  I’m glad my brother is dead.  I’m glad my father is finally gone and with it, all his petty expectations.   I’m glad my allies are dead and with them their demands and my false obligations.  I’ve let everyone play their hands, and now I can finally show mine.”  He sucked his teeth loudly.  “It took long enough.  The bodies piled up high enough that all I have to do now is climb atop their mangled carcasses to the head of the International Council and place my anointed ass at the head of the table.”

Peter found the revelation preposterous.  Erik was too dull to lead, too needy.  Only a true Czar could sit at the head of the International Council and run the high table.  Erik Popov was not that man.  Was he?

“What are you playing at, boy?” Peter demanded.

Erik saw the doubt in his uncle’s face. He’d always seen it.  It was the same doubt everyone else had in him, which was why this had all been so easy to pull off.

“I thought it my birthright.”  Erik’s forehead creased as he recalled memories of meetings in St. Petersburg as a boy.  “As a little boy, I would beg to be left in the room after the meetings had ended, and then I would sit in Andros’s seat at the head of the table and pretend that I was the Head Czar.”  Erik’s head rose as he inhaled a breath.

Gripping the stem of the champagne flute, he bit out the words.  “But just as the opportunity started to present itself many years ago for me to take my rightful place, then came that fucking gutter rat, Dmitry Medlov, to the high council at your request.  Not just yours, my own father.” His voice darkened with cynicism, matching the anger and resentment buried deep within.  “I watched Dmitry rise in the ranks and become a necessity to the council.  I watched him become a legend, hoisted up on your shoulders like a false idol.  But I also knew; eventually, he would fall.  At first, I felt myself losing the chance to claim what was mine.  So, I played the role.  I allowed him to bring in the money, bring in the connections, make the deals.  I let him be the workhorse that you all prided yourself on owning.  And you all loved him for it.” He snapped out of his daze and took a sip of his champagne.  He gave a crooked smile at how well his plan had unfolded.  “That was until he killed my brother, allowing me to convince father, who once loved that seven-foot shit-stain more than me, to put a hit on his beloved progeny.  The love turned to bitter hate quickly, didn’t it?  The trust faded even faster.  The cracks showed.  All I had to do was wait.  And I used it all.  Your faith in him, your belief in my inevitable failure, I based my entire plan on years of your strategic failures as a council.”

“So, you’re telling me this was your plan – to sacrifice the entire council for one man?”  Peter wanted to spit.

“Not the entire council, just most of it.  The letter from my father encouraged Lev’s quiet support and was instrumental to the hit.  Now, I will be the first to admit things did not go as planned, but it ended up working in my favor.”

Peter’s mouth flew open.  Could it be?  “You wanted all of this, even for your brother to die?” Even he, a man who longed to be the head of the council for decades, had to imagine such a needless sacrifice.

“Of course, I did.”  Erik shrugged as though his real intention should have been obvious.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I love my brothers.  And Oleg and Renat were both good men, but they wanted the same position that I did.  They wanted to take over as Head Czar when Andros steps down, which will be soon. I needed their resources to fuel this war, which I now have.  I needed their support and their men, which I now have.  I needed to remove them from the table and ensure that after Dmitry, Simeon and Maksim would be dead and not / a threat to my ascension, which I now have done.”  He lifted his glass in the air to toast himself.  “I salute them for their sacrifice, and I’ll ensure their deaths, which will probably be fucking horrific, are not in vain.  But let’s face it, Uncle, they have served their purpose.”

So, Erik Popov was not stupid, just insane and power-hungry.  Oddly in that revelation, Peter felt comforted.

“I underestimated you.  For that, I do apologize.  However, don’t you think you are a bit premature on sacrificing your allies so soon,” Peter countered.  “Dmitry is alienating you.  If Renat or Oleg is still alive and talk, it will only be a matter of time before Dmitry finds out about Lev.  Then who do you have on our side?”

“If Dmitry kills Lev, which he will once he finds out his role in this, Andros will have no choice but to take my side and end the war himself by activating the remaining families.  Andros will be forced to kill Dmitry and his allies.  The rules of war are clear.  Lev is untouchable by any of us.  He’s neutral, remember?”  The thought made blood rush to Erik’s cheeks.  “And Renat has already given me a little going-away present.  It’s sort of a parting gift, in the event of his torture and demise.”  He winked at his uncle.  “What?  You think you’re the only one in the family with a fucking brain?  You think I would go to war with the most powerful man on the council and not have a secondary or third plan in place?” He laughed, not fully exposing his entire plan.  “It’s almost laughable how you all allowed yourself to be puddy in my hands.  But don’t worry, after years of watching you, and after years of you not watching me, I know what to do, and I know what to expect.”

Peter’s own ambition started to rear its head at the possibility of them still winning this war.  He might have been old, but he had his own goals, and if Erik could help him achieve them, he was more than willing to play ball.  “And what of the remaining seats on the council?”  Surely, there would be a place for him again.

“After this is all over and Dmitry is dead, I can appoint the people who are most loyal to me to the vacant seats at the high table of the International Council.”  He nodded at his uncle in quiet confirmation of his intention to place Peter back where he belonged.

“What of the remaining families? How do you know that they won’t want the position? How do you know everyone won’t turn on each other?”

Erik had already thought of that as well.  “I’ll get rid of them one by one after this.  Andros will be first.  He’s old, and he’s stuck in his ways.  We don’t need him to move forward.”

Peter had to agree, the plan was more perfect than he would have ever imagined Erik capable of devising himself, but there were still unanswered questions.

“What if Dmitry doesn’t kill Lev?” Peter asked, resting back in the chair.  “The Medlov family may think that Lev is working with us, but there is no proof.”

“Lev’s role in this, once it comes to light, will be so damning that Dmitry will not be able to help himself.  It’s part of his DNA.  He lives for revenge.  He killed my brother over the idea of him being a threat to his family.  What do you think he’ll do to a man who helped carry out the assassination attempt on his life?”

Peter raised a brow.  Good point.   “Dmitry will kill him.”  There was no doubt in that.

“Exactly.  All we have to do is put him on the right path.”

“And how do we do that?” Peter’s thoughts cascaded over every possible scenario.

“Dmitry doesn’t believe in leaving loose ends.  He’s going to clean house, no matter the price.  All we have to do is give him the slightest confirmation that Lev was responsible for the hit, which Raina, unbeknownst to the plan, will provide. He’ll do the rest.”

“What if Dmitry doesn’t discover Raina?  She is known for working in the shadows.  That was why you hired her in the first place.”

Erik had thought that part of the plan out as well.  “That’s why I sent her Irkutsk.”  He might as well shed light on that part of his plan.  “The discovery of her presence alone will be enough to set the final game in motion.  We’ll have confirmation that the Medlovs are in Siberia.   Simeon and Dmitry are extremely paranoid.  It won’t be long before they discover her. Once they do, Dmitry will do what he does best.  He’ll send someone to kill her, and when he does, I’ll make sure she is fattened for the slaughter.  All we have to do then is wait in Hungary for Lev to be murdered.  My men are already there.  I’m leaving nothing to chance.  Once he kills Raina and Lev, my men will either kill him or Andros’s men will kill him.   Either way, I won’t have lifted a finger, and the crown will be mine.”

“And the question still remains,” Erik reminded.  “What happens if Dmitry doesn’t kill Lev after he finds out what his role was in the assassination attempt?” Every loose end had to be considered if this were to work.

“I have something for that scenario as well.”  Erik’s eyes glimmered.

“Care to tell me what that something is?” Peter probed.

Erik shrugged no.  So, Peter moved on.

“What about the rest of his family?   Even if you kill Dmitry, he has a strong crime family base, built on an impenetrable structure, ready to take over.  Dmitry Medlov is not a normal snake.  He’s more of a hydra dragon.  You cut the head off; three more grow in its place.”

Erik snarled at the prospect of what was to come for that smug bastard. It would be glorious to watch the plans he had for him.  “Once we get confirmation that Dmitry’s family is in Siberia, near Irkutsk, all we have to do is send our men to finish them.  The Medlov clan will never know what hit them.  What good is a head with no body?  I plan to kill them all, every man, woman, and child.  Let God sort them out.”   He didn’t blink in his affirmation.  He had thought of it daily – the carnage that would be left in his wake.  No Medlov would live, and their story, their history, their legacy would never be uttered again.

“And you can do that?  You can kill everyone?”  Peter eyed his nephew with new respect.

“I am way passed can, Uncle.  I’m going to kill them.  Every one of them.  He’s been parading around in front of us, breaking the code, breaking our vows, race mixing, making a mockery of us.  Now, he will suffer for all of his transgressions, and it will be at my hand.”

Peter stood up from his chair and walked over to his nephew.  Placing a hand on his shoulder, he looked him in his eyes.  “I know you say that you are glad that he is gone, but your father, my brother, would be proud to see you like this.  A true leader does whatever is needed to see his goals accomplished, and you have done just that.”

“Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence finally, but I have to tell you that I don’t give a fuck what my father would think now.  He’s dead after all.  So is my brother.  It’s up to us – you and I – to see this carried out.  So, what do you say?  You willing to put the past behind us, and use whatever life you have left to see this dream become a reality?”  Inwardly, he wanted his uncle’s approval.  He wanted to know that at least one Popov would be there to stand beside him as he took over the entire council and reshaped it in his image. But he knew it was up to the old man to buy into his vision.

Peter nodded, completely sold on the plan.  He was finally pleased with his nephew and certain the plan would work.   “You have my complete allegiance and support.”

Erik picked up his cell phone and slipped in a new SIM card.  “Good. Now that we have that out of the way, let’s check in on our calf, shall we?”

“Raina, what do you have for me?” Erik asked, pressing the phone to his ear as he slipped his watch back on his wrist and fastened the clasp.

Peter stood right in front of Erik, listening on quietly.  In just a few moments, he had bought into his nephew’s plan completely and was eager to see it played out.

A knock on the door interrupted them momentarily.  Zoya stuck her head back in, feeling the instant irritating effect she always had on Peter.  She ignored the daggers shooting from the old man’s eyes for the moment.  “Can I come back in now?” she whispered. “It’s getting lonely out in the hallway.”

“Then, go to your bedroom,” Peter scoffed.

Without thought, Erik waved Zoya in, turning his back to the squabbling pair to give Raina his full attention.

“There’s nothing to do in my room.”  Zoya pouted, shrugging one thin shoulder as she closed the door behind her.

While Erik seemed to have a handle on his long-term vision for this war, to Peter, he didn’t quite see the train wreck in front of him.

Erik didn’t see her as a threat, as a matter of fact, he didn’t think Zoya had a brain at all, but Peter wasn’t sure that she wasn’t a spy, sent by Dmitry to keep tabs on them.  It was quite convenient how she showed up right before their departure from London, and how she had managed to literally fuck her way right into the most dangerous war the Bratva had waged in nearly a hundred years.

He had planted traps for her several times to see if she would take the bait – leaving out cell phones, knowing the cardinal rule was that she could not have one, just to see if she would reach out to someone in the Medlov camp to give away their position.  But Zoya had never picked up a phone or tried to lift a finger to communicate with anyone outside of the compound.  He had spoken out of turn, giving bad intel around her, but it never came back to him.  He had even taken to spying on her private room from his own bedchambers, which were connecting to hers, but all he ever saw from the peephole was her feeding her dog or masturbating.  She had never given Peter so much as a signal that she was a threat, but still, his gut told him that she was.

He frowned at his nephew as Zoya’s kitty heels echoed around the room.  Making her way over to Erik, she offered a plate of cheese and crackers to him while running a hand through his hair.

Absently, Erik brushed off her touches but took the food, then walked over to sit in the highbacked chair by the window.  “Make yourself useful.  Pour me another drink,” he ordered as Raina spoke over the phone.

Peter lowered his voice.  “Do you think it’s a good idea to have her in here right now?”

“She’s fine,” Erik replied as she poured more champagne for him, but not before pouring one for herself and checking her makeup in the mirror.

Erik had grown so accustomed to Zoya’s inability to gauge when her presence wasn’t needed until he didn’t even notice anymore.  In fact, he had learned to ignore her entirely, unless she was pleasuring him sexually.  She was no different than the little dog that always snuggled around its owner’s foot.  A pet, a plaything, something to keep his mind occupied late at night or in the middle of the day, when he felt so inclined.

“Have you spotted him or not?” Erik asked Raina.

“Not exactly.”  Raina closed the door of the Irkutsk airport employee’s, four-stall bathroom, locked it, and lowered her voice.  Sitting on the toilet in the first stall, she looked down at her scuffed work boots and propped an elbow on her thigh.  “Gabriel Medlov is here with Simeon Kurdin in Irkutsk.  I doubt Dmitry Medlov is far away, but we have a problem. I think I was spotted.”

“By whom?” The crunch of the cracker muddled his voice.  “No one knows who you are, and they can’t connect you to me, because you’re on loan from Lev.” He wiped crumbs from the curly graying hair on his chest.  “You’re being paranoid.”

“It was the way that Simeon glanced at me.  He has most of the workers at this airport on his payroll.  That alone makes me stick out.   I’m concerned my cover has been blown.”  She paused as someone walked past the door.  Once she was certain that they were gone, she continued.  “No one has seen Dmitry Medlov here at all, and if they have, they aren’t saying it, but there has been a lot of activity from his captains flying in and out of the airport.  I’m telling you, boss, he’s here.”  She was willing to bet her life on it.

However, so was Erik.  He made sure to sound convincing for his next performance.  “Who’s on the International Council member here?  Me or you?  I know Simeon better than you.  If he thought you were a plant, he would have slit your throat right then instead of giving you an opportunity to report back to me or anyone else.”

“I might need to lay low for a few days, just in case.”  Raina may not have known Simeon, but she was very familiar with how these things worked.  If she pressed too hard, too quickly, her cover would be blown, and she’d be dead.

He quickly used her failure against her.  “If you and your man had killed Dmitry the first time, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”  Erik shifted in his chair with a snarl.  “No more talk about what you think is best.  That time has passed.  If Simeon and Gabriel are in the same place at the same time, it’s only a matter of time before Dmitry rears his head, and when he does, we’ll be ready.  Now, I want you to continue to do exactly what you are doing and only call me back when you lay eyes on Dmitry Medlov.  You’ll know him when you see him.  He’s the seven-foot giant your hitman missed in broad fucking daylight.”

Even now, Raina was embarrassed by the botched job that hung like a dark cloud of her otherwise successful career.  This was the only way she could regain some type of honor, even if it did feel like suicide.  “Yes, boss.”

Erik threw her a bone when he was done scolding her.  “You won’t be alone for long. I’m sending a team of men your way.  If you do finally spot Dmitry, I want them ready to follow him back to wherever he’s holding up and report to me immediately, so I can end this shit once and for all.”

“Yes, boss,” she answered again as someone knocked on the bathroom door.  Her head jerked up.  “One second, please!” she called out.  Her voice lowered momentarily.  “I have to go.”

“Then go.”  Erik hung up the phone and took a deep breath.  “It’s almost time. Simeon has finally spotted Raina, and not a moment too soon.  It won’t be long before they come to collect her.”  He pressed the phone up against his lips as he had a thought that made his jet-black brows furrow.  “Activate our men closest to Siberia.  Send them in small numbers to Irkutsk so they won’t be detected.  I want them ready when it’s time.  Later tonight, we dump the package on Raina’s phone, just in case Simeon picks her up.”

“Consider it done,” Peter said, ready to exit the room and remove himself from Zoya’s glaring empty eyes.

As soon as they were alone, Zoya moved to stand in front of Erik.  Straddling him in the seat, she pushed his hand under her garment to feel her bare mound.  “She needs to be fed.”  Biting down on her bottom lip, she pressed her body against his.

All the talk of his future and the murder of Dmitry’s family had made him rock hard.  Erik pulled open her top to reveal the pert nipples pointed toward him and felt a surge of raw, heady heat between his hairy thighs envelop him.   Hungrily, he lowered his head and sucked on one nipple slowly, growing steely under his towel as he tasted her, just as Zoya intended.  The sensation of her skin against his tongue was exhilarating.  The sound of his mouth greedily enjoying her fed him.  All-consumed by the act, he forgot about the world outside.

She wanted to disarm him now, keep his mind cascading over his plans as she devised her own.  Her hand slowly guided him.  Watching on as he tasted her, she felt a powerful domination overtake her.

Quietly, she had waited outside, listening on to the conversation between Erik and Peter in between talking the guard to death with mindless chatter.  She had watched the man’s eyes roll with irritation as she snaked up to him, talking and laughing like a stupid cow.

At first, when she arrived at the castle, such outward snooping had been regarded with suspicion, but her continued clueless oversteps had finally boiled down to the assumption that she was ditzy and incapable of understanding boundaries.  The guards grew tired of reprimanding her, just to have Erik go back and defend her for always being at the wrong place at the wrong time.  Over time, she had worn them all down to a nub, with the exception of Peter.

But she knew as long as she kept doing this for Erik, she would always have more control over her mark than Peter did.

“I want you inside of me,” she whispered huskily.

But Peter was far more aroused than usual.  “I want your ass,” he groaned with naked lust as he cupped her perfect buttocks. He imagined her warm secret and the painful actions that would bring him to a violent orgasm.

Nuzzling his nose in the side of her neck, feeling her silky skin, he eyed the massage oil beside the massage table.

Grabbing his arm, she guided a finger inside of her ample backside and moaned as he entered her.  “Then you shall have it,” Zoya giggled, face bright with faux anticipation.  It was a job just to keep her face trained and her body responsive to his demands, but she did it because it was what she had been hired to do.

Erik had become her slave; the trick, however, was to make him think it was the other way around.  He might have talked a good game to his men, but she had subconsciously trained him to respond to her elicited acts, to need her erotic touch, to crave her distasteful aggression, to demand her willing body; and that physical and mental power over him was what kept her wet and responsive when he invaded her every orifice.

Slowly, she stood up and gracefully went to the table.  She could feel his eyes burning through her, and she could see the guard standing by the door listening – always listening.

Dropping her clothes, she leaned over the massage table as her long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders.  Arched, she poured the oil down her bare backside and pushed up onto her tiptoes.  Never taking her eyes off him, she watched him once again become entranced.  Her long fingers roamed the globes of her breasts, and with growing seduction, she opened her legs wide.

Erik watched her for a second, breaths becoming heavy before he stood and snatched his towel away to reveal his throbbing manhood.

“Come to me.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.  “Come inside of me.”  She could feel a rush of moisture frothing at her center.

Erik was behind her in a flash.  Grabbing her by her small waist, he pointed aim toward her backside and plunged deep inside.  No romance, no love, just pure unadulterated lust.  The oil made entry easy, but the angle of her ass and the hard bucks against him as she rode him to the hilt made it hard not to release.  He felt his face flame as she grabbed his hands and brought them to her breasts.

“You’re a dirty little whore, aren’t you?” he asked, pinching her breast and releasing one hand to grab a fist of her hair.

Zoya’s eyes flashed open to the ceiling.  “Yes…I am,” she said in a shaky soprano as his body slapped hard and fast against her.

A man like Erik didn’t know the first thing about making love to a woman, because he had never loved anyone but himself.  The only thing he responded to was submission and fear.

Grabbing the end of the table, she pretended to try to run from his girth, feeding into his ego.  “You’re too much,” she lied.

Erik loved it when she ran when she fought against him.  He tightened his fist, veins swirling with masochistic pleasure as he rammed harder into her.  Growling loud, he reached back and landed a firm hand on her plump backside.  The immediate reddening of her skin drove him mad with desire.  His own body tingled with deviant pleasure.

“Please, Erik, you’re too much!” she screamed, voice believable as she tried to wiggle away from him.

Pushing her down against the table with a hand on her neck, he pulled her ass toward him as he removed himself.  “Are you fighting me again?” he asked, slapping her buttocks again.

“No,” she cried out, tears running down her face as she turned to look him with fear on her face.

His face was so twisted with anger and excitement, she almost broke character and laughed at him.  What a preposterous little man he was!  She had allowed him to tie her up, spank her, whip her, choke her, defile her, never once worried about his wrath.  Trained in the true art of debauchery, he didn’t hit the surface of her real capabilities.  She could take on six men his size at the same time with her eyes closed, but this job was all about feeding his gigantic glass-encased ego and his six-inch cock.

“What did I tell you would happen if you fought?” he asked, yanking her hair hard.  The startled look on her angelic face nearly pushed him over the edge.

“You’d teach me a lesson,” she said, holding on to the table.  Her knuckles had turned white, and her mascara ran down her face with her backside covered in red welts.  Blinking fast, she pretended to cry.  “Please, Erik,” she begged.  “I’ll be good.”

It was her pleas that emboldened him to be crueler.

“You’ll be good?” He slapped her backside again, trailing a hand down to pinch the lips of her sex hard before yanking her head back and forth.

She cried aloud, filling the room with mangled sobs.

Shoving himself back into her swollen anus, he grabbed her by the shoulders and slapped against her body as hard as he could over and over and over until he felt the surge.  Snatching her down from the table, he made her get on her knees.

Opening her mouth, she looked up at him as he fed her every one of his six hard inches.  Even then, he didn’t soften his demeanor.  “Drink it!” he grabbed her by her neck and emptied himself.  They both watched, her from her lowered position, him from above.

“Don’t miss a drop.”  He breathed hard, sweat running down his belly and dropping onto her porcelain skin.

Finally, relieved of his burdensome lust, he recoiled from her and grabbed her clothes off the floor to wipe himself clean.  “Good girl.”

Zoya stood up, pretending to be shaken up by Erik’s theatrics and went to grab his robe from the sofa like the good little dog she was supposed to be for him.  “Did I please you?” she asked, voice meek and eager for his approval.  Because you sure as hell didn’t please me, she thought to herself.

Erik was spent. Though he hated to admit it, she was younger and more agile than he.  After expending all of his energy on debasing her, all he wanted was to lie down in his bed and rest for a while.  “You always do,” he answered.

Without another word, she helped him put on his robe, knowing now he wanted to be alone, just like normal.  Her eyes avoided his – another act of submission.  “Do you want me to bring something up to your room?  We would watch a movie or…”. She waited for him to brush her off.

Erik rolled his eyes, tired of her presence.  “Find something to keep yourself occupied.  I have work to do in my room.”  With that, he headed out of the door, closing it shut after him.

Zoya could hear the sound of footsteps leading down the hallway. The guards and her slave had left her alone.  Erik would be out for a few hours, snoring like a bear, instead of working as he pretended.  Damn, men were so gullible.

With a triumphant grin, she turned naked with her hands on her hips and eyed the one thing she had come to him for in the first place – his cell phone.

“Is anyone in there?” A Russian female voice asked on the other side of the bathroom door.  She banged on the door impatiently to be let in as other employees passed by in the hallway.  Her voice elevated in growing irritation.   “Can someone open the door, please?  It’s locked.”  She wiggled the knob to make her point.  A sharp intake of breath escaped her.  “My boss will be here any minute, so I’m really rushed for time.”

“Shit.”  Raina slipped her phone in her back pocket and used the tip of her boot to flush the toilet.  “Coming!”  All she needed was a floor manager to ream her out right now for locking the bathroom door.  It would just bring more attention to herself, something she didn’t need.

“Hello!”  the woman shouted again, beating on the door harder.

Raina walked cautiously to the bathroom door, stopping at the sink to turn on the water.  “Just a minute,” she said, elevating her voice.  Rubbing her hand over the gun in the small of her back, she pulled her jacket to conceal her weapon, then went to the lock and twisted it until it clicked.

Opening the door slowly, Raina came face-to-face with the statuesque blonde stewardess who managed Dmitry Medlov’s jet.  She was nearly a foot taller than Raina, long legs that led down to red-backed heels.

“Sorry,” Raina smiled with embarrassment evident on her burning red cheeks. “I have a habit of locking doors behind me.”  She moved to the side, but was not eager to leave, especially after the woman spoke about her boss.  With any luck, she had finally hit pay dirt with Dmitry.

Diana raised her brow at the awkward woman and slid past her to stride over to the second stall and close the door behind her.  “It’s fine. I just…” she intentionally stumbled over her words.  “it’s that time of the month, and my boss doesn’t like anyone to use his lavatories on the plane when he’s preparing to board it.”

Hovering over the toilet, Diana allowed her pants to fall to her ankles.  The belt buckled jingled as her slacks pooled around her feet.

After a glance under the stall, Raina walked back to the sink and turned the water on again.  “Sounds like your boss is picky.”  She lathered her hands and struck up a little small talk, hoping to pry more intel out of the chatty woman.

“Oh God, the absolute worst!” Diana exclaimed, sounding as clueless and airheaded as possible.  Snatching off a maxi pad to make sure her lie was believable, she dumped it in the metal sanitary box and removed the knife from her inner thigh holster.

Raina laughed.

“You wouldn’t believe how many demands billionaires make about the smallest things.”  Pulling her pants back up, Diana buckled them and looked between the small slit in between the door and the support beam to see Raina lingering at the sink.  Her voice remained pleasant.  “He’s all…Don’t do this.  Do this.  Don’t’ forget to do this.” Laughing at the absurdity she wanted to convey, she tucked her blouse in her pants.  “It’s practically impossible to please that man.”

Raina smirked, checking her messy ponytail in the mirror.  “I wouldn’t know about billionaires.  I spend all my time on that stupid cart in the hangar.  What are they like in person?”

“Dmitry is very, very serious.”

Raina’s eyes widened.  Pulling her phone out, she fumbled to send a quick text.  Dmitry is coming here now.  He is in Irkutsk.  Slipping her phone in her pocket again, she cleared her throat.  “I’ve always imagined what it would be like to work for someone who had money, traveling around the world, and eating in a nice restaurant.”  Her gullibility was barely believable now that she had what she needed.

“Well, my job includes a lot more than that.”  Diana’s voice remained steady.

“Really.  What else do you get to do?”  Raina asked, turning from the sink.

The latch released on the stall and the door flung open as a large knife flew out and landed in Raina’s left shoulder.

“Occasionally, I get to kill someone,” Diana answered, barreling out of the stall with a kick aimed toward Raina’s abdomen.

Caught by surprise by both the attack and the knife stuck in her arm, Raina’s eyes widened as she grabbed Diana’s heeled foot just inches from her stomach and twisted it.

Diana turned with the twist, flipping her other leg into a roundhouse kick to the face that knocked Raina against the sink and sent Raina’s blood across the mirror.

Landing on the floor like a cat, Diana eyed her opponent with a snarl.  Strands fell down from her perfect bun as she rose gracefully, like a ballet dancer performing some masterful piece.

There was no time to go for Raina’s gun; instead, she went for the knife already in her arm.  Snatching it out, she let out a scream as she pointed the tip toward Diana and launched.  “You fucking suka!”

With her full force, Diana rushed Raina back against the sink by the collar of her shirt.  Punching Raina in the face, she picked her up off the ground and threw her on the counter.

Raina locked her legs around Diana’s lower body.  Blocking blows to the face, she struggled in pain and managed to head-butt Diana, then slice her across her collarbone, but the slice against the woman’s skin did little to make her retreat.

Eyes wild, Diana buried her thumb in Raina’s bloody wound with one hand, using the other to grab Raina’s wrist and beat it against the mirror until the mirror broke, and the knife fell out of her hand.

Desperate, Raina shoved her own thumb into Diana’s eye, then wedge her foot up into Diana’s chest to push her back into the bathroom stall.

Jumping down, Raina reached behind her to pull her gun, but Diana was much quicker on the draw.

“Drop it,” Diana ordered, spitting blood as she pointed her gun at Raina.  “Do it now, or I’ll drop you, bitch.” Her nostrils flared, but her voice never raised above a whisper.

“Alright, alright.”  With one hand up, palm out, Raina bent slowly and carefully placed the gun on the bloody floor.  She was considering launching forward into Diana again, but suddenly, the door opened, and a Medlov guard stepped in with a fully automatic rifle slung in front of him.

“I’ve got this.”  Diana kept her eyes on Raina.  “Just watch the door.”

Seeing that Diana had everything under control, he closed the door back and stood outside to block anyone else from coming inside.

Diana waved her gun at Raina.  “Turn around.”  She pushed Raina’s back. “Walk.”

“Are you just going to lead me out of here for everyone to see?” she asked, looking around for something to fight with.

Diana kicked the discarded gun on the floor into the corner.  “I don’t give a shit what everyone sees. I have my orders.”

Raina’s heart thudded in her chest.  “I can help you.”

Diana put her gun to the back of Raina’s head.  “How can you help me?”

“I have information.”  She kept her hands elevated.  “Dmitry will find it useful.” She turned slightly.

“Keep your fucking head straight,” Diana ordered, pushing Raina’s body against the wall beside the sink.  She patted her down, pulling a cell phone from her pocket.  “What’s the code.”

Raina knew that phone was her only salvation.  “My life for the code.”

Diana pulled back the hammer until it cocked.  “You’re not exactly in a position to negotiate.”

“I may.”  Raina closed her eyes.

“Who sent you?  Was it Erik Popov?”

“Yes.  He knows Dmitry is here now.”

“What’s the fucking code?  I won’t ask again.”  Diana ran her hand over the phone to bring the screen to the passcode entry.  “No tricks.”

Raina cursed under her breath and shook her head. “If I tell you that code, you’ll just shoot me right now.”

“If you don’t tell me the code, I’ll shoot you in your spine first.”  Diana stepped closer to Raina.  “Do you know how painful that can be? How long you can live in that pain?”

Raina dropped her head.  “My life isn’t worth shit if I tell you that code anyway.”

“Unless you were born in a test tube and lived in a box your entire life, no one you’ve loved or known will be safe without that code.  We will eviscerate your memory and the memory of all who have had the displeasure of coming into contact with you if we must.”  Diana’s face was tight, voice void of concern.  “One, two…”

“1-9-2-3-9-3,” Raina spat out the numbers quickly.

Unlocking the phone, Diana went to the recent calls and texts to find that she had been in contact with Erik.  She also saw where the text had been sent, verifying Dmitry’s location in Irkutsk.

“Did you really think someone like you would be the one to bring Dmitry Medlov to his knees?” Diana asked.

At that moment, Raina resolved herself to the fact that she would die, but something brought her peace even in her last breaths.  “What I do know is that if you kill me, you’ll never know who was really behind his assassination attempt.  And just like my family won’t be safe, neither will his.”

Diana paused, unsure whether following the order to kill her was smart.  If Raina did possess information that could help Dmitry, he should be allowed to hear it first.  Just as Diana was about to second guess herself, Raina’s cell phone chimed with a new text.

Raina tried to turn around, but as promised, Diana pulled the trigger and shot Raina with her silencer on in her lower spine.  Her body dropped hard.  Hitting the ground, she inhaled a deep breath before letting out a scream.

Diana walked back into the stall, reached into the sanitary bend, and retrieved the pad she had pulled from her panties.  Shoving it into Raina’s mouth, she carefully read the text aloud.  “Previous text erased.  Do not send more communication.  Lev is a trap.  Do not kill.  Raina is bait.  Do not trust.  Peter is loyal.  Do not spare.  Erik in Baku, Azerbaijan.  Do not wait.”  She watched even in pain as Raina watched her last-ditch effort for redemption crumble.

Diana stood over her as Raina writhed in pain. Her gun was pointed directly at the woman’s head.  “If you beg for it, I’ll make it stop.”  Her brow shot up.  “If you fuck with me, I’ll use the last hour I have to hack you apart, piece by piece until I flush you down the toilet.”  She kicked her. “Nod if you understand.”

Raina nodded over and over.

Diana rolled her shoulders.  “Who was responsible for coordinating the assassination of Dmitry Medlov?”  She bent and pulled the sanitary napkin from the woman’s mouth.

“Lev!” Raina cried out.  “I’m on loan from Lev.  He sent me along with the chef to Memphis to kill him.”

Diana felt as though she had enough information to take back to her boss.  “I’m a woman of my word.”  Pulling the trigger, she shot Raina in the temple of her head and then checked her watch.  Walking to the door, she knocked on it and then opened it to find three guards waiting outside.  “Clean this mess up.  I need to get back.”

After erasing all the incoming and outgoing messages that had come in during their exchange, Zoya dressed in her soiled kimono, poured herself another drink and made her way out of the sunroom before someone discovered the phone had been left with her.

Without error, she had done her job; now, it was time to close all loose ends and make her exit before Erik connected all the dots and discovered the dirty little spy living under his very nose.

But first, she had to get rid of the guard who had been in the hallway with her when she was eavesdropping.

A special little trick came to mind.

With her clothes pulled close to her, she made her way, barefoot and sticky, down the hallway, thinking that she was alone.

But there was one lone soul who waited for the woman to emerge.

Peter sat in the dark parlor across from the sunroom in a chair in the corner, waiting and watching.  He wasn’t sure what the woman had done, but something in his gut told him that she was up to no good.  Once he figured out just what that thing was, he would take extreme pleasure in watching Zoya burn for transgressions.

But for now, like any good predator, he would wait.

Chapter 35

The Kurdin Hangar

Irkutsk Airport

Irkutsk, Siberia

“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.” ― Sun Tzu

T he foulness that had lingered in the mountain air earlier had now shifted its rancidness down into the valleys of Siberia, right into its unsuspecting cities, and heavy rain had started to pour down as if to wash away the residue of the night’s sins.  But nothing could clean what was to come.

Sitting in the back of one of the bulletproof SUVs in the long processional of vehicles in the Medlov convoy, Dmitry gazed out of his window speckled with raindrops at the silhouette of lights in the distance.  It seemed peaceful at first glance, just another dreary night in a town that went silent before ten o’clock, but Dmitry knew better.  There was no peace to be had in the wake of his wrath, just the silence that remained after everyone under his boot had been murdered.

The gate to the private Kurdin hangar creaked open after a brief security check, and his men pulled inside, past the wall of armed guards and trained dogs, which were now doubled in number after the breach.

Dmitry's contemplations had consumed him over the few short hours of his trip, thinking over his decisions and analyzing them all for possible mistakes.  He recalled a time when before he was married with children, before his oldest son and only nephew and his most loyal guards had become staples of his family, he would have simply sacrificed everyone and started anew to ensure his legacy remained intact.

But now, that was no longer an option, because he was no longer that man.

He knew that the old code had been put in place for a reason – for this very reason.  A man who had family, who had people he loved or had legitimate businesses, was more vulnerable to not only other thieves but also the government.  And with those added responsibilities came the threat of not fully serving the Vor.   But over time, he had been forced to adapt in order to survive in a hyper-sensitive climate where every organized crime syndicate either reinvented itself or became obsolete, just as the other members of the obochek had done to ensure their own legacies.

However, if he inwardly admitted to himself how he had arrived at this point, it wasn’t because of rules or the abdication of them.  It was because he understood that in order to survive as a man – to hold on to a part of his fleeting humanity – he had to plant his roots in more than just the old ways.  He had to leave something behind more than a hefty portfolio or an ironclad criminal syndicate.   The man who lived deep beyond the layers of his external persona desired to be loved as much as the man he outwardly presented was hated.

There simply was no life without the people he shared it with.  Over the years, he had been given a chance at reconciling his past through the souls he had come to be responsible for, and through their love, he had been molded into a real person.

To forsake any of them, would be to forsake himself.

Now, there was only one choice at the end of every scenario he had imagined.  There could be no truce, no failure, and no quarter for his enemies.   Murder was the rule of the day.  God would have to put those souls on his already lengthy tab.  The body count was bound to grow.

There was no guarantee that he would not lose his own life, but he knew without a doubt that they were all worth it, and they were all a family.

His crown was heavy, his burden great, but maybe that was why he was built as strong as he was, as big as he was, as hard as he was – to protect them all.  And he no longer toiled over the burden as a cross on his back.  The Medlov Crime Family and the Medlov Family was one, and he would protect them all.

With his revelation of his position had come new information to lead him on his path.

Word had already come to Dmitry via cellphone that Raina had been what Simeon had suspected – a plant.  It was welcomed information considering the irreversible order he had placed on the woman’s head before he knew who she was.  News had also confirmed that she was working for Erik Popov, but according to Marat, there were more – things that Mr. Medlov should hear in person.

Well, he was more than ready to lend his ear…

The back door opened abruptly, light shining into the back of the dark SUV.  A man’s face appeared earpiece in, uniform on as he gave the status.  “It’s clear, boss.  They are ready for you.”

The guard stepped to the side, and Dmitry stepped out, freshly dressed in a clean shirt and wearing a simple black tailored suit.   He buttoned his suit jacket, the bulge of his guns barely visible under the fine fabric and inhaled the fresh air that blew from the north gate.  Alas, he was a renewed man, feeling better about his mission with each mile that he had gained from the compound.

Vasily stepped out on the other side of the SUV and made his way around to stand by Dmitry.  He was glad to finally be outside of the compound as well, even if it was to go with the head of the family to kill Lev.  Being locked up with the women had made him stir crazy, and nothing made him feel less useless than watching the others leave to go on missions while he waited behind.  It was time to catch up.

Dmitry had gotten his second wind between the barbaric interrogation of Oleg in the barn and the long travel from his compound to the city.  Now, he was anxious to move along with his plan.

The brilliant white halogen lights illuminated Simeon’s spotless hangar of white walls, shiny white floors, and domed steel ceilings.  The smell of diesel and bleach filled the space.  He shot a sideways glance at the SUV in front of him as Simeon stepped out and nodded his way, then pointed toward a long metal box in the far corner of the hangar.

One of Simeon’s guards spoke to his boss, leaning into Simeon’s ear as he whispered, then gestured for him to follow them.

Dmitry followed his men on his flank, curiously waiting to see what troubles he had barely missed.  He was tired, not physically but mentally, of all the traps that had been set for him during the course of the tedious campaign, and he had resolved quietly during his long ride that there would be no more mistakes or misjudgments on his part because this had to end now.

There was a child coming, many more already here, and all whom he had to protect.  Renee and Anatoly were counting on him to make his presence known and ensure they had the chance to bring his grandchild into the world without fear of death.

As they arrived in the corner of the hangar, huddled with Simeon and Dmitry at the forefront of the group, one of the guards slipped a key in the lock attached to the container.

“This is what’s left of her,” the guard said, opening the steel box to show the mangled remains of Raina to the group of onlookers.  The man’s face twisted into a frown at the display.  “We had to make her smaller for her next trip, so some adjustments had to be made quickly,” he explained of Raina’s now eviscerated body, chopped carefully into pieces and stored among piles of ice.

Dmitry leaned over the box and stared at the body parts.  Raina’s eyes were closed.   Her bruised, battered head rested in the ice to the side where the bullet in her temple was visible.  The rest of her remains were neatly placed a long row like parts of an animal on display by a butcher.   It was unfortunate that he didn’t know her and could not feel either sad or pleased with her death.

“Who is she?” he asked.

No one knew.  So far, her existence was a conundrum of unanswered questions.

“Just a spy,” the same guard answered.  “We’re running her prints to find out more.  But for now, just a spook.”

“I told you,” Simeon said, looking at the mangled body in disgust, “she was not one of mine.  I know all of my people.  It’s part of the job.”  The configuration of her body parts was not offensive to him, just the fact that she had managed to get so close to his operation.  However, in the few hours, since the news arrived to his ears confirming her infiltration, he had made several adjustments to security protocol to correct that fatal oversight, including killing the head of their airport security detail and the manager of HR.

“Not yours for sure, but she belonged to someone.  The question is whom.” Dmitry glanced away from the body, avoiding the possibility of memory.  “Where is Diane?” He had seen enough and now needed answers.

Vasily glanced over at the door of the Medlov jet as it opened.  “She’s already inside.”  Having not long been the head of security for Dmitry Medlov, he was certain that she had more information for them.  But one thing didn’t make sense.  Why would Erik Popov send someone he knew would stick out and eventually be discovered to spy on Dmitry?

“Load her up,” Simeon waved, irritated by the woman’s remains.  He might have been a monster, but he didn’t revel in the job he was forced to do.

Turning from the box of remains as the guards replaced the locks and picked it up by its side handles to carry to the jet, Dmitry, Vasily, and Simeon walked toward the plane.

“It’s a damn shame,” Simeon commented.  “Such a pretty girl too.”

Just then, the large hangar gate door opened, and local workers rushed into prep the area for the second Medlov plane to slowly move in from the tarmac into the confines of the space.  In the corner, the guards made sure to cover their tracks to ensure no one could detect their latest corpse or her unfortunate remains.

“What’s this?” Dmitry asked, stopping in his tracks to watch the workers rush into the hangar.  He looked over at his men for an explanation.

“Your other plane is arriving,” one of the guards answered, listening on his earpiece to the local workers who spoke over the local frequency.

A grin crossed Dmitry’s lips.  It was Peaches, just back with her cargo from Moscow.  She had perfect timing – a little pick-me-up after witnessing a gruesome final ending for the woman who reached too far above her station.  He decided against boarding the plane just yet, anxious to see how the young assassin had fared on her first mission alone.

He had been given the reports of Peaches and her fight in Moscow, but he was glad to make the first contact with her up on her arrival.

“It is wrong for me to say that I can’t believe that she pulled it off?” Vasily asked Dmitry.  He was all for women’s rights and equality, especially since he received hefty helpings of the international conversation from his wife, but still, Peaches had impressed all of them with her latest feat.

“Not wrong at all,” Dmitry said, eyeing the front of the jet as its nose slowly emerged into the front of the hangar under the direction of the airport staff.

After the plane was properly stopped and the workers had secured the aircraft in the hangar, the steel stairs were placed against the door, and it opened.  Seconds later, a processional of guards came down the stairs – all glad to be safe on solid ground.  Then, Peaches emerged, moving slowly with her right arm in a sling. She was still in her same statistical uniform.  Little in stature, the hero of their cause inched from the safety of the plane down the staircase alone.

Dmitry saw the woman, battered and covered in bruises and bandages, and hastily ran across the hangar and went up the stairs to get her.  “Whoa, easy now,” he said, meeting her halfway on the stairs.

He stood above her, even though he was several steps down.  His voice was calming, just above a whisper.  The room went still to watch.  Some knew what the woman had gone through to arrive here; others were simply in awe of the giant Russian mob boss rushing to greet the small black woman.

Unused to the attention, Peaches lowered her head in submission to her liege.  She had never been a crier but felt hot tears at the corner of her swollen eyes.  No one had mentioned to her that Boss Medlov would be here to receive her.  It was unnerving and yet strangely overwhelming.

“We have successfully brought Renat to you, sir,” she said, voice croaking from hours of silence.  Her eyes did not meet his at first, afraid to seem too direct with a man so powerful.

“You’ve done a good job, Peaches.”  Reaching out, Dmitry rubbed a hand across her bruised face gently.  “Was it all that you thought it would be?”  Seeing a woman beaten always reminded him of his mother, but he knew the type of woman Peaches was and understood that this chosen profession had its downsides.   He wanted merely to show her respect, especially in front of the men that she commanded.  Surely, her job had not been easy up until now.

Peaches slowly dared to look up at him - one eye was swollen completely shut - and she smiled despite her swollen lips upon seeing his approval.  She winced as her broken skin stretched, but the pride she bore down to her soul could not be contained.  “Better, boss.  He gave me a fight – a real fight-, but we prevailed in your name.  I only hope you are pleased.”  She would not detail how many lives had been lost to give him that victory, but she knew that she had to understand the price.

“Oh, I’m pleased.”  He smiled and reached down to swoop her up in his arms.  He did so without thought of his own wounds, still healing under his fine fabric.  He did so without thought of what others might think. He only acted in the sincerest of appreciation for her dedication.  “Don’t protest,” he said before she could say a word.  “I’d do the same for any of my men,” he lied.

Inwardly, as he turned, her body held by his strong embrace, Dmitry felt the same pride that she did.  Their success was shared.  A woman had brought down the empire that Renat once held so sacred.  A man who had profited off the souls of women and the sex they provided had fallen to the hands of a righteous one.  He only wished that the same fate could have been given for his mother in her death, having been a woman of the arts who had fallen to one of her many Johns.  This would be his only reciprocity, and he would never forget it.

Peaches rested her head in the warmth of his broad, rock-like chest, honored and speechless by his heartfelt act of kindness.  With her one good eye, she could see the way the other guards looked at her, no longer with the judgmental contempt that they carried, but now with respect and honor that she deserved.  Through her brave fight against her boss’s enemy, she had broken through the glass ceiling that once suffocated her.  She was their equal, if not their better.  The great Dmitry Medlov had given her an opportunity to prove her worth, and she had succeeded against all the odds.

“I want her taken back to the compound by the helicopter.  You can transport Renat in the convoy.  Send word to have her wound cared for and make sure she is given a place to rest without agitation,” Dmitry ordered the guards as he stepped off the stairs and walked toward one of the SUVs.

“Good job,” Simeon said as Dmitry passed with Peaches in his arms.

“You’re a true Vor now,” Vasily said with a wink.

It took everything in Peaches’ power not to smile.  She kept her head down and feelings intact, but inside she felt herself soaring.  The pain and wounds were worth it.  No more assumptions that she was getting by on her relationship with Marat.  Now, she had earned her stripes.

In the background, the cargo below the plane was unloaded, along with it the wooden box that held a less-than-healthy Renat.

Vasily went over to the box as soon as it was unloaded and demanded that it be opened.  It was possible that by the time they arrived back from their own mission, the man might be dead, but he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to have a few words with one of Popov’s allies who threatened mortal danger to his family.

“It’s turning into a good night after all,” Simeon said, joining Vasily.  He felt his own pride, knowing how valuable he had become to the Medlov family.

“A good night, indeed.”  Vasily’s eyes widened as the box was unlocked, and the bloody, beaten, half-conscious Renat looked up at him.  The rancid smell of urine and feces should have made him recoil, but he inhaled the humility of the once haughty Czar with extreme delight.

“Are you still with us, Renat?” Vasily asked, lowering over the wooden box.

Renat, barely able to speak, shifted slightly in the pine box and flitted his eyes.  “Fuck you,” he managed to growl, too weak to flip the bird.

Simeon laughed.  “He’s one mean son of a bitch.”

Vasily nodded.  “Yeah, but he still got his ass handed to him by a girl.”

To that, Renat coughed and muttered incoherent words under his breath, still defiant to the bitter end.  But Vasily didn’t let up.  He seethed with anger and the thought of what could have potentially happened to his family by Renat’s hand.  “You fucked with the wrong family, Renat.   I want you to know that, and I want you to understand that should you not die before we return, I’ll have a hand in finishing you off myself.  Do you hear me?  You better pray you fucking die before I get back.”

Simeon stopped laughing.  It pained him to see his brother of the council now in this bleak situation, but every man had a decision to make in his life, and Renat had chosen wrong.  “Your end won’t be a good one,” he told his brat.  The lines across his forehead formed as he bent closer to Renat’s face.  “But it’s your own doing. You could have chosen our side.”  He paused, scanning the man’s wounds.  It wouldn’t be long now before Renat succumbed.  “All this over greed.  Did we not provide enough?  Did we not honor our code?”

Renat’s mouth quivered.  Balling up his fist, he pushed out the words, even against the pain.  “And what are you doing this for, the love?” He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, the love of the Vor.” Simeon’s face tightened.  “Or have you forgotten your promise to us?  How did you let Erik Popov cloud your judgment so badly?” In truth, he wanted answers.  It was still inconceivable what his brothers had allowed to happen to their institution over the ambition of one unworthy man.

“You’d be in this coffin if Erik had not given us over.  Trust me.”  Renat coughed violently, rattling the box that held him prisoner.

“That might be so,” Simeon gripped the edge of the box with one hand and wiped the blood from Renat’s mouth from the other.  “But who gives a fuck about what could have happened when what is happening is so much worse?”

Dmitry loaded Peaches into the back of the SUV with care.  It was clear there would be a long road to recovery for her before she was back to running things, but if anyone understood her situation, it was him.  “I don’t want you to push yourself.  Go back and debrief Marat on everything and then rest.  There is nothing left for you to do but recover and await your next mission.”

Peaches inhaled a painful breath as he locked her into her seat belt.  In all her time of working for the Medlov family, she had never interacted with him alone. But now, she could see the kindness and concern in his eyes for her, and it warmed her to her core.  She understood why the men would die for him, why they never broke their vow to serve him.  “I will do what you ask.”  She took the bottle of water from the guard on the other side of the SUV, who helped her get comfortable for her long ride.  “But I want you to know that I’d do it again, the same way, if not better.”

Dmitry clicked her seatbelt, only inches from her face, and glanced up into her eyes.  He saw the surprise on her face – the same look of wonderment all women had when they were too close to him – but he knew that what she felt was far greater than attraction.  It was admiration and respect.  It was the thing that he always hoped to evoke in his leaders.

“You will be rewarded for your success,” he said, pulling himself out of the SUV to stand at the door.  He had to duck down to allow her to see his face.  Resting a hand on the door, he twisted up his lip.  “You will work for me now.  You no longer serve the women’s council.”   It was presumptuous for him to reveal his plans before allowing Royal an opportunity to speak with her own guard, but he felt like she deserved to know.  Plus, before Peaches arrived back to Marat and the fever-pitch love between them ignited, knowing their complicated relationship, he thought it only fair to share with her his intention for her future.  “How do you feel about that?”

The guard who had been helping get her situated in the SUV raised an eye to Peaches, then removed himself from the back.  This was above his paygrade.  Closing the door on the other side, he gave them their privacy.

Peaches inhaled a deep breath.  “Would I be wrong for saying that it is what I truly want?”  Everyone knew how much she loved Marat, and a part of her felt as though she was betraying him now by speaking her truth, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.  To pass it up would be to destroy everything she had worked for, and she had worked too hard to come this far and give up.

Dmitry was a strategic man, but he was not heartless.  He knew that in order to offer her what she wanted, he had to take something from Marat, a man who had served him well and truthfully even better than she.  Still, it was fair.  He was not running a match-making business.  He was the head of an organized crime syndicate.  And this young woman was not his daughter or his friend; she was his employee.

As such, Dmitry regarded Peaches’ future with great care.  “Do not speak to Marat about your new designation.  That conversation will be had by me and his betters.”  He relaxed his shoulders, wanting to level with her not as her boss but as a man who understood the fragility of the human condition.  “Love has no place here, not as a guard.  You have a bright future in front of you.  I see you in a place that we have never before put women, but I need to know now, before we set this course, if you are willing to sacrifice everything for what we are trying to establish for you and for all who will come behind you?  There is no wrong answer as long as it is the truth, but I must know.”

It was a magnanimous ask, and she had no time to think about it, but it was the cards she had been dealt by her Czar.

“I accept,” Peaches said, feeling her heartbreak at the same time it exploded with joy.

Dmitry nodded and winked at her.  Straightening his stance, he hit the top of the SUV and stepped back, unable to see her face now that he was standing straight.   But he knew his voice carried to her ears.  “Then you and I will have that conversation when I return.”

Pleased with himself, Dmitry walked across the hangar to join Simeon and Vasily at Renat’s box.  All the pieces were finally starting to come together.  But he knew just as they formed; they could fall apart.  Every moment was precious, every decision critical.

“Will he last through the night?” Dmitry asked the guard who was responsible for escorting Renat back to the compound.

“We have him on morphine, antibiotics, and a few other meds to keep him alive.  He will last as long as you want him to, boss.”  The man kept his eyes on Renat, unmoved by his patient’s physical state.  “But if infection sets in, he might not be as responsive as you like.  I would recommend keeping him in one of the rooms of the compound until you return if you want to ensure that he can serve your purposes.”  The guard had been a medic in the military prior to working for the family and as such, had seen far worse cases.  However, he had been tasked with keeping Renat’s health as optimal as possible for Dmitry’s personal interrogation.  Everyone knew what that meant.  Boss wanted him healthy before he killed him.

Dmitry had no desire to taunt Renat now.  That would happen in good time.  He could see the way his adversary looked up at him, wondering if the cruelty he had heard about for years would start now or later.

But Dmitry only gave him a smile.

“Hang in there for me, brother.  We have things to discuss upon my return,” Dmitry said, voice void of the triumph he felt inside.

Renat was flushed red, curly hair matted around his head, tailored clothes now torn and tattered.  Alas, the most powerful man in Moscow had been defeated.  But Renat was not the kind of person who was willing to abdicate his throne in the face of fear.  He greeted his enemy with a blood-stained smile.

“Look at you trying to be the big bad mob boss.”  Renat tried to spit in Dmitry’s direction, but the dehydrated fluid barely left the side of his crusted over lips.

The act only made him look more pathetic.

For that, everyone felt embarrassment.

“Fucking idiot.”  Vasily rolled his eyes.   At some point, one had to accept his defeat, but it seemed Renat was still in a state of denial.

Renat glanced at Vasily through his good eye. “Oh, I’m far from stupid, and I’ve never been an idiot.”  He swallowed hard.  “But, I will offer you both one last chance to redeem yourself and protect your family.”

Dmitry frowned at Renat’s defiance. “You are offering me something?”  His interest peaked.

“Yeah, fuck head, I’m offering you something — a chance.  You let me go now, and you have a chance to keep your head. You take me back and try to torture me; it will be your funeral.”  Even as Renat said the words, he knew the torture would be horrific, but if that was the price that he had to pay to get this son of a bitch, so be it.

“Are you going to rise like Lazarus from the dead, and seek your revenge, brother?” Dmitry asked.   “Anything short of a miracle is a bad play for you right now.”

“Oh, I plan to do something like that.” Renat winced, coughing as he tried desperately to draw breath.  “Pride comes before the fall, brother. Even you know that.”

“Pride isn’t what got me here,” Dmitry said, gritting his teeth.  His anger boiled beneath the surface.  “You did.”

“That might be true.  But like I said, you have one chance.  Take it or leave it.”  Renat pushed a painful breath out as he cradled his wounds.  “It’s up to you.”

“I like your fight,” Dmitry said, upbeat as he glanced at his watch.  “But I’m afraid I don’t have time for the theatrics.  I spent a little too much quality time with Oleg earlier, and I’m afraid he wore me out with his incessant begging.”  Dmitry’s eyes sparkled with chaotic malice, but his face was relaxed, almost emotionless.

Seeing Renat like this, confined to a box, guarded by his enemy, beaten to a broken pulp, only made him sick for his brother.  When he first joined the council, he had never imagined it would come to this.  It was senseless.    “I’ll give you the same offer that I gave Oleg.  I’ll show you the same kindnesses you showed my family.”  Dmitry’s voice hardened at the memory of Royal shooting a weapon toward impending death at the hospice center back in Memphis.  “And after that, then we’ll settle up.”

Renat managed a grin. “Oh, we’ll settle up, alright.  Whether before my death or after it. You can guarantee you, and I will settle up.”

Dmitry had heard enough.  “I’ think I’ll pass on your offer, but thanks for the chance.”

Grabbing the top of the box, Dmitry slammed it over the top of Renat’s box and hit it with a closed fist.  “Until then, enjoy your trip.”  He was done playing games.  Fuck all of them.

The plane took off from the tarmac before Dmitry and his men spoke with Diane.  While bruised and sore from her fight with Raina, she still handled her responsibilities to get the crew and the client up in the air without mishap, just as she had done countless times before.  When she was done with her duties, including bringing the men a drink and grabbing one for herself, she sat across from them in one of the white leather chairs and went over the entire interaction with Erik Popov’s spy in great detail.  It was quite a story to tell, but one she did not belabor with grandiose design.  Instead, she focused on the elements that would serve her boss in his next move.

As Dmitry listened, he processed every word and thought of every action before taking the phone Diane had taken from Raina.  In silence, the men sat drinking their vodka and digesting the facts while Diane simply stared blankly out of the window at the clouds that drifted past the wings of the plane.

“Raina was a plant,” Dmitry stated the obvious first.  He scrubbed a hand over his lips.  “But an intentional plant.”

“Erik wanted us to find her,” Simeon pushed up in his chair.

“Which meant he knew we’d go after Lev.” Dmitry’s eyes narrowed.  “Which means he knows where we are headed.”   If there was one thing he hated, it was when one tried to assume that they could calculate his next move.  He hadn’t gotten to where he was in life by being predictable, and he wasn’t going to start now. Recalling the text from Raina’s phone again, he spoke the words verbatim.  “Previous text erased.  Do not send more communication.  Lev is a trap.  Do not kill.  Raina is bait.  Do not trust.  Peter is loyal.  Do not spare.  Erik in Baku, Azerbaijan.  Do not wait.”   He exhaled a breath.

“Who sent the text?” Simeon asked Dmitry.

Without hesitation, Dmitry answered.  “Not sure.” It was the truth.  He was not certain that Zoya had been able to send the text, and no matter what, he was unwilling to expose her position.  “But whoever it is knows Erik’s plan.  We can’t go to Hungary.  There will be assassins there waiting.”

“I never thought Peter would turn on you,” Simeon said, disappointed in the news.  He had been rooting quietly for their old ally since the beginning of this. But it seemed that the old habit of power-hunger died hard.  “I wonder what made him move to the dark side.  He has to know that Erik is an idiot.”

“Peter has made his bed; besides, he’s irrelevant right now.”  Dmitry put the phone to his lips.  “I do have an idea, though.”  He turned to his council member.  “Vasily, can you get your guys to run a spoof line through his phone?  I don’t want to use it, just in case it has a locator.” He checked to make sure the device was still turned off.  “Since Erick and Peter depend on me to attack Lev, I don’t want to disappoint them or give them any idea that we are on to them, but we need to make a quick stop first.  Tell the pilot to head to St. Petersburg.”

“St. Petersburg?”  Simeon turned to Dmitry.  His forehead creased in reservation.  “You know the rules as well as I, brother.  Until the war is over, we can’t step foot in the golden city.  It’s suicide, an act of treason.”  He was all for killing council members, but he had no intention of getting killed himself.

“This is an act of treason against the brotherhood as well,” Dmitry said, raising the phone up as evidence while making his point.

Relaxing his shoulders, he rested back in his seat and crossed his legs.  “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

Chapter 36

The Medlov Compound

“There are two ways to live; you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.”

― Albert Einstein

A nil felt his hands trembling, even as he picked up the black leather bag of medicines that had been prepared for the birth.  Fuck, fuck, fuck!  He was questioning himself now, doubting if he could really do this.  When the procedure was so far in the future, he thought he could plan better.  Inwardly all that time, he had hoped the war would end before the birth, and a real doctor would be forced to handle the delivery, but neither of those things had happened.  Time was against him, and all other options were off the table.

What was I thinking?! he screamed in the back of his head.  All that talking about wanting to be a doctor paled in comparison to actually being required to perform.  What if he messed up?  Shit!  What if he killed both of them? Their blood would be on his hands.  His family would probably kill him.

Oh, God!  He called on his higher power instead of using His name in vain.  He needed God now, more than he ever had before, but the little horned beast on his left side was in his ear, placing seeds of uncertainty.

“You’re not capable of this,” it said.  “You’ll never live up to your dreams.  You’re a failure.  A stupid little boy trying to rise too far above your station.”  It taunted him invisibly, but he was unable to run from it.

The blood-curdling screams coming from the cleanroom down the hall, made his head snap up from the table.   With a curse, he grabbed the bag and ran toward the open door. “I’m coming!” his deep voice boomed.

A wall of the body appeared in the darkened doorway.  “What are you doing in here?” Anatoly asked voice deep and foreboding.

Eyes wild with fear for his wife, he glanced over at Anil and saw the doubt, even in the darkness.  But now was not the time for it.

There was hesitation born of all the questions that lingered in the back of Anil’s mind.  “I was grabbing a few things.”  He wiped sweat from his upper lip.  “I’m ready.”

It was a dirty, little lie.  He was not ready.  In truth, he was scared as hell and wanted to tuck his tail securely between his legs and run in the other direction, but what use would it be to say such a thing considering he was not going to do that?

Anatoly blocked his brother’s path before he could pass.  Hand raised, palm open, he took a deep breath that made his walled chest expand.  This couldn’t be said later; it had to be said now.  “You can do this.  It was what you were made to do, remember?”   A cascade of memories starting from the moment they met flashed before his eyes. “Remember?” he asked again forcefully.

“Yeah, yeah,” Anil answered breathlessly.  “I remember.”

Anatoly had always regarded Anil differently from the rest of his siblings, almost irreverently; now, he hoped that trust and admiration had not been misplaced. “You’re going to go in there, and you’re going to help bring my son into this world.”

Anil paused.  Even though he towered over Anatoly, he felt small in his gigantic presence.  “Do I have a choice?” he asked, scratching his jaw.  His blue eyes lowered to the floor.

“No.”  Anatoly forced a half-smile.  “If you don’t do this, then... I’ll put a bullet through your head.”

Anil gave a raspy laugh that simmered into a cough.  “You…um…might do that anyway if I fuck this up.”  He was only half-joking then.

“You won’t fuck this up.  I know that.”  Anatoly wasn’t the sentimental type and definitely didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he knew Anil could read through the bravado to the deeper meaning of his heartfelt words.

There was a vote of confidence there – one that had come with time and through action.

Anatoly offered a small token. “Everyone has a test in this life.  We say we want something, and then God says, okay, let’ me see if you really want it.”

That took Anil aback for a second.  Maybe Renee was rubbing off on Anatoly, considering the God-reference.  The off-color remark was well received, but still did little to quash his current reservations.

“And this is my test?” Anil gripped the bag and rolled his broad shoulders.  “You have to admit that it’s a pretty damn big one.”

“The biggest.  But what is a test if it will not challenge us?”  Anatoly stepped closer to his brother and put his hand on his chest.  He patted him paternally.  “I have to believe that you are here right now for a reason.  My better judgment says you’re here for this.  Now, it’s time to prove yourself.”  Removing his hand, he let out a long, slow breath.  “For what it’s worth, I believe in you.  So does papa.  He said so himself.  Said you were the best of us.”  He hated himself for sounding so soft, but he wanted Anil confident and ready for what was to come.

At that moment, they both could hear heavy footfalls racing toward the cleanroom to help Renee.  More people were arriving by the second, but everyone was waiting on Anil.

The time had finally come for him to show his purpose among them.  The shared minute, as quickly as it had come, passed.  And they were left to act.

“So, you ready or what?” Anatoly asked, stepping out of his brother’s way.

“Breathe for me, Renee!  Deep, deep breaths.”  Coral brushed a hand over Renee’s sweaty forehead and tried to calm her.  “What’s taking so long in there?” She called out in a gritty growl as she placed another pillow behind Renee’s head.  Glancing over at the monitor, she took note of Renee’s racing blood pressure.  “Move it, gentlemen!  We don’t have all night!”

The large room, repurposed for the birth with large medical lights and equipment, was packed with every Medlov woman in the house.  They all scurried about unsure of what to do but making themselves busy doing something.  However, Coral, having been a nurse for many years, knew exactly what to do – move with purpose and keep calm.

Royal grabbed an arm full of white towels from the corner and brought them to the side of the bed.  She looked over sympathetically at Renee as she lay writhing in pain.  They had all been there and done that as mothers, but this was different.  No doctor to speak of, just a nurse, a medical student, and a prayer.  In over her head, her heart lurched at what could happen.

“You’re doing good, sis,” Royal offered to Renee, glancing over at Coral for confirmation.  As she went back to collect more towels, she stopped and bent to look between Renee’s legs, which had been propped up in the stirrups.  Nursing was definitely not her calling.   Instantly, she felt dizzy at the sight of her best friend’s swollen vagina.  “What are we supposed to be looking at…for?” she asked, squinting.

“Well, for one, look for a baby.”  Coral pushed the dials to adjust the bed to make Renee more comfortable.  She trailed her eyes from the monitor down to her daughter.  “If you see one pop out of there, catch it.”

Royal rose up and stepped back.  “Where is Anil?” she asked, inhaling a deep breath.

“The contractions are coming more quickly now!” Valeriya said, looking at her watch.  “Seven minutes apart.”  Just half an hour ago, they were at ten.  Over the course of the war in Ukraine, she had helped bring several babies into the world, but none of the mothers had been as close to her as Renee.  The intimacy of it all was giving her high anxiety.  “Where is Anil?” she glanced toward the door as impatient as Coral.

“What do you want me to do?” Anastasiya asked from the corner of the room by the door.  She pushed up the sleeves to her red V-neck, long sleeve shirt.  “I need to be doing something, don’t I?”  Her eyes landed on Royal.

Royal shrugged.  “Get some water bottles.”  Didn’t people always ask for water when they were getting ready to birth a baby?

“Why is it happening so quickly?” Lilly asked, laying out the latex gloves from one of the boxes.   Fumbling, she knocked over a bottle of medicine on the table and jumped.  “Shit. Sorry.”

“Careful over there!” Coral shouted with a pointed finger. She moved from Renee’s side and went over to the table against the wall that housed all of the bottles, needles, and medical equipment.

This medicine was their lifeline, and it needed to be regarded as such.  It wasn’t like they could run out and get more.  Geesh!  They were making a mess of her operating room.  Stopping, she threw up her hands and turned to face everyone.  They all looked at her like lost children in need of directions.

Her voice calmed, even though inside, she was shouting at all of them.  “Ok.  Okay.  You know what, you can’t be in here like this.  I need you all to wash up and dress out.  Now!”

“You want us to get out?” Lilly asked, looking up from her mess, mouth dropping open.  What did they do wrong?  Everyone was just trying to help.  Her frown showed her dismay, but it was lost on the situation.

Coral couldn’t think of everyone else’s feelings right now, though.  “Yes, I want you to go and get cleaned up.  This room has to stay sterile.”  She centered herself and released a breath from her nostrils.  She needed a second to think, and to do that she needed space.  The baby doctor would be in here at any minute, and he needed a clean, organized working space.  And Charlie’s Angels were only stomping through the space, making it worse.  They were like bulls in a china cabinet.

Moving her hair out of her eyes, Royal glanced over at her mother and realized that outside of Coral, everyone else was woefully out of their depths, including her.    Standing up, she flapped her arms toward the door to shoe the women out.  “You heard her.  Let’s get cleaned up and dressed out.”

Placing the towels on the small table in front of the bed, Royal escorted all of the women out of the room.  Stopping at the door, she turned to her mother and Renee, feeling helpless.  “Are you okay in here with her alone?”  It was a stupid question, considering she didn’t know what the hell she was doing in the first place, but she felt it was the only thing to say.

“Go,” Coral said, resting her hand on her hip.  Wiping her brow, she heard the beeping of the blood pressure monitor behind her and knew she needed to get back to Renee.  “But…hurry back. I need all of you to get this done.”

Renee gripped the side of the bed as another contraction hit. It was akin to sticking her finger in a socket while her feet were in a bucket of water.  The pain was paralyzing, shocking all of her senses at once.   Toes curling, she cursed and jutted out her jaw. “Ouch!  Owwww….”   She had done this before, but the sensations were not the same. The environment was definitely not the same!

“Something’s wrong!” Renee fretted between high-pitched shrieks.  “Something is wrong with the baby!”

“You’re fine, and the baby is fine,” Coral assured.  “Just focus on your breathing.”  She knew Renee was right.   This was not going to be a normal birth, but they had to do what they could to keep Renee calm and the baby safe until they could figure out how to fix it.

“I’m here.”  In jeans and a white T-shirt, Anatoly burst through the door with Anil following right behind him. He was surprised to find that everyone was gone but glad to know that Coral was still by Renee’s side.  “Where is everyone?” he asked Coral.

Without looking at him, she answered.  “I sent them to clean up.”  Quickly, she moved to the other side of the bed, leaving Anatoly with his wife for a second.

“Where were you?” Renee asked Anatoly, glad to see him back.  She gripped his hand, lips quivering.  He had only been gone a few minutes, but it felt like forever.    Her brown eyes locked on him, begging him not to leave her again. She couldn’t do this without him.

“I was getting Anil.”  He bent to her lips and pressed a kiss to them.  “Don’t worry, baby.  He is going to take care of everything.”   Wiping her head of the beads of sweat forming above her brow, he smiled.  “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m scared!” Renee gripped his hand harder and growled, shaking the bed with her spasms.  “Holy fuck!  I need some drugs now!”

Anil stood in the corner, washing his hands in the sink while Coral explained the situation just above a whisper.  She kept her eyes straight, but the frown lines across her forehead made Renee worry.  Turning where her lips could not be read, Coral tried to update Anil, in the same manner, she would have one of her doctors.

“The contractions are coming very quickly, but she’s not even at seven centimeters yet,” Coral explained as she helped Anil dress for the procedure. “She needs the epidural to keep her blood pressure from spiking any further.  And the baby’s blood pressure is not doing so well.  He could be in distress soon.”

Anil bent down so that she could tie the back of his gown.  “I don’t know if I can do the epidural.”  Now was not the time to pretend. He slipped on latex gloves.  “If it’s not placed properly in her vertebrae, we could paralyze her for life, and neither one of us could live with that.”

Coral knew the risk. Finishing the ties to the back of his gown, she stepped back.   “Well, we need someone who knows how to do this then.”  She turned to Anatoly and raised her voice.  “Hey, Anatoly, do you have anyone on your staff who is familiar with the spine?”  It was a strange question, and one that would surely alarm Renee, but she needed to know.

“What?” Renee gasped, eyes widening.  “What’s wrong with my spine? Is it my spine?” She looked between Anatoly and Coral. “Is it the baby’s spine?”   The blood pressure monitor dinged again as her pressure spiked.

Coral raised a hand to calm Renee and walked over to her.  “We just need to give you an epidural, honey.  Having someone who is familiar with the spine will ensure the shot is given properly.  Dmitry ordered the medicine, and it’s right over there, but in order to properly administer it, we need someone who isn’t squeamish.”  The last thing they needed was to have to rush her to the city for an emergency procedure.  Surely, Popov’s men would be all over the hospitals looking for her.

“Luka!” Anatoly released Renee’s hand and darted toward the door.  He had an idea that just might work.  Finally, that asshole, Daniil, would be good for something more useful than human stew.

Luka immediately opened the door and glanced over at Renee.   He could hear all the ruckus from outside, but laying eyes on the woman only made things more real.  “Yes, boss.”  He trailed his eyes back to Anatoly and awaited instruction.

Anatoly’s voice was shaky.  “Go and get Daniil.  Tell him to wash up quickly and get here right fucking now.”  Anatoly was intimately familiar with what Daniil’s specialty was.  If anyone in the house was experienced enough to work with the spine or any other body part, it was him.

“What in the hell do you want with Daniil?” Renee shrieked.  When Anatoly didn’t answer, she threw her head back on the pillow and gasped.  All these people around here and no one was telling her anything!

“Focus on the baby,” Coral instructed again.  “Let your husband handle this.”

Anil was no longer afraid. In a matter of seconds, nervousness had dissipated into the need to act.  All he cared about was now helping his sister-in-law bring his nephew in the world without any complications.  “Renee, I’m going to have to check your cervix.  You might feel a little pressure, but I want you to breathe through it, okay?”

“Okay.”  Renee nodded and gripped the sheets below her.

Anil sat down on the stool at the end of Renee’s bed and shifted her legs open further.  Pulling the light where he could see her swollen opening, he scooted up closer and stuck two gloved fingers into her vagina.  Instantly, he could feel her clench around his hand. “Renee…Relax for me.  I’m just checking to see how far you have dilated.”

Renee’s eyes widened, but she didn’t wiggle, feeling the pressure he had promised as his fingers pushed deeper until he reached her cervix.  Unlike before, he wasn’t nervous about seeing her naked or even having his fingers inside of her in front of his brother.  Now, he was just a doctor trying to help.

“Okay, we’re there,” Anil said in a calming voice.   He could feel the bag of waters around the baby and smell the heavy, dusky scent of labor. She was close.  They needed to hurry.

“Where are we?” Coral asked, standing above him, beside the bed.

Slowly removing his hand, Anil frowned and pulled off his latex gloves.  He glanced up at Coral.  “Still at seven centimeters.  We don’t have much time.”  Throwing the gloves in the garbage beside him, he swirled in the chair toward the table.  “Go on and get the iodine, bandages, and needle out for me, just in case she starts to tear during the birth, Coral.”

“Yes, sir,” Coral answered, moving while she talked.  “Anything else you need?”

Anatoly glanced over at his little brother and felt both pride and gratitude.  Anil was meant to be here; he was meant to be a doctor.  “Is she going to be okay?” he asked, still standing beside Renee.

Anil stopped talking to Coral.  “Yeah, Ana. They’re going to be fine.”

Under cover of night, ten heavily armed Medlov guards stood in the cold darkness, silently awaiting their VIP party’s arrival.   While no one spoke of it, they were all eager to see the woman who took down Renat for themselves after hearing about her epic fight against one of the International Council’s most dangerous Czars.

Watching in the distance, they heard the small aircraft approaching their location on the hill, lighting up the sky as it moved toward them.

“ETA five minutes,” one of the security guards spoke over the radio after checking in with the pilot.  “This is a grab and go.  Check your surroundings and be prepared to move out quickly.  Boss Marat wants her back without any interruption.”

A whirlwind of cold air swirled in tornado funnels that pushed up debris around the makeshift helipad as the helicopter hovered, then slowly landed on target.  After confirming that the pilot was clear, the lights of the SUVs circling perimeter all flicked on at the same time and nearly blinded Peaches, letting her know she was not alone.

She covered her face from the light as the door to the helicopter was pulled open from the outside, and she was met by a tall guard, who carefully helped her out of the helicopter and escorted her to the truck.

The sound of the helicopter’s engine revved down, and men, only visible through their moving shadows, took their positions for the short drive.  It was heavy with fanfare that she had never experienced before, but understood it was part of Dmitry’s rare show of approval.

“Take your time,” the guard said, helping Peaches inside the leather confines of the upscale automobile.

The warm air shooting through the vents greeted her, and the heated leather seats soothed her tired body.

“I’m fine.  Thank you,” was all she could muster.

It had been a long haul to get here, and because of it and all of Dmitry’s kindness, she allowed the guard to lock her seatbelt as if she was a child, feeling inwardly the need to push him away but denying herself the action.

Once the door was closed, she looked around the space and felt disappointed that Marat was not there to personally greet her, but she understood his absence as well.

Things would be different now.  He probably was busy with other things and might have also been given directives to avoid her.  But that didn’t stop her desire to see him.

“Welcome back, Peaches,” Stepan said from the passenger seat of the SUV.  He turned slightly to gaze at Dmitry’s newest prize.   He bothered not to ask how she was doing.  That was already clear.  Instead, he set the tone for her arrival.  “We’ve made arrangements for you to rest up per Boss Dmitry.  All you have to do now is relax.”

“Trust me.  I’ll do just that.”  Peaches rested her head back; hand still pressed against one of her many wounds as she fought the urge to groan.  The pain she felt physically was only a glimpse of the pain she felt emotionally.

After the chaos had ended, now that she was here in the safety of her men’s protection, all that came forth was the dead bodies she had to walk over to get here.  A shame of epic proportions wanted to wash over her, but she knew it was only survivor’s guilt.

Rubbing a hand under her eye before a tear could fall, she released a deep sigh.  “I’m just happy to be home.”

“About home.  There is a lot going on back at the compound,” Stepan said as the driver pulled down the drive and headed out into the street. He settled back into his seat.  “Boss Anatoly and his wife are expecting their second child tonight.   The heads of the house are working in the war room.  The other Medlov children are in disarray, and the women of the family are pulling together to help Anil and Coral with the birth.  So, it would be best, considering your physical state and your appearance, to stay out of sight until things are calmer.”

“I understand.  I’ll stay out of sight until I heal up a bit.  I know I look a mess.”  Peaches dug down into one of her pockets and pulled out a bottle of pain killers.  Struggling with the top, she finally managed to get it open.  Breathing hard, she grunted.  “Renat should be arriving in a few hours with the convoy from the airport.  The orders are to give him a place to rest inside of the compound until Boss Dmitry arrives back.”  She didn’t feel as though the man deserved even a steel box to recover, but if Dmitry wanted him healthy, then that was what he was to be given.

“Yes, I’m aware.  We’ve made provisions for him already as well.”  Stepan appreciated the fact that she was still on the job, but as he had already informed her, everything was under control.   “Tonight, considering your health, we would suggest that you stay with Marat.  He has expressed a desire to take care of you himself.”  Patting the Glock in his lap, he bothered not to look back at her reaction, certain that his words brought her comfort that nothing else could.  “Will that be a problem?”

Peaches repressed a smile.  “No, that won’t be a problem at all.”

After a brisk walk from the barn, Daniil was met at the back door of the compound by Marat.  As soon as the door opened, the men locked eyes in silent opposition, but even that had to be put aside for the moment.  Anatoly had called for Daniil to rise from the bowels of their operation to help with the birth of his child, and for that, even Marat was grateful.

“They are upstairs waiting on you,” Marat said gruffly, closing the door behind them. They walked side by side through the dimly lit kitchen toward the corridor that led to the second floor.  “Have you washed up?”

“Yes,” Marat answered flatly, hearing screams from Renee fill the house.  In his line of work, the pain of humans had become mute in his ears, even those of women and children.  Face carved in emotionless stone, he stopped at the staircase and turned to Marat.  “What exactly do they want me to do up there?”

Marat shrugged his massive shoulders, eyes red from exhaustion.   “I don’t know, but whatever it is, don’t fuck it up, eh.”  He pointed toward Luka, who waited impatiently halfway up the staircase.  “Take him to the cleanroom, Luka.  When he’s done, make sure he goes back out to the barn to finish up.”

Daniil flashed a naughty grin at Marat, anxious to get under his skin one last time before he left.  “One last thing.  Just in case you are a snooper, I wouldn’t go out there to the barn.  I was right in the middle of working.  It’s a bit messy.  There are arms here and legs there.  I didn’t exactly get the chance to clean up before I was summoned by the prince.”    He was keen on how people in the compound regarded him, like a leper or a monster only controlled by his master.  But he was more than that.

At first, Marat snarled, ready to explode with something venomous, but then he remembered himself. Renee was upstairs waiting.  Raising a warning finger, he extended his tattooed, muscular arm in the direction of the staircase.  “A woman needs you upstairs.  This might be the first time in your life that someone needs you to do something to preserve life instead of taking it.  Now, go up there and work your fucking hardest to make sure that happens.  Otherwise, regardless of what happens to me, by your boss’s hand, I’ll cut you from ear to ear and throw your rotten ass in whatever stew you’re brewing out there in that God-forsaken barn.  Are we clear?”

Daniil dropped the bad boy routine and showed his real face.  “Like I asked before, what is wrong with her?” He had a mother once, and he would have done anything to save her, had he been given the opportunity.  Besides, the men and women whom he had been commissioned to kill in the past all had it coming.  “I can’t help her if I don’t know what I’m walking into.”

Marat cooled his judging gaze.  “Luka said they needed you to administer a shot of some kind to her spine.  She is in a lot of pain, and no one knows how to fix it.  If you can give her the shot, without hurting her, it could save the child.”

Daniil relaxed his shoulders.  “I can do it.”  He knew more about human anatomy than most doctors.  “Sounds like she needs an epidural.  I’ve given them before.  Just not to a pregnant woman.”  He wouldn’t get into who he had used it on in the past.

“Well, good.”  Marat stepped closer.  His voice lowered as he allowed himself to speak man-to-man.  “Just remember this is a pregnant, vulnerable woman.  And to her, you’re just a guy who can help – not the monster we all know you to be.  Do yourself a favor and help her.  Do something good.”

For Daniil, it was like the proverbial pot calling the kettle black.  While they served two different houses, he was not unaware of all Marat had done to get to where he was.  Power had a price – a hefty soul-stealing one.  “Hey, I’m not a fucking monster, at least no more than you.”  His eyes brimmed with fire.  His breath smelled of stale coffee and garlic.  “Remember that…brat.  And for the record, I’m not here to run to your every beckoned call. I came because I want to help the woman, not because I have to.  Can you say the same, or is this just part of your fucking job description?”  Daniil heard Renee scream to the top of her lungs again and brushed off Marat’s insult.  He blew a breath out of his mouth and stepped back – moment gone.  Back on an even keel, he unbaled his fists.  “I can fuck with you later.  Right now, duty calls.  But I’m serious about my barn.”  He raised a finger.  “Don’t….”

Marat rolled his eyes and waved Daniil off.  He would have plenty of time to make his point, but for now, like it or not, he needed the bastard.   “Da, da.  No one is going to fuck with your barn.  Okay.  I’ll see to it.”

“Glad we have an understanding.”  With a satisfied nod, Daniil turned and headed up the stairs.

Down in the sound-proof war room, away from the chaos of the family drama upstairs, a freshly showered and shaven Gabriel sat across from Nadei at the conference table, cyphering the text that Dmitry had just sent and looking at a blown-up map of Baku.

It just didn’t make sense to Gabriel.  He wasn’t convinced.

Out of nowhere, they had received intelligence via a text intercepted from a plant at the airport that Erik Popov and what was left of his crew were holed up 2,804 miles from them in a castle off the coast of this obscure country?  Why was Popov not in Russia?  Why was he not near one of the strongholds he controlled?  Why had he not been spotted?  The questioned multiplied in his mind.

“What are you thinking?” Nadei asked, both hands resting in his mop of blonde curls.

“For one thing, it could be a trap,” Gabriel said finally, pushing away the map in frustration.  It was all that made sense in this jumbled up puzzle before him.   He sucked his teeth.  “Anyone could have sent the text.  We don’t actually know it was someone who is working for us.”

“We don’t actually know shit,” Nadei offered in a lackluster response.

With dark brows furrowed, Gabriel stretched his long legs under the table and folded his arms behind his head, flexing taut, chorded muscle as he gazed up at the lights above.  His mossy green eyes squinted.  “What if they’re waiting for us to pounce on this lead, just to attack us once we arrive there?”  It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before.

Nadei agreed with Gabriel’s logic, but then why was Dmitry so certain that the information was correct.  He had to play the devil’s advocate since no one else was in the room.  He lifted his head slightly to look at Gabriel from across the table.  “It could also be the leg up we need to turn things around.”  He stood up his chair and walked over the monitor on the wall.  “No, this makes sense when you think about it.”

“What does?”  Gabriel rested his hands again, nervous energy making his body spastic.  He hated being cooped up in this compound instead of out doing some work.

Nadei studied the map on the monitor again.  “All of it.  We would have never thought to look in Baku, especially since none of the families have ties to it.”  He curled up his lips.  “Makes it neutral.”

Gabriel yawned, shaking his body.  “Either Dmitry has had someone working from the inside this entire time without saying anything to us, which wouldn’t surprise me at this point, or he’s so anxious to get this over with until he’s willing to gamble everything.”

Nadei knew better, and so did Gabriel.  “When has Dmitry ever gambled everything on a hunch?”  he asked, voice hinting at his assumption.  There had to be a fly in Erik’s ointment.  Dmitry might have been desperate to end this war, but there was too much on the line to just throw everything up in the air and hopes that something would stick. This was strategic.

“With Dmitry, never.”  Gabriel bit down on his lip, pondering the play.  He tapped his fingers impatiently.  “Wait.  I have an idea.  Don’t we still have that guy in Russian intelligence who can run the satellites?”

“Yeah, that I know of.” Nadei turned to look at Gabriel, catching on to what he was considering. A smile crossed his lips, and he wagged his finger at him.  “We can do a body count.”

“Exactly.”  Gabriel grabbed his cell phone off the table.  There was no time to waste.  If they were right about this, it could save invaluable recourses and time. “Now, I’m willing to bet wherever Erik is, he won’t be alone. He’s probably got a whole fucking army with him.  All we have to do get our contact to scan the area.   We get a hit on a large gathering in one of those old castles around the coastline; then we can verify his location or at least figure out where not to look.”   He skimmed through his contacts for the number.  “What was the guy’s name?”  Gabriel paused, holding the phone in his clutches.  “It was something to do with bread…”

“Kalashnik.”  Nadei came to sit back down at the table.  He watched Gabriel intently, hoping and praying the number was still on his phone.

“That’s it.  Kalashnik.”  Gabriel found the number immediately.  “Bingo!”  His eyes lit up.  “We can get this to our guys, make contact, and set it up.  Then, once we pinpoint Popov, all we have to do is send a team to carry out the hit.”  There were far more steps in the process of using Russian government resources for their own personal war, but he didn’t need to delve down into the weeds.

Nadei stammered over his words. “And…who are you going to send to handle this job?  I mean, Valeriya needs you here.”  His brow rose as he made his pitch.  “Anatoly can’t go, obviously.  And Marat is bound to protect the compound, so he can’t ever leave.”

There was a pause between them.  Nadei knew that he was now beholding to the Women’s Council, but what he wanted at the moment was to have the opportunity to shift back to the real side of the fight.  The problem was that he knew the trust he had worked hard to build over the years had been irreparably tarnished by his many inexcusable blunders.

Gabriel put the phone back down on the table for the moment.  “Okay.  Let’s put a pin in reaching out to our Russian friends for just a second, shall we?”  There was clearly more pressing business to attend to.

Pushing back slightly from the table, Gabriel threw an arm over the back of the chair and focused on Nadei.  He knew this man, better than most.  They had spent time together doing jobs, deals…women.  It was clear that because of their former relationship, Nadei felt comfortable asking him what he would not ask of the other Medlov men.

Voice lowered, Gabriel did what he did best – dig into the backstory.  “What’s your angle?” he asked, cocking one critical brow.

Nadei didn’t blink.   Put on the spot, he tried to soften his voice.  “No angle to speak of, boss.  I just want to be of service.”

“You…want…to be of service?”  The sly smirk Gabriel gave when he knew someone was lying to him emerged and in that toothy, pearl white smile against tanned, golden skin, thick rose-colored lips, and inky black hair, he looked the part of the beautiful trickster, Loki, but even more devious, if possible. “Save the gong-ho bullshit, Nadei.  This is me you’re talking to.”  He put his hand to his chest to reiterate the point.  “Me.  The same guy who thought it was smart to infiltrate the Medlov Family as an undercover federal agent.  The same guy who fucked the maid who my cousin had already kicked to the curb, and you subsequently impregnated.  ME.  Okay,” he licked his lips. “I’m so beyond judging you right now.  Be honest with me.  Level with me.  What’s the angle? I already know there has to be one.”  He would not ask so kindly again, and the tone of his voice and the sinister glimmer in his eyes told Nadei to start talking or prepare for a more aggressive interrogation to begin.

What was the point in lying?  “This isn’t a good place for me to be right now.”  Nadei twisted his lips.  Dropping his gaze from Gabriel, he told the truth.  “I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place with Anatoly and Anastasiya.  Maybe if I were able to pull this off and prove myself, he might actually consider allowing me to…”

“Fuck his sister,” Gabriel finished Nadei’s sentence with a condescending laugh that filled the room.

The guards in the corner, following the security monitors and communicating with Medlov cells, stopped momentarily to look over at the pair.  When Gabriel laughed like that, it was never a good sign.

Closing his eyes at the absurdity of Nadei’s ridiculous hopes and dreams, Gabriel covered his mouth. “Ahhh. Man!”  His eyes flashed open, still in disbelief of his ears.  “You honestly can’t be that stupid, bro.”  The abrupt end to his laugh gave his words even more weight.

Nadei frowned.  This was definitely not the reaction he was expecting, but then again, it was Gabriel.  He had been unhinged since he arrived back from Ukraine. Everyone knew it, but no one discussed it.  His erratic behavior was the elephant in the room.

“So, you think there is no hope,” Nadei lamented.

Gabriel pushed up to the table and cupped his hands together in faux supplication.  As he did, the glimmer of the lights against the wedding band and Rolex flickered across the room.  “You are on the Medlov payroll. If you go and kill everyone in Baku, Erik Popov, Peter Popov, and Satan himself, then you’ll still just be doing your job.”  He bucked his eyes.  “You get paid for this shit.  No one is going to reward you with a female sacrifice, especially the boss’s little sister.”

Nadei was speechless.  He had not thought of it in those terms, but hearing Gabriel say it truly did make him feel ridiculous for his reasoning.  “So, I should give up on that?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said quickly with a nod.  “I know my cousin, and I’m telling you this, man, if he gives his blessing to you to date his sister, it won’t be because of anything that you’ve done out there.”  He was a realist if nothing else.  And someone needed to be honest with Nadei.  “You should be glad to be alive.  I mean, shit, I thought he was going to gut you when he found out you were sticking it to his newly saved baby sister. But you know,” he shrugged indifferently, “there’s been a lot going on.  So, you got a pass.”

“Well then,” Nadei pushed out a defeated breath and bit his bottom lip, “there is nothing left to say about that.”  Nadei dropped his head, ready to move on with the discussion of planning the attack.

Gabriel pushed the pen on the table out from him and lowered his eyes from Nadei.  His voice reverted back to a more serious tenor.  “So, you still want to go on the suicide mission to Baku?”

“Yes.”  Nadei was a hardened criminal, who had lost his grace a long time ago, but he was determined to prove himself worthy for the forgiveness the Medlov family had bestowed on him despite his misgivings.  “Even if I never receive Anatoly’s blessing, this family still has given me a second chance and protected my daughter.  Yes, I want to go.  You need someone you can trust to have eyes on the assault should we find out that Erik Popov is actually there.  Who better to go than me?”

Gabriel had no argument there. Nadei might have been an idiot with his heart, but he was a damned good killer.  “Okay. Then it’s done. You’re going. But I want to make sure we’re clear.  I love you.”  The words rang hollow.   “You’re a great guy but keep your hands off Anastasiya until you get your blessing from the powers that be or…” he sucked his teeth and made a tisk-tisk noise, “I’ll kill you myself.  I mean, it is only right, considering you once reported to me.  Anatoly has enough shit on his chest right now. He doesn’t need the idea of you screwing his baby sister under his roof, rattling around in his head too.  That’s enough to drive any man batshit crazy.  Think of your daughter.  She shouldn’t grow up without either of her parents, but that decision rests solely with you.”

“You have my word.”  Nadei knew better than to push Gabriel.

“I better.”  Gabriel left it at that.

Just then, the door to the war room opened, and a figure appeared from the shadows.

Turning his whole torso toward interruption, Gabriel threw out his arms.  “Oh, shit!  Look whose back from his British vacation?” He was glad for the disruption from the heavy that Nadei was ready to unleash on him.  Plus, one more brain in the room couldn’t be bad, especially in planning an attack.

Boris walked into the room with his usual shit-eating grin.  And unlike Peaches, he didn’t have a scratch on him.  He twirled like a girl in her prom dress, showing off his new digs.  “How do you like me now?” he joked.

“You look like a man fresh out on bail with a fist full of pesos and free pass at the local whore house,” Gabriel laughed, happy to have some levity introduced into their glib situation.

“I am fresh out on bail.  Just dodged life in prison for the shit in London.”  Dressed in a black suit and white shirt with a black tie that had been unknotted upon his arrival, Boris stalked over to the table as Gabriel stood from his chair to hug him.   Their embrace was sincere but light-hearted.

“Welcome back, brat!” Gabriel released him after a hard pat on the back and gave him a once-over glance.  “You look good, man.”  It wasn’t a lie.  Boris was beaming with pride and standing at least a foot taller, but he should have been after pulling off the job in London and making international news.

“I feel good.”  Boris glanced over at Nadei and nodded toward the man’s disgruntled frown.  His mood dampened for a second.  “What did I miss?”  Clearly, there was something.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.    “Is someone dead?”

Gabriel turned toward Nadei but didn’t expose their conversation. Somethings were private – not up for discussion with outsiders.   “Of course, someone is dead.  But not anyone in our camp.  This is just the look of a man about to dive on his own sword.  Same old thing, really.”  He offered the chair beside him to Boris.  “I didn’t know you were headed back already, but I won’t complain about the timing.  It’s a real shit show around here.  We could use the extra help.”

“Rushed back as soon as I could.”  Boris settled down in his chair after taking off his jacket.  Relieved to be out of his monkey suit, he focused back on Nadei.  “Glad to see that you’re still alive, Nadei.  I thought by now that Anatoly might have already cut your balls off.”  He said so jokingly but with seriousness in his undertone as he unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves.

“Here you go with that shit,” Nadei laughed sardonically, used to the crap everyone gave him about Anastasiya. Clearing his throat, he gave his friend props.  “We heard about the work you put in in London.  No better man for the job.”

Boris, being the absolute prick that he was, enjoyed the praise.  Putting his heads together, he bowed his head slightly. “Well, anything to please the old man.  Speaking of which, I was told when I arrived back at the airport that he had just left.”  That was news to him.  “I thought he was on his last leg.”

Gabriel pulled the map back to him and picked up his phone.  It was time to get back to work.  They had spent enough time grabbing ass.   “Hardly.  If you ask me, he left just to avoid cabin fever.  While you’ve been out enjoying the high life, we’ve been locked in here like lab rats working in the trenches, literally.  I still have dirt under my nails from playing Mr. Lumberjack out beyond the perimeter.”

Boris couldn’t deny that he was happier out in the world then locked in a compound with a bunch of women and kids, but that was what he was paid to do.  So here he was.  “Where is Dmitry going?”

“Right now,” Gabriel curled his lips, “no one knows.  They found a plant at the airport, who was working for Popov. She’s dead, but Diane managed to get some good intel out of her beforehand. Word was he, Vasily, and Simeon were headed to Hungary to get Lev at first, but now, it seems they might be headed to St. Petersburg for a meet.  Oh, and Anatoly is upstairs about to be a daddy again.  The kids are running wild like they’ve all lost their minds.  Not to mention, we might have a beat on where Erik is holding up.  Nadei is going to lead the charge on that once we get confirmation.”  He sighed. “It’s been busy.”

Now, they were speaking Boris’s language.  Fuck the rest of the stuff.  All he heard was there was a chance to get back out of the compound.  He poured himself a glass of water.  “Well, Nadei, surely you could use a hand?  I mean, you don’t plan to go in their alone, do you?”  Boris glanced over at his old friend.  “I’m up for it.”

Gabriel was glad for the new volunteer.  “Great.  And then there were two. But put a pin in that idea until I’m certain that I don’t need you here.”  He wrote the number of the Russian contact down on a piece of paper and called over for one of the intel guards to come and get it.  “Call this guy and tell him we need to connect tonight,” he ordered, passing the guard the number.

“Yes, boss,” the guard said, getting on his earpiece.  He listened and nodded.  “Sir, one more thing.”

“Yeah, what now?” Gabriel stood up from his chair and stretched his back.  He needed to hit the gym and get some endorphins pumping if they were going to pull another all-nighter.

“Peaches just arrived back from the helipad.  She’s in the foyer.”  The guard waited to be dismissed but expected with the news that he would not be.

“Oh, shit,” Boris grinned.  “You can tell it’s a full moon out tonight; clouds be damned.” He loved chaos.  It was so much better than glib complacency.

Nadei shook his head at Boris, but even he was eager to check on his old friend.

“Where are they taking her?” Gabriel asked, determined to lay eyes on Peaches tonight.  “Is she fucked up?”

The guard got back on the radio and asked.  A few seconds later, he responded to Gabriel.  “She’s going up to Marat’s room.  Should I tell them to keep her in the front rooms for you to speak with her?”

“Hell, yes, I want to speak with our little force of nature.  We all do.”  Gabriel looked over at Boris and Nadei and confirmed their own excitement.  “You boys want to take a little field trip to see the world’s baddest female assassin or what?”

Daniil pulled the long needle from Renee’s arched back and placed it carefully on the table beside him.  The room was deafly silent except for the beeping monitors. Everyone watched on, circling the bed on bated breath.  Just as Anatoly had suspected, their temporary addition to the Medlov guard had a perfect skill set for administering the medicine.

“Okay,” Daniil said, pushing out a breath.  “It’s done.”  He stepped back from the bed to let Coral and Anatoly help Renee lay down.  “In ten minutes or so, she should start to feel some relief.”

Coral moved the IV bag and stood closer to the bed.  “The point is that she will finally have some relief.”

“We cannot thank you enough,” Royal reached out to Daniil.  Taking his hand in her own, she smiled at him.  “No one here could have done what you did.  We won’t ever forget it.”

The small gesture made Daniil uncomfortable.  He wasn’t used to normal people or even normal situations, and if they only knew what he had been up to right before coming up here, they might have all had a different idea about him.  “No problem.”  Pulling off his gloves, he glanced toward the door.  “Is that all you need from me, doc?” he asked Anil.

“Yes.  Thanks.”  Anil had bigger issues to contend with now.  The epidural would slow the pain, but they were already at five centimeters.  “Stay close. I might need you again.”

Daniil wanted to get back to his work in the barn, but he understood the situation. He knew if the birth had further complications, a C-section would be required.  And more than likely, he was the only one who could help with that as well.  “I’ll just be downstairs.”

Anatoly didn’t speak, but he did nod toward the man, making a mental note to find a way to reward him later properly.  Instead, he turned his attention back to his wife, who was breathing hard through another painful contraction.  “Just hold on, baby.  The medicine will kick in soon.”   Face flushed red, he bent over the side of the bed and rubbed a hand through her black curly locks.

Renee’s face was twisted into a grimace. Gripping her husband’s hand, she released a shaky breath and pushed out a grunt.  The pain had escalated to a point beyond pleasantries.  She knew Anatoly meant well, and she was grateful to Daniil, but right now, all she wanted was to get this baby out of her.

Leaving the cleanroom, Daniil closed the door behind him and moved silently past the row of armed guards in the hallway toward the staircase.  Families were foreign to him now after so many years of being alone.  They were clingy and talkative.  Even the toughest man became like puddy in the grasp of his loved ones, but that would never happen to him.  He was glad to be removed from the angst of childbirth, even if it was only momentarily.

Pulling off his operating gown, he slowly moved down the stairs one step at a time, but as he approached the end of the stairs, he discovered through the many voices coming from the downstairs foyer, he was not alone.

When Peaches arrived at the front doors of the Medlov Compound after the short drive from the neighboring town, she finally accepted that she was safe, and her heart calmed, but as soon as she stepped outside into the night’s air, she heard the screams coming from inside.

Without acknowledging Renee’s agonizing labor pain evident from the shrill screams that came barreling from the upstairs windows, Stepan led Peaches up the steps toward the front door. He had seen more than a few beat-up Medlov soldiers over his years, but there was something very vexing about seeing a female.  Giving her his arm, he guided her slowly, making sure not to push her to advance to quickly.

“I guest Renee hasn’t had the baby yet,” Peaches commented with a croaky laugh.

“It shouldn’t be long now.”  Stepan at least hoped not for Renee’s sake.  “She’s been at it all night.”

“Better her than me.”  Peaches never understood the allure of creating life, and the screams coming from Renee only solidified her apprehensions.  Who wanted to go through all of that for a man?

Marat came to the front door and turned on the light.  Stepping out on the porch with the guards who were on watch, he stood locked in place as Stepan helped Peaches up to the top step.  God, she looked horrible.  Worse than he could have ever imagined.  Swallowing down a gasp, he anchored his feet and trained his face.  All eyes were on him, including hers, and he knew that if he coddled her in front of all the men, it would only defeat all the work she had done to get here. Still, damn, she had taken a beating.

“Welcome back, sistra,” Marat managed, moving out of the doorway so that she could pass.  He could barely make his eyes meet hers.

“Thank you, brat.” Peaches lowered her head, embarrassed suddenly by the state of her physical appearance.  “It’s good to be back.”

Much to her surprise, the men in the hall, lined up to receive her.  They patted her on the back and gave words of encouragement as they passed.  Before this, they had all judged her poorly.  Many of them accused her of getting by on her assets and the fact that she was screwing the head of security, but now, looking at her, so broken and bruised for the honor of their house, they were the ones who felt embarrassed.  She had done what none of them had been charged to do or could do.  With little intelligence and no time, she had led an assault against the great Renat and lived to talk about it.

An outlier had become a leader.

“Would you like for me to take her up to your room now, Marat?” Stepan asked as they all stepped into the foyer.  The recess lights above highlighted the gashes and bruises on Peaches' face.  He glanced at her quickly and then back at Marat.

“Not before we say a word,” Gabriel’s voice boomed from the back of the hallway as he approached with Nadei and Boris.  The guards moved out of the way to let him pass.  Arms wide, he strode up to Peaches and grabbed her.  Giving her a big hug that picked her up from the floor, he greeted her with all the veracity he knew she deserved.   “How the hell are you?” It was rhetorical really; he knew she was fighting to stay on two feet.

“I’ve been better,” Peaches winced but tried with all her might to hide her weariness, afraid to show the smallest amount of weakness before one of the strongest in the crime family.

Putting her small body back down on the floor, Gabriel stepped back and looked her over.  “I’m sure you have, but I’m also sure Renat would say the same damn thing.”  He could hear the snickers behind him.  “No one here had the balls to do what you went and did.  You should be fucking proud of yourself.”

“I’m proud of my men.”  Peaches' face tightened as thoughts of the gunfight tumbled through her mind.  “I’m just sorry that they can’t be here with me.”

Gabriel was not a thoughtless man, but he had been in the unique place she was right now mentally.  She was in contradiction will all of her morals and at odds with all of her actions.  Yet, she was quietly ecstatic with the possibilities that laid before her.

He let her in on a little secret.  “The guilt you feel right now goes away, but only if you make it.  Otherwise, that shit eats you up like cancer.”  Gabriel winked at her and raised his voice where everyone could hear him.   “Take a look, gentlemen.  You will always be able to say you were here the night a woman took out an entire family on the International Council.  How many of you can say that?”  He glanced around as eyes averted from him.

Gabriel was familiar with the idle and often hurtful gossip the guards shared about Peaches before her ascension and was truly happy to rub it in their faces now.  Pride before the fall.  While far from being a feminist, he was not a misogynist.  Not many around him were aware, but his mother, after all, had been a freedom fighter as well as his wife.  Women had to work ten times harder in this profession to gain an ounce of the respect they as men had every day.

“I’m happy to have served you,” Peaches offered sincerely.  She fought the tears that wanted to form in the corners of her eyes for his great show of support among her peers. Swallowing hard, she lowered her voice, “And I’m honored that you all trusted me with the task.”

Gabriel wagged a finger at her.  “Now, you and I both know it was more than a damn task.”  There was no point in being humble about it.  They were mobsters, not saints.  “It was war, and you fought valiantly.”  Turning to the men, who were all nodding in agreement, he put his hand on Peaches’ shoulder as a sign of the family’s approval.  “All you have to do now is rest up.  The wounds will heal, the memories will fade, and then the new work will come.”

Peaches wondered for Gabriel Medlov if it had really been that easy just to move on, if he pretended and languished in his misdeeds behind closed doors, or if something inside of him had snapped.  This was not her first murder, or her first time piling up a body count, but it had definitely been the most brutal experience of her entire life.  Was she wrong to acknowledge that fact? Something deep inside told her that the man she was looking at was not the same Gabriel who had gone to fight in one of these so-called-wars.  No, that man was as dead as his victims.

Gabriel motioned for Marat to come over to her.  “I assume you are going to take her up to where she’ll be staying for tonight?”  he asked, glancing at his watch.

Marat’s dark, brooding eyes were cast low, mood somber for her pain.  He should have been there with her, but instead, he was here waiting to lick her wounds like a dog left to wait at his master’s bedside.  “Yes, I’ll take care of her.”  He finally allowed his eyes to meet hers.

“Good,” Gabriel stepped away, allowing Marat to take the lead now that his point had been made in his uncle’s absence.  “Then, the rest of us can get back to work.”  He slapped his hands together loudly.  “Alright, you slackers, go earn your paychecks!  The lady can’t do all the work for you.”

Breezing past Daniil, who stood watching from the stairwell, Gabriel grinned at him.  “How is Renee doing?” he asked, stopping just for a second.  He turned back and walked up to Daniil, invading his personal space on purpose.

“She’s doing fine,” Daniil said, pulling his gaze from Peaches.  He glanced up at the giant. “I was told to stick around for a while just to make sure.”  The last thing he wanted was for anyone to think he was lurking around out of curiosity.

Gabriel had been in the barn earlier to witness his uncle’s carnage and knew what Daniil had been assigned to complete in Simeon’s absence.  He was also pretty sure Oleg was hacked up in little pieces by now.   “Good for you.  I’m sure you could use the break from your work.  Get a little fresh air.”  He glanced back at Marat and Peaches as they approached.  Lowering his voice, he turned his back to them.  “But you, umm, might want to hang out somewhere other than in their path.”  He wiggled his nose. “You know, homecomings can be hard for other people when you’ve been throwing your dick at a man’s girlfriend.  I don’t’ have to explain what being a good guest means, do I?”

Daniil's face was slack at the snide remark and the threat, even after his most gracious attempt to help.  But this allowed him to see the family dynamic take shape.  It seemed Gabriel kept his ear to the ground even when he wasn’t around, and the young felt a special kinship to the men who served under him.  It was honorable, but still a lesson.  He finally replied, but careful not to overstep.   “No, sir.  I’ll find somewhere else to be.”

“I hope you mean for the duration of your stay with us?” Gabriel added, clenching his jaw as he stepped an inch closer.  He didn’t take kindly to outsiders, and he trusted them even less.  The only men he could trust where the Medlov guards – not even Simeon’s men deserved his benevolence.  It was that kind of nobly naïve thinking that got people killed.

Throwing up his hands, Daniil backed off.  “Absolutely, Boss Medlov.  My dick will be thrown no more to anyone here.  I can assure you that I know my place,” Daniil answered curtly.

A satisfied smile erupted as if congenial words had been shared between two old friends.  “Good. That’s exactly what I want to hear,” Gabriel said with a hard, forceful pat to Daniil’s back before he headed down the corridor toward the war room.  Things had to be tightened up around here, and he would start with the guards: no more fucking, no more romance, no more bullshit.

Daniil moved from his perch on the base of the stairs and walked behind Gabriel away from the approaching entourage of talking guards, to get out of Marat’s way and find somewhere else to sit and wait to be of service.  These brainwashed people were beyond clickish.  It must have been from living together for so long, but one thing was for sure, he couldn’t wait for this war to end.

“Arghhh!  I can’t push anymore!  I just…I can’t!” Renee cried out, hot tears flowing down her face.  The pain was no longer the issue; now, it was stamina.  They had positioned her where she was sitting up, supported on one side by Anatoly and Royal on the other.  Faithfully, they stood in place, working hard to brace her.  But even with them holding most of her weight, Renee felt weak and flimsy, barely able to hold up her own head.

“Baby, I know you’re tired, but you have to do this,” Anatoly pleaded. Drenched in sweat, his shirt stuck to his chest, elaborate tattoos visible through the thin veil of fabric, he refused to move from his place.   His heart pounded loudly and rang in his ears.  With tunnel vision on getting the baby out safely, he took Anil’s cues, while verbally coaching Renee through the process.

“But I can’t!” Renee screamed, knowing she couldn’t give up.  It just felt good to protest, since nothing else was in her control at the moment.

“Yes, you can!” Royal screamed back.  Over the course of the active labor process, she had gone from a properly primped ponytail, flannel shirt and legging ensemble, to wild hair with defiant strands covering her face and a disheveled, wrinkled shirt with donning half-done buttons.

“You can do this!” Anastasiya chimed in, still lingering in the back of the room beside Lilly and Valeriya.  Too afraid to move too close, she watched on, offering support from a distance and ready to run and get more supplies if they needed them.

Lilly clasped her hands together and pressed her eyes shut in silent prayer.  As a mother, she knew the complications that could happen, but she believed in her heart everything would be okay.

Valeriya, however, was not afraid, just anxious to have Renee pull through.  It had only been a short time since she had given birth to Gabriel’s twins, and the pain of the C-Section was still in the back of her head.  “Push Renee, push!” she begged, not wanting her friend to be cut in a makeshift operating room.

After hours in labor, Renee had finally arrived at the ten-centimeter mark.  The room had gone from deathly silent to a roar of voices cheering her own.  The walls were lined with her family – all the women, in tears, and holding hands watched from across the room as Coral and Anil worked below her gown, cleaning blood and body fluids from her volcanic eruption.

She was suffering from extreme exhaustion, but with everything she had inside, she pushed and pushed until finally, Anil’s voice boomed.

“I see his head!” Anil shouted through his face mask.  “One more good push should do it,” he said, stretching out her sensitive skin with his gloved fingers and guiding the baby through her canal.  Tears rushed from the sides of his face as he witnessed for the first time what it was to bring life into this world.

“Come on, baby.  One more push!” Anatoly gripped her hand harder.

He wanted Renee to know he was here, all of him, every fiber.  He had intentionally drained his mind of everything else, locked out what was lurking just beyond their doors, forgotten all other responsibilities.  Tonight, he was only a husband and father who was determined to support his wife, because she deserved at least that.

“On the count of three,” Coral instructed.  “Then, I want you to give me one final big push.”  She smiled at Renee, proud that she had been so strong.  “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Renee nodded.

They all counted together, all except Anil, who sat on the stool at the edge of the bed, in between Renee’s legs, ready to pull out the baby. He kept his eyes forward, and his attention focused.

“ONE!  TWO!  THREE! PUSH!” Everyone in the room screamed.  Their blended panic-stricken voices sounded off like an untrained chorus of weary carolers.

Even Luka was pacing outside of the door in the hallway, nerves wracked with worry for the little tyke.  He felt as much a part of this as everyone else who was in the room.  If nothing else, this process had reconfirmed that he didn’t want children.

With the final push, Renee gave it all that she had.  Throwing her head back, she pushed hard against the pressure below and screamed aloud.   Anatoly, joining her in her battle cry, screamed to the top of his lungs, louder than most had ever heard, as Anil carefully pulled the perfect baby boy from Renee’s womb.

The room when quiet.

“We’ve got him!” Anil exclaimed, feeling a great sigh of relief escaped him.

The child, precious and perfect, emerged, shaking and crying as he emerged.

“It’s a healthy baby boy!”  Anil quickly placed clamps on the umbilical cord while Coral worked to clean off the child’s face and body, checking for jaundice, counting fingers and toes, and assessing the baby’s overall health.

Anil could barely breathe.  Fighting tears, he continued with his job, eyes watering as he worked. He sniffled quietly, thanking God for giving him the strength to complete this daunting task.  He blinked between the tears, wondering if his mother could see him now.

“How is he?” Renee asked with her arms reached out toward the sounds of the baby’s soft cries.  “I want to see him.”  Tears flowed down her face – the strain of the act now forgotten momentarily.

“He’s doing great,” Anil assured.  “He’s a beautiful little boy.  Give us a minute to get him all ready, and we’ll pass him to you.”

Everyone in the room felt a surge of joy indescribable in words yet shared by all.  The newest member of the Medlov family had finally arrived, and despite all of the things that had happened, he had arrived safely.

It was, in fact, a miracle.

“Do you want to cut the cord?” Coral asked Anatoly. Finally, able to take a moment and process everything that had just transpired, she felt warm tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.  They had done it, despite all odds.  And the feeling was astounding.

“Are you kidding me?” Anatoly stifled, wiping his face as quickly as the tears could fall.  “Yes, I do.” Releasing his wife’s hand, Anatoly walked over to see his son and took the scissors.  He glanced down at his baby brother and felt indebted beyond words, but Anil was too busy working to notice.  There was so much he wanted to say at that moment, so many emotions overwhelming him.

Taking the scissors, Anatoly cut the cord and released his son from the bonds of his mother.

Coral finished cleaning the baby boy and passed him to his father.  She could see the anticipation in his eyes to hold his newborn son.  “You’ve got a beautiful child there,” she said, handing him off.

Anatoly wrapped the swaddled child in his embrace and kissed his face.  “That he is,” he said, feeling the sensation of wetness run down his face.  He rocked the child in his arms, enamored by his gentile beauty.  Although he wanted to hold him forever, he knew that the boy’s mother was waiting.  Moving closer to the bed, he offered his son to his wife and helped her position the baby boy up against her bosom.

“Well,” Royal asked, wiping a flood of tears from her reddened face.  “What are you going to call him?”  She sniffled, wishing that her husband could have been there to share in the moment.

Anatoly bent over the bed and kissed Renee, grateful for the priceless gift she had just given him once again.  While he was rich beyond his wildest dreams, at that moment, it all paled in comparison to the treasures his wife had bestowed upon him.  Looking at her now, he felt small in presence.  She was the giant in his life that propelled him forward; she was his driving force.

“You tell them, baby,” Renee grinned.  They had already discussed the child’s name at length and found the most appropriate one to be not only noble but proud.

“His name is Davyd Anil Medlov,” Anatoly said, rubbing a hand over the boy’s dirty blonde locks.  He was enamored by the child, entirely under his control.

Royal felt more tears erupt.  Putting a hand over her mouth, she shook her head.  “Your father will be so happy,” Royal said, amazed at how the sweet little angel resembled her own sons.  At that moment, she felt nearly complete, save the absence of Dmitry beside her.

Anatoly reached over his wife to Royal and offered his hand.  “I think so too.”

Renee was speechless.  The eight-pound, blue-eyed, dirty blonde baby with full cheeks and startling deep dimples was the spitting image of Dmitry Medlov, save his creamy caramel-colored skin, kissed by the sun and as beautiful as the most vibrant star.  She pulled him in close, smelling his hair and saying silent prayers over him as she kissed the crown of his head.  “Welcome to the family, Davyd.”

“So, are we calling the time of birth at 3:43 a.m.?” Coral asked, grabbing the notepad on the end of the table to jot down the specifics before everyone forgot in the excitement.

Anil finished stitching up Renee’s injured vaginal entry and stood up from the stool. “That’s what I had on my watch.” He looked over at the baby boy again in amazement.  It was unfathomable to him that he had actually helped bring a child into the world, but he had, and it was something that he would never forget.

Royal was watching on quietly, and for the first time, she was able to understand why her husband insisted on having her mother here.  They could not have pulled this off alone.  Even with Anil, he needed a second-in-charge, someone who could remain calm, fetch the medical supplies, and organize the people in the room.  No one else knew how to do that, just Coral.

Hearing over the radio that the hard work was over and the new Medlov man had finally arrived, Gabriel left his station in the war room and slipped through the door of the cleanroom where everyone had gathered.

Immediately, he felt the shift in the atmosphere.  It was full of love and utterly void of judgment.  Somehow, in here, all the woes of the world seemed to fade away, and they were just a regular family again.

Humbled by the moment, he wrapped an arm around his beautiful wife and pulled her close.  “So, he’s here?”

Valeriya looked up at Gabriel with joyful tears.  It had been a long time since they had something to celebrate.  “Yep, he is finally here,” she nodded, resting her head on his chest. Being close to her husband made everything right in her life.  She had her children, her brother, and the Medlov family.  Even in this place, holed up in the mountain, no one could steal their joy.  Wiping her face, she laughed as tears trickled down the side of her nose.  “He’s gorgeous, too.  Absolutely perfect.”

Gabriel stepped closer.  Taller than most in the room, he had a great view of the child and felt the same sparks of joy and promise he had felt when his own children had been born.

Anatoly looked over at Gabriel.  His face tightened momentarily.  “We have to protect them all,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Gabriel knew what his cousin spoke of.  In this moment of joy, they were joined together in celebration and determination, but now that the child had arrived safely, there was even more on the line.  He held tight to his wife, thinking of his own twins sleeping soundly with the nanny watching over just a few rooms away.  “We will protect them all,” he promised Anatoly.

Royal walked over to the table and picked up the phone.  No matter what they were faced with, she wouldn’t let it ruin this moment.  “Okay, everyone.”  She waved the phone where everyone could see.  “Family tradition dictates a selfie.  You all know how we do it.  Giants in the back, normal in the front.”

Luka was ordered inside to take the photo as they all got in place.  Royal, proud of her mother for once, made sure she stood beside her.

“Thank you,” Royal whispered to Coral, keeping her eyes straight.

Coral looked at her daughter and smiled.  It was good to do something for Royal’s family, good not to be seen as just another problem.  “I love you, little girl,” she answered, putting her hand around her daughter’s shoulder.  She half expected her to pull away, but when Royal did not, she inhaled a deep breath for the camera.

Maybe this was the start of something great.

Chapter 37

International Air Space

Right before Dawn

“If you find yourself in a fair fight, you didn’t plan your mission properly.”
― David Hackworth

A n eerie stillness could be felt on the plane as all the Medlov men slept; the guards watched over everyone quietly, and only the sound of light turbulence rocked the hull.  The cabin lights had been lowered, and all televisions turned off to ensure the boss and his men were allowed a moment of peace, but now it was time to snap back to their reality.

After a much-needed nap, Dmitry was awakened by Diane.

Standing over him dressed in her usual uniform of slacks and a soft white blouse, Diane placed a warm hand on his shoulder and carefully shook him to draw his attention.  Her hair smelled of shampoo, and a faint perfume carried off her skin.  The combination of her feminine aroma wafted through the air.  Trying not to alarm him, she knelt closer, leaning over him, just inches from his face.

“Sir, sir…” Her soft voice invaded his ambiguous dream.

“Hmmm.” With his eyes still shut tight, he absently grabbed her hand and caressed it, thinking it was his wife.  “Baby, give me a few more minutes, okay.”  He jutted his hips out from the seat, wide legs spread apart, his lap inviting to any woman.  As he did so, his leg grazed Diane’s.

“Sir…wake up,” she whispered again, repressing a grin in response to his sultry, silky voice.

Even when he slept, Dmitry was undeniably sexy, but she had grown used to his charms over the years and felt nothing about them now.  A lion, after all, could not help the attractiveness of his mane any more than Dmitry could help his indisputable allure.

Mumbling something untranslatable first, Dmitry slowly brought his icy blue eyes to hers, flashing awake with a startle that made him shift slightly in his seat.  His mouth parted, pushing out a deep breath as if in distress, then licked his lips and growled, disappointed that the face that greeted him was not Royal’s.

“What’s wrong?” His body went erect as he remembered where he was.   His back slid up the seat.

“Your phone, sir,” she said, sliding his cell to him.  She glanced down at it in an explanation of her interruption.  Out of respect, she did not allow her eyes to meet his again.  “It chimed while you were resting. I didn’t want you to miss anything that could be important.”

Dmitry took the phone from her, releasing her small hand from his grip as he rolled his neck.  “Thank you, Diane.”  Putting in his passcode, he was pleased to find it just an update in the form of an encrypted message from the compound.  So far, so good.

“How far are we from St. Petersburg?” he asked, adjusting his manhood in his slacks.

“One hour,” Diane answered, glancing at her watch. “Fifty-two minutes exactly,” she corrected.  “Can I get you coffee, sir?”

“Yes.”  Rubbing his tired eyes, Dmitry raised the window cover to see the light breaking on the horizon over the cotton-candy colored clouds.   Evidently, he had been asleep longer than he thought.  “Any news from the council?”

A new day had emerged and with it, inevitably, new problems.  He might as well get to them.

Diane rose from her bent position and stepped back as the other stewardess moved behind her to get breakfast, ready for the passengers. She stood at attention, eyes forward, forgetting all the familiarity that passed with the moment.   “Yes, sir,” she answered formally.  “The heads of the International Council have agreed to meet on the airstrip in St. Petersburg.  However, we are not allowed – under any circumstance- to leave the plane.”

“There will be no need as long as they give me their ear.”  Dmitry could feel the time slipping with every second that they spent in transit.  Fifty-two minutes was much too long.  Had it been any other issue, he would have requested a call, but this matter had to be handled face-to-face to ensure that his intentions were not revealed to his enemy.

Diane continued, though hesitant about her delivery of the next part.  “Andros said in his communique that he would give you and your men one hour with him – no more.”  She relayed the message verbatim.  “However, he did stress that he was displeased with your request to violate the terms of the war between the Popov family under the council law, and the information that you were preparing to share with them should bear reasonable fruit, lest you be punished severely immediately.”

“Shot on sight, eh.”  Dmitry already knew the consequences of his gamble.  There was no need to restate the obvious.

By meeting on the airstrip, he was technically not in St. Petersburg, and only because of that, they would not be met with a hail of bullets from the army in the golden city.  Andros might have been a friend under normal circumstances; however, under the rules of law, he was bound by the code and the structure of their ironclad agreement.

A smirk emerged, tugging at the side of his lips.   “Is there anything else?” Dmitry finally asked, pulling at the loop of his tie as he glanced over at her.  “Any more threats, verbal or otherwise, for me to consider with my breakfast?”

“No, sir,” she answered quickly.

“Then that will be all.”  He excused the woman and glanced down at the picture sent from his wife via their encrypted satellite phone.

A sigh of momentary relief escaped him.   They were a sight for sore eyes.  Everyone was smiles and pride, huddled together to immortalize the moment. He only wished to be there with them now, celebrating his first grandson instead of flying around the world.  But who else could handle this, if not him?  His newest addition was more of a reason to continue forward instead of looking backward.  This child and every other in the house were depending on him.  There could be no failure.

With the raised voices and constant movement all around him, Simeon stirred from his sleep.  Sitting up in the white leather seat facing directly across from Dmitry, he yawned and stretched.  “What’s going on now?”

“Good news first.  My grandson has arrived.”  Dmitry took his coffee from the other stewardess and placed it in the cupholder.

Simeon envied Dmitry mildly for having a family after having been around them for a while. Though he had learned just how much work having people to love could be.  “Renee had the baby?”

“Da, da.  Somewhere in the night,” Dmitry answered, unable to take his eyes from the picture.  “Royal says his name is Davyd.” No better name could have been picked.  He knew that Anya would be more pleased than anyone else.  He thought of her and how she was doing after hearing the news earlier about her mother, but as quickly as the thought emerged, he pushed it to the back of his mind to keep from losing focus.

Simeon sat up in his seat and motioned for Dmitry to hand over the phone.  “For your old friend, then?”

“Yeah.” Dmitry passed the phone to Simeon and watched as his ally’s eyes brightened with shared admiration.  “Royal says he’s a big boy. Completely healthy.”  He was doubly proud, especially since his son, Anil, had been responsible for overseeing the birth.

“Looks just like you.” Simeon passed the phone back as his thoughts went to Coral and what she must have been doing at that moment.  While their budding relationship was only in its infancy stages, he was glad to know that she had been able to help the family where she could.  It would certainly give her a chance to draw nearer to her daughter and to try to fix old wounds.

“What do you expect?  He’s a Medlov after all,” Dmitry joked proudly. Putting away the phone, he stood up from his seat and pulled off his jacket to reveal his holstered guns. At seven-feet tall, he had to bend over or risk hitting his head.  Grunting as he moved about, he filled Simeon in on the rest of the news.  “Andros cleared us for a meet on the airstrip.  We have one hour with him, but he wants real proof, or he’ll probably kill us.”

“This is Andros we’re talking about.  There is no probably with him.”  Simeon knew the old man too well.

On the other side of the plane, Vasily stirred awake finally.  Waking with a cough, he pushed up in the reclined seat and stretched out his arms.  “What did I miss?”

“The baby is here,” Simeon answered before Dmitry could.  “And Andros has given us a meet, but we better show up with something good, or he’s going to put a bullet in our heads.”  He turned down the coffee offered by the stewardess, needing something much stronger to start his morning.

Vasily looked between Dmitry and Simeon and chuckled. “Well, damn.  That’s good news…I guess.”  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked for messages from Marat.  Not to be disappointed, there were several.  “The phone has been cloned.  They downloaded the information that we sent them and resent the new package to the go-phone we brought on the plane.  Thank God for technology.” He frowned as he read the next part.  A distinctive hiss escaped him.  “But a new message was sent during the night by Popov’s people to the phone.”

Dmitry sat back down and rested his elbows on his legs.  Scratching the top of his curly blonde locks, he braced for the bad news.  “What did the message say?”

Vasily stood up and walked across the aisle to him.  “Read for yourself.”  Passing the phone to Dmitry, he raised both brows at Simeon.  “The plant, Raina, was Lev’s girl.  She was on loan from him to Erik to pull off the hit.”

“Let me see that shit.”  Dmitry snatched the phone and read the text aloud for Simeon to hear.  “Once you have identified that Dmitry is in Siberia, send word, then report back to Lev for your next assignment in Hungary.  I have expressed my approval of how you have handled this operation, but do not get lax.  We must confirm that the entire family is there before we move forward with the next phase.”  He gritted his teeth.  “You will be compensated fully for your work on Dmitry’s assassination attempt, though it was boggled, once you arrive back to Budapest.  Lev has agreed to give you a bonus for your efforts.  Please send a message immediately upon sighting Dmitry and then prepare for extraction.”  His face reddened with irritation as he threw the phone in the vacant seat beside him.

“Well, if that isn’t confirmation, I don’t know what is,” Vasily said, pulling off his white dress shirt to change into a fresh one before they arrived in St. Petersburg.

“Who would be stupid enough to send this much shit over on the phone?  He actually used the word assassination in a damn text message.”  Dmitry didn’t buy it.  “No one is that stupid.”

“I beg to differ,” Vasily chimed in.  “It’s not like Erik is the most trained and strategic warlord ever to walk the face of the earth.  He could just be getting too comfortable.”

“The bigger question is, will it be enough for Andros?” Simeon asked critical of the message.  “You know how he is.  He’ll immediately argue that the text could be a ruse. Then we’re back to square fucking one.  Worse than that.  We’re facing Andros and his men for punishment.”

“There is also the question of who sent the message with Erik’s location in Baku.”  Vasily hated to be the bearer of bad news, but it seemed too much of a coincidence that someone just decided out of the blue to share that critical piece of information.

Dmitry looked over at Vasily as if to suggest there was no coincidence at all.  However, as he promised Zoya, he would not divulge her true identity to anyone.  They would have to trust him – period.  “The text came from an ally.”

“Who?” Simeon asked.

“Would you be satisfied if I told you that I can’t tell you who it is?” Dmitry asked.

“I’d be satisfied if you said you wouldn’t tell me, and there is a good reason.” Simeon ran his finger around the top of his glass.  “Anything less than that is not going to work.”

Dmitry answered quickly.  “I won’t tell you, but the text is real.  We have someone inside.”

“Good enough for me…for now.”  Simeon turned to face Vasily.  “And your thoughts?”

“I’m still thinking,” Vasily answered gravely.

Dmitry’s voice lulled low, refusing the show the emotion that rotted just beneath his calm surface.  “I’m not going to allow us to show up in St. Petersburg with our dicks in our hands, gentlemen,” he responded coolly.  He threaded his fingers together, eyes pensive and dark.  Rolling his tongue in his mouth, he stared into nothingness as he planned his next move.   “Lev will give us all of the evidence that Andros will require.  All we have to do is make sure the phone is ready to use before we arrive, which gives us about forty-five minutes.  Now, if you want blood,” he curled his lips, “you’ll have it soon enough.  There is no way I’m going to allow Lev to get away with this.  But I’m not going to cost us our families and our men in the process.”  He looked over at Simeon.  “Andros will hear me today, and he will give us the blessing we need to burn Lev’s entire operation down to the fucking ground.  You have my word on that.  By tomorrow night, I’ll be feasting on that motherfucker’s soul, but for now, put your emotions to the side and let’s carry this shit out flawlessly.”

With that sincere proclamation of revenge, Simeon had no more questions and no more reservations, outside of the ones he had already stated.  Picking up his tumbler of vodka, he took a drink and pushed back in the chair. “I’ll call Pushka and tell him to move forward.  He’s been chomping at the bit to do something.”

“I’ll get the phone ready,” Vasily answered gruffly as he strode toward the back of the plane, still shirtless with only his belted slacks and shoes on. He could finish dressing later.

Sitting back in his seat, Dmitry went over in his head all the security protocols they had put in place to protect the compound.  Had he missed anything?   “We have to get word to Marat to lock everything down until we arrive back. I can’t risk anything happening to the family while we‘re gone.”

“What in the bottom pits of hell happened here?” Erik hissed, standing over the dead body in his robe and slippers.  His guards surrounded him, looking over his shoulder in dismay.  All of them had seen a corpse before, but it usually was after someone had murdered it.  This was a bit of a gear change.  For Erik, it was downright rude.  He had been pulled out of his bed for this shit at the crack of dawn.

Tomi, the guard who stood post outside of the door during Erik’s meeting the night before, had not checked in like he was supposed to before his shift started, which had caused an immediate lockdown of the property.  Shortly after a search of the grounds, they found him on the floor in the middle of his room - shirtless, blue-faced, and cold as ice with a belt tied off around his left arm.  The bastard was still in his soiled boxer shorts.

“What a fucking way to go.”  Erik checked the room for foul play, but everything was in its place.

Yuri, Erik’s head guard, hiked his black pants up and bent down to study the body.  “Looks like he overdosed.  Couldn’t have been more than a few hours ago.”  Pulling the needle from Tomi’s arm, he offered the evidence to his boss.

“Heroin?”  Erik snatched the needle and threw the needle down on the floor.  If it was one thing he hated in his men, it was weakness.  Someone had to account for this, and it wouldn’t be him.   “I thought I told you that I didn’t want any users on my fucking detail.”  He kicked the dead body.  “This kind of amateur bullshit could cost us everything.  What if he were working for Dmitry under our noses?  Everyone knows you can’t trust a junkie!”  Spitting on Tomi’s corpse, he stepped back from the body as the guards moved out of his way.  Unwilling to trifle with this right now, he stormed toward the door, robe flapping behind him.   “I’m holding you personally responsible for this, Yuri.  We sell; we don’t shoot that shit up our veins.”  Erik thought that was understood, but since it was not, he’d make an example of Tomi.   “Make sure we don’t have any more dope heads working for us.  If you find one, put a bullet in his head and throw him off the bay.”

“Yes, boss.”  Yuri stood up and wiped off his hands.

“And find out where he got the shit!”  Erik screamed, pushing one of the nameless guards standing by the door out of his way.

Once Erik left the room, Yuri snapped back to reality, pissed that he had been scolded in front of his men.  No one made a fool of him and got away with it.   “Clean this shit up,” he told the men standing beside him.

With his hands on his hips, he watched as they picked the lifeless body up off from the carpeted floor and tossed it on the twin-sized bed.  It didn’t make sense.  Yuri had known Tomi for years and never had known him to do drugs, but the young guard had sold a little smack on the streets of London before being pulled in to serve the family full-time.  Maybe he had missed the signs.  Everyone was doing something to get by these days.  Drugs and alcohol were just a part of life.  It just angered Yuri to no end that it had happened right under his nose.  It made him look incompetent, and the men couldn’t respect him if they didn’t believe in him.

“Anyone else here getting high on the family supply?” Yuri asked, looking around the room at the sea of blank, stupid faces. It could have been any one of them who had scored the drugs - any number of them who were still planning on getting high, but he would fix that right now.   “If you are getting high, speak up now, so we can get rid of all the bodies at one fucking time.”  To prove his point, he pulled his weapon from its holster and gripped it in his hand.  He tapped the nuzzle on his thigh.  “I don’t care what it takes, find out who gave Tomi the smack.  This whole fucking place is a fortress.  Someone has to know more than they are saying.”  He raised the gun and waved it, making the men dance around to stay out of the path of the weapon.  “I run a tight fucking ship here.  There is no room for error.  The next person I have to reprimand, I will shoot in the head.  Then, I’ll kill the man beside him, and it just might be you, so do yourself a favor and get your shit together.  Am I clear?” he yelled.

“Yes, sir,” they responded, fear evident in their widened eyes.

Everyone knew Yuri, a certifiable company man with a gun, was no one to test.  He had served under Erik for many years, and during that time, he had done some of the most despicable deeds of the family’s history, including recruiting Farkas to assassinate Dmitry Medlov.  However, there was still room to grow.  And what was a man without ambition to grow?  Having gone as far as he could ascend up the ranks without being given a seat at the elite Popov crime family table as a captain, which was already short quite a few men, Yuri had settled into his position as head guard with promises from his boss of a future much more pleasing once this war was over.  And for that, Yuri was willing to do anything.

Alone in her private bedroom, Zoya took a deep breath and angled the needle toward her toes.  She had to do this.  If she wanted to get out of here alive, she had to do this now.  It was just a bit of good luck that Erik and his flunkies hadn’t come barreling in already.

Earlier, Zoya had tiptoed to Tomi’s bedroom to seduce him with a blow job.  Like a good little spy, she had dropped to her knees in the dark and after a few licks on his less-than-girthy lollipop, shot him in the side of his penis with a hot dose of smack.  Poor thing never knew what hit him, and honestly, it had been a short, painless death.   She knew with these very masculine types, the last place they would look for an injection site was another man’s cock.  So, it had been the first place she targeted for her attack.

Tomi had been a nice-enough guy, though sort of dense.  He had never done anything wrong to her or even spoke ill of her like the rest of Popov’s men, but he still had to go. Tomi was the only one who could confirm that she had been able to hear Erik’s plans through the door last night.  He was the only one who could get in her way of getting out of this fucking place. So, in a way, he had made himself a target.  Not her fault.  Not her problem.  She was just turning the sin against the sinner – paying it forward.

“Damn it!” she cursed, making her dog raise his head from the floor and raise up to look at her. She glanced at him.  “Sorry, I just…” Zoya tried to explain to her only friend in the world.  “I need to do this.”  Hair in large pink rollers, she sat in the middle of the bed in a short pink satin robe and coaxed herself into administering a liquid dose of Haitian zombie juice – a drug Dmitry had made especially for her departure.  “But if the dose is wrong, it’s bye-bye birdie.”  She had stored the drug in one of her lotion bottles to keep it from being detected by the guards or Peter.

After all, what did men know about girly stuff?  Using their ignorance against them, she had stored the heroine in the inner lining of her maxi pads and the needles in her tampon holders.  But it was one thing to smuggle it and a whole other thing to use it…on herself.   “Just one small shot in between the toes,” she inhaled and spread her toes again.  Slipping the needle’s head into her skin, she pressed down and emptied the contents.

The rush was immediate.  “Wow,” she whispered.  Laying back on the bed, she dropped the needle beside her on the bed and looked at the ceiling.  A wave of heat rushed over her and then the release of happy endorphins that made her head swim, but after that moment, the fun was over.  Clutching her stomach, she felt the pain begin, and then a numbness started, first at her feet, then moved up her legs.

“Now, we just wait,” she said, closing her eyes.

As soon as the jet landed in St. Petersburg, a convoy of SUVs, cars, and motorcycles were waiting on the private airstrip.  As Andros promised, they had exactly one hour and not a minute more.  Turning on the timer on her watch, Diane rushed to lower the stairs and ready the plane for the council’s arrival.

“He wants all guards out,” Diane ordered, motioning toward Dmitry’s men to exit the plane.  “Stand by below and await our signal to re-board.”  She glanced over at Gideon and smacked her lips.  “You too, big boy.  Hurry.”

Gideon checked with Dmitry first, uncomfortable with leaving his ward alone, but Dmitry gave a confirming nod and turned his attention back to the phone in his hand.  “I don’t like this,” he said as he walked past Diane to the cabin door opening.

“I don’t think anyone cares,” Diane said under her breath.

Dmitry sat in the back of the plane on the long white sofa with Vasily and Simeon across from him in their seats.  They had gone over the plan several times, and now it was time to execute.  But this was what Dmitry had been made for – all the years of being under the gun, all the times he had been faced with death had prepared him for this.

Just a minute later, the council’s army of heavily armed guards dressed in black suits and white shirts started up the stairs of the plane in a long processional.  They filled the plane, taking all the weapons from the stewardesses, the pilots, and the Medlov men before the council members came inside.

“We’re clear,” the head guard said over his headpiece, putting the last of the weapons in a black gym bag.  “Move the council inside.”

“They all look the damn same – same size, same height, same outfit, same haircut,” Simeon commented, winking mischievously at one of the guards who just happened to make eye contact with him.

Dmitry grinned.  “Leave them alone.  They are just doing their jobs.”  He picked up his glass from the coffee table and noticed that one of the men across from them had locked eyes on him, almost daring Dmitry to make a move. What the hell?  Immediately, the normally calm boss bristled.  His smile went slack as he sipped on the vodka.  Never taking his eyes off the guard, he spoke sternly as he crossed his legs.  “But Andros will be short a man by the end of this meeting if this one doesn’t stop eyeballing me.”

“Andros might lose two or three of these bitches,” Vasily growled, glancing up at the men in front of them.

The guard who had stared unwisely at Dmitry, remembering himself, turned away.  While Dmitry Medlov was now in the role of a submissive to the council, all that could change in a matter of minutes, then he would be subject to whatever Dmitry found fit.

In a three-piece tweed suit and limping from a recent hip surgery, Andros Stephanov slowly boarded the plane with his helper at his side.  Making little steps, he offered a genial smile.  “Hello, gentlemen,” he said, breathing hard.

Dmitry and the rest of his men stood up.  “Good morning,” Dmitry said, offering a seat beside him.  “Can we get you anything?”  he said, regarding the old man like a grandfather instead of a council member.

Andros waved a hand for his helper to release him.  Even though he was old, he was still proud.  “No, no.  I’ve just come from breakfast.”  He lowered himself to the sofa as Geni Belyakov, also dressed in a suit, made his way into the plane without help.

“Good Morning, brothers,” Geni said, breezing past the guards straight for the sofa.  “I trust all is well.”

“Hardly,” Simeon responded.  “But it is good to see you.”

Between the two of them, Andros and Geni had over 150 years on this planet, but they were still far from being useless relics.  Their families owned and controlled more powerful governments than anyone else on the council, and their reach internationally in all things underworld was expansive and untouchable.

“How much time do we have, dear?” Andros asked Diane.

Diane looked at her watch.  “50 minutes.”

Andros nodded to himself, head jerking as he shifted in his chair.  “Forgive my poor state.  I’ve just had my other hip replaced.  It will take a few months to get back to my normal activities.  However, both Geni and I felt it imperative to give you the time to make your case.  So, without further ado...”

“Get to it,” Geni finished, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dmitry spoke up.  “Lev and the Yakushev crime family have been cooperating with Erik Popov and his allies from the start of this war.  Actually, sometime before this war.  It was Lev who provided Raina for the hit on me in Memphis.  And now we believe he’s funneling information and resources to Erik.”  He stopped short of revealing the fact that he knew Popov’s whereabouts just yet.

Geni scowled.  “What evidence do you have of this?”

“We intercepted this phone after identifying the woman Raina at the Irkutsk airport in Siberia.”  Even with the time quickly counting down, Dmitry kept his explanations slow and short, fearing talking too fast or offering too much would only confuse all the moving parts.”

“Just a phone?” Andros turned up his nose.  “I’m not so old that I don’t understand that technology can be deceiving.  We make our living off of that fact.”

Simeon raised his brow at Vasily and rolled his eyes.  As he said before they arrived here, the old man would not be convinced so quickly to take their side.

“We are not asking you to use just this phone as proof.”  Dmitry turned on the cloned phone and leaned toward Andros and Geni.  “We want you to hear the words from Lev yourself.  Then you can decide.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Geni asked, reaching over to the table to grab a hand full of cashews in the bowl set out for him.  He crunched down on the nuts, making an obnoxious sound with his dentures.

“You know his voice. I’ll send him a text and then follow up with a call.  Once you see that I’m telling the truth, I only ask one thing.”  Dmitry paused.

Geni gave Dmitry his full attention.  “Well, what is it, boy? What do you want?”

“Give me permission to go to Budapest and handle Lev myself.”  Dmitry’s face twisted into a scowl.  “Then put a hit on Erik Popov.”

Andros didn’t see the harm in the request.  “If what you say is true…”

Geni interrupted.  “We don’t know where he is. You won’t be any safer than you are now, even with a hit put on his family.”

“Will you do what I have asked?” Dmitry asked again, demanding a direct answer.  His entire family was counting on him.  There could be no misunderstanding.  He would take care of Erik Popov himself, but now he needed their word that they would do as they promised.

“Yes,” Geni answered. “We will do what you have asked and more.”

Andros nodded in agreement, even as the disappointment of their full deceit overwhelmed him inside.  But however painful it was to know the lengths their old friend, Peter, would go to protect his nephew even over the Vor, he was not willing to lose his composure.   He sat up straighter, offering his voice without the slightest octave change.  “The code and the laws that we live by as men of the Vory are not tribal in nature.  They apply to all of us or none of us.  It is our job to ensure that the law applies to all without discrimination.  And if what you are saying is true, then this war, if not properly handled, could lead to the decimation of the council.  Therefore, Dmitry Medlov, if you can prove that Lev is colluding with the Popov family and its allies, then we will grant you permission to take his head.”  He lowered his gaze.  “I only ask that you bring that head to me on a plate.”

“Happily,” Dmitry snarled.

“I cannot believe Peter would be so stupid even if Erik has lost his mind,” Geni grumbled, grabbing another hand of cashews.  The top of his balding head turned beet red.  “We founded this fucking council together.  He and his brother helped write the laws.  What he is doing is…”

Now, Andros finished his friend’s statement.  “Out of our hands.”  He had heard enough and understood the terms clearly.  However, all the information in the world didn’t change Dmitry, and his men only had exactly one hour.  “Go on.  Contact Lev. Time is wasting,” he said to Dmitry.

Yuri cursed as he ran out of the surveillance room toward the kitchen where Erik was taking his breakfast.  As fast as his feet would carry him, he sprinted down the long corridor toward the arched entryway that led to airy Tuscan-styled kitchen.

“Sir!” Yuri shouted, stopping on a dime at the threshold.

Erik’s head snapped toward Yuri.  “Shit,” he jumped, startled by the interruption. “What is it?”  Putting down his fork, he wiped his face with his napkin and pushed back from the table.

“The last person to go into Tomi’s room last night was Zoya.”  Yuri strode across the marble floor and planted the picture of her going into the guard’s door.  The timestamp confirmed it.

Erik picked up the paper and squinted.  “Fucking bitch!” he screamed.  Grabbing the glass of orange juice beside him, he launched it across the room.  Glass shards and liquid splattered against the wall.  Standing up, he forgot his food. “Where is she now?” he asked, stomping toward the door.

“In her room.  She’s been there all morning.”  Yuri had her now, and he couldn’t wait for her explanation.  Someone had been responsible for the debacle, but it had not been him.

Erik didn’t have a heart, to speak of, but he was very possessive over his belongings, and Zoya was one of his belongings. Sharing her body with a guard was like sharing his toothbrush with the maid.  With a few guards following behind him and Yuri by his side, he stormed up the spiral staircase that led to the second floor.

“How long was she in there?” Erik asked, reaching for his sidearm.  Now showered and fully dressed since being pulled out of his room in his robe, he felt himself itching to shoot someone.

“Less than ten minutes,” Yuri answered, not bothering to look over at Erik.

It had to be said before someone else.  “Long enough to fuck him!” Erik’s narrow nostrils flared

in jealousy.  “Wait till I get my hands on that flimsy whore. I’m going to tear out her esophagus and piss down her throat.”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, coming out of his bedroom as he heard the heavy footfalls echoing down the hall.  He wiped the toothpaste from the side of his mouth and pulled the towel from the front of his shirt.

Erik was done with words.  Arriving at Zoya’s door, he kicked it open.  “Zoya, you fucking whore!  I’m going to kill…” He halted at the sight, hearing Peter’s cell phone ring behind him.  At that moment, he could have been knocked over with a feather.

Yuri came to stand beside Erik, gazing at the spectacle.  “Looks like you won’t get the chance.”

They walked into the finely furnished room decorated in pink and gold, covered in roses and expensive vases.  In the background, Peter spoke with someone out in the hallway.  But Erik had tunnel vision.   First in, he moved past her dog, who stood guard at Zoya’s queen-sized canopy bed and stood at the edge utterly speechless.  If there was one thing he hated, it was fucking surprises, and he had been forced to endure more than a few this morning.

Silently, Yuri walked over to the other side of the bed to give Erik some space and grabbed her skinny wrist.  She was cold to the touch, just as Tomi had been when they found him.  Checking her pulse, he dropped her arm and sighed.  “She must have gotten some of the same batch.”

“She wouldn’t even give me the courtesy of blowing her brains out,” Erik said absently, his face unreadable.

Yuri dropped his eyes to the woman, her robe only partly covering her rosy pink nipples or the shaved entry of her sex.  Beside her was the needle, and her eyes were open, staring lifelessly at the wall across from them.

“What a waste.”  Yuri reached over and grabbed her robe to cover her.

“Don’t!” Erik snapped his head from her face to Yuri. “Leave her just like that…like the cunt that she was.” His voice faded.  He stood there silent for a second as the anger boiled inside of him and more than that something akin to sorrow.  Erik hated her for it, for the emotion that she evoked in him and the passion that she unleashed.  He shook his head, arguing against himself quietly before pulling his weapon.  “I should still shoot her.”  He pointed his weapon at her body.

Yuri stepped back, unsure of what was happening now.

Erik cocked his gun.  What difference would it make if he put a few bullets in her pretty little head?  She was dead now and utterly incapable of scratching his sexual itch.

“No time for that,” Peter interrupted, stepping into the room after his call.  “We have bigger problems.”

“Ohhh, fuck.  What now?” Erik whirled around to face his uncle, unsure if he wouldn’t shoot him instead.

“Dmitry Medlov is meeting with Andros in St. Petersburg on the airstrip right now.”  He slipped his phone in his pocket.  “He didn’t go after Lev first, after all.  He went to the council.”  Avoiding using the exact words, I told you so; he settled for a shrug.

Erik forgot about Zoya, even as she laid almost naked on the bed.  “What?” he screamed.  “Someone, please tell me what will it take to get rid of that sneaky, snake son of a bitch!” he shouted so loudly until it dislodged a tonsil stone.  Coughing, he spits on the floor. “Why did Andros give him a meeting? Isn’t that supposed to be against some cardinal rule?”

Peter glanced over at Zoya, happy to know that she was dead. In his opinion, it should have happened months ago.   “We sent the package to Raina’s phone after our contacts loss sight of her at the airport.”  He looked at his watch.  “They more than likely took the phone to Andros instead of going straight for Lev.”

Erik turned back to Zoya, not to look at her, but to hide his own embarrassed face.  “This isn’t happening right now.”

“Yes,” Peter walked closer to Erik, feeling that he finally had control over his nephew.  “This is happening as we speak.  And so, we need to go.”

“Go where?”  Erik put away his weapon and regained his fleeting composure.  Wiping a single droplet of sweat from his brow, he turned to his uncle.  “Right.”  Finally, he realized that he was not alone in the room.  Straightening his clothes, he smoothed his hand over the front of his tie.  “Where would you suggest?”

“First, to the yacht. It’s out in the harbor, ready to board. We need to leave this place now.”  He turned to look at the men in the room.  “We can’t take any more than 20 people.”

“There are over a hundred men here,” Erik growled.  “Do you suggest that we leave them?”

“You can always send for them.  As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what you need to do.  But first, we need to get out of here.  If Andros and Geni offer their support, they’ll also offer their men.  And just like I had a little birdie in the ranks who shared with me that they were meeting with Dmitry, we could have someone,” he glanced over at Zoya’s dead body, “in our camp who has already done the same.”

“Fine.  Let’s go.  Yuri grab what you can and only pick the most skilled of our men to go with us. The rest will have to stay here until we make arrangements for their transport.”  Erik patted his jacket and pulled out two cell phones.

“What’s the other one for?” Peter asked as they walked out of Zoya’s room. He hadn’t recalled seeing the other in all the time that they had been on the run.

“This one is for insurance,” he said, checking the messages. “But there is nothing to speak of yet. So, we’re good.”  He put that phone away and dialed on the other one.  “I need to get in touch with Lev.  He’s still useful if he’s not already dead.”

“What do you want me to do with her?” Yuri asked, still standing on the other side of the bed.

Erik glanced over his shoulder.  “Leave the bitch.  Someone will eventually find her. Right now, I don’t have time to worry about her rotting corpse.  Rally the men.  We need to prepare to get on that yacht and get the hell out of Baku.”

“Better than you deserved,” Yuri said to Zoya’s limp body as he left the room, locking the dog in with her.

It was barely past 5:00 a.m. when Lev’s phone rang in Hungary.  Rolling over in his California-King bed, he grunted as he reached for the cell phone on the nightstand.  His wife was away at a fashion show in Milan, and he had used the time to spend the evening before with one of his maids, who now laid naked beside him in a bundle of covers.

Seeing that it was Erik calling on his private line, Lev pulled the goose down comforter from his hairy legs and sat up naked in bed.  He glanced at the Van Gogh original on the wall.  “What is it, Erik?” he answered, wiggling his toes.

“Sorry to wake you, brother,” Erik apologized, walking fast down the stairwell toward the back entrance of the castle with his entourage carrying his luggage.  “I know it’s early in the morning, but I have good news to share.”   He looked over at his uncle and smirked.

“It better be at this hour.”  Lev stood from the bed and headed toward the bathroom where he would have more privacy.  Closing the door behind him, he turned on the light to his black marble bathroom and turned on the water at his sink.

“Oh, it’s great news.  We’ve located Dmitry Medlov.”  Erik moved through the foyer down a long hallway that led out to where his guards were waiting for him.

“Is that why it sounds like you’re on the move?”  Lev looked at his Patek Phillip watch and grabbed a small hand towel from the shelf.  “What time is it there?”  Putting the towel under the warm water, he glared at his reflection in the mirror.

“Seven-thirty.” Erik glanced at his watch.  He motioned for his men to keep their voices down.  Walking out into the bright sun, he slipped on his shades and walked behind Yuri down the gravel pathway.  “It’s time to activate your men.”

Lev paused.  “Now?”

“Yes, now.”  Erik tried to make his voice sound more convincing.  “We got confirmation from Raina.  He’s in Irkutsk, well close to it.  We need to send all of our men there now.  We can’t wait, or we’ll lose him.”

Erik pressed the hot towel to his face.  Inhaling the heat from the cloth, he groaned.  “Have you heard from Renat and Oleg yet?”

“Renat barely escaped the Moscow hit, and he is meeting me in Irkutsk with his men,” Erik lied.  He halted in his tracks, making the men behind him nearly run into him.  He pressed the phone to his ear.  “Look, are you in or not.  Oleg is out, obviously, but he didn’t die in vain.  We are waging this attack with or without you, but trust me, if you’re not with us now, you’re not with us period.”

Lev threw the towel down on the sink and leaned against the counter.  “You know I’m in.”

“Good.  Then are you going to send your men?”  Erik asked, forcefully.  He motioned for his men to keep walking toward the dock several hundred feet away from where he stood.

Lev went silent for a minute.  “Yes, I’ll send the men immediately.  How do you want them to arrive?  We can’t just fly into Irkutsk.  Simeon will have his men looking for us.”

“Hello,” Erik turned toward the sun and raised his phone.  Putting the phone on speaker, he shouted, “If you’re talking, I can’t hear you.  I have horrible fucking reception out here.”

“Can you hear me now?” Lev asked, moving toward the window in his bathroom.  “Hello?”

“I can barely hear you,” Erik said, getting better reception with his arm elevated.  “I’ll send you a text in just a little while. I’m headed from Baku now.  Just send the men and transfer the money.  We’ll need as much as we possibly can to finish this.  Assassins don’t work for free.”

Lev heard Erik’s request, but his voice was spotty now, barely coming through.  “Call me back when you get to a better place.”

“What?” Erik yelled as he started to walk again.

“I said call me when you get to a better spot!” Lev hung up the phone and took a deep breath.  It would take at least an hour to get his men up and mobile, but he had already prepared for the impending assault regardless of where it was staged.  For now, however, he needed to wash the sex off his body and brush his teeth.

Dmitry knew better than to call Lev from the cloned phone first.  Instead, he sent a text to Lev in the hope that he could get him talking first.  With Geni and Andros watching on, he formulated a careful text.

Raina has identified Dmitry’s location.  We’re sending her back for her new assignment.  Are you okay with that, or should I give her new instruction?  He sent the text after showing it to the men.

Simeon and Vasily stood up from their seats and joined the men on the other side of the plane.  Quietly, they prayed that everything worked out as planned, but it was Dmitry who held their fate in his hands more than Geni and Andros.

Lev grunted and picked up the phone as it dinged.  The water was ready in the shower, and his head guard had already come in to receive news that most of their men needed to report to the railroad station to load into a carrier.  “What now,” he said, entering his passcode.  He read the text slowly, squinting without his glasses.

Dmitry waited several minutes, watching the clock as the time passed slowly.  They were down to 15 minutes with Andros and Geni.  He needed everything to happen as it should now, or he and his friends would be dead.

Lev sat down on the toilet and rested back on the seat.  Rolling his eyes, he returned the text.  Yes, send Raina immediately.  I doubt she will be of use to you.  I need her here to handle my own business while I still have one.

Dmitry could hear the irritation in Lev’s voice.  Sitting with the phone in his hand, he glanced at Vasily.  “If we say the wrong thing, we’re screwed.”

Vasily walked over to Dmitry and knelt beside the sofa.  He read the message slowly, then raised a finger.  “Tell him Peter isn’t well and wants to know if he can send him to Hungary for a few weeks.” He glanced between Geni and Andros and shrugged. “It’s the only way we can confirm that he’s working with Erik and is supporting his interests.”

“What do you say?” Dmitry asked Simeon.  This was one matter that required absolution inclusion from his cohorts, especially since their neck was as much on the line as his.

“Send it,” Simeon said, hand pushed down in his pants pockets.  “Vasily is right.  It’s ambiguous enough that Lev won’t really know it’s from us.  Anything more could be a shot in the wrong direction.”

Dmitry sent the message.  Pushing back on the sofa, he waited again.  Wiping his brow, he glanced over at Diane, who stood watching everyone carefully.  It had been agreed that if an assault was needed, her first job would be to get to the hidden closet of guns near the front.

Lev growled when his phone dinged again, interrupting his focus on an early morning bowel movement.  He grabbed the toilet paper from the roll and cursed.  “Can I get just five fucking minutes!”  After a quick wipe, he grabbed the phone again and read the message.

Several seconds later, much sooner than the first text, the message came back to Dmitry.  “Yes, send Peter and anyone else you need to. He can stay here with me, just let me shit in peace!”

Dmitry laughed, offering the phone to Andros and Geni.  “Well, gentlemen?” he asked, awaiting their reply.

Still, Andros was hesitant.  “How do we know that this is, in fact, Lev and not someone you are pretending to communicate with.”  He looked over at Geni.  “We need absolute confirmation before we unleash our hell hounds.  Would you not agree, brat?”

“I do,” Geni said, pushing up on the edge of the sofa to look at the phone.

“Fine.  Fine!” Dmitry caught himself before he lost his cool completely.  He sent another text.  “I need to tell you something. No text.  Calling you on FaceTime.”   Dmitry hit the button and pointed the phone upward where his face could not be seen. Placing the phone between the two old men, he waited until the chime sounded, and Lev’s reddened face appeared on the screen.

“What the fuck, Erik?” Lev cursed.  He pulled the phone closer to him and glanced at the white surface in front of him.  “Where are you?”  The phone hung upright in the middle of him talking.

Dmitry sent another text quickly.  “The damn phone has a horrible signal out here.  I’ll call you back in just a few.  Are you going to be available?”

“YES!” Lev replied.

Dmitry turned toward his old friends, eyes rolling, and gave Andros the phone in his frail hand.  “You can keep it, study it, memorize it if you’d like.  I just want to know you have all the confirmation you need.”

Andros put the phone in his jacket’s inner pocket and pushed off the sofa.  He was a man of his word.  Nothing else needed to be said.  Geni helped him stand up.  “We’ll send our men to Baku straight away.  Just send us the exact location.  You have our expressed permission to go to Hungary, but don’t forget my head.”  He shook a crooked finger up at Dmitry.    “If you need our men there as well, we will provide them.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.  My men and I have it,” Dmitry said, standing up, even though his head pushed against the cabin’s ceiling.  He offered his hand as he bent over.  “Thank you, gentlemen, both for your time.”

Andros shook Dmitry’s hand first, followed by Geni.  Newly enlightened, they ended the meeting with five minutes to spare.

“Damn shame,” Geni said to Andros, stomach still turned.  “We would do better starting over with our council than letting the Popov’s ruin it.”

“We’ll have no choice after Dmitry is done with them,” Andros said, moving slowly toward his helper.

Dmitry nodded toward Diane to escort the men to the plane’s exit.  She did so gently while offering two full duffle bags of cash for the leaders as gifts for their acceptance of Dmitry’s meeting on their turf.

As the heads of the council exited the plane, Dmitry stepped in the pathway of the guard who had eyeballed him earlier.  “Did you think I forgot?”  Leaning down, he pointed a hard finger directly in the center of the man’s chest.  “You better hope when this is all done, I don’t ever see your fucking ass again.  You understand me, boy?  Because the next time I lay eyes on you, I’m going to take your beady eyes out with a spoon.”

The guard froze and dropped his head. “Yes, sir,” he said, stepping back.

“Now, get your ass off my plane before I decide not to let you leave,” Dmitry ordered, moving out of the guard’s way.

“Dust off that resume,” Simeon taunted the guard.  “Punk ass little suka.”

As soon as they were alone, Dmitry took his original seat by the window in the corner.  They were close now. He could feel it.  “How fast can we get to Hungary?” he asked Diane as she returned to him with a fresh glass of vodka.   He took it gratefully as the plan moved down the tarmac.

“Two hours max,” Diane answered, proud of her boss. As she had suspected, he had handled himself well and made all that called themselves Medlov proud.  And he had done it all without having to kill one person…yet.

Dmitry felt a small weight lift from his shoulders as he watched the ground beneath turn into a treadmill belt outside of his window.  He kicked his feet up and grabbed his cell phone.  “Good, get this hunk of metal off the ground now. I want to be in Budapest before Lev knows what hit him,” he said, wiping a hand over his face.

Chapter 38

Művész út 2

Buda Hill

Hungary, Budapest

“In war, personal revenge maintains its silence.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche

P ushka Kovelenko was a real-life brut.  There was no better description for a man who had amassed such a hefty fortune after serving hard time in the gulags of Vladimir Central but still chose to live such a simplistic life – not in the sense of mansions, fine clothes, and luxury cars because he had all of that in triplicate.   The simplicity he prescribed to was more internal in nature.

He had simple rules and simple thinking.  Drugs made money, so he sold them.  Stolen property yielded the best profits, so he heisted.  Assassinations paid high dividends, so he murdered.  Those three revenue streams had taken him from the streets of Moscow to the penthouses of the world, so he was a crime boss.

But even with his underworld societal elevation, he stuck to an astringent set of ethics.  He didn’t recruit from the military, because of his disdain for the government.  He didn’t have a wife to speak of anymore, because he had paid her to go away after the immigration waiting period.  He didn’t have children, because he didn’t want them.   And he never went back on his word, because at the end of the day, besides his money, his word was all he had.

So, when his long-time ally, Dmitry Medlov, finally called on him and said it was time to move in on Lev Yakushev for his crimes against the brotherhood, he didn’t ask any questions.  He simply assembled his assassins, who were all as brutish as he, loaded up his weapons, and headed straightaway for quiet hills of Hungary, Budapest.

Nestled in the sprawling Buda Hills of Budapest along a private winding black-paved road lined with towering mossy trees, limestone walls and iron gates, manicured privacy bushes, and high-tech surveillance equipment, Lev’s nineteenth-century historic mansion were virtually silent at 8:00 a.m., except for the men standing guard around the perimeter.  The bright, early morning sun had broken the horizon two hours before and now lit up the cloudless sky with a golden hue.  The setting was breathtaking, calming, and otherwise beautiful.

At their designated posts littered around the vast property, the small army of highly trained Yakushev sentries stood with automatic weapons slung across their chests and earpieces plugged discreetly in their ears, watching over the unchanging scenery, like they had done every morning for years.

No one was on high alert, not because Lev was without enemies in the world, but because no one dared attack a member of the International Council.  And because Lev, for all intents and purposes, was not at war with the Medlov Crime Family or to anyone’s knowledge assisting the Popov Crime Family, he was on easy street – a bystander watching everything unfold from behind the all-encompassing cloak of the council’s protection.

That was until Dmitry Medlov revealed Lev’s true role in the war and the Yakushev’s clandestine allegiance.  Upon enlightening Andros and Geni with that critical piece of Intel and unbeknownst to Lev, the council had removed its protections immediately from all who served or was a Yakushev.  The council had also granted Dmitry, his allies, and the rest of the council families unfettered access to all that Lev owned and owed.  His rights were forfeit; his days now numbered.  It was a shame, indeed, considering his father had been one of the founders who had helped build the legacy of the council in the first place.

However, no one had sent that memo to Lev since the decision had been made just a couple of hours ago.  He was still very much in the dark, unprepared for the war that would literally come to his doorstep in a matter of minutes.  Instead, he was back in bed after a brief conversation with Erik Popov, eating breakfast with the maid and gearing up for round three of their staycation while his wife was away.

Usually, upon the arrival of counsel families to the city, Lev would have been alerted by local government officials, especially those in customs, airport security, and the like. However, after a call from the council’s office in St. Petersburg removing Lev’s immunity status in the country, even the local police had turned a blind eye to the pile-up of armed assassins overrunning Petőfi Bridge in large convoys of SUVs and motorcycles.   No one wanted to get involved.  No one wanted to give Lev a heads up.  They all just wanted whatever was going to happen to do so quickly and without bringing too much attention to themselves.

The processional of Yamaha MT-09 motorcycles was the first to turn off the main thoroughfare in a two-by-two formation.  Engines revved, helmets on, the man on the back of each doubled-up team had their automatic weapon at the ready.  They had strict instructions to secure the area and make sure that no one was allowed in or out of the narrow lane.  One set of motorcycles sped to the other end of the street and blocked the path from incoming traffic.  The second set of motorcycles stopped halfway between the team at the end of the lane and Lev’s home.  The third stopped on the side of the road allowing the convoy of vehicles to pass, and the fourth set slowed to run right beside the first of the convoy of Range Rovers.

“Impact in five,” the driver in the leading Range Rover said, hitting a switch that lowered the snowplow attached to its front grill.  Making a sharp turn into the driveway of Lev’s property, he rammed the gate, pushing his foot down on the accelerator until the elegant black barrier bent forward into a mangled piece of metal.  The force of the impact knocked the hinges of the gate off the limestone wall and sent the barricade tumbling forward.

“We have a breach at the front gate!” the guard nearest the front entrance screamed into his earpiece as he positioned himself behind the guard shack and sent rapid-fire toward the intruders.

The doors to the Range Rover opened, and men in black tactical gear jumped out, using the doors as cover while they returned fire toward the guards.

Lev jumped up, removing his head from between the young maid’s thighs, at the sound of whizzing gunfire below. “What the fuck?” he said, jumping out of bed and running to his nightstand to get his weapon.

The doors to his bedroom burst open, and his head guard, Janos, appeared suddenly with more men on his flanks.  “We’re under attack.”

“No, shit!” Lev cocked his weapon.  Still naked, he moved quickly with his men out of the bedroom, hearing the gunfire move closer to the house.

“Wait!  Don’t leave me!”  The naked maid tried to follow, but one of the guards used the butt of his rifle to push her backward, making her fall as they closed the doors to the bedroom and left her there.

Lev walked quickly, his men surrounding him on all sides, down the corridor to the saferoom.  “Who is it?” he asked, lowering his head instinctively as the stain glass bay windows downstairs exploded after a gas grenade was launched through them.

“Not sure yet,” Janos answered, listening on his earpiece.  Stopping at an oversized painting on a long stretch of wall between bedrooms, he pulled at one of the metal sconces to open the secret passage.  “Stay inside.  Don’t come out, no matter what,” he told his boss, pushing him into the small room.

Lev nodded to his man as the door closed quickly, leaving him alone to wait and watch the chaos from the surveillance cameras.  Grabbing a pair of pants from the dresser in the corner, he put on a bulletproof vest and slipped on his shoes.

It took less than seven minutes to overtake Lev’s contingent of men on the grounds outside of the mansion.  They were outmanned and surprised by the sneak attack, unable to regroup or rally fast enough even with all of their training and weapons.

Waiting patiently in the back of a Range Rover parked just outside of the property, Pushka watched the latest episode of Say Yes to the Dress on the small television in his SUV.  He could hear the chaos ensuing just a few feet away but drowned it out by turning up the volume.

“Do we have any more bottles of water up there?” he asked his driver, hand extended out.

“Yes, boss,” the driver answered, passing him a chilled bottle from the cooler.

“No, no.  I like the lemon-flavored kind best.  Do we have any more of those?” Pushka asked, trailing his gaze back to the television embedded in the back of the driver’s seat headrest facing him.

“We’re out,” the driver said apologetically.  “Do you want raspberry?” He turned in his seat to face his boss.

Pushka huffed. “It’ll do if that’s all we have.”  Taking the bottle of water, he unscrewed the top and sipped slowly as one of the soon-to-be brides stood in the mirror and wiped tears at how beautiful she looked in the designer gown that had been picked for her.  “Now that is the one you need to pick!  Say yes to that one, you dumb cow!”  he exclaimed.

The driver pressed his back to the seat and looked out of the window at their men scurrying about outside.  Gun resting in his lap, he listened over his earpiece for the signal to escort Boss Pushka to the house.  Several minutes later, the transmission came.

“Front is all clear.  Proceed inside with the boss,” the voice over the radio instructed as he dead checked one of the many slain guards on the well-manicured lawn.

“Copy that,” Pushka’s driver answered.  “Boss, they are ready for you.”  Putting the SUV in gear, he slowly pulled up behind the Range Rover, blocking the driveway.

Pushka nodded but kept his eyes on the screen.  “Okay. One more second.  I just need to know if she’s going with the tight-fitted number or the Cinderella dress.”

The driver glanced over at the guard in the passenger seat and bucked his eyes.  “I’ll let the team know.” But before he could get on his radio, the verdict on the dress was in, and Pushka celebrated her decision with the loud clasp of his gloved hands.

“Smart girl!  The other one made her look fat, but that’s just me. It’s not my wedding.”  Pushka grabbed his SIG MPX K off the seat beside him and opened the door, ready to get started.

Emerging from the vehicle, he stepped carefully over a trail of shell casings and followed his men up the driveway lined with dead guards, past the ornate garden fountain now riddled with bullets to the stone staircase that led to the entry of the house.

“This is a nice place,” Pushka commented, hiking up the stairs.  They arrived at the front doors of the mansion, which had been secured by his men, and he stopped for a second before crossing the threshold, covered in shards of wood and glass.  He glanced up at the chandelier inside the foyer, dangling on a nearly severed a chord. Turning to his men, he furrowed his dark brows.  “If you can at all help it…” The chandelier dropped at that very moment, splintering as it hit the hardwood floor.  Pushka closed his eyes as he raised up on his tiptoes.  “Try not to damage any more of this place.  I think I might want it when it’s time to settle up.”

“Yes, boss,” his men said, repressing grins.

Pushka turned back around and kicked the crystal under his feet out of the way.  “Now, what’s the situation inside?”  They stepped into the ornate foyer out of the sunlight.

Pushka’s number two, Mihaly, walked down the spiral staircase that led up to the second level of the house.  He was tall, bald, and none descript except for the mountain of muscle under his tactical gear.   “Janos is on ice for you.  He’s hiding Lev somewhere inside.  We haven’t found him yet.  It’s a big ass house.”  He arrived at the foot of the stairs and rubbed the bloody blade of his knife against his pants.  “Eventually, he will talk.”

“Are you certain that Lev is still here?”  Pushka asked, removing his shades to reveal steel-gray eyes.

“Yes, boss.  Found a naked woman in Lev’s bedroom, screaming her ass off. Evidently, we interrupted something.”  Mihaly grinned.  “And he’d never leave without Janos.  So, between the two loose ends, we know he’s here, somewhere.  They are just not saying where.”

“And you checked all the rooms?”  Pushka looked up the stairs.

“Checked every room twice,” Mihaly confirmed.

“And all the floors are hardwood? No carpet?” Pushka asked.

“Yes.”  Knowing his boss had some trick up his sleeve, Mihaly waited to see what new thing he would learn from the old bull today.

Pushka turned to his men, making sure everyone could hear him.  “Our only job is to secure Lev Yakushev and meet Dmitry Medlov with him at our designated rendezvous point.  I don’t need the rest of the guards or staff.  So, put a bullet in their heads and call it a day.  Now, this is simple, gentlemen, if Lev is not in a room you can see, he’s in a room you can’t.”   He raised his weapon and tapped on the FLIR Apollo scope attached to it.  “We don’t have a lot of time.  Turn on your thermal imaging scopes and check the floors for a heat signature.  If you see a trail leading to something other than a door, then you have found our rat.  So, get to hunting.  I want this fucker hogtied and in the back of my Rover as soon as possible.”

On the outskirts of Budapest in an industrial park of warehouses, Dmitry stood outside in the parking lot, smoking a Cuban cigar waiting as Pushka’s convoy of vehicles pulled up with his guest.   The beams of sunlight felt warm against his skin, and breathing free air made him realize the strain that everyone who was holed up back in the compound surely felt.  He longed for this to be over, to be able to emerge from the shadows of his life and resume his role as head of his family without fear that someone might hurt someone he loved, but first, this had to be done.

The doors to the SUVs opened nearly at the same time, and the guards emerged quickly, pulling Lev out in cuffs, wearing a torn white T-shirt and wrinkled slacks.  His face had been beaten on one side, and a knot had formed on the side of his forehead, but other than that, he had been kept in reasonably good condition.

Dmitry greeted Pushka with a hug, speaking pleasantries for a moment before turning to walk with Lev in tow.  The guards behind him pushed him toward the dock entrance while others stood post with the Medlov guards who had already secured the area.

When they walked into the large warehouse, the stage had already been set.  Among crates of priceless stolen art, drugs, jewelry, cars, and other expensive items, the guards who had been assigned to protect Lev’s wares were lined up on their knees.

The dock bay door closed loudly behind Dmitry and his large group with only the halogen lights above to illuminate their surroundings, and not a word was spoken as all eyes landed squarely on the broken boss who had been brought to heel by the sleeping giant.

“I heard you had quite the wakeup call this morning,” Dmitry said in a deep baritone that echoed in the large space.  Blowing smoke up into the air, he walked down the line of Lev’s men.

“The council will have your head for this.  You know the rules, Dmitry.”  Lev spat on the concrete flooring and turned his head away from his enemy.

“I do know the rules.  And so do you.”  Dmitry stopped and turned to Lev.  “That’s why I stopped in St. Petersburg before coming here.”  He lifted his foot and put the cigar out on the bottom of his shoe.

Lev frowned, turning his head slowly back to Dmitry.  He rubbed his reddened wrist, irritated from the zip ties.  “You would have me believe that Andros and Geni actually gave you permission for this?  Both Pushka and I both have declared our neutral status in this war, which makes us untouchable.  Or have you forgotten?”

“So, you still want to play coy?”  Dmitry strode forcefully over to Lev.  Standing over him, Dmitry looked down in the man’s dark brown eyes, winged at the sides by crow’s feet, and brought a quick hand to his thin neck.  He squeezed hard around Lev’s Adam’s apple, watching him strain to breathe.

The blood vessels in Lev’s eyes started to rupture as Dmitry raised the man into the air with one flexed arm.  Leaning into Lev as he struggled, feet dangling several inches off the ground, Dmitry brought his mouth to the man’s ear.  “Raina is dead,” he whispered.  “And before the end of this day, Erik and Peter Popov will be thrown into the depths of the Baku Bay.”

Dropping Lev, he watched the man crumple on the ground below him, coughing and gasping for breath.  Panic overtook Lev.  Even when Puskha had found his safe room back at the mansion and used C4 to blow off the access door, he had not uttered a word about why he had come for him, though Lev suspected it was at Dmitry’s request.  However, now realizing that Dmitry knew about Raina and that he’d already gone to St. Petersburg, it was clear his situation was far bleaker than he had initially thought.

“Get up,” Dmitry ordered, grabbing Lev by his jet-black hair and yanking his head back.  He leaned over the middle-aged man, bending down on one knee in his slacks to get a better view of the man who wanted him dead so badly.  “Even before the war began, you had your hooks in me.  You sent that bitch to my city and helped coordinate the hit on my life!” He gripped Lev’s hair harder, feeling strands yank away from his tender head.  “My wife and sons were nearly murdered!”  Dmitry remembered the blood on Royal’s face and body, the bullets whizzing over her head, and she tried to protect him with her body.  “My fucking wife!”

Lev exhaled a slow, steady breath.  At first, he thought of begging for mercy, but if he were going to die, then he wanted to do so with the respect of his men still intact.  They all looked at him now, heads angled in his direction to see him brutalized by the butcher.  It was embarrassing already to have been defeated so quickly by Medlov’s men, but at least in his final hours, Lev could show that he still had a spine.

“Speak up,” Dmitry growled, gripping Lev’s head back harder.

Even though he had been beaten, the fight was not gone from Lev yet.  He snarled as he spoke, eyes burning through Dmitry.  “You put your wife in that position when you killed Andrei, not me!  I did what anyone on the council would have done for his brother.  Yes, I provided Erik with Raina, and if I had had my way, you would have been dead by now instead of standing in my city complaining to me like a whiny little suka about your feelings.”  He struggled against his zip ties again. “I don’t give a damn about your fucking wife, or your fucking kids or your fucking city.  You can all burn together!” His eyes gleamed with rabid hatred. His heart thumped in his chest like a drum.  “No matter what you do, you’ll never be anything more than a prison dog we found and adopted.  You’ll never be head of the council; you’ll never survive this war.”

The pride on Lev’s men’s faces was evident at the display.  They sat upon their knees, watching the confrontation play out with more dignity than they had started with.

Eyes wild, Dmitry reached back with his free arm and landed a hard, emasculating slap to the side of Lev’s face.  He temporarily went mad, thinking of the bullets that had penetrated his own body and the other bullets that could have easily killed everyone he loved.  He hit him again and again and again, refusing to ball up his fist just yet to prolong the joy it brought him to watch Lev suffer.

Lev’s mouth filled with blood, and the vision in his right eye blurred.  The weight of Dmitry’s heavy hand landed against the side of Lev’s perfectly straight nose, breaking it on contact.

“You don’t care about my family?”  Dmitry spat in his face.  “Good, because I don’t care about yours.”  He snatched the man up as he stood, bringing him to his feet.  “Bring the bitch out!” Dmitry screamed, moving his head from Lev’s head to his neck.  He held him in place, like a dog, and made him watch.

Whimpers from a female voice could be heard as guards brought a woman in her mid-thirties around the corner at gunpoint.  She was wearing a soft blue dress and blue leather flats.  Her brown hair was knotted into a soft bun atop her head, and her delicate features were accented by flush red skin and bloodshot eyes.

“No!”  Lev screamed out, seeing his wife.  He tried to move toward her, but Dmitry anchored him in place with an iron grip on his neck.

“The funny thing about operating right under someone’s nose is that your whereabouts become easy, if not predictable. So, while you were helping Erik, Pushka was tracking you.”  Dmitry wiped the spittle form and motioned toward the petrified woman.  “And her.”

“You shouldn’t have said that shit about his family,” Simeon said, clenching his jaw.  He shook his head at Lev.  “Rules or not; everyone knows the families are off the table.”

Lev raised his bound hands and spit blood.  “Wait, wait.  Please.  We can talk about this,” he said, tears streaming down his face at the thought of what they would do to his wife.  “Don’t hurt her.  She had nothing to do with this.”

“Neither did my wife.  Neither did my children and my grandchildren and everyone else that I’m bound to protect who had no hand in what I chose to do to Andrei.”  Dmitry pulled his knife from the leather sheath on the back of his holster.  He brought to the cold steel to Lev’s neck.  “But like you said, you don’t care.”

“What do you want? Name your price.  I’ll give it to you,” Lev said, wiping the snot from his nose.  “Whatever you want, Dmitry.”

Dmitry’s voice was calm now, knowing that he had Lev right where he wanted them.  “I remember your mother, Lev.  She was Egyptian, right?  During the balls, I would always take a moment to admire her beauty and her poise.  I envied you then.  Everyone treated you and your family like you were royalty.  And when you took over the family, it was no surprise.  In fact, it was expected.”

Lev lowered his head.  “What does my mother have to do with anything? She’s dead now, so is my father. If you want to end my family line, then do it, but leave my wife.  Please, she’s pregnant.”

Dmitry shrugged indifferently to the news, continuing as if he had not heard Lev’s sobering confession.  “It got me to thinking.  If your mother is Egyptian, then you are half Egyptian.  And I would hate for you not to be buried according to the old customs of your rich culture.”  He motioned for the guards to pour gasoline over the crates.  They moved quickly, using large plastic containers to douse everything in sight.  “You see, when a royal heir died, he was buried with all of his most precious belongings and his servants.  That’s why I brought you here to your warehouse because let’s face it; you own a lot of shit.”

Vasily and Simeon stuck knives into the gasoline barrels that lined the wall and pushed them over on the ground to saturate the space.  The smell permeated the room, and Lev’s guards coughed as the Medlov guards poured gasoline over their bodies.  As one of the guards moved to pour gasoline over Lev’s wife, Dmitry stopped him.

“Not her!” Dmitry pointed his blade, stopping the guard in his tracks.  “Not yet.”

Dmitry yanked Lev over to a table in the corner where a pile of documents was waiting on them.  He pressed the knife to Lev’s neck.  “You know the drill.  Sign on the dotted lines and make it quick.”

“Why would I give you anything?” Lev asked, trying to push away from the table.

Dmitry cut the side of Lev’s neck slightly.  The trickle of warm blood streamed down the side of his neck and stained his shirt.  “Because if you don’t sign everything over to me, then I’m going to make you watch your wife go up like a witch on the stake.”

“Everything I own already belongs to the council,” Lev argued.

Dmitry was done playing nice.  Pushing the knife into Lev’s side, he punctured his kidney and pulled the blade out.  “I’m not talking about the shit on record.  You know, I had the same conversation with Oleg, and now he’s borscht.”   He glanced over his shoulder at the guard holding Lev’s wife.  “Douse the bitch!”

“No!” the woman cried. “Please, God, don’t do this!”

Lev tried to cover his wound, but Dmitry pressed him against the table as he bled out.  The pain was paralyzing.  Barely able to stand up under his own weight, he cried out in agony.  “Alright, alright.” He grabbed the pen.  “Where do I sign?”  he asked, hearing his wife scream in the background.   He turned his head toward the commotion, but Dmitry snatched it back to focus on the papers.

“One thing at a time.  First sign over the businesses and that fucking mansion in the hills, then I’ll let you die with a little fucking respect.”

Picking up the pen, blood pouring down his side, Lev quickly signed his signature to the highlighted pages.  “You have to let her go,” he demanded, forgetting about himself.

“It doesn’t feel good to have someone in your city, in your business, in your life, threatening to kill your wife, to take your life, does it?” Dmitry growled at Lev, feeling absolutely no sympathy for the man.  He motioned for one of the guards standing by the table to take the papers.

“Dmitry, I can still help you,” Lev promised.  “If you let me live, I can fix things for you.”  He only had one more card to play, but Lev knew it was the most important one.  That morning after speaking to Erik on the phone and before going back to bed with the maid, he had made a call and mobilized the small army of men he had stationed just outside of Siberia.  They were loaded up on a cargo plane and would land in a vacant field near Irkutsk in less than a day and a half.

“You will not live, Lev, but that’s not my fault, it’s yours.”  Dmitry dragged Lev back across the floor to stand where his men and his wife could see him debased and vulnerable.  It would be their last memory, one that reminded them who Lev actually was – a coward hiding behind the cloak of the council.

With each passing second, the pain became more excruciating for Lev, but he fought through the torture long enough to try one more time to negotiate with Dmitry.  “If you spare my life, you spare your own.  You spare everyone that you love.”

“Again, with the cryptic Shakespearean bullshit! Can any of you mother fuckers just say what you mean plainly, or do you have to pepper your dying requests with more nonsense?” Dmitry pushed Lev forward on the ground in front of his wife.  “Do you really expect me to allow you to live another day, just to have you stab me in my back as soon as I turn around?”

Lev pushed up on his knees and pressed his hands together as he pleaded.  “We’ll run away.  You’ll never see us again.  All you have to do is let us go.”  He gazed across the floor at his wife, covered in gasoline standing in front of a man holding a road flare, and felt horrific regret for his decision to back Erik’s play.

“Can’t use a gun in a room full of gasoline,” Dmitry explained about the flare.

A guard near the rear of the warehouse was the first to light up.  Pulling the cap off his flare, he tossed it the back of Lev’s Rolls Royce and darted out of the way as the yellow hot flames erupted.  In each section of the warehouse, guards did the same to their designated spaces, setting aflame millions of dollars’ worth of high-end luxury items.

The smoke billowed up to the ceiling and seeped out of the window near the top of the warehouse, but the sprinklers did not go off, because Dmitry had disabled them by shutting off the water by the supply.

“Are you ready to meet your maker?” Dmitry asked, standing behind Lev.

“You don’t have to do this, Dmitry.  Please!” Lev begged, his wife screaming louder at the sight of the fire.

Vasily, Pushka, Simeon, and the rest of the guards silently moved toward the exit of the warehouse, but Dmitry stayed right over Lev.  Without looking back, he extended his arm behind him to which a guard quickly ran over and handed him a sharp machete.

Lev kept his eyes on his wife, begging her not to cry.  “It’s okay, my darling,” he told his trembling wife.  “It will be over soon.”

“Light them up,” Dmitry ordered the guard behind Lev’s wife.

The Medlov guard pushed the woman forward, past Lev’s guards, who were still on the floor, arms bound behind them, coughing hard and trying to breathe.  He pulled the cap to the flare, stretched it away from him, and threw the combustible wand on the floor in front of the row of men, setting them on fire all at one time.

Dmitry bent and grabbed Lev’s head when he tried to look away.  “Hell no!  You don’t get to pretend like you didn’t cause this.  Keep your eyes on your wife. Watch her!” Dmitry said, stepping back.

Lev stopped crying.  With his head erect and his knees now firmly planted on the floor, he whispered something to his wife, and then he closed his eyes.  At that very moment, with the flames swirling about him and Lev’s men burning in front of him, Dmitry swung the machete in his hand as hard as he could and in one motion severed Lev’s head from his body.

His wife screamed, putting her hands to her cheeks as she fell to her knees.  “Lev!’ she cried, snot and tears mingled together in a mess over his face.  “How could you?” she screamed at Dmitry.  “You monster!”

Dmitry dropped the machete and picked up Lev’s head, which had rolled a few feet from the body.  Ignoring the woman’s wailing sobs, he walked over to the little woman and picked her up.  “Shut up,” he said, under his voice.  Throwing the woman over his shoulder while clutching Lev’s head by its hair, he stalked out of the warehouse, leaving it to burn as he promised.

The fresh air was welcomed as he stepped outside.  He glanced up at the sun and inhaled a deep breath, hearing firetrucks in the distance.  Placing the woman on the ground, after passing on the bloody head, he had the guards escort her to an SUV, certain that she would never tell a soul what had happened here.  Pregnant or not, he was not going to kill an innocent woman, but he understood that eventually, there might be a consequence to his actions.

“So, you’re going to let her walk?” Simeon asked, unsure if it was a wise idea.

“Yeah,” Dmitry wiped a hand over his face.  “If I had killed her, then I would have been no better than Erik and Lev.”

“Shit, man.  We’re no better than them anyway, just smarter.”  Pushka took the deed to Lev’s mansion from the guard who had watched over the paperwork while Dmitry handled his business.  “This is payment enough for my part.  I can have the rest of the documents I need forged, just needed the real thing on the signature page.”

“Well, I have one more request before you start blocking my number,” Dmitry said as Pushka leaned lazily on the front of one of the Range Rovers.  He took a bottle of water from Vasily and unscrewed the top.  “I need you to take that head to St. Petersburg.  Geni wants it.”  He was a man of his word, and when he told the old council leader that he would bring him Lev’s head, he meant it.

Chapter 39

“Foolishness is a twin sister of wisdom.”
― Witold Gombrowicz

R enat was a man who believed in the power of the all mighty dollar.  His father had taught him well in that regard.  Through his family legacy, which spanned over three decades, he had grown to be one of the most powerful men in the underworld and a force on the International Council.

But one of the most significant things that he had learned through his time on this earth was not to put all of his eggs in one basket.  That knowledge led him to diversify in his thinking and his portfolio.

While his major revenue streams had continued to include illegal enterprises, he had invested heavily in medical startups as his cash flow increased over the years.

Having taken a page out of Dmitry’s book with Hutton Industries, he found a significant ROI in seeding and secretly investing in groundbreaking medical equipment.

Broadline Biomedical Group, based out of Helsinki, was his last major project.  The doctors and engineers there had developed an ingenious new product that would change the future for those who sought independence from their children and their families.  The BioTrack4300 was a small device that was shaped like a thumb drive.  The goal of the new invention was to save lives through notification, specifically for patients who chose to live alone or had no choice but to live alone.

Upon a small outpatient procedure, where the medical device was carefully embedded into the stomach lining, it would monitor bodily functions when activated.

If the patient’s core temperature dropped or increased significantly, the designated medical professional assigned to the patient would be notified of the patient’s potential health problem, and the device would ping against a satellite to give notice of their exact location.

Renat saw the financial potential behind the product, and after investors approached him for silent backing, he became the primary sponsor of it with the intention of quadrupling his investment upon it hitting the market and potentially once the stock when public.  His only task was to be given a box of the devices for his personal use with no questions asked.

When Peaches and her team showed up to his penthouse in Moscow, Renat swallowed the device that he had already activated the day before as a security measure to ensure that in the event of his untimely death, someone would be able to locate his remains and his captures.

As any smart man would have done, Renat kept the entire plan secret from everyone in his team except his second-in-charge, Baroda, who had unfortunately been killed during the raid.  However, he had designated one additional person to be notified in the event of his death.

Renat was a realist. He understood the cavalry would likely never be able to save him from his impending doom, even if his location was given.  However, it would ensure one crucial thing – Dmitry Medlov’s secret location would finally be identified. And with that, Erik Popov, if capable, could mobilize his men and seek his final revenge.

The Siberian Wilderness

Ulan Ude, Russia

Three Hours from The Medlov Compound

Erik Popov was miserable.  On short notice, he was forced out of his castle on the edge of Baku to their yacht and taken out into the Baku Gulf; then he was forced off that yacht onto a helicopter, which was flown to a private airstrip, where he was put on a plane and flown into Ulan Ude, a three-hour hellacious drive from Irkutsk and the only place where Simeon Kurdin didn’t have eyes and ears on everything that moved.

But it was as close as Erik could get to Lake Baikal without setting off red flags that he was on Dmitry Medlov’s trail. And to ensure that he was not discovered, his men had set up camp in the wilderness.  There were no bathrooms, no televisions, no running water, no upscale accommodations.  He was ruffing it big time with a satellite phone and a geriatric tentmate.

The phone that Erik had kept stored next to him at all times had been his only lifeline and the lead on his rat race.  Renat had explained to Erik privately, some weeks before, that the cell phone he was sending to him would be contacted if he died.

And while Erik was on the Gulf of Baku plotting to scan the entire breadth of the Siberian landscape for Dmitry and the rest of his enemies, the text he was watching for came in.

It gave exact coordinates of Renat’s last known location in a remote part of the mountainous wilderness around Lake Baikal.  It also saved him weeks, if not months of blindly searching for a needle in a haystack.

BINGO!

Their mutual suspicions had been correct the entire time.  Dmitry was hiding right under their noses, only a stone’s throw from the city of Irkutsk.  Upon discovering the location, he contacted Lev’s men, who were already en route from Hungary, Budapest, to meet him in Ulan Ude.  They would come in handy now that he had been forced to leave his own team in Baku.

All he had to do now was wait for the small army’s arrival and attack.  The plan was pretty simple.  Wait for the cover of night, give a strong show of force at their location, kill every man, woman, and child, especially the Medlov Crime Family Council, and then disappear into the wind.

Afraid to risk sending out a recon team to scope out the layout of Dmitry’s hideout, in fear that like Raina, they would be discovered, he opted to lay low and quietly wait until everyone was in place.  However, he could not deny that a part of him was extremely pleased with himself.

So far, minus a few small challenges, everything had worked out in his favor.

Renat had led him to Dmitry, but he was too dead to enjoy the spoils of war.

Oleg had provided him with enough money to finance the campaign but was too dead to enjoy the spoils of war.

The word from Hungary was that Lev was also dead but had provided him with enough men to finish the job and had done him the favor of dying so he wouldn’t enjoy the spoils of war.

The crown was his and his alone.

“I hope you are thinking about the big picture here,” Peter said, pulling his coat around him to fight off the 11-degree cold weather that beat against their tent.  It had been a long time since he had been forced to brave the elements, and at his age, the harsh freezing weather was wreaking havoc on his arthritis.

Erik drew his eyes from the battery-operated heater in the middle of the tent and put his hands to his mouth to warm them.  “Of course, I’m thinking about the big picture. How the hell do you think that we got here.”

“We got here because I saved us.”  Peter cut his eyes at Erik.  “If we had stayed in Baku, we’d be dead by now.”

“The men have already reported in.  So far, no one has even come for them.  As usual, you overthink things.  They are just sitting there in the castle waiting on my dime, and they're waiting under a roof with food and electricity, unlike us.  Once we get the opportunity, I’m going to send for them.”   Erik pushed closer to the heater.  “And you need not worry about the council for long.  Once I’m done with Dmitry, I plan to gather my strength and go straight after them as well.  It’s time to clean house.”

Peter bit down on his bottom lip, a habit when in deep thought.  Pressing the hot mug to his mouth, he felt the whisper of doubt and deceit slowly creeping up on him like a spider in the night.  “Do not underestimate the strength of the council,” he warned.

“Well, what the fuck else would you have me do?  According to you, they have stripped our name from the council entirely and put a hit on us.”  He turned to his uncle in his lawn chair, breath turning into mist as he spoke.  “Unless your contact is wrong.”

“My contact is not wrong,” Peter snapped, “but he is gone.  After relaying the last message, he informed me that this was his last favor.  We are cut off.”

“They are cut off,” Erik said, pointing a finger.  His eyes gleamed in the glow of the dimmed light.  Angry winds howled outside as the guards walked past.  His voice strained.  “If the council, after all, you and my father, me and my brother, have done for it, will so quickly turn their backs on us, then fuck them.”

“How eloquent,” Peter remarked, unimpressed.  “My point is that what is done is done, but we have to be very smart and intentional about what we choose to do next.  One battle is not a war.”

“So, you want me to go up to the Medlov compound tomorrow, knock on the door and offer Dmitry a handjob? I could say, hey, I know we’ve had a hard go at it, but let’s be friends?” Erik shook his head at Peter’s continued doubt of him.  “I’m out here freezing my balls off in the middle of nowhere with wolves and snow and rain and shit because I plan not to get murdered by this giant man-child.  I know my strategy will work.  Once Lev’s army gets here, we will move forward.  By tomorrow night, Dmitry Medlov will be a distant memory, and I’ll be on the way to establishing my own damn council – one with better rules then what you and your old cohorts put in place.”

“And my point to you is that even after you kill Dmitry Medlov and all of his men, we still have a large uphill battle in front of us.  The council has put a hit on you and me.” He pressed a finger against his chest, eyes bucking as his body shook.  “I helped build this council.  I served it well for many years.  There are countless factions who are loyal to the council and would kill us on sight.  There are numerous government and business entities that have a vested interest in the council’s survival.  There is a wealth of history that you forgot to consider.  And I’m telling you, this is only the beginning.”

“Which is exactly why I need my men in Baku.  I’ll join all the fragmented armies of our dead allies together and wage war on the council just like I did with Dmitry.”  Erik could see his vision clearly.  He didn’t need his uncle’s approval or blessing at this point.  They were already too far gone anyway.  “Dmitry is the strongest of us, at least when it comes to his paramilitary forces.  Once we neutralize that threat, the council is just…” he took a deep breath, “sitting in wait with their asses up.  And I’m going to fuck them all.”

“Yes, you’ve said that.”  Peter silenced, falling back into thought.  There was no changing Erik’s mind now that a part of his plan had worked.  But even a clock was right twice a day.  He worried that Erik was giving himself false hope and with it, leading them into death.  “No one is suggesting that so far, you have been a formidable opponent. You shocked even me, Erik.  You can pat yourself on the back because you outwitted us all.  But even a great king needs council. He needs people to tell him when the decisions he is making could be wrong.”

“Could be,” Erik interjected.  “But the council should also come with a second plan to the king.  Don’t you think?  And so far, I haven’t heard one from you.”

The tent went quiet again, but the wisdom of Peter was not completely lost on Erik. He replayed his plan in his head again and tried to find the holes.  “Your contact in the council, did he say if they knew where we were or were they just looking?  No one knew that we were in Baku.  No one knows that we’re here.  So, I’m just trying to figure out how you think we’re going to get caught.”

“My contact didn’t say either way?” Erik put down his mug and stood up.  “All this talk and travel has exhausted me.”  He glanced over at his cot in the corner.   “I’m going to rest for the night if you don’t mind, Your Highness.”

“You do that,” Erik said, happy to stay up alone.   “I’ll wake you in the morning.”  Turning to look over his shoulder as the old man slowly made his way to his makeshift bed, he sneered.  “Or I could just wake you when it’s over.”

Peter ignored his nephew’s smart remark.  “Morning will be fine.  The men should be here by then.”  He unzipped his sleeping bag and crawled inside, as he settled down a deep sigh escaped him.  He had gotten too old for this young man’s game, and he felt obsolete in his nephew’s vision of their brotherhood.   Looking at Erik’s back, he remembered when his nephew was just a boy and used to hang on his every word.  “For what it’s worth, I have always loved you, boy.  I tried to be there for you as much as I could.  And it pains me to see you here now having to fight for what was rightfully yours.”

Erik kept his eyes straight ahead, but Peter’s words hit him to his core.  He swallowed hard, feeling something forming at the sides of his eyes. He was more comfortable fighting with his uncle and exchanging jibes than really talking about his feelings, but he appreciated the vote of confidence.  It was definitely more than his father had ever given him.   “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you are here, old man.”  Grabbing his phone, he checked the time and stood up to leave and brave the freezing weather to take a piss. “Now, go to bed.”

Chapter 40

The Medlov Compound

Lake Baikal

11:00 p.m. (Same Day)

“Foolishness is a twin sister of wisdom.”
― Witold Gombrowicz

A fter 24 hours of standing guard over the house and all of its inhabitants and events, Marat was allowed to retire back to his room for a well-deserved R&R.  He had relayed the orders from Dmitry to take Renat’s remains out of the barn and harvest them.  He had sent up food to the children and the nannies.  He had sent Nadei and a small contingent of men to Baku.  Dmitry had arrived back to Irkutsk and would be arriving at the compound soon.  And now, he was thoroughly spent.

Dragging as he walked, head down in utter exhaustion, he moved past the guards standing post and the rooms of people busy tending to themselves toward the quiet sanctum designated as his bedroom.

As he walked, questions filled his head.  How did Vasily do this job for years without so much as a small utterance?  How did Davyd do it before him?  How did anyone keep their sanity herding cats day in and day out?

The Medlov men had been right in their advice to him.  There was no way to do this job and have a normal life – forget a relationship.  A responsibility of this magnitude required complete devotion like that of a priest or a parent.

And he simply wasn’t built for juggling the world that was Medlov and a private life.

But how was he going to tell Peaches that?  She was resting in his bed, waiting for his arrival, hoping for his support, and he was walking toward her, thinking of ways to gently end what he had wanted so badly for a short period of time.

Coming to the door, he nodded toward the guard sitting outside of his bedroom and hit him on the shoulder.  “Take a break.”

“You want me to send a relief guard,” the man asked, standing.

“No, I’m going to need a little privacy,” Marat offered.  Just in case Peaches wasn’t happy about the news he came to deliver, he didn’t want anyone to be able to provide an account.  “I’ll call up when I’m ready.”

“Yes, boss.”  The man disappeared down the hall without question, happy to have a moment to himself.

Opening the door, Marat peered inside and saw Peaches lying in bed on her side with her back turned to him.  The light poured in, shining on her shadowy frame and illuminating her naked body.  He slipped in and closed the door behind him, trying not to wake her.

“Did they finally let you go?” Peaches asked, staring at the wall.  Though she had tried, sleep had not come easy, and when she finally closed her eyes to try, all she saw was the faces of the dead men she had left behind and heard the rapid gunfire in the fight.  So, instead, she just looked at the wall in the dark and thought of nothing at all.

Marat pulled off his T-shirt and threw it on the floor.  “Yeah,” he huffed.  “I’d be rich if they paid by the hour.”

Peaches rolled over slowly and smiled at him.  Her cheek was covered by a large bandage, but still, her face glowed with a calm beauty.  “You’re rich now.”

“Richer than,” he said with a sarcastic edge.  He sat on the side of the bed, making it creak, and brought a hand to her exposed hip.  Damn, she looked good. Astir in him began, but he quickly quashed it.   “How are you feeling?”

She raised up on her elbow, one perky brown breast pressed against the mattress.  “The drugs helped, but it’s still uncomfortable.”

“Well, what do you expect.  You’ve been shot, stabbed, and beaten.”  A smile crept to the side of his mouth.  “But you’re a tough girl. You can handle it.”

Peaches felt something - he was distant, even though he was sitting right beside her.  Her eyes searched him in the dark, noticing the crease lines in his forehead and the tightness around his thin mouth.  “What’s wrong?” she finally asked, shooting him a pointed look.

Marat debated if he should turn on the lamp to talk to her.  Doing it in the dark felt cowardly.  He scrubbed a hand through his black beard, casting his glare across the room toward the window.

“Come sit closer.” She patted the bed.

Marat did as she asked.  Kicking off his boots, he came to lay right beside her in his jeans and socks.  She rested her head in the warmness of his broad chest and ran her fingers down the valley of his carved abdomen.

Marat closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the headboard, wrapping his arm around her and nestling his fingers in her hair.  His deep voice lowered.  “You know I’m proud of you, right?” he asked.

Peaches rolled her eyes.  “I’ve heard that more than I care to count since I arrived back.”

“Well, I just feel like you needed to hear it from me.”  He felt her hand move lower, down the bulge between his legs.

“Get to what you are really trying to say, Marat.”  Peaches had never been one for small talk, and she hated when people tried to skirt the real issues.  “Don’t mince words for my sake.  Just say whatever is on your mind.”

“I pursued you.”

“You did,” she said, voice giving a slight inflection that begged him to move along.

“And I know that we committed to this relationship.  We made some plans, talked about our futures.  We let each other in, and in this line of work, that’s not easy.”

Peaches felt her heart constrict.  Was he really going to do the hard job for her?  Since she had spoken to Dmitry at the airport, all she could do was obsess over how to break up with the man responsible for giving her a chance to prove herself in the first place.

And now, he was setting her free.  The escalation of their situation could not be helped.  There were too many forces moving them around like pawns on a chessboard.  The only way they could logically gain control was to change their status - become knights or bishops.  And they could not achieve such a thing locked in step together.

She stopped breathing, holding her hand in place, she waited. Say the words, she prayed quietly.  Say the damn words.

Marat watched her every movement, felt her breath catch in her chest.  He glanced down at the top of her head and forced himself to speak.

“But this isn’t going to work for either one of us.  We have to break up. It’s best for our service of the avtoritet, and the jobs we both must do in that service.  We’re torpedoes after all, not squares.  There is no white picket fence and PTA meetings for us on the other side of this life – just more of the same and plenty of money if we are lucky to live that long.”  Even as he spoke their finality off his lips, he was intoxicated by the memories with her.

The room went silent, and the two of them sat listening to the empty nothingness that filled the space.

“Are you going to say anything?” Marat finally asked, tired of not knowing what she was thinking.  He straightened his capped shoulders and waited for all hell to break loose.

Peaches rose from his chest and turned to gaze him in the eyes.  Her body ached in the movement, making her wince, but still, she felt compelled to see his face.   Placing a hand on his cheek, she leaned in and kissed him softly.  “It was good while it lasted, right?”

“Are you upset with me?” he asked, still unsure of her mind.

“Are you upset with me?” she asked, moving her hand to the back of his head.

“No,” Marat said, voice as soft as a whisper.  His face was twisted, trying to understand how it had been so easy.  He ran his gaze from her face down to her breasts and felt the stir again.  “Is it bad that I want you one more time?”  His perfectly molded mouth parted, aching with a desire to tame what seemed untamable, shamefully unrepentant for his deepest desires.

“Who said you had to have me just once?”  Peaches pulled him to her by the back of his head. She could feel his large hands move around her back to ease her onto his lap.  Pressing her nipples against his chest, she leaned in and kissed him again.  His tongue speared into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of her tongue.  Below, a thick erection prodded to be set free from the confines of his jeans.

“Can you do this yet?” he asked, pulling away from her kiss to watch her hands unbuckle his pants.

“We’ll just have to find out.”  Reaching into his pants, she grabbed his veiny member, feeling it flex at her soft touch.  She would miss this most – the feel of his body, the passion of his lovemaking, the honesty of his actions.  But he was right. This could never last.  It would only be a hindrance to what they sought to accomplish in their careers.  And so, she’d make the best of tonight and tomorrow; then she’d go back to her room and her own life.

Renee had not taken her eyes off their new baby boy since he was born.  She cradled him in her arms while Anatoly put their sleeping daughter in the small toddler bed across the room.  After a long day of excitement, their little family needed to rest, but had she the strength, she would have rocked Davyd all night.

“You’re going to spoil him,” Anatoly warned, pulling the pink and gold embroidered covers over his daughter.  After a prayer over her, he kissed the top of her head.

“You mean like you’ve spoiled her?” Renee grinned at her husband.  “The way I see it.  We’ll only be even if I do spoil him.”

Anatoly yawned, muffling his roar with his hand.  Glancing at his watch, he walked over to his side of the bed and kicked off his boots, yanked off his shirt, and peeled out of his jeans in record speed.

The best part of the day had arrived.  It was time to melt into the bed beside the woman he loved.

Placing his weapons in the nightstand drawer, he locked it, just in case their daughter woke up and got curious, then he flipped over to face Renee.

The girls had helped her bathe, redress in a black satin nightshirt, and had pulled her hair up in a soft ponytail at the top of her head that made her look angelic.

She grinned at him as he placed a careful hand on his son’s curly dirty blonde locks.  “I like you like this, Ana.”

“Like what?” he asked, flashing blue eyes at her.  The smell of him – a mix of sweat and cologne – wafted up to her nose.

“Happy, like this.  It’s been a while since I’ve seen you truly happy.”  The sight of his taut muscles flexing under intricate tattoos made her proud to know that he was all hers.

Anatoly kissed his son gently on his chubby fat cheek.  “Well, a man should be happy at the birth of his son.”   Crooning softly in the boy’s ear, he traced his small hand.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a little boy so perfect.”

Renee begged to differ.  “I have.”

Anatoly smirked.  “I haven’t been perfect in a very long time.”  He sat back in the bed and pushed up beside his wife and child.  “You know when this is all over, I’m going to make up for everything.  Whatever you want, all you have to do is name it.”

“Really.”  Her brow rose.

“Anything,” Anatoly repeated.

“The funny thing about being married into a family of billionaires is that you run out of things to want.  Here, your turn.” Renee passed him the baby.  Transferring him into Anatoly’s arms, she leaned against her fluffy pillow and rested her body for a minute.  “But as a human being, you never run out of wants emotionally.”

Anatoly rocked Davyd.  “Then maybe Alexandria and Davyd are not the only ones who are spoiled.”  He winked at her.  “Okay, then tell me what I can do for you emotionally.”

“You can give me the assurance that you’ll regard your family with care.  All of them.  As families go, they are irreplaceable and should be tended for with tender, loving care.”

Renee had tried, but she couldn’t let it go.  Anatoly was as stubborn as he was loving and gave both in large helpings.  The birth of their child, the way the family had come together, the happiness that came with being Anatoly’s wife, even in the face of danger, had made her long for Anastasiya to have the same.

“Your mother is a beautiful woman, but she nags me,” Anatoly playfully said to the baby in a mocking high whisper.

Renee touched his arm, resting her fingers at the crease.  “Only out of love.”

“When this is over, I will consider regarding my family with care, but for now, I’ll focus on keeping them alive.”   He lightened the mood.  “A man offers you a gift of anything you want, and you choose that.  Your choice.  Personally, I would have asked for a country or a planet or something.”

“Okay.  I’ll take a country as well.  Which ones are for sale?”  she asked.

“From what I’ve heard on the news, Greenland, possibly.   You want me to put in a call?” He licked his lips and repressed another laugh.

Renee snorted and covered her mouth before she woke the baby.  “You’re silly; you know that.”

She was happy with his response to her request for her sister-in-law, knowing her husband stood by his word, even the ones given in their bedroom, but she was even happier to see him commit to being such a great father.  “Have I told you how much I love you?” she asked, feeling abundantly blessed.

“No, not lately.  You’ve been too busy telling me how much Nadei loves my sister.”  Anatoly knew that anything more than a playful banter about Anastasiya would only upset Renee, and in her fragile state, he would not risk her contentment to replace it with resentment.  He had learned better.  Happy wife, happy life. As for his sister, he would give her situation some thought, but it wouldn’t be here, and it wouldn’t be hasty.

Renee raised up and kissed his shoulder.  “Well, I love you…very, very much.”

“And I love you, wife,” he said as he leaned over and kissed her lips.   His nose nuzzled against hers.  “And I can’t wait for these six weeks to be over so that I can show you just how much…I love you.”

Renee cut her eyes at him and shrugged her shoulder.  Her cheeks blushed at the insulation in his heated glance.  “Now, you know we never wait the full six weeks.”

The twins were asleep, snuggled safely in their cribs, wrapped in soft linens and monitors activated. Gabriel had helped Valeriya put them to bed earlier, and afterward, she had disappeared downstairs to say goodnight to Andriy.  However, she had not returned.

Curiously, he set out to locate her only to find his missing wife sitting at the small bar that backed up to the living room on the first floor.  She had pulled out a barstool and was nursing a stiff glass of scotch in the darkness of the room.

“It’s not good to drink alone,” Gabriel said, walking behind her. His steps were slow as he advanced like a big panther moving in the shadows toward his prey.

Valeriya looked up from her glass and landed her gaze on the mirror on the wall to see his reflection behind her.  He was shirtless, wearing pajama bottoms and no shoes.

Black hair swirled around his head in thick heavy curls, and his chest – scared from his time in Ukraine- flexed as he took in a breath.  Seeing no guns on him, to have him here instead of with his back facing her as he headed out to danger, made her grateful.

A hiccup escaped her.  “Well, sit down, dear love.  And drink with me.”  She pushed over the bottle where it was in his line of sight.

Gabriel could hear the distress in her voice.  Sitting down, he poured himself a drink as she had suggested and then turned his full body on the barstool to face her.  “Want to talk about it?”

“The last few days have been intense.”  She said so quickly before he could even relax his back against the chair.  “We brought a baby into the world.  And then we put a mob boss in the ground.”

He narrowed his gaze on his glass.  “Well, that’s…sort of right.  There were two different mob bosses actually.  One fell over and lost his head, and the other one is…” he scratched his ear, “being reincarnated as a last meal.”

“What?” Suddenly, she was confused.

Gabriel shook his head and raised a hand apologetically for interrupting.  “Nothing.  Go on.”

“It just has me thinking about why all of this happened, and more importantly, how it all is going to end.”  Her voice lowered. “I don’t want this to end badly.”  Her eyes watered as she looked at him.  “I don’t want to lose you.  I want more babies. I want more of the celebrations and pictures and the joy that we had when we cut the world off and focused on us.”

Gabriel wiped her tears before she could fall.  Taking her drink from her, he grabbed her chair and pulled it to him.  “You’ll have that.  I promise.  We’re going to get through this, and when we do, you and I are going to chart our own path, making plenty of babies….”

Valeriya laughed in between the raindrops of her tears.  “Then why do I hear banshee’s wailing when I close my eyes?”

“And after this, you will never have to go through another war.  I’ll make sure of it,” Gabriel promised, his voice growling in determination.  “You’re going to grow old with me, and you won’t die until we’re gray and sagging.”

“That’s a very descriptive image.”  Sniffling, she wiped the bottom of her chin, where the tears pooled, threatening to drop on her chest.

Gabriel could see his wife was hurting, but he wanted her to trust that he would keep her safe. “You believe in me?” he asked, standing up in between her legs.

“With all my heart,” she answered, looking up at him with adoration he had never seen in any other woman.

“Then cast your fears,” he said, kissing the stream of tears on her cheeks.  “And worry no more, because I would never let anything happen to you,” he offered with a whisper.  “I promise you on my own life.”

She raised her lips toward him, and he took them hungrily.   Holding her face, he tasted the lushness of her mouth, sucking on the bottom one as he picked her up out of her chair.

With a swing, he knocked the bottles out of the way and threw her on the bar and reached for the drawstring on her pants.

“Wait,” she said gasping.

“What?” Gabriel panted, halting at her word.

“We can’t…do this here. Anyone could walk in.”  The bar was hidden from plain view, but she had helped set up the surveillance equipment for the entire property, and she knew that if the security zoomed in, they could watch the whole show on camera.

Gabriel didn’t care.  He wanted her so badly until he could taste it.  “No one is going to see.  The kids are all upstairs.  The old people are old – they’re already asleep.  The guards are busy doing whatever they do.”  He ran a hand under her shirt and grabbed her breasts.  Pinching the nipple, he bit his lip.  “And I want to make love to you.”

“Can we go upstairs?” she asked, blowing out a breath.  “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want you…now, but I don’t want to get caught by people I have to see every day for God only knows how long.  It takes the romance out of it.”

Not for him.  Gabriel smiled mischievously, determined to get her naked in the next few minutes.  “Baby, trust me. No one is going to…”

“Hey boss,” Boris said, walking into the room, eating a popsicle.  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were busy.”  He stepped back around the corner to give the couple some privacy.

“What do you want, Boris?” Gabriel yelled, removing his hand from his wife’s breast.

“You told me to let you know, so I’m…letting you know…Boss Dmitry is here.  He’ll be coming through the door in about two seconds.”

Valeriya crossed her arms and raised a brow at her husband. “You were saying?”

Coral sat in the corner of her bedroom, isolated.  There was no one to share her day with, no one to explain how excited she had been the day before to help bring a child into the world.  Even with all these people around her, she was absolutely alone.

Earlier that day, she had played with her grandchildren, corn rolled Anya’s hair, and fixed her version of Texas Rotel for the children’s movie night.  But when they fell asleep, their nannies and parents collected them, and she was left again alone.  No matter what she did, she couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt.

Her daughter had been kind since their last run in and had been very gracious the entire time with accommodations, but there was space in time between them as big as Orion’s belt.  Coral had thought about trying again to build a bridge between them aggressively, to seek out her daughter, and force unnecessary conversations, but this wasn’t that kind of relationship.

Royal was busy running a very large house, and she had little time to coddle the feelings of a woman who had abandoned her years before.  She was always working, always running around, continuously putting out fires or down in the war room planning.

There simply was no space for Coral in her life, but she longed for there to be.  She wanted to…

A knock on the door made her sit up on the winged back chair in the corner.  “Yes, come in,” she said, throwing the quilt off her legs.

The door creaked open slowly, and Royal peered around the corner.  “Did I wake you?”

Coral’s eyes widened.  “No.”  She stood up.  “I’m up.  What’s going on?”

Royal closed the door behind her and walked over to her mother.  Stopping at the fireplace, she fidgeted with her fingers.  “I came to say that I really, really appreciate you being here and helping.”  The words each came out in jerky fashion as she searched for the proper tone.  Darting her eyes around the room, she finally landed them back on her mother.

“I really appreciate you allowing me to be here and help.”  She stepped closer to her daughter.  “You know, Royal, when this is all over, I’d like to really get a chance to spend some time with you alone.”

Royal pushed her hair behind her ear, trying not to seem as eager as she was.  “Yeah, you should come up and hang out with the kids, and we can try this all over again.”

Coral’s brows threaded.  “Can I ask you something very personal since we’re already on the subject?”  She figured now was the time to put it all on the line, considering Royal had extended a bit of an olive branch.  That might never happen again, and then she’d just spend the rest of her life hating herself for being a coward…again.

“Yeah, sure.”

“What would it take for me to have a real second chance at being your mother?” Her eyes watered slightly, but she bated the tears away.  No part of her wanted Royal’s pity, just her open mind, her willingness to give her the opportunity that she knew that she didn’t deserve.  “I know I can’t change the past, and as I said, I understand your anger, but…” she wrenched her hands.  “I would love just a little time to be with you.”

Royal relaxed her shoulders.  Walking over to her mother’s bed, she sat on the edge and looked up at her.  At that moment, she looked more like a child than a mother of three and one-half of a mafia empire.  “I know you wonder why I didn’t continue on with our relationship before when Dmitry found you, but I was scared.”  Flashes of her dead sister rushed to the front of her mind.

Coral sat beside her.  “What were you scared of?”

Royal turned to look at her, amazed at how much they resembled each other.  “That just when I fell in love with you, you’d leave me again.”

Coral felt the tears stream down her face in a torrential monsoon of emotion.  Pain and shame mixed with the hope for what they could have in the future they had left.  Hesitantly, she put a hand around her daughter’s shoulder.  “If you let me in this time, I promise that I won’t ever go anywhere.”  Wiping her daughter’s tears instead of her own, she felt as though her heart would burst with the joy of getting a chance to fix things.  “I’m going to stalk you, everywhere that you look, I’m going to be there, looking in your windows…popping out of your closets…hanging out by the garbage can.”

Royal laughed, slouched shoulder to shoulder by her mother.  “So, you’re going to be my personal stalker?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Coral answered, voice light.  “I’m going to be whatever you’ll allow me to be.”

A knock on the door made both of their heads pop up toward the interruption.

“Can I come in?” a deep voice asked, hand already on the knob.

Coral’s face lit up.  She knew that voice.  In fact, it was only that voice that made her remember that she was still a flesh and blood woman.    “Sure,” she answered, unable to hide her grin.   She could feel Royal looking at the side of her face.  She could feel the redness forming in her cheeks, but it would only get worse once she laid eyes on him.

The door opened, and Simeon stepped inside with a three-piece black suit.  The big smile across his face suddenly went slack.  He paused at the door, looking between Coral and Royal.  “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat, “I didn’t know you had company.”  Had he just let the cat out of the bag about his relationship with the mother? Was this going to be a problem?

“Simeon,” Royal sprang up from the bed.  “Are you here alone?”  She glanced toward the door.

“No, your husband is looking for you as we speak,” he said, eyeballing Coral. He motioned toward the door and stepped back toward it.   “Do you want me to go and get him for you?”

Royal felt her heart begin to thud.  He was finally home.  “No, no.  I’ll go find him myself.”  She glanced at her mother, apologetically.  “Can we pick this up tomorrow?”

“I’d love that,” Coral answered.

Royal walked to the door and stopped beside Simeon to pat him on the shoulder. “Treat her kindly, okay?”

“I wouldn’t think of anything less,” he smiled back, putting his hand on hers.

Standing at the kids’ bedroom door, Dmitry looked on as his children and Dylan slept peacefully.  He found the sight strangely therapeutic.  After his day, which would not be mentioned in mixed company, he only wanted to come home and lay eyes on his own family. He knew they would all be terrified beyond words if they truly knew how many people outside of these walls meant them harm.  And at one point, it would be impossible to keep that fact from them, but for now, he reveled in their innocence.

“Hey, stranger,” Royal said, from behind him.

“Hey yourself.”  Dmitry had heard her approach, even with her ninja-like movements, but he knew she enjoyed trying to sneak up on him, and so he always pretended to go along.

“How were things in Hungary?” She walked up closer and wrapped her arms as far as she could around his lower back.  Pressing her head against him, she inhaled his scent.

Dmitry closed the door, just to make sure the kids didn’t hear the conversation, just in case someone was playing possum.  He turned to his wife and moved her short hair from her face.  “I did what I said I would do.”

Royal knew what that meant, and she didn’t care for the details.  “Well, good.  I’m glad things worked out.”  Twisting up her lip, she kicked up her foot.  “So, do you have to go down to the war room.”

“No.” He lifted her chin to make her look at him.  “I want to take you to our bedroom and make love to you.”  He stepped closer.  “Would you like that?”

The guard sitting down the hall turned his head but didn’t move from his seat.

Royal grinned. “You read my mind,” she said, grabbing his hand to lead him to their private quarters.

Chapter 41

The Siberian Wilderness

Ulan Ude, Russia

The Next Morning (7:00 a.m.)

“An object at rest stays at rest, and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.”
― Newton’s First Law of Motion

A light swirl of snowflakes circled around Yuri’s head as he stepped out of his tent into the two feet of snow that had evidently fallen at some point during the night before.

Drawing in a short breath, he pulled his black sailor coat to him and made his way thirty feet over to the crowd surrounding Erik’s larger tent.

“Hey, what is going on over there?” he asked, seeing the growing crowd.

No one had raised Yuri on the radio, so maybe Erik was just speaking with Lev’s men about the importance of today’s attack, but even as he trotted in the tent’s direction against the blistering winds, he could hear raised voices.

“Bring in the damn gurney,” a voice screamed from inside the tent.

Yuri moved faster, picking up the pace to arrive at a full run instead of a slow stride.  He pushed through the men to the front of the tent, worried that they had come all this way just for something to happen to Erik.

“There is no point in overdramatizing this,” Erik said, stepping out of the tent, still in his pajamas.  “He’s dead now.  The most we can do is put him on ice until we get back.”  He glanced over at Yuri and nodded.

Yuri looked inside to find Peter Popov on the floor of the tent with his chest exposed.  Someone had been working on him, trying to revive his heart, but it was pointless.  In the calmness of the snowstorm, while everyone else was sleeping in the camp, the old man had passed away.

“Damn.”  Yuri blinked fast, turning to Erik to find his boss oddly calm.  “What happened?”

“He…died,” Erik said, motioning toward the corpse.  “Fucking guy waits until the eleventh hour to clock out on me.” Avoiding eye contact with Yuri, he put his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled.

“What do you want us to do?” Yuri asked, ready to call off the attack for another day to make arrangements for the former patriarch of the crime family.

Erik shrugged. “What do you mean?  What can we do?”  He felt all the eyes on him, watching and judging his every move.  There was no way he was going to show any weakness now, even if inside he felt something far more somber.  “Leave him here until we get back.  He’s not going anywhere.”   The words were cold and void of the emotion one would have expected him to have for a man who had devoted all of his later years to the Popov cause.

But alas, Peter Popov was not anyone’s uncle but Erik’s.  And if he chose to disregard him with such little recognition, even as his old frail body laid on the cold ground in the wilderness of Siberia, there was nothing he could do about it.

Yuri dropped his head in disappointment at Erik’s indifference and turned from his boss – afraid he would glimpse his real emotion.

He had known Peter Popov for over 15 years, and during that time, he had come to appreciate his heartfelt wisdom and his dedication to his family.  He had watched him struggle with his own ambition and sacrifice it for the good of the crime family.

He had watched him dedicate himself to the upliftment of the Popov boys when their father was absent and unable to be a role model or leader for them.  And now, this?  It felt wrong just to leave him here, barely acknowledging his presence, even to wage war against Dmitry Medlov.

But no matter his thoughts on the subject, he had a job to do, and he would not fail his liege simply because they disagreed on the manner to handle a dead man.  Peter’s problems were over, but theirs were just beginning.

“You heard the man.  Tag him and bag him,” Yuri said, voice carrying over to the tent where Lev’s men waited.   Taking off his coat, he offered it to Erik as a sign of his agreement with him and his final decision.

Erik took the coat without thought, never realizing the symbolism behind the gesture.   He walked with Yuri away from the tent as the other men worked to store the body.  “Are we ready to go?” he asked, blowing smoke from his lungs.  His uncle had gone from his mind, and in his place, only Dmitry Medlov remained.

“Yes, boss.  I spoke with Lev’s head guy on the detail, Borchi, last night for over an hour once they arrived.  They’re ready to go.  Lev sent them with ammunition, gear, and vehicles on his AN-47.  They want to do this for him in his memory.”  Yuri hoped that resonated with Erik in some way but was sure it was lost on him.

“Do we have what we need?” Erik asked as if he could go somewhere and get more supplies and munitions in the event that they required it.

It was an empty ask to which he gave an empty response.  “We’ll make it work.”  Yuri looked at his watch.  “Can we be prepared to pull out of here in an hour.”

The men were ready, but he needed to make sure that Erik was.

“Make it thirty minutes.  We’ve got all day to be on the road.”  Erik walked away, satisfied with his news, and unworried about his uncle.

What was done was done.

There was no turning back now.

Dmitry had missed the Russian snow since he had long been gone from her enchanting embrace.  There was something magical in the brilliance of her veiled white hue and the way her presence cleared the air and made it crisp and new.  However, he was pleased to find that in the night, while he was making love to his beautiful wife, the ground, once covered in dead grass and dirt, had been heavily layered with her abundant bounty.

Standing at the window from his second-floor vantage point, he glanced out at the guards working beyond the wall in the recently dug trenches to lay more detchord and felt somehow that this war would be over sooner than anyone anticipated.

There were not many pieces on the chessboard to move. Renat was dead.  Oleg was killed.  Lev was killed.  His old council members – men at one point he wanted desperately to have on his side, had made their stand and had their fall.  Now, the only piece left standing was Erik.

Dmitry was not surprised that Erik had lasted as long as he had.  While most regarded him as an idiot, incapable of making a wise decision, he knew the man to be more than he pretended.  Erik had gone to college and excelled in his business courses without the aid of expensive tutors and assistants.  He had longed to take over the helm of his family and the council.  Though it was an ambitious and respectable pursuit, Dmitry had no intention of allowing Erik ever to see such a thing come to pass.

Royal stirred from her deep sleep, feeling her husband’s body removed from her and glanced over at him.  He was naked – his brutally masculine form perfect and foreboding even in its languid state – as he stood peering out the window.  She pushed the pillow under her head and threw her leg over on the side of the bed.

Dmitry took his eyes off the snow and landed them squarely on her well-defined, voluptuous body, feeling the need growing at just the sight of exposed fat breasts.  “If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll be forced to take you again,” he threatened.

Royal felt the wetness between her thighs as she pushed her head up against the headboard.  Spreading her legs wide, she ran a hand down her stomach. “Promises, promises.”

Dmitry’s eye twitched.  Walking over to the bed, he grabbed her by her ankles without a word and made her stand on her knees.  He smoothed a hand over her buttocks, enamored with the caramel tone of her heavenly body.  “Do you want more?” he asked, slipping two fingers between her legs to feel the hot, dewy center of her sex.

Royal closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, feeling the tip of his upwards curved penis replace his fingers.  His large hands grasped her sides, massaging her skin.

Dmitry had accepted long ago that she was his weakness, but what she did not know was that it was because of the undeniable grace that she carried herself with.   There was something compelling about a woman that didn’t hide her body or her blemishes in the dark or behind sheets and clothes.  She bared her soul and the body it inhabited with pride.

But this morning was not about grace; it was about unaltered lust.  Pushing into the warm folds of her body, he watched her head fly back in reaction to his invasion and her back arch, adjusting to the girth of his manhood.  A wave of ecstasy enveloped him when he arrived at her center, indescribable in words but unique in reaction.  The slickness of her sex, still full of his last visit, slid up and down his shaft as he moved in a slow, rhythmic motion against her.

Royal gripped the white sheets, feeling a wave of familiar sensations below.  Trying to pull away, afraid to climax too quickly, she looked back over her shoulder to see his abdomen flex.

He was deep inside of her now – not just her body, her mind.

“Do you still want a child?” he asked, jaw tightening.

Royal was surprised by his question; however, she could not deny the arousal it brought.  The sound of their bodies crashing against each other rang in her ears, and one of his hands came to roam over her pert breasts.

“Yes,” she answered truthfully, voice humming as she reached a quick, almost vulgar, muscle clenching, heart-racing climax.   “I want your child!”

Maybe it was all that he had been forced to do in the last few weeks or the idea that a woman, so beautiful and above him actually cared to bear more of his seeds, but at that moment, he found her answer so intoxicating that he picked her entire body up off the bed, member thrust to the hilt at her core and emptied himself, every drop of his essence inside of her.  She dangled in front of him, unable to fight, unwilling to flee.  Accepting his gift, she went limp as he rested her back on the bed.

The Medlov Compound Barn

10:00 a.m.

Daniil hated it when he got behind on his tasks.  But he had been pulled from his work on more than one occasion to deal with the Medlov family.  Now, his timetable was off, and certain parts were no longer viable for his stew.  Cursing under his breath, he threw a handful of intestines into the garbage and wiped his gloved hands off on a towel.

Across the room, the radio played a mix of his favorite 80’s music to drown out the sound of his bone saw, but it did little to drown out his thoughts.  While his boss, Simeon, was happy playing house in the compound with Royal’s mother, he was out here in the cold freezing his ass off instead of fighting in a war.

Digging into Renat’s open cavity, he pulled out the stomach, still perfectly intact, and walked back over to the garbage can, but as he did, the human organ fell from his hands to the hard floor below and ruptured.

“Damn Hades to Hell!” he screamed, pushing out a frustrated breath.  He had been in this room for hours, working to make up for the time he had lost with Renee, but he desperately needed a hot bath and shave, and he wouldn’t get that if he kept dropping bloody body parts on the floor.

As he bent to pick up the dirt-covered stomach, he noticed in the rupture of its veiny surface and object protruding from its side.

“What the fuck?” Raising to look closer at the foreign object, his eyes widened as he dug out the device. “You sneaky bastard!”  Nearly falling in the large pool of blood beside him, he dashed toward the door in his leather apron and face mask.

The snowy path was hard to maneuver in his rain boots, but Daniil steered his sprint with care straight into the back of the house to find Marat in the kitchen, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

“The bathroom is down the hall,” Marat said without looking up.

“Looks like someone already shit on your best-laid plans,” Daniil panted, raising the small thumb drive he had found in Renat’s stomach for Marat to see.  “We’ve got a big fucking problem.”

It didn’t take long to assemble the masses once word arrived to the ears of the men in the family that Renat had smuggled something in his body to the compound.  They all stood in the war room, some in pajamas, some fully dressed, looking at the device under a light.

“What is it?” Gabriel asked, leaning over the table to get a better look.

“Never seen anything like it,” Marat said, waiting for his guard in the corner to scan the internet for a ping on the description.

“It could be a tracker,” Simeon said, rolling his eyes.

“It could be a flash drive of his most depraved porn.”  Anatoly crossed his arms over his chest.

“No matter what it is, I don’t like it.”  Dmitry removed his hands from the top of his head and pushed back from the table in his chair.

“What do you want to do?” Vasily cast a gaze over to Anatoly that let him know he was worried.

Dmitry stood up from his chair and tightened the robe’s belt around his waist.  “We have to move.”

Anatoly agreed, and based upon the silence, so did everyone else.  “The helicopter was sent to Irkutsk for a checkup.”

“Tell them to get it back here now.”  Walking around the table, he headed for the door.  “Gather everyone.  Primary folks on the helicopter.  Non-essential people in the SUVs.    Get the babies and wives out first.  Then we’ll figure the rest out.”

“But where are we taking them?” Gabriel asked, wanting more explanation.  He had forced Valeriya out of her home once in the last few months.  He could not do it again without the expectation of a reasonable explanation.

“Someone where safe,” Dmitry answered glibly.   “Anywhere is better than here.  Not knowing what that thing is, we’re putting everyone in more danger than we have to.”

“It’s a prototype,” the guard screamed as he found something on the internet.  “It’s a medical device designed to monitor a patient’s body temperature and bodily functions, and in the event of their death, it notifies a medical professional.”

“Was Renat sick?” Simeon asked.

“No,” Dmitry answered, putting all of the pieces together.  “He was smart.”  That brief explanation was all that he needed.  The device was in Renat’s stomach, according to Daniil, which meant he swallowed it.  And since he had not passed it during the course of normal bodily functions, it had possibly transmitted their location.  The real question was not who was coming, because Dmitry was sure who that was.  The question that had him bound in knots was when they would arrive.  “Marat activate our emergency extraction plan.  We leave here ASAP.”

Chapter 42

Baku, Azerbaijan

The Popov Seaside Compound

2:00 p.m. local time

“Karma bides its time. You will always have to watch out.  Karma is unforgiving and always gets payback.”- Benjamin Bayani

I t was just another sunny Wednesday for most of the Azerbaijan locals who worked the coastal waterway – fishing, collecting shells, drawing paintings for tourists and the like - but for the Medlov team, it was a day of promise – one that could end the war.  They had just arrived in the city, joined by men from the International Council at the request of Andros and Geni to the location that had been smuggled to Dmitry by Zoya and confirmed by Gabriel’s contact in the Russian Intelligence via satellite scans.

Dark blue foamy waves came in from the Caspian Sea and pounded the large jagged rocks on the southern Baku shoreline with thunderous power.  Seagulls flapped their wings scattering in the blue sky above as the small army advanced from the beach toward the Popov compound.  Moving strategically in a two-by-two formation against the wall of the castle, they held their automatic weapons at the ready.  Speaking only when necessary, they signaled each other with hand gestures, arriving at the large reinforced doors to wage a surprise attack, but they were shocked to find that no guards appeared to be standing post at any of the regular checkpoints.

Something wasn’t right.  After many years of securing and protecting large properties for the brotherhood, everyone knew that there were certain normalcies of holding up in a location.  While there were cameras attached to the building and several cars around the fortress, there were no bodies - no human presence.  That was not a good sign.

Nadei, leading point at the head of the group, radioed back to the men in the rear when he arrived at the entrance.  “Preparing to make an entry,” he said, placing the C4 on the imposing wooden doors.   “Blowing in five.”  They stepped back a few feet and took cover on the side of the building.

The countdown was quick, followed by the distinct sound of splintering wood and blasted mortar.  The team moved in immediately, even before the smoke could clear, ready to take on gunfire.

“Move! Move! Move!” Nadei ordered, heart pounding in his chest.  His gloved finger was set on the trigger as he stepped across the threshold of the castle.  But still, there was no response from inside.

Finally, a man dressed in a dingy black suit with a vodka bottle in his hand ran across the foyer, seemingly surprised by the explosion.  He glanced, eyes wide with fear, toward Nadei but continued in the opposite direction to escape down the hall.  Nadei took him down with one bullet, pulling the trigger and aiming at another man in his sights before the first body could hit the Persian rug on the hardwood floor.  He pulled the trigger again, hitting the second man in the head.

The other men behind Nadei quickly rushed in, fanning out as they cleared the first few rooms on the first floor, finding only a small group of guards, some of whom were not even wearing weapons.  Many of them were watching television or gathered for lunch around the kitchen tables.  A few were out on the veranda drinking and listening to the radio.

Per their orders, Nadei and his men killed everyone on sight – no questions asked, no hesitation, no mercy.  However, there was also no real defensive retaliation against them.  It was like shooting rats in a barrel, barely considered a fight at all.

“What the fuck is going on?  Is Erik Popov even still here?” Nadei asked aloud when the entire first floor was cleared by his team.  His voice echoed down the eggshell-colored hollow halls, over the dead bodies and shell casings.   “All we’ve found so far are a bunch of drunk, sleeping assholes playing grab-ass.”  He exhaled a deep breath, curling his lips in contemplation.

The second team leader – a man named Kali from the International Council, came slowly down the spiraling staircase that led to the second floor after his team had cleared most of the area.  He, too, had a look of frustration, especially after hours of intensive planning.  “He’s not here,” he said, lowering his weapon.

Nadei leaned against the gigantic fireplace in the living room, propping his foot up on one of the marble lions carved into its side.  He was thoroughly disappointed.  They had come all of this way for a dry run, either missing Erik Popov or running a fool’s errand.  Either way, his bosses back at the compound would not be happy.

“We found a few men upstairs, but not many,” Cali said, pulling out his earpiece.  A rapid burst of gunfire interrupted him for a second.  Turning to look up the stairs, he saw another council guard come out of one of the rooms. He leaned over the balcony and shrugged after they killed a man they found hiding in the closet.   “Nothing boss,” the man said with a huff.

“This is bullshit.”  Cali had come here for a war, but what he found was a joke.  “I need to contact St. Petersburg immediately.  Geni and Andros will want an update.”

“So will Dmitry.  If you find anyone else up there, leave him alive.  Maybe we can find out where Erik Popov really is?”  Nadei tugged at the top of his bulletproof vest absently.  “Someone has to know something.  He couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.”

The same guard who had come to the balcony before returned.  “We found a woman in the back bedroom.”

“Is she one of yours,” Cali asked Nadei, hoping for one small lead in their loser chase.

“No,” Nadei answered.  Then, he thought of how they arrived at the transmission about this location in the first place. It had to be Dmitry’s mole.  “Wait,” he said, standing up fully.  He stalked up the staircase, certain the dots had to connect.  “She might be.  Where is she?”

“I’ll show you,” the guard answered, leading Nadei down a long corridor to a room nearly at its end.

Zoya’s faithful canine stood by her bed, the food in his large dog pail completely gone. Oddly, however, he didn’t growl at the men as they flooded the room, probably because of the hunger in his belly.  Allegiances changed, even for animals, when their base instinct of hunger kicked in.  In a day or two, no matter how much he loved his master, he would eat her rotting carcass before he starved to death.

“Is she dead?” Nadei asked, pulling what was left of a piece of beef jerky from his pocket.   He waved the meat toward the dog, to draw his scent, then threw it out of the door and watched the animal quickly follow it.  Closing the door behind them, he walked over to the bed and looked at Zoya’s limp body.  She was a pretty woman, more than most, well-taken care of and had gone under the knife, based upon the scar under her breast.

Cali put down his gun on the bed, crawled on the soft mattress, and leaned over the woman to put his ear on her mouth.  “I think she’s…”

At the exact moment that Cali was about to pronounce her dead again, like the men before him, Zoya’s brilliant eyes flashed open, and she inhaled a deep, loud breath, arching her back and stretching out her fingers.

“What the fuck!” Cali exclaimed, recoiling from her blue lips.  The dead had arisen.

Zoya stared at the strange man, sitting up in the bed in her giant pink rollers and half-open robe.  One of her breasts was exposed, the needle still beside her.  She glanced at the room of men, all surprised at her sudden resurrection, some holding their guns at the ready to shoot what appeared to be a zombie.  Unable to recognize any of them, she knew instantly that these were none of Erik’s men.  And if they weren’t Erik’s, then they had to be Dmitry’s.  Thank God.

She blinked fast, mouth dry, and voice brittle as she formed words on her cracked lips.  “Is the fucker finally dead?”  Putting a hand to her throat, she coughed.

Nadei made himself speak, avoiding the conflict in his head of what he had just witnessed.  “No.  He’s gone.”

Zoya turned her head toward Nadei’s voice and gave him a once-over glance.  Who was this guy?  He looked official in his black tactical gear and blonde buzz cut, but did he have the answers that she needed?  “And his men?”

“Dead,” Nadei answered shortly.

Swallowing hard against a dry throat, Zoya pushed to the end of the bed, looking for her dog.  She glanced over the edge and saw the empty dog pale.   “Where’s my baby?” If Erik had killed him, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself.

“If you mean the dog, he’s outside the door.”  Nadei stepped out of her way as Zoya pushed off the bed and stood on shaking bare feet.  “Hey, do you need anything?  Water?  A hospital?” He offered a hand, but she waved it away, not wanting one more strange man to touch her.

“I’ll be fine.”  Zoya pushed past the crowd of men toward the adjoining bathroom.  “I’ve done my part.  You evidently got my message, or you wouldn’t be here.”  She didn’t bother to close the door, knowing that they would just open it again if she tried.  Walking over to the toilet, she sat down on the cold surface of the commode and relieved herself. The sound of urine hitting water made the men turn from her.  They might have been assassins, but even they had boundaries.   She let out a moan, happy to be back in the land of the living.  Aghhh, that felt good.  That would be the absolute last time that she faked her own death for some other person’s cause.  Even as young as she was, she was getting too old for this shit.

Nadei was not bothered by the woman’s body functions, having seen plenty of drunken women piss in worse places before during his lifetime. He walked to the bathroom door and peered at her as she pulled toilet paper from the roll beside her.  Legs  splayed open; she turned to meet his gaze.

Nadei continued his interrogation without the faintest blush.  “What message did you send to Dmitry exactly?”  He had to make sure that she wasn’t another plant meant to take them off course. “You’ll understand that your sudden wakeup call has us wondering if you’re the real thing.”

“Oh, baby, I’m the real thing – more real than you’ve ever seen.”  Wiping herself, Zoya looked over at Nadei and yawned.  Her body was slow to move, still recovering from the side effects of the drug she had taken, but with every breath, she became more lucid.  “Let’s see.  I told him where to find Erik here. I told him that Lev was a trap.  And trust me, coming by that information for your boss wasn’t easy.  I had to endure mediocre ass play and give a security guard a blow job.”  She flushed the toilet and stood up.  “Did the information help?”  Even if it had not, she was officially done with her contract.

“Yes,” Nadei answered, satisfied with her response.  He didn’t have a lot of time to go through the entire story with Raina, but it was safe to say that Zoya’s insight had been truly invaluable over the last few hours.

“Good.”  Walking past him in the doorway, she stalked back out into the bedroom and went to her dresser.  “Then, tell Dmitry Medlov that per the scope of the job, I have fulfilled my contract. I’ll expect full last payment in the next seven days.”

After all, this was not a charitable job.  The price tag on this particular project would pay for her to start a brand-new life on the other side of the world.  She slipped on her panties quickly, fumbling to stand on one foot and putting the other in the leg of her pink lace thongs.   Grunting, she continued, “Dmitry’s still alive, right?”

“Dmitry?” Nadei’s brow furrowed.  “Yes. Of course.”

“Good.”  She dug into the drawer again for something to wear.

“Do we need to send you somewhere?” Nadei asked, frowning.  Catching an unintended peek at her waxed vagina, he rolled his eyes.  And he thought his job was something hard… “Do you need some help getting dressed.”

She coughed again, this time releasing an accidental fart from the bloat in her stomach.  She grabbed her abdomen, refusing to apologize.  Over the years, she had lost all need to be embarrassed about anything, especially the side effects of her skilled profession.  If the only thing she suffered after staging her own death was a bout with gas, then she was batting a thousand.

Her arched blonde brow raised.  “If all of the men here are actually dead, then, no, I don’t need your help.   I’ll find my own way home.”

Zoya had been stranded in worse places than Baku before.  All she needed was a phone, and she’d call her people to get her where she needed to be, which at the moment was away from this madness.

“You’re not going back with us?” Nadei asked with a carefully neutral expression.   A few years ago, he would have found the strange woman attractive, even with her pale features and crass behavior, but now, he only wanted to make sure that as a Medlov employee, she was safe and secure.

“No,” Zoya answered flatly.  She paused as she dropped her robe to dress.  Feeling all eyes on her body, she smirked at him.

Even rising from the dead, she was certain this was the best body many of the men in the room had ever seen.  They all needed to take one final look before she disappeared forever.

“Unlike the rest of you, I’ve been knee-deep in Popov for months.  I don’t need a ride or a flight or shit from you.  I was paid to share sensitive intel and turn Erik into my bitch boy.  News flash, genius.  I did that.  So, as of now, I’m done here, message boy.”

Evidently, so was Nadei.  Turning from Zoya, he got on the phone immediately and dialed Marat.  He had done what the Medlov men wanted, but he was absolutely sure that they would not like what he had to report.

“Hello,” Marat answered the phone quickly back in Irkutsk.  The background noise of voices chattering nearly drowned his voice out.  “What did you find?”

“He’s not here.  No one knows where he is,” Nadei said, wiping his sweaty upper lip as he stepped out of the door where Zoya’s dog waited to be let back inside.

Marat had an idea, if nothing else, where Erik might be headed.  Racking his weapon as the other guards prepared to escort the family off the property, he pressed the phone to his ear.  “It’s a six-hour flight from Baku to Irkutsk.”  He looked at his watch.  “Head back here immediately.  If we’re gone when you arrive at the airport, good. If we’re not, we’re going to need back up.”

“What’s going on?” Nadei froze. His daughter, Adeline, was there.

Marat understood the man’s concern, but there was more to deal with at the moment than just one child.  “We found something in Renat’s stomach.  It looks like a tracker.  If Erik was there in Baku, and suddenly he’s gone, he could be headed here. It’s going to take a few trips to get the entire family to safety, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Where is my daughter?” Nadei interrupted, forgetting his current failed mission. He reverted back to just a father concerned about his baby girl, and rightfully so.  If Erik was headed to Dmitry, then he should be killed no different from all the others.  His next thoughts went to Anastasiya.

Marat heard the distress in his friend, and under normal circumstances would have taken all the time in the world to reassure him, but they did not have that luxury now.  “We have her.  She’s safe, but you need to get back.”

He didn’t have time to stay on the phone with Nadei.  His men were waiting for orders; the family had to prepare, and he had his job to do.  The best option for all of them was to rally the troops and relocate to safety.

“We’re on the way,” Nadei said, turning to Cali.  “All of us.”

Irkutsk Airport

Kurdin Private Hangar

Irkutsk, Russia

10:00 a.m. (local time)

Since the discovery of Erik’s plant, Riana, right under their noses at the Irkutsk airport, Diane and her team had moved out of the confines of the two Medlov jets to run hourly checks around the larger perimeter of the hangar and its surrounding area.  On high alert, she checked in with Marat, providing status updates every four hours, and in between those responsibilities, she had to manage the upkeep of the cabins in both Medlov jets and of their newly acquired helicopter.  The new work schedule was very grueling and needed to be handled with the utmost care and detail.

So, when the middle-aged, scruffy mechanic, Kmol, was nearly two hours late showing up to service their helicopter after it arrived back from the compound, Diane tried exceptionally hard not to drive his face through the wall.  Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the pressure to perform, but she lost her cool.

“This is unacceptable,” Diane sneered, pointing the Leatherman Supertool that she had snatched out of Kmol’s hand back at him while clutching her clipboard in the other.  She knew how the locals thought about her boss.  All they saw was dollar signs, and all of them were trying to figure out a way to get paid.   “How in the fuck do you show up this late for a job?  Do you think this is a game?  Do you think you can just dick us around?” It wasn’t her money, but it was her reputation, and for that, she was willing to kill.

Though no one had directly said so, she felt personally responsible for Raina’s breach.  It was on her territory, in her hangar, on her watch.  And she was not willing to allow one more infraction from herself or her team during this operation.

Kmol raised both hands in submission, dropping his eyes from hers.  “What could I do?” he asked, back pressed against the wall behind the plane in his oily navy-blue coveralls.

Was he serious?  “You could get your ass here on time, if you want to keep your job and your life,” Diane replied, debating on whether or not to shove the pointy end of his tool right into his eye to teach him a lesson.  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat and throw your ass out in the back of the airport?”  She didn’t just use the words as a threat; she actually considered them.

“I was called to Ulan Ude for a big job on a military plane,” he explained hesitantly, bringing his eyes back up to the scary woman, “and it was for cash.  My family needs the money.  Please understand.”  He pressed his hands together in a praying gesture.  “I don’t get an opportunity like this often.”

Diane stepped back and dropped the tool on the ground by her feet.  “What kind of military plane?”  She knew there were no military installations in Ulan Ude, so whoever had landed there was civilian or worse, Vor.

Kmol frowned, certain that he had said too much.  The man, Yuri, who had paid him, had also instructed him not to tell a soul about their whereabouts or what he had done for them, or he’d come for him and his entire family.  But it was far harder to keep the stranger’s secret at the threat of death from Diane.

“I’m not supposed to say,” he prefaced before he caved to her demands.

Diane pulled the sidearm from her holster, and at that moment, she saw a new wave of terror wash over Kmol’s face. But that was precisely what she wanted – FEAR.  Hand on the trigger of her weapon, she stepped closer to him again.  It was a conundrum for the man to behold a woman so beautiful, yet so dangerous – a true femme fatale.  Her blue eyes flashed the threat that she spoke of her painted, blood-red lips.   “Oh, you will say, or you will die, Kmol.  Which one is up to you, but do understand that I don’t give a fuck.”   As a trained Spetsnaz, she had been duly trained in the art of intimidation, but more so, as a leader, she was not about to let a mechanic bring her down a peg.

Kmol didn’t want trouble, especially from her. He was just a lowly aircraft mechanic, barely making ends meet to take care of his six children and a sick wife.  Money was a luxury he didn’t have, but he had never seen the likes of Diane or the Medlov family before.  They were cutthroat, unapologetic, and always good for any promise.

After weighing his options in a millisecond, he quickly explained everything that had led up to his delay.  “A big group of men came into Ulan Ude last night.  When they arrived, their plane was leaking gasoline.  They called on me this morning.  I was told that I had to fix the fuel line for them to depart tonight.  They paid me cash, Miss, but told me not to say anything to anyone.  They said they would kill my family.”  His eyes pleaded with her to understand.  It was not just about the job. If he had turned it down, as his wife had begged him to, they would have surely killed them on the spot.  What he had done for the men had been done out of necessity, very much like what he was forced yet again to do now.

Diane’s gaze narrowed in suspicion.  She had moved beyond on his misstep to the bigger picture.  Men landing in planes in the middle of nowhere spelled trouble.  “How many men?”  Seeing the fear in Kmol’s eyes, she knew him not to be a threat, but his information could be an asset.  “How many?” she asked again, pressing the muzzle of the gun to his shoulder.

“I’m not sure,” he shrugged, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.   He looked down the gun.  “Over 50, at least.  They came in an old Ukrainian military plane with guns and vehicles.”  Kmol wasn’t daft.  He knew that the men who had chartered the military plane were mafia, but so were the Medlov’s.  This was not his war.  All he wanted to do was leave.

“Did they say where they were going?” While she asked, she already knew.  There were no coincidences in this world.  If a team was here, they were headed for Dmitry.  And it was quite possible, just like with Raina, that she was the only one privy to that information.

“No,” Kmol answered, watching Diane’s gun lower.  His heartbeat slowed slightly.   “They just paid me to fix the plane.  So, I fixed.”

“When was this?”

The man stuttered.  Sweat formed around his brows, and his hands trembled.  “Early this morning at seven.”  He snitched without hesitation at the thought of death, even as the crumpled money from Yuri was rolled up in balls in his pants pocket.

Glancing at her watch, Diane deflated.  Damn it!  It was already ten.  That gave Popov’s men plenty of time to get to the compound.   “Take him to the helicopter to check it over now!  I need to be ready in the next ten minutes.”  Her voice elevated, waving for the two men behind him to carry him to the helicopter outside.    The regular helicopter pilot had gone to town an hour ago for lunch, but she didn’t have time to wait on him.  She’d have to go after the family herself.

Turning on her heels, she snatched the radio from her hip and contacted Marat as she ran toward Dmitry’s jet to get her other stewardess and as many guns as they could carry.  “Bird to base.  Bird to base!  Popov is on his way to you.  I repeat you’re under attack!”

It was time to strike the war post, and all the molecules of Yuri’s body were electrified by the fact that he was finally unleashed.  They had been running for a while now – hiding and ducking all over Eastern Europe while someone else, somewhere else fought for them – but today, Dmitry Medlov would reap all that he had sowed.

Though the location they were driving toward was high in the mountains above Lake Baikal and certainly protected by military-grade weapons and plenty of manpower, they were bringing more than enough men to absorb their adversary’s defense.

In a convoy of trucks filled with snowmobiles, bikes, and SUVs filled with military-trained men and hardened street thugs, they had tracked through the winding roads and rough snowy terrain for over three hours in the name of revenge for Lev, Renat, and Oleg.  The men with him, still bitter over the demise of their boss, were prepared to fight in his memory, but Yuri was fighting to usher in a new era of leadership led by Erik Popov.

Yuri glanced over at his boss, silently riding beside him in the back seat of a late-model white Range Rover and felt himself beaming with pride.  Erik had done it.  Though it was hard to fathom, he had witnessed his boss pull off the biggest and most complicated ruse of their brotherhood’s history.  While parading around as the council idiot, Erik had managed to hide his true intentions and had lured the Medlov family and their allies into an inescapable trap.

According to the satellite imaging and the local reports, there was only one way in or out of the compound up in the mountains, and upon arriving at the compound, there was a wall that separated the mansion from the outside perimeter.   They would rush the entryway, cut off the road, and attack from below in strategic waves.

Though it would have been ideal to have air support, they were not without means.  In the inventory that Lev sent from Budapest, he had provided an anti-aircraft gun, the DShK, which had been mounted to one of the trucks in their convoy, just in case Dmitry radioed for an air-based extraction.

In essence, there was nowhere to run or hide.

“I’m sending up our snipers first,” Yuri said to Erik as he studied the map on his tablet.  “I want you to stay on the main road until this is finished.

Erik turned to Yuri, feeling invincible at the moment. “I’m not going to miss any of this.  If you think I’m going to sit on the road and wait, you’ve lost your mind.”

“You won’t miss anything, but this won’t be a quick assault.”  Yuri had long years of experience and understood the challenges of waging an assault on a fortified compound.  “First, we have to get our men in place; then we have to move in stages to test their capabilities and weaknesses before we move in.   The only thing you will do, if you go in with the first wave, is risk being killed before Dmitry is even pulled out of the compound.”

Erik didn’t like the plan.  He wanted this done quickly before the sun began to set.   The pause in his response showed his irritation.  “How long do you think this is going to take?”

“All night, possibly.”  Yuri put his tablet to the side.  “I know the Medlov men.  They won’t just come out with their hands up.  They will burrow in and fight until the last man is dead.  We have to be patient. We start small, picking off men in waves until they are left with just the core of their operation.”

Erik knew that Yuri was more of a war strategist than he, which was why he had chosen him for the job in the first place, but Erik could not reiterate enough his desire to see Dmitry fall.  All of this would be for nothing if some nameless guard put the bullet in the butcher’s pretty head.   “Fine.  I’ll wait, but it won’t be from afar.  I’ll wait on the main road until you have him, and then you have to radio down for me to come to you.”

“Thank you,” Yuri digressed.  It was his job, above all others, to keep Erik safe.  And he couldn’t do so if he let him rush up the mountain with the rest of the men.  For one, he was not trained enough.  Secondly, he wasn’t battle-hardened enough to face Dmitry Medlov.

“But…” Erik continued, voice strained, face turning red, “I want you to destroy him emotionally first.  It’s the best way to break a man.  Dmitry’s death is imminent.  However, I want you to kill everyone and everything that he loves before I kill him.”  He thought of his dead uncle, still bagged up in Ulan Ude, unable to see the fruits of his labor, and felt a surge of anger.  A vein protruded in his forehead as he spoke.  “Make him suffer beyond anything any man has ever suffered.  I want his children dead, his wife dead, his council dead.  I want everyone laid out before him so that he has to suffer through watching me piss on their dead bodies and burn them in front of him.”

Yuri blinked fast, resting back in his seat in abrupt silence.  The bumps on the road jolted their bodies as they made their way down a winding path that led to the entry of the Medlov compound.  He was certain that innocent blood would be spilled, and he was more than prepared to do so, but to articulate the acts in such callous terms even turned his stomach.

“Are you getting soft on me?” Erik asked, gripping his weapon in his hand.  Being so close to his lifelong goal, he was willing to sacrifice anyone and anything to get to Dmitry.  He had to make sure that Yuri understood his end goal and wouldn’t protest under a weak stomach at his intended action.  This day would go down in infamy – one way or another.  And if he was going to tell the story, he’d make sure no one would ever want to rise against him.

“No, boss.”  Erik picked up his tablet and studied the terrain once more.  He avoided eye contact, sure that his face would tell on him.  “We will give you exactly what you want.  What you do with it is up to you.”

Chapter 43

The Medlov Compound

Lake Baikal, Russia

10:30 a.m. (local time)

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

- Lao Tzu

D mitry could feel the world around him, turning on its ear.  He could feel every single punishment he had delved out over the years returning to him ten-fold.  When the news arrived, he knew that all they had done over the last few months had reached its finality, and it would stage its final act here.

Upon finding out about Renat’s smuggled tracker, they went up to Dmitry’s room, wanting complete privacy as they developed their final plan.

Now, they all stood in his bedroom as the clouds gathered for a winter storm.  The early morning light had turned into a bleak, misty overcast, barely allowing the faintest visibility.   This was the way it was always meant to happen.  The weather had always been his oracle.  When the clouds darkened and sky angered, war was on the horizon.  Dmitry knew that, and now as he looked at the storm that approached, he knew this would be his final stand.

His most trusted men surrounded him.  They all stood in a semi-circle around him at his desk, in a heated discussion of what to do next.  Their voices, deep and loud, invaded his mind.  But even as they filled his head with their opinions of what to do, his mind emptied and found a place of peace.

Diane had just radioed from the airport.  There was an army of men, who had arrived the night before and were most certainly headed for their compound.  Nadei had arrived in Baku to a less-than-worthy reception of miscreeds, who were lounging at Erik’s old compound, but he was gone.  And father time had held the hands of his clock from him, allowing Erik Popov and his men to gain significant ground before he was able to develop a plan.   This was the place where he was meant to fight, and there would be no escaping what was to come.

However, the men around him were of a different opinion.

“We need to get the women and children out of here first,” Anatoly said, unworried about what his future held.  If he died, he died.  But he wouldn’t allow his wife and children to be offered up as a sacrifice to Erik Popov, because he was a murdering bastard.  He’d kill them first if he had to.  It would be a better death than falling to his hand.  His wife would be raped; his children would be tortured.  His life would be decimated.  For that reason, he was willing to do whatever it took.

“He’s right,” Gabriel said quickly.  “If we need to do this, fine.  But we can’t go to fucking war with babies on our backs.”  For once, the cool, calm exterior he exuded left him.  “We need to focus on getting them out of here.  Then, we can handle this.”

“Kirchera is too far away.”  Vasily uncrossed his bulging arms from his mountainous chest. Dylan and Lilly were all that he cared to protect.  “If we put the women and the children in SUVs and send them over, we might as well sign their death warrants.  Popov will kill them on sight.”  The thought of what they would endure made his face scowl.  Gritting his teeth, he pointed at Dmitry.  “What use is this war, if our babies die for us?  Are we men who allow that to happen?”

“Hell no,” Anatoly spat.  “No one is taking my family hostage, papa.  Do you hear me?  No one.”

“Where are they now?” Simeon asked, throwing up his hands at the idea that Popov had come so easily into his territory.  “My eyes and ears have not told me anything.”  And for that, he’d make them pay, after this was handled.

“You’re not God,” Dmitry finally said to Simeon.  “You can’t expect to know everything that happens here, no matter how much power you think you have.  They went where they could.  That part is over.  There is no need to dwell on it.”  He stood up from his desk, towering over the other men in the room, not only in stature but in knowledge.  Looking around the room at the desperate men before him, he hid his worry for his own children, his own wife, and focused on a more objective approach.

His face went slack, void of emotion.  “It seems that we have reached an impasse.  Erik has been focused on finding us, and we have been focused on finding him.  Now, we are here, finding each other in the most inconvenience place we could be.”  He turned to Anatoly and put his hand on his shoulder.  “This is not what I wanted for my grandson or my granddaughter.”  He turned to Gabriel, “or my grandniece or grandnephew.”  He turned to Vasily, “or my godson.”   He felt guilt overwhelming him.  “When I put the hit on Andrei Popov, it was because I knew what his overall goal for us would be.  After serving on the International Council with him and his brother for years, I knew that if he was stupid enough to wage war on us in Florida, then he was ready to wage war on us period.  You have to believe that eventually, this was coming.”  He stepped out of the circle and walked to the window.  Moving the curtain, he looked out at the freshly fallen snow. “This has been coming since the day I walked into Andros’ restaurant and was voted into the International Council.  One way or another, this day was bound to come.”

Gabriel was the first to speak up.  “I don’t care.”  His deep voice permeated the room with insolence and frustration.  “You say the Popov plan was going to come after us no matter what we did, I believe you.” Glancing at Anatoly, he bit down on his lip.  “You say that what you did was to protect this family, I believe you.”  He turned to his uncle.  “Shit happens.  People across the world take a stand every fucking day; this family is no different in that regard.  But this is my family.  Emma and Andrei have a future in front of them.  That’s all I know.”  He pressed a hand to his chest as he faced his uncle.  “You and I both know that we’re living on borrowed time.  None of us, not a motherfucker in this room, has the right to breathe six feet above the ground.  I’ve done things.”

Anatoly dropped his head at his cousin’s response, feeling the pain that they both shared for all they had been forced to do in service to the Medlov Crime Family and the International Council.

“We’ve all done things.  Anyone who says differently is delusional.”  Gabriel’s voice broke.  “But no matter what we have done, it shouldn’t fall on our children.”  His mossy green eyes dropped to the floor.  “You tell us what we need to do to keep them safe, even if it means burning in hell on a fucking rotisserie slab for all of eternity, I’ll do it.  But I can’t lose my children, Dmitry.”  He shook his head, eyes watering.  “I can’t.”  He swallowed hard. “I’m not crying for my wife or me.  We’ve done some pretty fucked up things.  And if what everyone says is true, we have to pay for them.  And I’ll pay, and she’ll pay…” He took a deep breath.  “But my children can’t; they won’t pay for my sins.”

“Sins of the father,” Vasily said under his breath.  He was no angel.  The things he had done in service to the Vor were nothing short of sin, but still, his children should not be held complicit to those crimes.  “I’m not a coward.  I don’t throw a rock and hide my hand.  I would have done the same thing that you did to protect my family, Dmitry.”  He stepped forward.  “But what have our children and our wives done to deserve this?  We owe it to them to get them to safety no matter what it costs.”

“And we will.”  Dmitry turned from the curtain and looked at his family.  The look on his face was covered in future triumph and future pain.  He had been here before, so many times, he didn’t care to recall.  The faces that glared back at him were all familiar to his soul more than his eyes.  He would have easily died for any or all of them twice, though they didn’t know.  Though some were of blood and the other of allegiance, he felt them all the same kin.  Blood was blood, whether spilled or shared.   “We cannot escape our outcome, gentlemen.   The army of death is upon us. They mean to take us down.  They mean to kill our children, rape our wives, and parade our mothers.  But we will not allow that to happen.”

“So, what’s the plan, Papa?”  Anatoly asked, unwilling to show the slightest fear.

He stepped forward out of the shadows of the conversation, pulling himself from the recesses of his mind to propel his action.  In years past, he had denounced his rightful place as a leader, feeling as though he was not ready to take on the role of Czar.  His father had big shoes, and up until this very moment, he felt incapable of filling them. But faced with the possibility of extension in a war with a man less than he, the worries and doubt faded away.  It was not the fear of death for himself that caused such a monumental reaction, but the vision of what his children could do in their future that pushed him.  He was no longer willing to believe himself unworthy.  Erik Popov was unworthy.  Oleg, Renat, and Lev had been unworthy, but he was the product of his father – a man who had suffered the wrath of Vladimir Central; a man who had built his future based upon the secrets and demons of his past; a man who had grown to greatness despite the condemnation of his closest allies.  It was in that truth, that hard-earned victory that Anatoly understood his place.  He was tired of feeling less-than. He was beyond feeling inept.  The pressures of their small circle, heated by hate and fueled by pain, had turned him against doubt and welcomed him into a place of dawn – the dawn of future that would propel his family into a new era.

Dmitry looked at this man in front of him, once a cowering boy – once hidden behind shrouds of an enigma, now evident in his perfect design – and smiled gently.  Pride was less than a word.  Hope, less than an emotion.  How he wished he could have been present to shape Anatoly’s entire life instead of shaping what was left after the world had had its due.  He stepped closer to him, eyes set on the wide-set, bright, blue-eyed Adonis that he had proudly counted as his offspring.

Dmitry reached out and lowered his large right hand on his son’s head as a blessing to his unknown future.   Clinging his head in his grasp, he closed his eyes in silent prayer.  Even if he died fighting, he would ensure that his son survived.   Not just one – but all.  And his beautiful daughter as well.  The look on his face was that of elated pride and joy at the birth of a new generation.  Not even Erik Popov could take this from him. His boy.  His beautiful boy. His powerful, strong son.

Dmitry moved his hand from Anatoly’s head to his shoulder.  Grasping the other well-defined arm in his other hand, he pulled him close.  Looking down at his child, a person in this world he knew that he did not deserve but somehow had come to influence, he gritted his teeth and shook his head, indifferent to the reality that they faced.  “Anatoly Medlov, I will not allow you to fail.  I will sacrifice everything that I have built before that comes to past.  You are my dreams and fantasy incarnate. You are a king.  You are our future.  And so is your cousin.” He glanced over at Gabriel.

Gabriel had been quietly watching in torment.  Where was his father?  Where was the vote of confidence?  Where were the words he needed to continue?  In the design of his life, ripped from the arms of his mother, bound the code his father had embraced, he found himself strangely alone until now.

Dmitry reached out and pulled his nephew to stand beside his son.  He wanted them close for this, unable to get the wrong interpretation from his words.  “I look at you both, on your own roads.  I look at what you have gone through, motherless, fatherless, alone in this world to find your way, and yet, here the two of you stand before me.”  He glanced between them both, feeling his heart constrict at what he had lost at the fall of his own brother.  “And I know that you two have the power to fix the crooked roads of your fathers.  I am less than you, far less.”  He gripped them both in his embrace. Running his hands to their heads, he took a deep contemplating breath.  His eyes flashed with determination.  “But as the only thing that can lead you, I promise you this; you will survive this day and many others.  And you will lead, long after I am committed to the dust of this wretched world.  Now, how you lead is entirely up to you.  You can be just and true to the code, or you defile the work of the nameless men before you, but as a member of the International Council and as your father, as your leader, as your Czar, I give the choice to you both.”  He moved his hand from Gabriel and motioned for Vasily, who watched from the corner.

Not used to the attention, Vasily was hesitant to come to stand beside Gabriel.  While he was hand-picked to serve on the council, he had always felt less than the bloodline of Dmitry.  However, in consideration of the lifestyle he was allowed to live for his wife and his son, he felt honored.  And in that honor, he served the brotherhood faithfully.  Where in the world could a man of his background, of his meager upbringing, rise to such power?  Only in the embrace of the Vory v Zakone, could someone bound for failure and pain be elevated to such grace, honored by such powerful leadership.  It was because of what had been given to him that Vasily questioned, not the trajectory of his unknown path.

Had it not been for Anatoly, Dmitry and even Gabriel had it not been for their compassion and love assigned through the blood and history of their brotherhood, the rules and laws of their organization, the pain and hurt of their collective unworthy upbringing, that he was allowed the luxuries of their lifestyle.

The men of Vor, the rules of their code, the honor of their accepted fate, had led him to his wife and his child.  They had saved him from internal rupture, from absolute corruption, from the rabbit hole that was the underworld without direction.   Without the men who fought against the injustice of their oppressive, corrupt governments, who had created their own law - absent of feigned socioeconomic equality, that he survived.  He would not have a home.  He would not have an identity.  He would not have had a future – even if its end was today. How could he turn against that?  How could he ever deny them what was theirs – his loyalty, his devotion, and his life?

But Dmitry saw Vasily as much more than just a name on the council roster.  He saw the raging brute, content in his simple design.  He saw a brother in arms, a devout soldier, a bloodline honored not through legacy but through works.  Their testament to the Vory v Zakone was ironclad, and because of that unholy covenant, Dmitry felt Vasily as close to him as his own sons, as imperative to this operation as his own contribution. Vasily was his blood – flesh of his flesh, the family of his own family, council member of the crime family that he had built, and would leave to their collective legacy.

“I look at you, and I see power beyond anything, anyone before us has ever imagined.” Dmitry clenched Vasily’s arm as he spoke.  “Such potential breeds fear and resentment.  You have stepped beyond their status for you in this world and made your own.  When our first brothers, tortured in gulags for their love of Mother Russia and respect for their own lives, came to the pact that made the Vory v Zakone, they had you in their minds.  Through your knowledge and your power, you will go to places others were scared to occupy, let alone control.  Through your courage, you will shape our new world.  And it is new.”  He glanced at Simeon, who came to stand beside him as he spoke.  The two of them, a generation of old men, at that moment passed on their legacy. “We must fight for it. To control what the world sees of us, to embody the power that is in us. And that scares most because according to the law of society, we are less than.  Even though the founders of our countries were slave owners, occupiers, controllers, oppressors, we are the ones tagged with contempt.  Even though we struggled to eat and rose from our hunger to devour, we are considered the vultures.  Well, feast on the blood of our enemies today.  Let us not be hungry.  Let our ancestors, cast out by the privileged few who spent centuries holding us down by the necks, laugh at the burden of our bloody tombs, knowing we died for our own cause and in our own time.  But today is not that day, brats.   Instead, prepare yourselves for a feast of their bodies and their legacies.   Remember your blood, your pact, your promise to our cause.   We.  Are.  Vor.   And anyone who stands in our path will either bow to our will or be run over by it.”

Vasily, Gabriel, and Anatoly stood taller.  The words of Dmitry filled the recesses of their doubting mind and fueled their fighting souls.

“You are all right.  Our children should not fall victim to our sins.  They must be the first and possibly the only out of harm’s way.  I say that even with my own wife in the confines of this compound.  We only have a few hours. Let’s use that to get the children out of here first.  They are our biggest hope.  It’s sad to say, but even our wives take a back seat to the innocent souls of our legacy.”  He brushed a hand through his blonde, graying locks, thinking of his dear Anya, Konstantin, and Maxim growing up without a father.  “We protect them first because as fathers, that is what we must do.  I’ll call to Andros and make sure that they are given safe passage to St. Petersburg.  From there, if we should fall, they will be transported to Memphis, where an Italian fellow, who happens to run the Memphis Police Department, will ensure their safety until further measures can be taken.  But we must stay and end this.”

Marat, who had been in the corner, took his boss’s cue and grabbed his phone to make the call to Andros in St. Petersburg and then to the Director of Memphis Police Department, Nicola Agosto.

Anatoly, lost for words, grabbed his father’s arm.  He could not bring himself to say the words he felt inside, but he was bountiful in honor.  He lowered his head to his Czar, kneeling on one knee.  “I will serve, father.”

At the sight of the act, Gabriel and Vasily also kneeled before Dmitry.

Simeon looked over at his old friend, realizing that he too must pay a heavy price to end this war, and nodded decisively.  “You have raised good men.”

Dmitry stood before his sons, both in blood and pact, and felt the absolute demand to protect them.  His death had been long-awaited.  The furies screamed for his end. The hell vultures circled for his blood, and he would give Hades all that is required, but not if it meant either one of his boys’ demises.

“Go to your loved ones, no matter who they are.”  Dmitry cast a glance over his shoulder at Simeon, knowing his friend’s relationship with Royal’s mother.  “Say your last peace, give them your love and send them on their way.  Upon Diane’s arrival in the helicopter, we prepare for death – either theirs or ours.”  He said the words without hesitation.

Dmitry had been at war too long in his life not to know what was expected.  The future would require a blood sacrifice.  And while he would gladly offer himself, he knew that his dark soul had already been damned.  It was the minimal price to pay for a man of his status.

To rise to power meant to give his soul.  And as fate went, she would gladly and likely take more than just his own life to sate her unquenchable thirst.   He couldn’t save everyone from her, but he could save their children, and if fate was kind, he could save his boys.

But saving himself was out of the question.  In order to raise his family forever to the untouchable status of the International Council, blood would be required.  That was the way of the world – whether new or old.  In order to arrive at a new world, the old world would have to be offered in sacrifice – as he was part of the old regime.

Watching his men leave his room, he turned to this desk and sat down.  Looking himself in the mirror, he prepared for impending doom.  He would kill Erik Popov this day, but he would have to kill himself as well to protect his family.

Simeon & Coral

She was beautiful as she stood in her bedroom.  Eyes wide, arms reached, she tried to tell him that everything would be fine, but he knew this to be a lie.  Simeon crossed the room, dressed immaculately in his three-piece seat, giving heavy contrast to her jeans and cable-knit sweater, to grab her in his arms.  He kissed the side of her temple and held her warm body close.

Before he could grab her good, she was already in tears, drowned in the thoughts of the previous night.  Finally, they had made love, and in their intimate night together, they had found complete bliss.

“We’ll be fine,” Coral promised, rubbing a hand through his salt and pepper hair.  Inhaling the scent of him, she closed her eyes.  “Do you really think that we’d be given this opportunity to be together just to be torn apart.”

Coral’s conviction, sincere and earnest, made Simeon whole.  He held her close, rubbing a hand down her back, feeling her soft skin against hers.  The night before had been the first time that he had been with a woman his age, and in her graceful lovemaking full of declarations and honest sharing, he had found his equal.

He pulled away just so he could see her face.  It was lined with age at her mouth, her eyes, and her forehead.  But there was a beauty in her presence that he had never seen in the many young women he had bedded before her.  It was in her eyes, in the way her dark brown eyes peered into his untouched soul, that he realized he had fallen in love.

Coral was broken, beaten by the world, and hiding from its vengeance on sins long passed.  However, in her imperfection, she was only made more beautiful.  When he traced the stretch marks, the loose skin, the time that eroded her temple, he found acceptance, joy, and the promise of future that he had long forgotten.

“Yes, everything will be fine,” he assured, bringing her to sit on the edge of the bed that they had made love on the night before.  “But only if you go when the helicopter arrives.” He smoothed a hand over the side of her face, wondering what a child they could have created would have looked like if they had only met some years before.

Coral lowered her gaze.  Grabbing his strong, calloused hands in her own, she made him a promise.  “If you just hold on a little longer, you can have the happiness that you deserve.”  She wanted to tell him that the happiness he sought was with her, but the words escaped her.  Coral was afraid - of rejection, of acceptance, of love, and the loss thereof.  The world had beat her into submission, and the only way she knew to show admiration was through cryptic oracle-like sayings instead of telling him what he made her feel outright.

Simeon lifted Coral’s chin.  Looking into her eyes, he leaned in and kissed her mouth.  “After this, I’m going to have my way with you, woman, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

Coral blushed.  She knew Simeon’s past, only because he had been man enough to share it with her.  But in his omission about his own shady past, he had given her the audience to be truthful about her own.  That truth, however morose, had given her the power to reconnect with Royal, and she would be forever in his debt for it.

“You can have every part of me that it is still good,” she said, bringing his hands to the left side of her face.  Closing her eyes, she smiled. “All you have to do is make it through this next trial.”  She thought of her daughter and her grandkids.  They would need her more than ever now.  “Just promise me, you’ll give me the time and space I need with Royal.  I’ve finally broken through to her.  I used your advice.  I asked outright, flaws and all, and she’s agreed to give me a chance.”   Coral realized that had it not been for a war that she knew little about or the fact that the entire family had to be relocated to the ends of the earth, she would not have been able to reconnect with her baby girl, but she was grateful for the chance and eager to prove to Royal that she was ready to be the mother that she deserved.

Simeon was happy for Coral’s breakthrough with Royal.  While he didn’t have a family or any offspring to fight for his family name, he had raised more than his share of men.

Daniil was crown jewel – a man of iron, molded-in fire, and shaped in the image of a true Vor.  That was as close as he had gotten to a son – to any child at all – but he loved his second-in-charge, more than he loved himself.

It was only after he met Coral and had the opportunity to speak with her in small increments over this war, that he had come to the realization that he needed more.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Simeon told Coral, holding her hands in his own.  “We’re going to travel the world together, start life anew.”  He pulled her hands to his.  “We are going to give each other a chance at love.”  He couldn’t bring himself to say it.  Those three little words of professed declaration had never been uttered by him in his entire existence.  But she was a real woman.  She was full of vim, of joy, spite and courage.  She was the type of woman who could make him into a better man. And in return, he would give her the world, make it bow at her feet and worship at her name.

“You flatter me,” Coral blushed.  She released his hands only to rub a hand through his hair again.  He was the type of man she had seen in Texas, only in passing.  Men like Simeon were normally only interested in the young girls with bodies who had not been invaded by someone else’s seed, who had not given birth to two children.  Bodies that spent hours in gyms and more hours in spas.  Before now, he had been untouchable.  But because of Dmitry’s insistence, she had made a connection that sparked the possibility of happiness and curiosity about life.

Simeon leaned in and kissed her full mouth.  Pulling her to him by the back of her head, he tasted her lips and inhaled her scent.  “I will not be happy without you, Coral.  And I will not be unhappy. So, when the time comes, you are going to get on that helicopter and go to safety.  And after I handle this business with Erik Popov, you are going to walk away from your old life and start a new one with me.”   His face was stern now.  Holding her close, he gently caressed her.  “It’s high time someone took care of you, and you stopped beating up on yourself for your past.  You’re a good woman, and while I’m not a good man, I’ll admit that I want you more than life itself.”  He dropped his gaze.  “It’s quick.  It’s too soon. It’s unreal.  I know all of that.”  He brought his gaze back to her, seeing her locked into his every word.  “But just because it’s unfathomable, doesn’t make it impossible.”

Coral’s mouth went slack.  Staring at the warlord in front of her, she finally understood why her daughter had fallen head over heels in love with Dmitry. They didn’t take no for an answer.  And with Simeon Kurdin, she was not willing to deny him. “You find me after this, and I’ll happily be with you,” she promised. “Just promise me you’ll be the same man then as you are now.”

Gabriel & Valeriya

Valeriya didn’t like the plan.  Laying Emma down in her crib, she picked up her son and bounced him in her arms.  “Yes, I agree. The smartest thing is to get the children out first, but staying inside of these walls while they advance only gives them a stronger offensive.”  Her big brown eyes were wild with thought.  “If you move forward, they won't’ have time to stage a proper attack.  Sitting and waiting,” she shook her head, “it’s too risky.”

Gabriel stood at the door; arms crossed over his chest.  He watched his wife fidget with the children, using them as a comfort blanket to absorb the news.  “You’re not in charge anymore,” he reminded.  “Neither of us is.  Dmitry and everyone on the council, including myself, feel like first, we get you guys out, and then we can handle this.”

Valeriya pushed the bottle in their son’s mouth and shot him an unapproving glare.

“The women folk are just as capable as those robots you all employ.”

“Well, I’m not married to a robot, am I?”  He walked towards her, stopping midway, he grabbed the remote and turned off the television.  “You have to go.”  He wouldn’t hear anything else.  “Having you here will only cloud my judgment.” He threw down the remote on the bed and averted his eyes to the ceiling fan just inches above him.  “Why do we have to fight about this?”

Valeriya was calm.  She wasn’t mad at her husband, just unsure of the plan.  Whether he liked it or not, she had always been a better strategist then him.  “We’re not fighting.”  She extended a hand toward him, to which he quickly came to.  Standing beside her, he pulled her and the baby into his warm embrace.  He grazed a kiss over her forehead and forced her to stop.  “I will not allow you to fight my wars.”

“This isn’t your war,” she reminded.  Looking up at him, she saw the stress in his face.  What was she doing?  He had come bearing an olive branch, and she had taken in, ripped up in front of him, and offered a strategy of war.  Andriy was right. She was a complete bitch!

Nuzzling her head into his chest, the baby resting comfortably between them, she exhaled a deep breath and wrapped an arm around his small waist.  “I’m sorry.  You’re right.”

Gabriel held her close, but as he looked at the overly ambitious ceiling fan, he gave a small smile.  “So, you’ll go without me having to knock you out?”

Valeriya laughed, releasing him to go over to retrieve the bottle in the bottle warmer.  She picked it up, shook it, and shot the nipple in the direction of her arm to test it.  “Yes, I will go without fighting you about it.”  She turned to look at him and found herself enamored with his larger than life build, his dark hair, and pearly white smile.  His eyes focused on her, telling on what he wanted to do.

“How can I live without a thousand more nights like last night?” he asked, licking his lips seductively.

“And this morning,” she reminded with a raised finger.

Gabriel nodded his head slowly.  “Especially this morning. That thing you did with your lips.  The whole catch and release thing…it’s hot.” He pretended to suffer from shivers.  Rolling his shoulders, he closed his eyes and shook his capped shoulders.  “Damn.  I mean, really, Val?”

Valeriya laughed at his ridiculous, funny face, but inside she was still deeply disturbed by the men’s plan.  Having worked in the confines of Ukraine during its most turbulent battles with Russia, she knew that waiting for an attack was the wrong thing to do.

The best course of action was always to meet any force head-on.  She walked back over to him, reached up and put a loving hand on his handsome face.  Why did he have to continue to be so beautiful?  Those green eyes glared at her, holding her in place.  Everything she loved was right here.  And she would do anything to keep from losing it.  “Just promise me, you’ll go back to Dmitry and explain my position.  Tell him what I said.  Promise.”

“Pinky promise,” Gabriel said without thought. He made a quick cross over his heart, forgetting the last part.   All he cared to do was put his wife on a helicopter away from danger, and to do that, he would tell her absolutely anything.

Gabriel would not tell Valeriya, in fear of her absolute rejection, but there was no way he was going to bet her safety and the protection of his children on waging the assault head-on.  There were too many variables – too many unknowns. And in a world of unknowns, a man like him stood to lose too much.

“Babies first.  Andriy, Andrei, and Emma.  Then when Diane gets them back to the airport hangar, promise me, when she returns for the women, you’ll go. No questions asked.”  His voice was no longer playful.  Knowing his wife’s hard head, he wanted her to say the words.  He had to hear them for himself to believe her.

Valeriya took the baby over to the crib and put him down.  Raising up, she turned to her husband and shrugged innocently.  “Fine.  When Diane returns, I’ll go. No questions asked.  But before then, you have to know I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.”  Her face tightened. “And you are a part of my family.”

Valeriya wasn’t like the other women here who had fallen in love accidentally with a man she didn’t know.  In fact, she was the complete opposite.  She had fallen in love with Gabriel, even after his dark turn.  She knew his history, knew that had hurt him, and nearly destroyed him.

Never again would she wait on the sidelines to do something about it.  He was as much as a part of her as her children.  Now, she would get on the helicopter when Diane returned from getting their babies to safety, but until then, she only had one goal – to keep him safe, no matter what.

Anatoly & Renee

The bedroom was peaceful.  There was a calm that overtook the space that only occurred when innocent young life was present.  As Anatoly watched his beautiful wife sleep with their new son cradled in her arms and their angelic daughter beside her, he had an overwhelming desire to protect all three of them from the dangers that threatened just outside their walls to the slightest interruption that might interrupt their gleeful sleep.

His daughter, Alexandria, dressed in a pink onesie, butt up in the air, arms folded under her as she nuzzled into her mother, made him smile, forgetting for just a moment that the world as they knew it was about to spin out of control.

He carefully closed the door behind him and walked over to Renee’s side of the bed.  Bending down on both knees in jeans and a T-shirt, he brought a hand to brush over her thick mess of curls.  She was glowing, brown skin beaming with perpetual light that illuminated the room and the dark recesses of his soul.

“How could I ever live without you?” he murmured, touching her satin brown skin.

Renee was plump now, as round and bountiful as the day he met her all those years ago at Dmitry’s Closet in Memphis.  But unlike when he first laid eyes on her, thinking her too outgoing and talkative for his quiet disposition, she had turned into nurturing mother’s milk for him, replacing all the bad he had grown to know in women over the years.

He no longer saw her for just her physical beauty, though she was remarkable.  Her inner spirit had healed places in him that he had never acknowledged as wounded, and through her attention, though sometimes painful, he had become a better man.

How did a woman do that?

How did a person reach into the soul of another person and snatch out the bad in them?

How had she been able to accept all the wrong of his past and somehow make his future brighter?

He loved this woman deeply, way below the texture of her skin, below her skin period. He loved her below the depts of her skeletal shell down the soul of her being.

Renee’s eyes flashed open, brown and bright, anxious to learn why her husband was at her side.  She gripped the baby in her arms and released a breath before glancing over at Anatoly.

“What’s going on, Ana?” Her eyes met his with a fiery interrogation that only a wife could give.  She turned slightly in the bed to face him, glaring into his icy blue eyes and melting them with the warmth of hers.

Anatoly leaned in to kiss her cheek, caressing her with every movement.  He could smell the baby wash mingling with her skin.  Brushing his thumb against her, he held her close.  “You have, and the children have to leave soon.”  Even as he said the words, he felt his heartbreak, deep down inside.  His breaths became more rapid, forcing his rock-hard chest to expand.

Renee wrinkled her brow.  “What?” She turned to look directly into his face.  She saw the furrow in his forehead and the stubborn line of his chin as he grimaced.  “Why?”

“Erik has found us.”  Anatoly would never lie to her, especially when her safety was a risk.  He swallowed hard, finding it nearly impossible to meet her eyes.

She shook her head. “How?”  She asked her third question, even as she felt the responses not worthy of her demand.

Anatoly moved his hand to his son.  This killed him more than she knew.  To admit that despite all of their prudent planning, they had fallen victim to Erik Popov’s plans to hit him at his core.  “We brought a man back here to interrogate him.  What we didn’t know was that he had ingested some kind of tracker.  Once we discovered it, we started to make plans to move, but it was too late.  Erik’s men used the tracker to locate us.  They landed last night, according to Diane.”  He brought his eyes to meet hers.  Inhaling a breath, he parted his lips. “They are headed here now.”

Renee shot up on her bed.  She looked over at her babies, sleeping soundly, and felt her soul bottom out.  Putting a hand over her mouth, she shook her head profusely.  “No, Ana.  No.”  Tears formed in her eyes.

“Baby, we are going to get you and the babies out of here.”  He pushed up off his knees and leaned closer to her.  He could see the worry in her face, not for herself but for their children.  How could he ever let her know that he would never let any harm come to her when danger was on the way?  Jutting out his jaw, he grabbed her shaking hand and took it into his.  “I’m…I’m so sorry that I failed you.”

Renee released a hard breath.  Exhaling, she deflated in the bed, allowing a stream of tears to flow.  He was telling her that help was coming, but it was only for her and their babies.  What about him?  She grabbed him by the back of his head and pulled him into her.  “You have never failed me.”

Anatoly closed his eyes and nuzzled against her bosom, the warmth of it encompassing him even as he fought to breathe.  “If my father had never waged this war against Erik Popov, you and my children would be safe.”  He released the words even though it felt like treason on his tongue against the man who was fighting to keep him safe.

Renee released him momentarily.  Taking his face in her hands, she made him look up at her.  Her beautiful man, her loving husband.  “He only did what he thought was best.  You would have done the same for ours.”  She knew that after so many trials with the family.  However, she understood her husband’s doubt in the face of their possible demise.  “You can’t doubt him now.”

Anatoly pulled his face from her. “How can you have more faith in my father than I have?”

Renee balled up her hands into tight fists.  Trying to keep from stirring the babies, she kept her voice low.  “I don’t have faith in him.  I have faith in you.  Ana, you are as much responsible for keeping us safe as Dmitry.  Don’t you see that?”

Anatoly clenched his jaw.  “I had one job.  Keep you safe.  And I failed you.” His admission would not keep him from securing their safety, but it was something that he could not deny.  It had haunted him since he arrived.  Somehow, guilt and anger had consumed him.

Renee unbaled her hands and reached over to touch his face again.  “The only way you will fail us is if you don’t come back to me.”

A single tear streamed down her cheek.  Despite her pain, she managed a smile.  “But you have to believe that this war was coming no matter what.  I don’t know much about your world, but what I do know is even in it, you and your father don’t fit.”

She didn’t bother to go into race, but she knew he understood her meaning.  “This war was coming no matter what.  So, do what you do best.  Face it head-on and win it.”

He wiped her face.  Such a beautiful and graceful thing should not have been made to hurt so deeply.

“I will always keep you safe, Renee.  And I will always love you.”  His own tears, defiant of his will to stay strong in front of her, fell from his eyes and streamed down his cheeks into his dirty blonde beard.  “But…” he inhaled a breath and looked down at the mattress beside her.  “I can’t promise that I’ll come home this time.”

Renee’s face turned.  Letting out a gasp, she put a hand to her mouth and wept.  Her eyes burned with hot, prickly tears.

Staring at the man she loved, that she would die for, she felt herself break into little pieces inside.

Anatoly rose from his position at her bed.  He stood beside her now, looking down at his children.  “But I promise you this.  If I should…” He could not bring himself to say the words in her presence.  He nodded.  “It will be an honor as long as I know you and my babies are taken care of.”

Vasily & Lilly

Vasily sat with Dylan as he read in the corner of their bedroom.  He was in the second chapter of the Outsiders, stopping every few minutes to ask questions about the characters in the book.  Stumbling over certain words, he inhaled a frustrated breath and continued through the text, reading aloud so that his mother could correct him when he messed up.

Vasily slipped into the bedroom, his wife glancing up as he crossed the bedroom to him.  She could tell by his slumped over walk that something was wrong, but she kept silent, listening to Dylan as he sounded out the words.

Seeing his father, Dylan stopped and closed the book.  “Hey Daddy,” he said, mildly defeated by the book his mother was making him read that was two grades above him.

“Hey yourself,” Vasily said, coming to sit beside him.  He ran a hand through his boy’s luscious curls.  “Glad to see you are sticking to your reading.”  A smile tugged at the side of Vasily’s face.  He glared at his son, jade eyes burning through his son’s features, memorizing every single detail.

“This is a good place to stop and take a breath,” Lily said, closing her copy of the book. She laid it in her lap and motioned toward the door.  “Go next door and get your snack.  Let me and your daddy talk.”

Vasily wiped a hand over his beard and pushed back in his chair. “You heard your mother.  Give us a second.”

Dylan happily dropped his book, hugged his father, and then darted toward the door. Vasily watched him until he left and turned to Lilly, releasing a long sigh.

“Well, that doesn’t sound like good news,” she said, pursing her lips together.  “What happened?”

“Dylan has to go.”  Vasily avoided the frilly explanation, knowing his wife hated being placated.

“Diane is on her way in the helicopter.  We plan to load the babies up first.  And then, when she returns, you all have to go.”  He said so slowly, never lowering his gaze from her pensive eyes.

Lilly rubbed a hand behind her neck.  She knew it was something, but she had no idea it was this bad. “Why do we have to go?”

“Erik Popov has located us.  He’s on his way with at least 50 men.”

Lilly stood up from her high back chair and came to sit on her husband’s lap.  Curling up against him, she felt him grab her and hold her close.  “When is this going to end, baby?”  Pressing her head to his chest, she felt his rhythmic heartbeat.

“It ends today.”  Vasily looked across the room, rubbing her back to keep her calm.

But not even his magic touch could make Lily calm.  She raised her eyes to his.  “I’m not leaving without you.”

“Lily,” he said, pushing out a breath. “You have to go.  If you stay here…” He shook his head. “You have to go.”

Lily rolled her eyes.  “Vasily, I know we’ve been through a lot, but this isn’t all I want for my life, for us.”  She tilted head.  “I want a bigger family…like a much bigger family, and we can’t have that always ducking and dodging some psychotic warlord.”

Vasily scratched his head.  Lowering his eyes from her, he shook his head. “So, this is your way of saying you want more kids?”  She had some great timing.

Lily shrugged.  While she was indifferent to the idea currently, she wanted to consider it in the future.  “I didn’t come all this way with you to bury you when things are just getting interesting.”

Vasily chuckled.  Moving his hand down her back to settle at her bottom, he glanced into her bedroom eyes and paused abruptly.  Holy shit.  She was serious about this, and evidently, she had given it considerable thought.  How had he missed it, or instead how had he not recognized it before?  Making her straddle him, he pulled at her waist and kissed her neck.

“After this, I’ll give you whatever or whomever you want,” he promised.  He expected her to be playful, but he felt tears on his shoulder.

Lily quickly wiped the tears away.  “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep.”

Vasily loved how tough she tried to be, but he knew just below her hard eggshell, there was a soft filling.  “Hey,” he said, grabbing her by the chin.  He made her look at him.

Every cell in his body was attuned to her and the worry that she tried hard to conceal.  “I’m serious.  After this, you can have whatever you want.”  His right eye twitched.  “You’re my wife, Lily.  I love you.”

“And I love you,” she said forcefully at his remark.  Her eyes widened, gleaming with desperation.  “If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

The feeling was mutual; only Vasily didn’t know how to say so.  He released her chin only to push a hard, passionate kiss to her pouty mouth.  Gripping her back, he pressed her body against his chest and took the breath from her.  Everything was surreal at that moment.

Cascading thoughts went to saving her from Rasputin and finally to asking her to marry him.  Since before she was technically his, he had watched over her and now that she was his and now that he had his son, he wouldn’t stop now.

Releasing her from his kiss, he bit down on his lip.  “I know you, wife.”  His eyes met hers.  “Don’t do anything crazy.  Just get on the helicopter when it comes.  I’ll make sure Dylan gets on when Diane arrives soon.”

“What should I pack for him,” she asked, concealing her real thoughts.

Vasily moved Lily from his lap, feeling himself become mad with desire for her.  He stood up and went to the closet to get Dylan’s backpack.  “He’s going to St. Petersburg.  So are you.  Once he gets there, the council will get him whatever he needs. For now, pack a pair of pajamas and some underwear.” He turned to give Lily the backpack and found her right behind him.

“Fine.” She snatched the backpack.  “Just do me one favor.”

Vasily shook his head.  “Anything.”

“Kill his ass once and for all.”  Walking over to the table beside Dylan’s chair, she shoved his book into the backpack.

Vasily knew she wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to fight.  It was just part of her DNA, but he loved her for trying to keep her calm.  Walking back over her, he grabbed her from behind and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“When I tell you that I’m coming back for you, you, believe me, right?”  It was one thing to worry, another to doubt.  And he needed Lilly to cast all doubt to the side right now, especially about his return.

But that was already a foregone thought.  Lily went to putty in his strong, masterful arms.  Resting her head back against his chest, she wiped more hot tears.  “You better, Vasily.”

Anil, Anya & Royal

There was something utterly fascinating to Anil about his little sister.  While she was only ten years old, she seemed much older in temperament; she was also insightful and clever, which made him hold on to her every word.  So, when he found her in the library, digging around for a new book to devour in her downtime, he sparked a conversation that pulled her from the staircase onto the green leather sofa in the corner, where they had sat for a few minutes discussing The Art of War.  It was the one book she couldn’t find in their collection and believed to be in the care of her father. For Anil, it was a way to connect with her one last time before she was put on a plane for St. Petersburg.  He knew that any minute, she would be scooped up and escorted out, and it was quite possible that he might not ever see her again.

She flipped her braid over her shoulder and curled her leg under her.  “Anil, can I ask you a question?”

Anil threw his arm over the sofa. “Of course, you can.”

Anya looked toward the open door across the room, just to make sure her mother wasn’t coming through it.  It seemed lately that the woman kept up with her every move just to turn around and admonish her for them.  She was guilty by association – though to be up to something at all times.

“Do you think you could possibly, pretty please with a cherry on top,” she paused, putting on a grin, understanding her charms worked angles that she could not usually work, “get me a weapon.  There are plenty of them in the war room.  I saw it for myself. They were in the closet by the back office. I just need one.  Any kind will do. I know how to handle them all.”  Her eyes were void of emotion, but the smile on her face said that she knew exactly what she asked of her big brother.

Anil twisted up his lip as a chill ran down his spine.  “Before I answer your question, you have to answer mine.”

“Okay,” Anya replied, thinking it was only fair.

“Why do you need a weapon?”  Anil asked.

Anya ran a hand down her fine-boned nose.  “Have you seen what’s happening around the world - around the United States?  Children are dying at an absurd rate, many of whom are murdered by psychos in their own classrooms.  The world isn’t safe, bro.  It’s a doggie dog world out there.”

Whoa.  Anil raised a hand to stop her.  “First of all, you’re not even in school.”

“I’m being homeschooled right now,” she corrected.  “Making it to class is sort of hard when you’re being hunted.”

Anil kept his hand up.  “Secondly, you are in Russia or Siberia or some hybrid of both.  So, why don’t you level with me?  Why do you feel like you need a weapon?” he asked again.

Anya dropped the smile and the good-girl-act.  It wasn’t working anyway.  Anil saw straight through her, unlike most of the robots around her.  “Something is going on here.  I can feel it, and so can you.  Last time I felt like this, my best friend died.  This time, it could be me.  So, I just want to be ready.”

Anil frowned at how frank the young girl was being.  “You’re too young to think like that.”

Anya laughed at his naivete.  “You’re too old not to think like this.”  She scooted closer to her brother and lowered her voice.  “You have two options, Anil. You can either kill them or be killed by them.  It’s all up to you.  Now, for me, I’d prefer to kill them first.  So, are you going to help me get a gun or what?” Sharing a secret of their new reality, she leaned against the back of the sofa, letting her little words of wisdom sink in.

Anil had to snap his mouth shut, unsure how exactly to answer her.  She was right on many levels, but at the end of the day, a girl barely approaching her preteens wanted him to smuggle a weapon for her.  That was too hardcore for him.

“So?” Anya became impatient. “Will you, or won’t you?”  Time was ticking.

Anil was about to answer her when Royal walked into the library.  She paused at the duo. “Hey.”  Looking around, she noticed they were alone, but the look on her daughter’s face suggested that was intentional, which meant that yet again, her little spy was up to something.  “Anya.”  Her brow rose.

Anya looked over at her mother and smiled. “Hey, Mom.”

“I’ve been looking for you for like ten minutes,” she said to Anya.

“I’ve been right here.”  Anya unfolded her legs and turned to her mother.  “Do you need me?”

Anil stood up, glad for the interruption. He had to get out of here now before Anya asked him for a bomb next.  “I’m going to run upstairs.”  He bucked his eyes at Royal as he passed her. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

“What was that about?” Royal came to sit beside her daughter.

“We were just talking.”  Anya avoided eye contact.

“About?” Royal pushed.

“Nothing.”  Anya avoided.

“So, if I were to go and ask your brother what you two were discussing, he would say nothing.”  Royal’s eyes narrowed on her daughter.  “You might as well tell me now because I’m going to find out later.”

Anya rolled her eyes and blew a breath out of her mouth.  “Okay, okay.”  She wrenched her long, slender fingers. “I asked him to get me a gun.”

Royal froze. “What?”

“Mom, before you get mad…”

“Did he agree to get you a gun?” Royal’s voice screeched.

“No,” Anya replied.  “If he had agreed, do you think I would have told you about me asking?”

Royal knew her daughter had a point.  “So, you know what my next question is going to be. Why do you feel like you need a weapon?  Don’t you trust us to protect you?”  There was no doubt in her mind that because of Anya’s past and all she had been forced to experience, she might not have trusted any of them anymore.  And the thought of that truly broke Royal’s heart.

Anya’s shoulders drooped.  “Mom, I can feel it.  Something is going on.”  She glanced over at her mother with sincerity. “I’m scared.”   Blue eyes under black lashes and caramel skin against inky jet-black hair in two French braids made the young girl angelically beautiful, but the worry across her face made her appear aged.

Royal pulled her daughter to her and kissed the crown of her head.  “We’re going to do everything we can to keep you and your brothers safe.”  She released her for a second.  “Which is why I came to get you.  We have to send you away…for a while.  To St. Petersburg.  You always loved the golden city, remember?”

“Without you?” Anya asked, eyes watering.

“No.”  Royal wiped her face before the tear could fall.  Running a hand through her short, curly locks, she sniffled and smiled. “I’m going to be right behind you.”

Anya’s face tightened.  “Famous last words,” she said bleakly.

Royal cringed.  “Is that what Davyd said to you?”

“No.” She rubbed her hands over her leggings.  “No, he told me to run fast, right after he gave me a gun.”

“Fine,” Royal said, giving in to her daughter.  She kicked her gray wool Ugg boots off and hiked her foot on the sofa to reveal a Velcro ankle holster.  Pulling it off, she took the pearl-handled Colt 1908 Hammerless ACP.  “I’m sure I’ll be voted the worse mother of the year for this, but…” she passed the weapon to her daughter, “I’m going to loan this to you until we get settled.”

Anya took the gun and held it in her hands and looked through the sites.  It was perfect for her small hands and easy to use.  “Thank you.”  She glanced over at her mother and took the holster.

“It’s not a toy,” Royal reminded.  “You are to keep it away from your siblings.  Keep it on you while you travel and keep it locked up when you get where we’re going.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay.  Now, come on.  Let’s get you and your little brothers ready.”

“We’re leaving now?”

“As soon as Diane arrives, which should be very, very soon.  She’s going to take you all to the airport, and from there, you’ll be taken to St. Petersburg.”

“With you, of course.”  Anya wasn’t sure her mother was telling her the truth about following behind.

“Of course.”  Royal put a hand over her mouth.   She was actually giving her child a weapon, but what choice did she have with the danger lurking outside of the compound? Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Chapter 44

Lake Baikal

20 miles from Medlov Compound Turn-Off Road

11:45 a.m. (local time)

“Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look on them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death.”

– Sun Tzu

T he sky had turned from an average overcast of misty clouds and sunlight faintly visible in the distance to dark threatening clouds and heavy winds with a nearly blotted out sun.  Stopping sharply about 20 miles from the turnoff to Dmitry’s compound, Erik’s convoy halted abruptly – the screech of their winter tires against the iced-over gravel echoing down the valley.  Men jumped out and quickly went to work, pulling out snowmobiles, bikes, and weapons.  They were dressed in off white and camouflage snowsuits with thick goggles to cover their eyes.  Guns were slung over their shoulders and attached to holsters around their thighs.

Yuri jumped out of the backseat of the truck leading the crew, feet landing squarely on the ground.  He inhaled the cold air, adjusting his weapon on his arm as he walked back toward the men to give final instruction.

“You,” he said, pointing at a man with a bleach blonde crew cut, standing beside the truck behind his.  “Come here.  What’s your name again?”

“Yes, Boss,” the man answered, dropping his cigarette on the ground.  He walked toward him. “It’s Milli.”

“Milli, I want you and your best secondary sniper to head right through this path.”  He pointed toward the snow-covered northern trail off the side of the road.  “It should lead you directly to the compound.  While the rest of us prepare for the offensive, you two will be my eyes and ears.  Stay off your radio until you get where you are going and watch out for traps.”  Yuri heard Erik’s voice just behind him.  He turned slightly and looked over his shoulder.  “Go on and head up now.”  Turning back to Erik as he approached, he lowered his voice.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m encouraging my men,” Erik said, nodding toward some of the guards as they mounted their snow vehicles.

“They don’t need encouragement.”  Yuri stood by Erik’s ear, facing toward the eastern direction of the roadway. “We have to keep you out of sight.  If Dmitry finds out where you are, he’ll go after you first, no matter what is happening on his compound.  You have to stay out of sight.”

Erik’s eyes blazed.  “And how am I supposed to have any fun?” he asked with cynicism in his voice.

“We discussed this,” Yuri reminded, lowering his head and muffling the tone of his aggravated voice.  “We will send for you when it’s time.”  If Erik continued with his antics, he’d end up with a bullet in his head before they even waged the direct assault on the compound.  Then, all of this would be for nothing.  It wasn’t like the council was going to anoint one of them, regardless of how many skulls they brought back today, to the level of obochek.  Everyone here needed Erik to live as much as they needed Dmitry Medlov to die.

Erik pursed his lips together and turned on his heels. “I want constant reports,” he ordered with a stern finger pointed up.  He gave orders as though someone was actually listening to them, but the truth of the matter was that they were waiting on Yuri to carry out the assault.  Erik was only here for cosmetic reasons – he was lipstick on a pig.

“You will have them,” Yuri promised condescendingly, walking Erik back to the large SUV upfront.  He opened the door for his boss and met his desperate eyes. “But you’ll have them in here, where it’s safe.”  He motioned toward the back seat of the SUV. “This truck has bullet-resistant glass, so it would take a tank to penetrate the windows and get inside.  But they can’t protect what’s not there.”

“How long until our sharpshooters get to the compound?”  Erik wished he could be there for the first wave of the attack. He wanted to see Dmitry’s eyes as he watched everyone around him picked off one-by-one.

“An hour and a half tops.  So, please, Boss, stay here.” Closing the back door, Yuri pulled the young guard who was standing behind the SUV and made him stand at the passenger door.  “Don’t take your eye off of him,” he ordered.  “If he tries to get out, don’t allow him.”

The Medlov Compound

12:30 p.m.

In a straight line that started at the back door of the main house and led through the kitchen into its long, connecting corridor, all the Medlov children, their nannies, and Renee waited for Diane’s impending arrival in the Mil Mi-8 helicopter for extraction.  The babies cried loudly; the kids tried to run off, and everyone else kissed and said their goodbyes while the guards secured the perimeter as best they could.

“I would be of better use here, father!” Anil protested, dropping his duffle bag on the hardwood floor.  “Why are you sending me away?  Do you think I can’t help?  Do you think I can’t protect us?”  Anil’s eyes were wild with anger, having just been informed that he would be forced onto a helicopter with the children of the family and sent to Irkutsk.

“No,” Dmitry said, picking up the bag that Anil had dropped. He shoved it into the young man’s broad chest.  “I don’t think you’re a child.  If I had thought that, do you think I would have enlisted you to help Renee give birth?” Dmitry’s tone was abnormally direct with his son, unable to waste even a minute. “I’m sending you, because everyone that we’re fighting for, minus most of our wives will be on this helicopter.  We need you to protect them.  And if they become ill, we need you to care for them.  Renee is in no shape to be without medical care.  And Davyd!”  Unable to even finish his statement about his only grandson, he stepped closer to Anil. “I’m sending you because I need you more with them than here with me.  I would have thought that you would be able to see that with your own eyes.”

At the very end of the line, Royal was having the same conversation with her mother.  Coral had been incensed when she found out that she was being sent away with the babies.  “I can help you better here,” she said to Royal, pleading for her to let her stay.

Royal thought of Anya and how she’d need Coral in the event that the second trip to the compound was not possible.  “Listen to me.”  She put both hands on her mother’s shoulders.  “I know you want to stay, but this could get really bad soon.  So, do you know how to activate a bomb, shoot a high-caliber rifle with precision, or even read coordinates on a map?”

Coral pulled away.  “No, but I still can…”

“Then, you’ll be more of a hindrance than help here.”  Royal knew that her mother wanted to stay, and she loved her for it.  “Your grandkids need you.  Renee needs you.  You can help Anil with the kids, and the nannies are being loaded to help as well.  Please, Mom.  I’ve never asked you for anything, but I’m asking you for this now.  I fear if you don’t go, you’ll just be work for someone else to watch over.  You’ll cost lives instead of saving them.  But if you go with Anil and the kids, you’ll be the difference they need on their long journey.”

How could Coral argue with that reasoning?  She didn’t want to slow down the men, didn’t want to cost anyone their lives while trying to keep her safe, and above all, while trivial to the big picture, Royal had just called her mom and asked her for something.  There was no way that she would turn her down.

“Alright, alright.”  Coral gave in to Royal’s pleas, hugging her tightly.  “But you’re making a big mistake.”

Marat walked down the line of women and children, plus one very large doctor, and raised his voice to make sure everyone could hear him.  “We have confirmation from Diane. She is approaching right now.  So, once she lands, we are going to escort you in this same straight line that you are standing in now, out to the helicopter.  It can only hold 22 passengers modestly, but considering you are taking some of your personal belongings, we are lowering that number.  It takes two and a half hours for Diane to travel from Irkutsk here, and once she drops off the first group, it will still take her two and a half hours to return.  So, the quicker we move, the quicker we can reunite you with your kids.  Now, we are going to do a quick roll call, and then in just a few minutes, we will begin moving out of the backdoors to the area where the helicopter will land right in front of the back barn.  Keep your heads down, because the blades of the helicopter will pick up debris.  It’s snowing and sleeting, so if you have a child, pull the visor over the car seat.  Are there any questions?”  He hoped not, even as he asked.

While talking to one of his men, a voice came over his radio.  “We have a breach.  Just north of the southern compound wall.  Two men are approaching on a snowmobile.”

“Shit!” Marat waved toward Dmitry while giving orders.  “Send four men to check it out.  Whatever they do, keep them away from the extraction point.  We have to get these children on the helicopter as soon as Diane lands.”

“Check,” the guard said, logging off the radio.

“What’s going on?” Dmitry asked, walking over with Anatoly and Gabriel on his flank.

Marat put the radio away.  “We have at least two men approaching on snowmobiles at the south wall of the compound.  We need to get these babies out of here now.”

Dmitry glanced toward his wife, watching his every movement.  “How many men did you send?” he asked Marat, trying to train his face to keep everyone from worrying.”

“Four,” Marat said, needing to get below to the war room where he could follow the surveillance monitors.”

“Where there are four, there are forty,” Gabriel said, turning his back to the line of children.  “We can assume they all have arrived now. It’s only a matter of time before they attack the compound with everything that they have.”

“Let’s get the children on the helicopter first. Once we send them away, we’ll figure out if Diane can make another extraction or if we are on our own.”

“How many men do we have outside of the compound walls?” Dmitry asked Marat.

“Twenty,” Marat answered.  “But they are scattered out, and the low visibility due to the storm is not helping things.”

Anatoly had an idea. “I’ll go out to the kennel and get the dogs.  We’ll use them to sniff out the renegades.  Just keep them away from the extraction point until I get back.”

Erik’s Snipers

12:35 p.m.

They had been traveling through the unforgiving terrain for hours, clamped together on the back of their snowmobile with Daniel driving, and Milli in the back with his sniper rifle flung over his back.  As expected, when the compound came insight, the first thing they noticed where flattened trees where the landscape around the outside of the compound had been cleared and large work lights were attached to the towering trees to make the area more visible.

“Drop me here,” Milli said, tapping Daniel on his shoulder.

“What?” Daniel screamed over the roaring motor and heavy winds.  Snow beat against his goggle and blurred his vision.

“Drop me here!” Milli screamed again.

Coming to a stop, Daniel glanced to his side as Milli dismounted.  “I’m going to get to those trees just above the compound.”  He looked at the clearing about 200 yards in front of him.  Several trees were still in view, just beyond the distance.  “You try to get to the other side, behind the compound.  Lose the snowmobile, because they will be looking for it.”

“They already know we’re here,” Daniel said, spotting a small black camera attached to one of the walls.

“Well, we never thought that we’d be able to get all the way to the compound without being discovered.”  Milli grabbed his backpack.  “Once you get to your location, check-in with Yuri, and lock in your camera to give them eyes on the compound.”

Diane

12:40 p.m.

The small window to extract the Medlov children from the compound was rapidly closing.  If Diane didn’t hurry, the blood of countless innocent children would be on her hands, and more than that, all the mothers and women of the family would be forced to watch their most precious possessions be ripped from their hands.  As a mother, Diane simply could not allow that to happen.

With the winds picking up and the violent, forward-facing snow beating at her windshield, Diane flew the Mil Mi-8 twin-turbine helicopter straight toward the compound, but as she got to a clearing a few miles from the compound, she saw a line of vehicles on the main road.

Marat had already radioed into her a few minutes before, informing of a possible breach.  So, this was no coincidence.

“That must be Popov’s piece-of-shit team!” her second-in-charge screamed from the cockpit into her radio. She was running point on the gun facing out of the helicopter.

“Can you get a direct shot?” Diane asked, hands still on the controls as she spoke over her headphone set.

“I can sure as hell try!” the woman screamed, forcefully pushing the door to the helicopter open.  The wind and snow beat at her face and pushed her blonde hair out its bun into wild strands.  “Holy shit!  Things are taking a turn down there!”

“We only have one chance at this!  Then we have to head straight to get the kids!”  Diane felt her heart constrict.  “Aim straight!”

The late-twenties, highly trained stewardess pointed the 12.7 mm machine gun out of the nose of the plane.   Standing at the helm, she pulled the trigger and screamed into the hollow body of space between herself and her target.

Erik & His Security Detail

The rest of Erik’s army had already departed toward their final destination, including Yuri, who before leaving had instructed him again, for final measure, not to leave his vehicle until he returned.  And just seconds before their departure, they had attacked the security post at the front of the entrance that led up to Medlov compound and killed the guards inside, using an RPG to blast the small bricked shack right off the map.

Now, according to Yuri, all Erik Popov had to do was wait. Impatiently, he sat on the side of the road in the back of his armored SUV with the radio in his lap and his cell phone in his hand while his driver searched on the radio for a local channel that Erik didn’t find incredibly irritating or offensive.

“This place is shit, just shit,” Erik lamented, looking at his watch.  Whoever said patience was a virtue was putting it mildly.  It was freezing outside with nothing to see for miles and nowhere to go.  Pressing back against the warmed leather backseat, he looked out of the tinted window, hearing something in the distance that sounded like a helicopter.  Vibrations broke the sound barrier as the aircraft approached, but it was hard to make out what was above in the storm.

“Turn the radio down for a minute,” Erik ordered, cocking his head to the side as he listened.  “What is that?” Before he could connect the sound of the helicopter’s engine and whirl of giant propellers with a full-on assault, the bullets were already tattooing the vehicle.  It sounded like anchors dropping on metal.

“Shit!!” Erik yelled, diving down into the floor of the back seat.  The radio went to one side, and he went to the other.  “Drive! Drive!”

The sound was deafening.  Bullets whizzed in the air, some hitting nothing but most hitting the vehicles that were lined up just off the side of the road.  While the glass of the windshield Erik was hiding inside held for the first few bullets, they shattered eventually.  Shards of the glass blew into the SUV, covering Erik as he hid behind the front row seats.  Snow blanketed the interior and wind beat violently against the upholstery.

“I said drive, you dumb bastard!”  Erik screamed again.

Holding his ears, screaming out in fear, Erik cowered in the back of the vehicle as the music that played low on the speakers dulled into nothingness.  The bullets slammed into the motor of the vehicle, into the windows and doors.  It grazed the snow outside and tore through the line of trucks behind it.

Three vehicles back, a cargo truck with several guards, moved the mesh covering and pointed their air assault rifle toward the helicopter, but it was too late.  Just as quickly as the helicopter appeared, it disappeared into the clouds, covered by the snow and wind.

When all went silent, Erik got up from his crouched position on the floor of the SUV and peered around the chair.  “Are they gone?” he asked.  Hearing no response, he elevated his head to find the guard in the driver’s seat who had been wearing a bulletproof vest, shot in the head and face.

“A lot of fucking good that did you,” Erik said of the man’s wounds with a sneer.  Needing to access the damage, he grabbed the doorknob and pushed the black door open to find the guard that Yuri had placed just outside to protect him was now lying in a pool of his own blood atop the snow.

Erik stepped over him, avoiding looking at the young man’s dead eyes as he ran down the procession of vehicles to see who was still alive.

“And you thought this was a good idea?” Erik screamed at Yuri in his absence.  “I’m going to kill you all!”

The Extraction

Opening the back door of the house to a snowy windstorm, Marat and his men quickly rushed the children, nannies, Anil, Renee, and Coral toward the helicopter just a few hundred feet from the house once it landed.  They had to be quick, not only because they were bringing a brand-new child out into unforgiving weather, but because every moment they spent out in the elements opened them up to attack.

Emotions ran high, even as they all moved in a synchronic forward motion toward the helicopter.  Diane’s assistant moved from the machine gun and jumped out in her navy-blue pants suit to help them as they loaded.  She screamed for them to hurry, battling the weather and the time constraints as guards circled the aircraft with guns.

Just moments before landing, Diane had already given a startling report to Marat.  According to her, there were at least 50 of Erik’s men headed in the direction of the compound from what she saw of off-road vehicles headed toward them on the private road that led up to the compound, but at least she had been able to disable their vehicles, just in case some returned to the main road and tried to flee.

“Keep your head down,” Dmitry ordered, holding both of his sons in his arms as Royal ran with Anya. She could feel her heart leaping in her chest.  Though they had not told everyone, she knew that it was likely that Diane would not be able to return to get the women as the men had planned.  It would take two and a half hours to get back to the airport, and then they would have to offload the first group and gas up before the second trip.  That would take no less than three hours, and that was without the slightest problem.

“Mom, you’re coming next, right?” Anya asked as she ran. She looked up to her mother but received no answer.

Anatoly carried Davyd in his car seat, covered from top to bottom to keep him from being exposed to the elements, while Renee struggled to carry Alexandria.

Anastasiya carried Adeline.

Gabriel carried Emma, and Valeriya carried Alexei with Andriy following in tow.

Vasily and Lily escorted Dylan.

And at the end of the line, Anil followed the nannies and Coral.

When they got to the helicopter, they were quickly pushed inside.  There was no time for goodbyes, no opportunity to explain.  The look on their collective faces was a mix of fear and confusion.

All the children were loaded; first, many of them nearly shoved into the doorway; others, who were too small to help themselves inside, were helped by their parents.  The nannies were allowed entry; next, each carrying large bags of the items the children would need on their trip.

“Ana!’ Renee screamed, unsure of what to say.  She reached out for him from her seat, holding Alexandria in her lap and cradling Davyd’s car seat beside her.

“I’ll come for you!” Anatoly screamed, snow beating against his face.  He gazed at his family with no words of comfort to provide.  All he could hope at this moment was that they would be kept safe.

Anil jumped inside before Coral, only because she stopped in her tracks.

Watching her daughter cry as Dmitry put the boys inside, she offered her hand to Royal. “I’ll watch over them,” Coral said, looking back at Simeon, who watched from the doorway.  They had already said their goodbyes, but as adults, they understood that there was no time for long conversations.

Royal felt the tears welding at her eyes freeze in the cold weather.  Her short locks swirled around her head, and her cheeks reddened in the storm.  “Be gentle with them,” she said to her mother, “especially Anya.”

“Mommy,” Konstantin screamed, pulling away from his nanny. “I don’t want to go!”

“Daddy!” Alexandria cried out for her father.

“We have to get them out of here,” Dmitry said, locking his sons in their seats.  He stepped toward the entrance, head sticking out of the door.  “The longer we take, the harder it will be for them.

Valeriya waved at Andriy, tears falling down her cheeks for her twins.

As Coral watched her daughter, she noticed something strange reflected on her back.  A red laser dot was focused on her back.

“I’ve got eyes on the targets,” Milli said, perched in a towering tree just outside of the back of the compound. From his high-ground position, he could see what was going on near the barn.  He could also see the Medlov guards below covering the area to identify his location and knew they would eventually track his footprints.  He had to move quickly.  With his sniper rifle trained on the massive line of people, he waited for direction.

A reluctant response quickly came back over Milli’s earpiece.  “Boss doesn’t want the primary target to be terminated first,” Yuri responded over the radio.

Milli cursed. Where they serious?  The guy was right there, just waiting to be killed.   “I have him right here, right in my fucking sights!” his voice strained.

“Boss Popov was clear in his demands.  Dmitry is to be the last one.”  Yuri sat in the passenger seat as they sped up the narrow road leading to the compound.  “Do you have his wife in view?”  He couldn’t believe he was saying the words.

Erik Popov had always been something of an enigma to him, and while he always followed the rules of the family, he couldn’t believe that he was actually ordering a stand down on Dmitry’s assassination to kill his wife.

Apart of him wanted to abort and run his own play, but this was not a football game, it was a race to end the war.  And if Erik found out that he had willfully disobeyed a direct order, then all of his work up until this point would be in vain.

But Milli was confused.  Were they not here to seek revenge for Lev?  Were they not hear to kill the butcher?  He had to get clarification.    “I’ve got a clear shot on the wife too, but are you sure?” he asked, moving his weapon from Dmitry to Royal.

“Yes, take the shot on the wife,” Yuri ordered.  “Take out everyone you can, but he wants Dmitry to be last.  I repeat, he wants to save him until last.”  He released the button on the radio and braced a hand against the dashboard when the truck jumped as it hit a pothole.  “Steady!” he screamed at the driver.

Milli pulled his earpiece out and trained his weapon on the woman he thought to be Royal. He had been shown several pictures of her, and beside the short hair, she matched the description perfectly.

“These people are fucked up,” he said of Yuri and Erik.  “But if its drama they want, it is drama they will have.”  Milli closed his right eye and focused with his left.  Putting his hand on the trigger, he breathed in deep and pulled the trigger.

The First Casualty

Coral didn’t know why she couldn’t bring herself to scream or warn someone.  It had all happened so fast.  Maybe her mind made a decision to either yell out or move.  So, she did the smarter of the two.  Jumping in front of Royal, who had her back to the red dot, she felt in that same moment that she would move her body in front of the laser, a bullet rush through her chest cavity.

In slow motion, as the helicopter propellers moved above her and the winds beat her body from both sides, Coral saw her daughter turn with a look of confusion on her face.

The guards surrounding the plane were quick in their response to the shot, even before receiving the order to return fire.  Sending rounds in the direction of the shot, they provided cover as Dmitry jumped out of the aircraft.  Turning around, he slammed the door shut from the outside and hit the side of the helicopter before the stewardess who had manned the machine gun could get in place.  Right now, it was important for his precious cargo to get to safety, not to fight his war.

“Go!  Go!  Go!” he screamed against the wind.  Picking Coral up from the snowy ground below, Dmitry used his body as a shield to guard Royal while he shot in the direction the bullet had come from.   “Stay behind me!” he screamed to Royal.

The gunshots were muddled by the helicopter’s take off.  Guards got on the radio and gave the sniper’s possible position to Marat while the rest of them advanced.  They were relentless in their effort, so much so that Milli had to abort his mission and try to relocate.

“They are on my ass!  I repeat, my location has been compromised!” Milli screamed over the radio.

He threw his weapon over his back and tried to scale down the side of the tree, but his location had already been identified.  Hearing dogs as his feet landed, crunching the snow below, he tried to run out into the thicket before he could be sighted, but where the men were slowed by the heavy snow, Anatoly’s dogs were quick to shorten the distance.

Grabbing his sidearm from his thigh holster, Milli raised a hand as he fought to move through the ice-covered brush.  He could hear the dogs advancing, their barks becoming louder by the second.  Turning around, he pointed his weapon and shot one dog, but the other two were on him before he could aim.  One grabbed his arm, rendering his weapon useless.  The other went straight for the neck.  They pulled him down the ground and tore through his suit right into his delicate flesh.  The blood splattered in the snow as they pierced through skin to sinewy tendons and finally bone and organs.  By the time the Medlov guards arrived to him, he was a mangled mess.

“We have the sniper,” one of the guards said, getting on his radio.  He frowned at the sight in front of him, but still did not give the order for the dogs to stop.

“Is he dead?” Marat asked, running through the gate toward their direction.

“Oh yeah, boss. He’s dead.”

The helicopter was long gone, taking a different and possibly safer direction around the mountain and out of the way of the vehicles Diane and her teammate had attacked earlier.  But as they focused on getting the children and others to safety, Coral bled out in the kitchen where she had once confronted her daughter about their relationship.

“Breathe,” Dmitry said, putting towels on her wound.  “You’re going to be alright.” He knew it was a lie, but what was the point in stating the obvious.

On her knees beside her mother, Royal held Coral’s hand, tears running down her face as she tried to console her. “You can’t leave me.  You just…just got here.”  She watched as a guard brought over a pillow to prop up her head.

Coral could feel herself fading.  It wouldn’t be long before she was finally dead.  Gripping her daughter’s hand, she tried to smile at her.  “I won’t ever leave you.  I’ll always be in your heart with your sister, where I belong.”

Royal face creased into a broken sob.  “Please, please.  I’m begging you.  Don’t do this.”

Simeon was on Coral’s other side, planted on his knees.  He watched over her, feeling as though he would scream at any moment, but was desperate not to take the moment away from Royal.

Coral looked between them, trying desperately to breathe.  “I couldn’t save your sister, but at least I saved you.”  She glanced over at Simeon, unable to find the words to tell him how she truly felt.  All she could offer was this.  “Thank you.”  A deep inhaled breath was followed by a deep exhale as her eyes averted to the ceiling, and the glare in her eyes glazed over.

Royal bent down to her mother, kissing her forehead and screaming aloud while everyone watched on silently around her.

Dmitry rose to his feet and stepped back.  Wiping his face, blood smearing across his cheek, he glanced out of the window toward the place the helicopter had just been, praying the children were alright.   “Get the women upstairs.”

Simeon picked Coral’s dead limp body up into his arms.  “I’ll take her to her bedroom,” he told Royal, pulling Coral away from her daughter’s grasp.  He headed toward the entry that led downstairs.

“Everyone is on post,” Luka said, walking up to Dmitry.  “But our eyes outside of the property have spotted more men.”

“How many?” Dmitry asked, voice low and concentrated.  He scanned the room, making sure no one had been left behind in the chaos.

“At least 20.”  Luka turned to see Marat storm through the door, feet covered in snow, gun at his side.

Marat glanced between Dmitry, Gabriel, and Anatoly and slammed the door behind him.  “They are here,” he said, lifting Milli’s earpiece.

Defensive Strategy

The response from the Medlov men and guards was swift and immediate, lacking dramatic follow-through or confused communication – they all moved with purpose to prepare for what was coming.

Grabbing weapons from the arsenal housed behind a hidden wall that raised with an access key in the war room, everyone suited themselves with as many munitions as they could carry.

Without words, still unable to absorb what they had just witnessed, they marched up the staircase that led up from the war room to the first floor, where more guards awaited them, fully dressed in tactical gear and dressed out with heavy weaponry.

“Where are my men positioned?” Dmitry asked, throwing his Benelli M4 over his shoulder.  He wore a thermal, wind canceling shirt that fit with padding and black tactical cargo pants with subzero boots.  Putting on his black leather gloves, he walked with the men on his flanks to the front foyer.

“There are 20 men outside of the gate.  Another 20 inside of the perimeter of the compound behind the gate, just in case our first defense is breached,” Marat explained, as he followed Dmitry.

Boris was busy just a few feet away, talking to the men over the radio.  He glanced over at Anatoly.  “The dogs have a scent on another man.  He’s just north of the compound.”

“Tell them to hurry.”  Anatoly cocked his weapon. “Send several men to the back by the barn, just in case someone tries to sneak over the stone wall.”

Gabriel shoved a knife down in the sheath attached to his leg. “Do we have eyes on Erik’s team?”

Luka set the tablet down and pulled up the surveillance cameras that showed a small contingent of men in SUVs.  “They’re less than a mile from the compound.  We’re already being engaged.  So far, we’ve been able to keep them from breaching, but we have a problem.  They outnumber us. Our numbers are around 50.  Their numbers are more like 70.”

Dmitry watched the fight on the monitor.  Bullet flew through the air from both sides.  He could hear the distinct sound of rapid gunfire, even in the heavy winds and snow.  He turned to his men and lifted his head.

“We have one chance to do this.  We drive them back as far as we can away from the compound.   Disable their vehicles to ensure they are trapped, then pick them off one at a time.”

“Tell our men to pull back momentarily, then release the trees. That should slow them down and do some of the work for us.  If we can’t slow them that way, we have to blow that part of the mountain, but it will make it impossible for us to cross afterward, so it has to be a last resort.  Luka, you’re on the first detchord.  Gideon, you’re on the second.  If they appear to push through our defenses, we’ll give you a signal.  You both know what to do, just make sure our men are on the other side of the blast.  Anyone south of it will die.”

Offensive vs. Defense

“Keep the second wave of men back until I signal for you!” Yuri screamed, taking cover behind his SUV.  The sounds of bullets and crippling wind were starting to blend together to deafen the team.  Before long, they would be forced to pull out their big guns, but he didn’t want to show all his cards too soon.  They had barely arrived at the compound before they started taking fire from Dmitry’s guards; several of his men had already fallen.

The first goal was to draw out the men and identify their weaknesses; the second goal was to break through the stone wall that protected the compound, then overtake the mansion and its surrounding buildings.  But first, they needed to know what kind of firepower Dmitry was working with.

Low visibility handicapped their attack in the snow and under the dark clouds, even with the work lights shining on them, what modifications had been made to the land, but it was evident that Dmitry had cleared almost 100 feet of trees and foliage between the compound wall and the side of the road.

There were also several lines of deep trenches that ran like a river down the opposite side of the compound.  Using their trucks as cover, they lined themselves, side by side, to wage the first assault.

He stuck his weapon out, pointing it toward the direction of the Medlov gunfire and shot several long bursts again.

“They seem to be retreating,” one of Popov’s men screamed over his headpiece to Yuri in between sending rounds.  “The whole fucking line is stepping back.”

Yuri paused.  “What do you mean that they’re moving back?”  He raised his head slightly to look over the back of his truck.  He could see the Medlov men moving toward the compound gate entry.

“Do you want us to advance.  We can rush them now?” another of Popov’s guards screamed over the radio.

But Yuri knew a trap when he saw one.  “Don’t!” he yelled, standing all the way up.  “Hold the line!  Hold your fire.”

As Dmitry’s men retreated behind the gate, what Yuri thought to be Dmitry himself, based upon his size and height, stepped out of the gate, two men on both his flanks with weapons pointed in each direction.  In the masked man’s gloved right hand, he carried a long wooden-handled torch.  The flames danced in the mist, drawing everyone’s attention like a moth to a flame.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Yuri asked, wind swirling about him.   He stepped around his truck in his snowsuit, listening to the chatter over his radio as his men tried to figure out the same.  Was this asshole really attempting to parley in the middle of a gunfight?

The giant strode over to the side of the stone wall facing Yuri’s men and stood beside a towering row of freshly cut timber logs, some with the circumference of a tractor tire.  They were lined up in rows of six or eight, perfectly stacked and held in place by steel cables.  He snatched off his mask and screamed.

Guns were pointed at him from Yuri’s side, and guns were pointed at them by the men who stood by the wall. To pull one trigger now, may yield a stalemate for both, but that was Dmitry’s intention.

“You are trespassing on my land!”  Dmitry’s voice echoed down the side of the mountain.  “You are in violation of the International Council and its laws!  And you are fucking with the wrong man!”

Yuri walked forward, trekking through the snow with his men following behind him.  Coming to stand within twenty feet, he extended his arms out beside him.  “We don’t recognize the International Council anymore.  Maybe you have noticed.  And I’m pretty sure we’ve got the right man.”

“Yuri,” Dmitry’s eye twitched.  He gripped the torch harder.  “So, you’re willing to follow your boss straight to hell?”

Yuri pointed at the men beside Dmitry.  “And yours are evidently willing to do the same.  Or maybe they are just mad about your little mishap earlier.  I was told that someone might have suffered a severe stomachache due to one of my men’s bullets.”  He put a hand over his own stomach and laughed cruelly.  “That had to hurt like a mother fucker.”

Dmitry would not give Yuri the pleasure of seeing him turned from his primary objective.  “I’ll give you one last opportunity to walk away, Yuri.”  His pearly white teeth showed as he sneered.

“Not going to happen.”  Yuri looked down at the red laser dot on his chest and raised a palm to keep his men from shooting prematurely.  “Erik Popov has given specific instruction to make you last on the hit list.  That’s the only reason you’re still alive.  But I’m warning you, by the time we’re done with the campaign, you’ll wish that I had killed you now.”  He sucked at the toothpick in the side of his mouth.  “So, any last words before we get to taking your shit.”  His smile faded.

Dmitry’s face was cold and emotionless.  “Yeah.  Duck.”  Throwing the torch on timber, which had already been soaked in diesel fuel, the logs caught on fire.  Dmitry grabbed the ax laid against the side of the timber and swung, cutting through the synthetic rope.

“Run!” Yuri said, turning from Dmitry and moving as fast as his feet would take him.  Trying to get out of the way of the rolling trees, the men scattered, breaking their line and trying to find cover.  What they had failed to see was another group of Dmitry’s men had moved in further down the wall.  As soon as Dmitry had lit the released the first row of timber, they soon released the ones on their side.

“Fire!” Dmitry said, pulling his gun from Gabriel’s back.  Flipping the machine gun to automatic, he looked through his scope and picked off every man he could.  One. Two. Three. Four.  Five.  Their heads popped like grapes; their bodies hit the ground, falling clumsily into the snow.

The 20 men who had retreated behind the wall quickly advanced back out — all of them sending rounds toward Yuri’s fleeing army.

They watched the trees tumble down the mountain, glad that the timber had been an effective tool to push back Yuri’s line.

The trees picked up speed with every evolution, rolling over dead men and knocking over ones who were running.  The massive logs bouncied as they dragged blood in the snow, clearing a path for Dmitry.

Anatoly walked out of the gate with his dogs.  The steam pushed from his mouth as he gripped the leather leasehes.  Releasing his barking canines, he gave the order.

“Kill!” he shouted, watching his faithful animals chase behind the burning timber and the men who scatterd in the snow tried to escape.  Their ferocious growls danced with the howling wind and the rapid gunshots.

“Bring in the second wave now!” Yuri screamed, running toward the side. He dove over in the brush as the trees plowed into their vehicles, throwing the mangled metal around like toys.

Irkutsk Airport

Private Airstrip

5:00 p.m. (local airtime)

As soon as Diane landed the helicopter, she threw off her headset and ran to the cargo area to check on the passengers.  Not surprisingly, most of the children were sobbing while the adults tried to comfort them, but not Anya.  She looked up at Diane and stood up.  “Is my family still alive?” she asked, bracing for the bad news.

“Yes,” Diane said, opening the cockpit.  Guards were already standing and waiting to help them out.

Renee, with her baby tears streaming down her face, allowed Anil to help her with the children.  The nannies kept their eyes cast low, and their bags close.  One-by-one, they were helped onto the tarmac and rushed into Simeon’s hangar.

“Please help me find out if Ana’s okay,” Renee begged Anil.

He walked beside her, holding Davyd’s covered car seat in one hand, while Alexandria wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.  “I’ll find out something as soon as I can, but first we have to get you to safety.”

“What do you call this?” Renee asked, glancing over her shoulder.  Had the airport been compromised as well?

“A pitstop, evidently,” Anil replied.  As they walked into Simeon’s hangar out of the snow and rain, there was a processional of guards waiting on them with guns out and earpieces in.  The steel steps had been lowered, and the jet prepped to take the children straight to their next destination.

Kmol was still there after many hours of speaking with guards about who and what he had seen in Ulan Ude.  So, when the helicopter landed, he ran out with his toolbox, ready to make sure she was tuned up and prepared for the next flight.

“I’m staying back,” Diane told her second-in-charge as they arrived at the top of the jet’s steps.  Standing at the entryway of the plane, she pointed for the weary passengers to move quickly to their seats.  “You are going ahead with the family to make sure that they get to St. Petersburg safely.  Andros will have a team ready to take them.”

“What are you going to do?” the woman asked Diane.

“I’m going to figure out how to make one more run to the compound.”

The pilot came out of the cockpit and waved Diane in.  “You may not have to do it alone.  Nadei and reinforcements are about to land now from Baku.”

Diane placed a hand on the pilot’s shoulder and closed her eyes.  “God does answer prayers.”

“Wait!” Dylan protested, following Anya.  “I thought we were waiting for our parents to come and meet us.  Why are we loading into the plane?”

Anya pulled her baby brother, Konstantin, into her lap as she sat back in the large leather seat that was usually reserved for her father.  “Our parents aren’t going anywhere, Dylan.”  She kissed the back of her brother’s head, lovingly.

“What?” Dylan asked, confused.  “You heard what they said.  They said they were meeting us here. You know something I don’t?”

Anya looked out of the window at the white hangar door as it lifted.  “I know the only way that we’ll see our parents again is if they fight their way out of that place.  And even if they do, we won’t be here when they arrive.”

She knew her parents.  They would want all of the children as far away from danger as possible.  At that very moment, she was afraid as well.  She had just watched her grandmother shot in front of her, and no one knew if she had lived or not, because her father had slammed the door shut and Diane had sent them away.  But still, she felt safer knowing her gun was still attached to the holster against her leg.  It was just bad luck that she couldn’t have seen the sniper and shot him first.

Dylan wiped a tear before it could fall to his cheek.  The day’s events were still jumbled in the back of his little mind, and the more he tried to understand why everything was happening, the more confused he became.  “My dad is going to make sure he brings my mom back to me.”

Anya looked over and offered her hand.  She felt bad for Dylan. He was a great friend, but far more innocent than she had been in a long time.  “I tell you what; we get out of this, I’ll give you a kiss.”  She said so only because she knew it would take Dylan’s mind off his mother.

Dylan’s eyes lit up at first, but shy of his emotions, he quickly tucked them away.  “Why would I ever want to kiss you?” he asked, turning his face from Anya to repress his grin.

The Medlov Compound

Second Floor

The constant gunshots, the loud explosions, and now the smoke billowing from just beyond the compound’s wall were driving everyone inside crazy.  The men had given the women weapons and locked them inside of Royal’s bedroom while several guards stood posted outside of the door.  But none of the women wanted to run and hide.

“This is bullshit,” Valeriya said, moving the curtains to peek out of the window at the mayhem happening just a few hundred feet away.  “I can’t believe that they just sent me up here like this.  Just like them, I’m a trained professional.  I could actually be of use right now.  It’s snowing like crazy.  The sky is only getting darker.  The wind is picking up, and we have limited men.  They need to take all the help that they can’t get.”  Rolling her eyes, she pulled herself from the window.  “I can’t just sit here.”

Royal uncrossed her arms from her chest as she paced. “Me either.  We need to be down there fighting.”  Her hands were still red from the blood she had washed off in the sink using scalding hot water, but she beat a swollen fist into her hand.  “You saw what they did to my mother?”  Her voice broke.

All three women turned to look at Royal and then each other, unsure of how to respond to something so traumatic.  No one wanted to make her feel any worse than she must have already been feeling.  No one tried to console her for fear that it might soften her resolve for what was surely needed of everyone today. Mostly, they all pretended that it didn’t happen at all.  It was cruel, but it was the only coping mechanism they had.

Biting her thumbnail, Royal looked at her watch and changed the subject.  “Is there any way that we could find out if the babies made it?”  She wiped stubborn tears that refused to stop creeping down her face every few minutes.  Her nose was red, cheeks flushed, and her voice nasally, but her mind was clear.  Dmitry needed her whether he knew it or not.

Lilly laid in the middle of Renee’s bed with her knees cocked up, and her feet planted.  “Vasily said not to call anyone, just in case the calls were being tracked some kind of way.”  She grabbed the locket around her neck.  Inside it held a picture of Dylan and Vasily.  “So, basically, they want us to sit here blind with our hands tied behind our backs waiting for them to save us.”  She shook her head in disagreement.  Raising up, she looked over at Valeriya.  “You’re right.  We can’t just sit here.”

“Well, ladies,” Anastasiya said, exhaling a breath and putting her hands on her hips.  “How are we going to get out of here?”

Just then there was a knock at the door. “Coming!” Anastasiya went to the door and cracked it open while Valeriya stood behind it with her weapon pointed.

“It’s just me,” Peaches said, voice still groggy from the drugs.  “Are you going to let me in or what?”

“Sure,” Anastasiya said, opening the door wider and stepping to the side while Valeriya lowered her weapon.

“You look like shit,” Lilly said, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

“Thanks,” Peaches said, looking around the room.  “So, they locked you in the tower too?”  She licked her lips and smiled. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not too fucking hurt to fight.”

Anastasiya locked the bedroom door to make sure they had some privacy.  “Yeah, we think that’s just what the doctor ordered.  Now, all we have to do is figure out how to get out of here.”

“Simple,” Peaches said, limping into Royal’s bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet and took out a bottle of pain pills.  Throwing them in her mouth, she looked back at the women, who all watched her waiting for her to finish her sentence.  “You just walk out.  No one can really stop you.  They don’t have the capacity right now to play babysitter.”

Yuri’s Second Wave

Outside the Compound Walls

While Yuri rushed to regroup with his men, he called in for the second wave.  “Bring it up now.  Now damn it!”  he screamed into the radio as he put out the burning flesh with one of his men’s coat.  In the distance, he could hear dogs barking and attacking.  He could hear men screaming, and now nightfall had set in, bringing more problems with visibility.

The freezing weather was starting to wear down what was left of his men, and if the second group didn’t hurry, he feared what Dmitry would be able to concoct next to keep them at bay. Hearing the truck motors as they struggled to make it up the hill, he rushed over to another man who was lying out in the snow, fighting to breathe after he was shot in the neck.

“I got you,” Yuri said, pressing his hand down on the blood-gushing wound.  “Just hold on.  Hold on!”  He screamed, frustrated with his massive failure.  The man went limp below him, head falling to the side as he died.

When the trucks pulled up, several men jumped out to assist their teammates, but Yuri stood from the corpse in front of him and stalked right over to the truck leading the small group, jumped in the back, and snatched the covering from DShK 1938 machine gun mounted to the bed.

“We have to break through their line now!” Yuri ordered.  “With everything that we’ve got, we need to push them back and take down that fucking wall!”

The other men pulled several RPGs, Ak-47s, boxes of hand grenades, night goggles, and several M32 grenade launchers from the backs of the trucks and readied themselves for the final push to break inside the compound.

Counting the men who had just arrived to reinforce their ranks, he had around 50 warm bodies left.  The rest were still laid out either dead or severely injured on the grounds.

Dmitry’s Fight to Hold

Outside the Compound

The bullets flew past Dmitry so close until he felt his face swell.  They had been in the fight for hours, trying to ensure that Yuri’s men were not able to up near the compound wall, but they were hemorrhaging men.  Down to only eight guards outside of the gate, plus himself, Anatoly, Gabriel, Vasily, Simeon, Daniil, and Marat, he was keeping count of his numbers even as he fought.

Out of bullets for his Benelli M4 after blowing off a few heads and denting a few chests, he dropped the empty gun and reached into his thigh holster to pull out his sidearm.

He was tracking a man who had run down the side of the mountain, away from the compound.  Gun in hand, muzzle facing toward the sky, he walked carefully through the snow, looking in between trees and trying desperately to hold his balance at the awkward angle.

Suddenly, out of his left eye, he saw the man reappear.  Turning, Dmitry extended his arm and pulled the trigger, but the man darted behind a tree.  Dmitry did the same.  Pressing his head against the tree, he listened as the man cocked his weapon.

He tried to sneak a look around the tree, but the man shot toward him – the bullet ripping pieces of wood from the side.  “Shit!” Dmitry straightened back up, blinking fast to try to get the splinter out of his eye.  He strained to see, to hear, to focus.

Desperate, the man shot again, this time twice.  Both were direct hits to the tree, but not to him.   Dmitry listened again.  Each time the man advanced outward, he pressed a foot out in the snow to get his footing.  But just to make sure…

The man shot again.  Twice – using the same poorly thought-through movement.

To draw the man out, Dmitry aimed his weapon around the tree without looking.  He sent three rounds quickly, sure none of them would hit the intended target.  After that, he dropped down, knees together, making himself as small as possible.

Again, as the man stepped out to return fire, aiming his Glock toward Dmitry’s head, Dmitry dove out into the snow, landed in his chest, and sending a direct round into the man’s knee.

“Ahhh!” he screamed, shaking as he pointed his weapon.

It was too late. Dmitry pulled his trigger again, hitting the man squarely in the forehead.  He rested his head in the snow, inhaling a deep breath.  But as he opened them, he saw in the clearing there was another convoy headed toward the compound.

“They can’t see it.”  He jumped up, running fast as he got on the radio.  “Get the men inside!  Get the men inside the gate!  We’ve got incoming.  Six trucks, at least!”  He pushed up the incline, feet digging into the snow and ice as he pushed himself as hard as he could.

Gabriel kicked a man in the chest, sending him to the ground.  Grabbing his gun, he shot him quickly and then adjusted his earpiece.  “What?”

“Incoming!” Dmitry yelled.

“Get everyone inside!” Simeon yelled as he and Daniil fought a duo about 200 feet from the compound entry gate.

Anatoly blew his whistle calling his dogs back from a distance.  Lowering his Ak-47, he motioned toward the gate as the other Medlov guards ran inside.   Keeping his back toward the gate, he made his way toward the entrance as his dogs appeared in view, racing toward him.

But Vasily was further away than anyone else.  He had a man clasped around the neck, fighting in the snow, after the Popov guard was separated from his team during the log drop, he had haunted him to this remote location.

From behind him, in the darkness, he heard footsteps coming his way, but he couldn’t take his hands from around the man’s throat.  Pressing down harder, he choked him, quietly watching the life drift from his eyes.  Coming into view, the work lights in the distance, illuminating a male body, Vasily dove several feet over in the snow to grab the weapon that had been knocked from his hand during the fight.

“It’s me!” Stepan yelled, hands up.  “We couldn’t raise you on the radio, and I saw you run out this way earlier.”  He inhaled a breath and bent down to put his hands on his knees.

Vasily raised the broken earpiece where Stepan could see.  “Had a slight problem.” Standing up, he walked past the dead body and shot him in the face just in case.  “What’s going on?” he asked, walking with Boris back toward the compound.

“Dmitry says we have major incoming to the south of the property. Marat confirmed as well.  The guys down in surveillance say we got a shit show headed directly for us.  Evidently, Erik has a lot more men.”

“Great,” Vasily growled, turning his walk into a run.

Inside the Compound Walls

As Dmitry and the rest of the men ran back into the gate and it closed behind them, they were greeted by something they were not expecting.  The women that they had explicitly told to stay upstairs were now down in the courtyard with weapons.  All of them had on boots and coats, had outfitted themselves with holsters and guns, but none of them were welcome.

“What are you doing down here?” Gabriel asked, grabbing Valeriya’s arm.  “No, no.  We’re not doing this.  You get back upstairs where it’s safe.”

“No,” Valeriya snatched away.  “Stop kidding yourself, Gabe.  We’re long fucking past safe.  How many men did you lose out there?”

Dmitry shot Royal a disappointed look.  He would have thought that at least she would have seen the logic in their request, but birds of a feather…

“How many men?” Valeriya asked again.

When Gabriel didn’t answer, Simeon did. “We lost twelve.”  He glanced over at Gabriel.  “Sorry, she deserves to know.”

“We want to help,” Lilly said, walking over to Vasily.  “Let us,” she pleaded.

“And you!” Anatoly pointed toward his sister.  “I should have known you would have something to do with this.”

“You mean something to help?” she snapped.  “Yeah, get over it.”

Dmitry didn’t have time to fight with them.  Instead, he walked over to the guard standing by the coy pond and took his extra weapon.  He strode back over to Royal and offered it.  “Put it in the small of your back.  If you can’t get to the holster on your thigh and the rifle doesn’t work, that will be handy.”

Royal took the weapon and did a mag check. “Thank you,” she said, putting the weapon in the small of her back as he instructed.  “What’s going on?”

“You got eyes on him?” Gabriel asked the guard who was perched upon the top of the house with binoculars and a sniper rifle.

“Yes, boss,” the man answered.  “They stopped about 100 feet from the front entrance, but I see a lot of activity as they fan out.  Pretty heavy artillery as well.  The DShK 1938 mounted in the middle of the truck will breach the wall.”

“We have to blow it.  Where is Luka?” Dmitry asked, realizing his guard wasn’t inside of the compound.  Neither was Gideon.

Marat tried to contact Luka first since he was closest to Yuri’s position.  “What’s your location, Luka?” he asked, waiting for a response.

“Luka’s fucked right now,” Yuri responded over the earpiece.  “Why don’t you take a look outside of your gate?”

Dmitry turned when he felt the pause around him.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, glaring at Marat.

Marat pulled out his earpiece momentarily.  “They’ve got Luka.  He says to look outside of the gate.”  He passed his earpiece to his boss and told everyone else to take them off.  “Get them out of your ears.  The line has been compromised.  Let’s go with the secondary radio only.”  He took the devices from everyone as they detached them from their bodies.

“If they get through, we won’t be able to hold them back,” Valeriya said under her breath to Gabriel.  “The detcord has to be detonated.  It’s the only thing in combination with the dynamite that will separate us from them, and possibly create a landslide.”  She turned from the group and looked up at her husband.  “They wouldn’t be lined up out there unless they were ready for us.”

Dmitry walked to the gate and used the truck that had been pulled in front to barricade it, to stand on and look over into the clearing.  His heavy feet dented the hood under his weight.  “I’m here!” he screamed, more for Luka than Yuri, waving a hand toward them.

The fronts of the new trucks were re-positioned side by side as the others were before, but this time there were no fiery trees to roll at them.  Their high beams were pointed toward the compound, lighting up the wall.  Luka was on his knees with a knife at his throat.  Breath visible as he exhaled, face bloody, and his hand-bound behind him, he waited for his outcome at the mercy of Yuri.

“I don’t know, Dmitry!” Yuri yelled.  “I think I have a déjà vu right now.  Didn’t we just do this?” He pressed the knife harder, enjoying the thrill of torturing one of Dmitry’s men and making him watch.  “How much does this boy mean to you?  Is he just your guard or another bastard son you forgot about?”

Marat switched channels on the secondary radio and raised the sniper on the roof. “Can you get a clear shot?” he asked, unable to see what Dmitry could see over the gate. However, he did know it was bad.

“First of all, dumb ass, you have an earpiece in, so there is no need to scream.  Secondly, what do you want in exchange for returning my man to me?” Dmitry said as the guards on his flank below with their weapons pointed outward toward the raised voices.

Yuri shrugged.  “I was sort of hoping at a try at your wife!”  The men behind him laughed aloud, intentionally trying to bait Dmitry.  “If not her, I’ll have a go at your daughter, if she’s around.  She’s old enough now, right?”

“Yes. I repeat, I can take the shot, but I can’t guarantee with the low visibility, trajectory, and winds,” the sniper confirmed with his sites on Yuri.  Even as he spoke, the reception was sketchy.

“Try!” Marat ordered, quietly screaming over the radio. “It’s either that or watch your brother die.”

“I’m just saying, if we could sneak around from the back of the compound, down the side, out of view, we could get to the detonator before they could make a full attack on us,” Valeriya explained.  “Baby, you know I helped develop the layout and the checkpoints. I’m telling you; we only have a short window to do this.  If they pass the point of no return, we’re all dead.  And if not all of us, too many.”

“Alright, alright. I know.”  Gabriel grabbed the back of his neck as he tried to think.  He was not going to send someone else out to do something this important.  “And has anyone seen Gideon?”

“Can’t find him,” Boris answered while Marat was talking to his contact.

Dmitry again tried to stall, shocked that Yuri would even allow it.  “You know when this is all over, Yuri, I hope we can sit down, have a few beers and become friends.  You seem like you could really use one.”

Yuri snatched Luka’s head back when still Dmitry would not give in to his many insults.  “You think that’s possible after I spew your boy’s blood all over your front lawn?”

His blue eyes narrowed, sparkling in the night as the wind blew over him.  “I think it’s worth a shot!” Dmitry said, giving the signal.

At that exact second, the sharpshooter on top of the house inhaled a deep breath and upon release, took the shot.  It was a fool’s goal, to shoot from such a far distance, to fight against the wind, but surprisingly, it made contact, hitting Yuri in his upper shoulder and knocking him backward.

“Shoot them! Shoot them!” Yuri screamed, grabbing his wounded shoulder.  “Kill those bastards!!”

Luka got up to run and made it several feet, but as he headed toward the gate and Dmitry jumped off the truck to get to him, Luka took a blast to the back that sent him flying forward face-first into the snow.

Dmitry gripped the side of the gate and screamed inwardly, but outwardly, he refused still to give Yuri an ounce.  Recomposing himself, he turned toward the Medlov women and pointed toward the front door.  “Get them in the house!”  he yelled.

Hearing the distinct scudding sound of an RPG coming from Yuri’s position, Dmitry lowered his head and rushed with everyone through the front doors.  The missile followed shortly after slamming into the side of the house.  Glass, debris, and fire smoke exploded in every direction on contact.

“Get them to the back!” Dmitry ordered the women to Boris.  “Anatoly, I want you and Vasily on my six.  We need to keep them as far back as we can for as long as we can.”  He looked around for Gabriel and Valeriya, but they had disappeared.  “Where are they?”

Anatoly sent his dogs to go sit and wait.  “They are working on getting to the detonators.”  He reloaded his weapon and spat blood from an earlier fight.  “They want us to keep stalling like you did before, Papa. At least until they can get behind their lines to spot.”

“We can do that,” Dmitry promised.

Outside, Medlov guards launched a counteroffensive from behind the wall.  Using the stone protection to stave off the bullets, they returned fire, trying to push the men back in their vehicles.  They were told to aim for the tires, shoot for the windows, blow out the engines.  Just to make sure they did not move the line.

“Where are you going?” Royal asked, stopping in her tracks.  “I’m not leaving with you.” Pushing past Boris, she screamed out toward her husband.  “I’d rather die first!  Do you hear me?”  Boris left her to speak her mind, understanding his time was better spent on more pressing issues.

Dmitry stopped and turned toward her.  “I can’t ever allow that to happen.”  He glanced down at her gun and felt an impossible acceptance of the role she wanted to play.

“This isn’t up to you.”  Walking up to her husband, Royal motioned for Peaches and Lilly to join her.  “We’ll provide cover for whatever you’re about to do.  We can do at least that.  All three of us are good with a weapon.  Point and shoot, right?”  Though her heart constricted in fear of the symphony of war sounds happening outside of their mangled, busted door, she also knew that she couldn’t permit him to do it alone.

“We have to keep them at least 100 feet from the compound wall.  Do you know about how long that is?” Dmitry asked the women as they huddled around him.

While they talked, Boris stormed past them again with an RPG of his own he had gotten from the war room.  Opening the front door, he headed back out into the courtyard, cursing under his breath. He went over to the blockade of cars by the gate, crawled atop them, and sent an angry missile toward Yuri’s vehicles - hitting the one closest to the gate with a direct impact.

“Take that you dirty bastard!” he screamed.

Dmitry walked with the women and the men into the adjoining room with the bar.  Going to the closet behind the bar, he pulled out a military-grade flamethrower that had been retrofitted to please the most seasoned professional.

“Is that what I think it is?” Vasily asked, eager to try it out.

“Yes, and before you ask, you’ll have to wait in line to get your hands on my girl.”  Dmitry put his hands through the straps and loaded the banned weapon on his back.   Anatoly helped him.

“So, I have an idea for something little stronger than the flame thrower,” Anatoly offered as he stepped back.

“Really?” Dmitry was definitely open to new ideas and waited to hear what Anatoly could offer that would somehow make this easier and more time-efficient.  “What did you have in mind?”

“A vehicle, the extra detchord, and dynamite out in the barn and a remote.”  Anatoly felt a smile tug at his lips. “I call it the Russian cocktail.”

“There is detchord still in the barn and a box of dynamite,” Daniil said, overhearing their conversation as he reloaded his own weapons to assist holding the front line.  “I can get it for you.”

A Final Goodbye

“So, you remember what I said? Valeriya asked for the final time as they ran in the dark from the back door to the stone wall to help Gabriel get over to the other side.   She looked up at him through the flurries of snow that fell on her warm, dark chocolate face.

“Yes, I remember,” Gabriel said, throwing one long leg over the side of the wall.

Remember, the tree is marked.  It has a letter M carved into its side.  There will also be, hopefully, a birdhouse.  Inside, in plain view, is the detonator switch.  Grab it, click it and make sure when you do, you’re on the north side of the blast. The dynamite embedded in the trenches with the detchord will do the rest.”  She worried dreadfully for him now that he was without any form of communication.  Handing over his rifle bag, she pressed up on her toes.

He knew her meaning and kissed her forehead.  “One final goodbye. I’ll be back in just a little bit. You shouldn’t worry.”

Valeriya smiled absently, feeling guilty for trying so hard to be of service, not to the organization her husband served, but to her family.  “This isn’t your big idea.  It’s mine. I should be going.” As a matter of fact, she wished nothing more than to be allowed to do this deed herself.

“Stay here,” Gabriel ordered, his voice stern and tight.  “Don’t get any ideas.”

“I’ll be right here,” Valeriya said, crossing her heart.

“Then I’ll be right back,” Gabriel winked.  “I love you.”  He knew that she needed to hear the words.  Her children had been snatched from her arms and along with her brother, sent far away.  Her life was falling apart in front of her, and she refused to stand by and watch.  For all those things, he felt more than an abundance of empathy, but he would not allow her to push too far, to risk too much.  That was his job.

“I love you.”  Valeriya watched her husband disappear over the tall stone wall into the darkness behind it.  The only confirmation of his landing on the other side was a thump in the snow as his massive body made contact with the ground.  After that, he was gone, moving fast under cover of darkness and shadow into the bushes and trees that lined the side of the property in hopes of being undiscovered as he crossed behind Yuri’s men and found the marked tree.

Just behind her, Valeriya turned to see Daniil emerge from the back door of the compound and run directly toward the barn.  He was moving fast, kicking snow up with his boots as he headed toward the door.

She hissed at him, pulling his attention toward her.  He stopped abruptly, looking her way and at the same time, turning his weapon to face her.

“It’s Valeriya,” she quickly identified, before she got shot.  “Do you need help in there?”

Daniil looked toward his barn, even during the war, still locked, forbidden, and protected.  “No, he said, eyes scanning her pretty face.  The mist and wind flew past them sideways, the sky above giving off a dull half-moon.   “I’m just going to collect a few things for Anatoly.”  His brow furrowed as she came into full view, crossing the space to stand in front of him.  “Why are you out here?” he asked, glancing over at the wall.

“Doing the same for Gabriel.”

Daniil was just about to dismiss her, to head back on his errand when the trees rustled just beyond the wall where Gabriel had just gone.  Valeriya and Daniil turned toward the sound.  He put his finger over his lips and pointed to his weapon.  Valeriya did the same.  Slowly, intentionally moving at the same time, step-by-step, they approached the wall and heard someone struggling to get over it.  The steps that Valeriya had placed at the base of the interior wall was still there.  She climbed up, Daniil at her side, and then brought her gun up pointing at the person trying to give over the side.

“Shit!  I almost shot you!” Valeriya gasped, putting down her weapon and offering an arm to help Gideon get over.  “Where were you?”

Gideon grimaced in pain, face twisting as he held to her arm and scaled the wall to jump over.  Clutching a wound on his side, he tried to breathe.  “The Popov men found me at the checkpoint. One of them shot me, but I drew them from the detonator.”  He opened his hand.  “I have it here.”

“What?” Valeriya grabbed Gideon’s hand and felt herself spin in her own body.  There in his hand was the one thing she had promised to Gabriel that would be there.  There in his hand was the damn thing that Gabriel was risking his life for!   “My husband is headed to your former checkpoint to set off a fucking detonator that is not there!”  Her eyes went wild.  Hand to her mouth, she glanced back at the staircase.

“Valeriya,” Daniil warned, almost reading her mind through her squeamishness.  “We should take this back to the family.”

“He is my family,” Valeriya snapped.  Snatching the detonator out of Gideon’s hand, she hiked up the ladder, and before Daniil could protest, jumped over the wall - headed toward the man she had just sent to his death.

Yuri was preparing to press forward.  While Dmitry had been skillful all day, figuring out ways to keep them from getting close to the compound, since early that day, until, in the dark of night, he was determined to breach the compound wall and destroy the inhabitants within successfully.  When his boss sent him to do a thing, he did it.  No matter how difficult, no matter how trying, no matter how much was required of personal sacrifice, he always delivered.  It was because of his previous exemplary record and the hell he was currently enduring for liege that he was dumbfounded by the response when he finally checked on Erik.

“I’m freezing my ass off here!” Erik screamed into his radio.  Cell phones didn’t exactly work in the mountains.  “You told me it was safest here, instead of up there waging a fucking war on Dmitry Medlov.  Yet, you sound fine, and I’m here on the side of the road in the last vehicle we have available because the rest have been shot up by gunner on the side of a fucking helicopter.  And I’m freezing to death!”

Yuri leaned into the back of the truck as his men scurried around.  They were working toward an end but needed everything in place.  “I assure you, I’m not fine,” he said of his arm, now in a sling with poor bandaging.  “

Erik wasn’t interested in Yuri’s disposition as long as he was still alive and out of Dmitry’s clutches.  “How long is this going to take?” His breath visible in front of him when he spoke.  On the side, the road, no one passing for hours, their vehicles disabled due to the massive bullet holes in their motors, Erik wondered how long he could survive.

“An hour or so more,” Yuri explained, bracing for his liege’s displeasure again.

“An hour or so?” Erik felt his hands turning into blocks of ice already.  “If I get frostbite on any of my appendages because you had the bright idea to leave me here, I’m going to cut off parts of you, Yuri.”  He longed to be in the fight.  But here, so far away, it felt as though he was wasting away.

“As soon as we have breached the compound wall, I’ll send for you directly.  Your safety is paramount,” Yuri explained, standing up from the back of the truck to see what the ruckus was over at the front.  He ducked his head around the corner to see the Medlov gate opening.   He nearly dropped the radio.  “I have to go.”

“What’s going on there?” Erik asked. “Hello!  Hello!”

Yuri held his arm as several of his men ran past him, guns pointed toward the creaking gate as a black Land Rover with dark tinted windows slowly moved out of the confines of the compound and moved toward them.

“What the hell is this now?  Jump on the back of the truck and man that weapon,” he told one of his men of the DShK 1938.  Yuri had experienced enough Medlov trickery for one night.

“I cannot believe I’m actually allowing you to blow up my new toy,” Dmitry groaned, watching over the tablet as his new self-driving Range Rover prototype went beyond the gate and crossed over the safe distance between the wall and the staging area for Yuri.

“Does he think he’s just going to drive out of here?” Yuri asked aloud.

“Success requires sacrifice,” Anatoly quipped, stopping the car with the remote control in his hand.  He glanced over his father and offered the detonator to him.  “Want to do the honors?”

“Why not.”  Dmitry took the small switch in his hand, watching as Yuri’s curiously ignorant men approached.

“Don’t get so fucking close!”  Yuri screamed, moving in front of the truck.  “Step back.  Step back!”

But before he could warn them, Dmitry flipped the switch and the detchord that Daniil had just brought them from the barn, connected to the dynamite inside the back of the vehicle exploded, sending shock waves across the open space outside of the compound, knocking down men, shattering glass and using Dmitry’s new very expensive vehicle to be used as an IED.

“Son of a bitch!” Yuri screamed, finding himself back on the snowy ground.

The sound was disorientating at first.  Yuri’s ears rang, the noises coming in waves and then with vibrations that were muffled.  Getting back to his feet, he realized the explosion had sent the men into chaos.  Some ran for the gate, aggravated with the long hours of getting nowhere, rushing to the gate, shooting wildly without configuration or coordination.  Some responded by sending grenades, which exploded near the wall, some even making it over the wall, and still yet more were trying to get their bearing after being disoriented by the blast.

Using that as their signal, Dmitry had the lights to the compound turned off completely.  They perched himself above the compound wall using one of the other SUVs he had not blown up, and the same was done for the long line of family members, guards, and friends who took their places as well.

The men who crowded in an attempt to tear down the gate did not see Dmitry.  In his black jacket, black pants, black boots and mask, blonde hair hidden from sight, sheltered by an infinite darkness behind him, he watched as they clawed like rats to get inside of his home.  He let them pool there, as many as were stupid enough to come despite the screams in the distance from Yuri, ordering, then warning them of their error.

They did not notice until it was too late to hear the sound of the flamethrower coming to life, the spit of his gas into the air before igniting into an angry liquid, fire breathing dragon from an elevated position.

Their eyes widened in fear as the fire came down on them in unforgiving, spraying their bodies, burning them on sight.  Their screams filled the night air. They sounded like banshees wailing in the dark.

“Now!” Royal screamed to Anastasiya, Peaches, and Lilly, standing up along with the long line of Medlovs, raising above the compound wall atop the vehicles, they released their coordinated shower of fully automatic weapons on those bold enough to show their faces on the other side of the barrier wall. No matter their last name at that moment, brightening the night sky with fire, bullets, grenade launchers, and pure, unadulterated refusal to give up, they all became Medlovs at that moment.  Daniil stood beside Simeon, Marat beside Boris, Anastasiya beside Anatoly, Lilly beside Vasily, the guards lining the sides of the gate, sending mortars from the driveway.  They pushed together as hard as they could to protect themselves, to protect the ones they loved, and the view from the distance was spectacular.

Help Arrives

Gabriel could hear the chaos in the distance and hoped it was being given out in generous amount to Yuri and his men instead of the other way around.  Fumbling through the dark, the thick brush, and high snow, he unable to use his flashlight or risk giving away his location.   Carefully, he had successfully maneuvered past the men staging their war against the compound, but only because of whatever distraction there was at the front of the house.

Finally, he arrived at what he thought was the marked tree and saw the birdhouse hanging on the limb.  He reached in expecting to find the switch, but discovering there was nothing.  “You have to be fucking kidding me.” Pulling his hand out of the box, he closed his eyes as he heard the click of the weapon behind him.

“Going somewhere, asshole?” one of Yuri’s men said, emerging from the tree line.  He was a mid-thirties balding man with an English accent, bad teeth, and dirty fingernails.  “Came down here to take a piss, I did, and to figure out how to get off this fucking mountain alive, but bringing a real, live Medlov back might mean a bonus for me.  Boss Popov might give me this fucking place.  What do you think?”

Gabriel held his hands up, behind his head.  “I think you can do better than that.  If you let me go, I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

“That’s no fun,” the guard said, stepping closer.  He turned the light on his weapon onto Gabriel and radioed it into Yuri.  “Boss, I found a Medlov in the western tree line.  What do you want me to do with him?”

Valeriya held her weapon in front of her - pointing into the darkness like she would kill the night itself if it reared its head.  Following the dim light of the moon above and the ambers of fire near the front of the compound, she moved through the icy tree limbs that cut across her face, snagged in her hair, and pulled her clothes.  She stepped through the layers of snow that slowed her advancement toward her husband, wondering the entire time if she was too late.  Then, by chance, she saw what appeared to be a flashlight west of her down in the thicket of trees.

She had helped dig the trenches, lay the explosives and mark them, but it was hard to tell where she was in the dark, and with no radio to call into the war room in hopes that they might have eyes on the area, she was on her own.

“Maybe that’s him,” she said before she could catch herself.  Moving to a trot, she stopped when to the east of her, she saw a group of men approaching.  All she could tell of them were their flashlights, but she knew it was far too many of them to be a team of Medlovs.

“We thought you were fucking with us?” a voice said in the distance as a group of guards came at Yuri’s command to see if a real Medlov had actually been snagged.  “This pretty motherfucker was just going to sneak off on us.”

“Coward,” another man taunted.

Gabriel kept his hands above him.  “I’m no coward, you pussy.”  He felt a foot kick the back of his leg and made him kneel to the ground.  “Who are you out here with?”

“No one,” Gabriel answered.

A punch to the face and then the same question again.  “No one,” Gabriel replied, steadfast in his purpose. “Look, if you think you’re going to beat the truth out of me, let me save you some time. I’m not out here with any person.”

“Then why are you out here?” the English man asked.

“I felt like a stroll,” Gabriel answered, sucking his teeth.  “Here’s an idea, why don’t you boys turn those guns on yourselves and…” Before he could finish, someone kicked him in the back of the head.  He fell forward, planting his hands in the snow.

“Keep talking pretty boy,” they taunted.

Valeriya knew she had to draw their attention away from her husband.  If Yuri got his hand on Gabriel, he’d kill him immediately.  If Erik got his hands on him, he’d torture him. And she knew after all he had been through; he couldn’t handle the possibility.  As she approached, slowly sneaking up on the men, her foot accidentally broke a branch on the ground.

“What’s that?”  One of the guards turned his flashlight toward the sound, seeing a woman’s silhouette run through the trees.  “He’s not alone!” Shooting in her direction, he screamed over his shoulder.  “Watch him!  Take him back to Yuri.”

Gabriel knew that there was only one person who could be following him.  Taking a chance, he drew attention from his wife.  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, pushing off his knees.

“Shut up!” Another guard tried to use the butt of his weapon to hit Gabriel in the head, but Gabriel grabbed it and yanked the weapon and the man toward him.  As he did, another man jumped on his back, but he flexed hard and tried to throw him off.  Falling back on the man, he elbowed him in the ribs. Rolling over, he caught the other man’s foot as he came for his face.  He pushed him back, sending him tumbling several feet away.  Reaching for his knife, attached to the sheath on his leg, he dove on top of the man who was crawling to get back on his feet.  With one fluid motion, Gabriel shoved his blade into the man’s back.  Grabbing the weapon next to him on the ground, he pointed toward the other guard who ran toward him and shot the man in the face.

“Valeriya!” Gabriel screamed, looking around him.  Where was she?  What was she doing?  He got up and ran, headed south as his stomach lurched.  There was only one thing she could be running toward – the checkpoint.  Within the distance limitations, weather, and line of sight requirements meant that she would have to be close to the blast site in order to ensure the blast was successful.  “No!” he screamed, running hard, stumbling in the snow.  His eyes watered, blurring his vision.  “God, no!”

“We’re going to need more men over here,” the guard said, pointing his flare gun up in the air to give his exact location.  It lit up the sky and drew the attention of the guards, who were tracking Valeriya further west, then south.

“Copy that. Sending reinforcements,” the voice over the radio said.

Valeriya could hear the man who was chasing right behind her.  His radio said that they were sending more men, and eventually, they would be all over the area, well past the point of no return.  Not to mention, it would only be a matter of time before Yuri stormed the wall and took over the compound entirely.  She had no choice.  She had to do this now.  Hearing guns shots behind her in the distance, she ran as hard as she could in the southernly direction, mildly familiar as the terrain cleared out.  Her mind was on her husband, wondering if the gunshots had been from him or for him.

“Stop bitch, or I’ll shoot!” a voice screamed only ten feet behind her.  He had his sites on her, his flashlight on her back, but as she stopped running, recognizing where she was, Valeriya turned around.  In her hand, she clutched the detonator.  Breathing hard, eyes full of wild desperation, she looked up in the blanket of clouds above her and released a deep breath.

“I’ve been hearing that my entire life,” she said, seeing Yuri’s men approaching from the east and her husband approaching from the north.

“Well, maybe you should listen,” the guard said, gripping his rifle.

“Maybe I should.”  Valeriya swallowed hard, voice settling in a calm tone.  “Do you know where we are?”

“What?” the man asked.

Valeriya could hear her husband screaming her name. He was getting closer.  In just a few minutes, he would be too close.

“No, I have no idea where we are.  Out in the dark.”  The man walked closer.

Valeriya laughed.  “No,” she felt her fingers tremble.  Flashes of her children, their smiles, their joy, her husband, her brother, her new life – it all pushed forward in her mind so vividly.  Tears rushed down her cheeks.  “We are at an impasse.  Can’t stop.  Can’t keep going.”

The guard thought the woman was speaking gibberish.  He could hear Gabriel’s voice growing clearer.  “Someone is looking for you,” he taunted.

“One thing that I’ve learned as a mother,” Valeriya said, flipping the small switch in her hand, “there is never enough time.”

When she pressed the button, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see the explosion come for her.  The ground below shot up into the air.  Snow and dirt, rock, and fire plumed high above.  The long trenches, hidden once, now opened wider. The speed of its fury ripped across the line between the trees, across the cleared ground in front of the compound, over the road and back down in the curves and deep recesses of the mountain.

Everything within the blast radius was knocked about, including Valeriya’s body that fell into the open earth and was churned by the immediate landslide.

Men went running, seeking shelter.  The entire fleet of trucks behind the line, purposed for advancing on Dmitry, was lost to the destruction.  The snow rushed over the dirt, and the trees fell, tumbling into the dark.  Fire consumed.  Earth covered.  Death reigned.  The explosion was so great; it rocked even the compound.

Gabriel screamed before the blast, picked up by his powerful thrust, and knocked into a tree.  Dmitry and Royal saw the explosion come zipping from the west and run across the perimeter destroying everything and everyone behind its power.  All that was left were a few stragglers laid out unconscious on the ground afterward.  A deep, crater-like hole diving the compound from the world, destroying the road, and obliterating the threat was left.

“Gideon’s inside,” Royal said, having rushed off the vehicle parked against the wall when they saw the explosion. She turned to her husband.  “Luka is dead.  So, who set off the detchord?  I thought Anatoly said, whoever it was had to be close.”

Daniil cut his eyes toward Dmitry and turned away.  “Do you want us to go and take care of whatever is left out there?” he asked Marat.

Marat didn’t speak.  He nodded; face twisted into a painful grimace.

“Who set it off?”  Royal turned to do a headcount.  “Lilly, where are Valeriya and Gabriel?”  Her eyes watered.

“I don’t know,” Lilly answered, searching for her friend as well.  She looked to her husband for an explanation, but not even he could provide one.

Dmitry grabbed Royal, holding her close, he rubbed her back. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Who did it!” Royal asked, pushing away from Dmitry.  “Who?”

Dmitry held her by her arms and looked his wife in the eyes.  “They did.”

Royal crumbled into pieces.  Crying out, she felt her husband pick her up off the cold ground and carry her inside.  Her sobs, a mix of pain for everyone they had lost.  Inconsolable, she wept loudly, her voice carrying over the walls and mingling with the wails of those who were waking from the blast and discovering parts of themselves missing.

“Dead check everyone outside of his wall who you don’t recognize as being one of us.  Find my kids and bring them back to me if you can,” Dmitry told Marat.

As Nadei and Diane flew over the horizon, they saw the blast from a distance.  High on the mountain, one way or the other, the war had ended.  Trees burned, their embers carrying up into the sky.  Smoke billowed, dancing in the bone-chilling wind.  Neither one of them said a word.  They had moved as quickly as they could, Nadei even coming all the way from Baku to fight.  But now, there was nothing to do but collect the living or return the dead.

Erik got out of his truck with the two guards who had been left behind with him. They felt the explosion all the way down at the main road.  They also knew that they had brought nothing with them that could have created such a blast.  He stood out on the road, eyes set on the burning mountain, realizing his fate had been severely impacted.  As the helicopter passed over them, its bright lights illuminating the area, the door to the cockpit opened, and a gunner pointed his weapon at what was left of Popov’s ragtag team.

“Can you land out here?” Nadei asked, holding as she hoovered.

“I can.”  She kept the helicopter steady, making sure the gunner could pull the trigger and kill all of them if needed. But she like Nadei had the idea that Boss Medlov might want him alive.

Chapter 45

“The most expensive kiss is that which is pressed to the ring of a king.”

- Latrivia Welch

One Week Later

Trinidad and Tobago

O n a hill behind a sprawling seaside mansion with a view of the waterway and access to the mainland, Dmitry stood with his son, Anil, paying tribute to his mother, was just put down six feet into her final resting place after being held for months at a morgue in Memphis.  The two men - beautiful and towering in their nearly perfect design, dressed in white linen pants and white linen tops, red eyes hidden behind shades and backs protected by an entire security force, quietly recalled the life that had been Sanaa’s.  She was gone now, undoubtedly to a better place, but her legacy would never be forgotten.

As soon Dmitry was able to ensure that his family was safe from previous enemies and the small, loser elements of old families had been brutally stamped out, he had whisked his boy away, purchasing a multi-million-dollar property in Anil’s homeland, the place he had been conceived but never had the pleasure to enjoy, and now the child who had been created because of a beautiful woman’s kindness to a stranger once on a lonely beach was going to start to be repaid.

Anil wiped salty tears from his wide-set mouth, turning from the tall limestone structure attached to Sanaa’s tombstone.  He pulled off his shades and ran his fingers down the bridge of his nose.  “I thought that would be easier,” he sniffled, cheeks reddened.

The both of them walked side by side down the hill toward the helicopter that awaited Dmitry to take him to his next important event.

“It will get easier,” Dmitry promised, putting his hand on his son’s back.  Changing the subject quickly, he discussed more uplifting matters.  “The medical school here is excited about your enrollment.  The president of the college has expressed her desire to ensure that this transition for you goes very smoothly.  They think you will be an outstanding asset to the institution.”

“I can’t thank you enough for that.”  Anil pressed his hands down in his pants pockets.  “But I feel as though you’ve done too much.  All this house, all this land for me.  I have four guards, a 24-patrol, and private bankers.”  He blew out a breath and bucked his eyes.  “I mean, it’s a lot.”

“I want you to have a wonderful life, son. I know that your mother would have wanted it also.  If you desire to show me your gratitude, do the things you promised to do.  Serve those who need help; become a great doctor and mind your relations.  Avoid the bad people.”  He winked at Anil.  “That includes the fairer sex.”

As they came down to the landing, Dmitry’s guards readied the helicopter, and his large security detail surrounded the perimeter.  He could feel the pull of his position, urging him to depart.  “I hate to be off so soon, but I’ll be back from time to time.”

Anil felt his heart constrict like a child being dropped off at daycare for the first time.  He didn’t want to leave his father, nor his father’s home, but Dmitry had explained that this new life was necessary.

Dmitry saw a flash of regret in his son’s face, and at that, he stopped briefly.  “What is it?”

“I just…” Anil hesitated, afraid to sound ungrateful or spoiled.  He turned and looked back at his mansion.  “I hope that you’re not giving me all of this because it’s your way of saying goodbye.”  Tears formed in the young man’s eyes, to which he could have blamed on the bright sun, but he knew his father would know better.  “If it is, take it back, because I don’t want to be alone in this world.”

Instantly, Anil thought of Andriy.  The boy had been devastated by the loss of his sister, and Gabriel was fairing even worse.  To end up so depressed for the rest of his life or cynical about love was not something Anil wanted for himself.

The tropical wind blew through Dmitry’s blonde locks and cooled his skin as he gazed with a solemn side profile toward Anil.  Specs of sunlight caught in his hair, making him look Zeus-like.  But inside, he was far from a place of majestic beauty.  His heart was dark, brooding and broken.  Had he tears to shed with his boy, he would have done so, but life had stripped that from him.  He was left only with the gnawing anxiety of responsibility and guilt.  “As long as I am on this earth, you have a home.  My door is always open.  And even after I am gone, you will always have this family.”

“But things are different now,” Anil finished the part of his father’s sentence that he would have never said aloud.  “Because of who you are.”

Dmitry shook his head, brushing off his new status.  It paled in comparison to the title of father.  “No, things are different because of who we are.  There is more obligation that falls to me, and that is the only reason that I must be honest about my potential future absences.”  He stepped closer and took his son’s hand – a younger version of his own.  “But know my thoughts are always with you, and I am just a phone call away.  Every holiday, every birthday, every time you need someone to talk to, I am here.”

Leaning in, Dmitry kissed his son’s warm cheek as he held the back of his head in his large hands.  “I love you.”

One Month Later

Prague, Czech Republic

The Medlov Chateau

On a crispy fall Wednesday afternoon, Czar Dmitry Medlov stepped out on the veranda of his study and took a deep, solemn breath.  The leaves had changed for the season, and they swept in multicolored waves over the vast countryside making for a beautiful view and a calming walk.  In a tweed suit, light blue oxford and paisley tie.  He moved past the guards and used the stone trail, newly put in by his wife, to the back of the house where a row of headstones sat under a tree.

He found Royal sitting across from it on a bench.  She was reading aloud, which she often did now, to comfort the baby she was carrying in her womb and possibly the long she had in her soul.  Putting down her book as Dmitry approached, she quickly wiped tears and smiled.

“You finally got out of that stuffy office.”  Putting the book beside her, she crossed her legs at the ankles.

Dmitry thought she looked like a queen.  Dressed in a wool skirt that fit the length of her body down to her leather riding boots with a black turtleneck and hair brushed down with a black headband adorned with Swarovski crystals, Royal downplayed the underlying theme of mourning colors.  “And you’re still out here at this burial site.  It’s the fifth day in a row.”

“You haven’t been here five days in a row,” Royal corrected with a grin.  But she wasn’t surprised he was getting daily reports.  “You can stop worrying.  I like being out here.  I feel closer to them, and it’s perfect weather.”

Dmitry glanced over the growing number of plots they had under this tree. It had started long ago with his father, and now it was a row of the family, including Ivan, Davyd, Coral, and Valeriya.  He would rather it not grow anymore for some time to come.

Planting her hands in her lap, she resumed her responsibility as the overseer of the family.  “I spoke with Andriy’s headmaster and let him know that his classes will be done this next semester virtually, and he’ll return to campus after the summer.  I think it’s best considering how he is doing right now.”

“Has he come out of his room at all?”  Dmitry asked, walking over to sit beside her on the bench.  His long legs stretched across the wheat-colored grass.  Placing an arm behind her, he looked out over the cascading property.  “This is a good view.”

“I told you.”  Royal scooted closer to him.  “He has started coming out of his room again, and I think, though I can’t be sure that he’s bathed.”  She said so with a hint of humor in her voice though she was still grieving beyond words about Valeriya’s death.

Sometimes, she didn’t even think it was real, but during the course of accessing the damage of the overall attack, it had been Dmitry, Gabriel, and Anatoly who had found her, a tree atop her broken bones, covered in dirt.  Dmitry decided immediately to take over raising Andriy until he felt able to do it for himself, and Gabriel’s verdict was still out.

“Have you had your meeting yet?” Royal asked, lowering her head and blinking fast to push back the tears.

Dmitry’s lips pursed.  “No,” his voice trailed off.  He was somewhere in deep thought now, drifting far away into his regret.  “I plan to meet with them tonight.”  Turning to his wife, he moved a strand out of her face and stroked her bare skin.  “That’s why I came home early.  It’s time to put all the people in their places.  We cannot stay in this static state of loss forever.  And it’s up to me to help us…move on.”  The words sounded colder than he intended as they left his tongue.

Royal’s head snapped to her husband.  She could see in the unforgiving sunlight how the last few months had aged him.  Lines were at the sides of his eyes and across his forehead.  More gray hair started to show at the side of his blonde curls.  “I know you, Dmitry Medlov.  Don’t pretend that you are not hurting, as well.  You have to give these people a chance to accept what’s happening.”  Her voice broke as she lifted a hand and pointed it toward the tombstones.  “They need time to accept that certain people will never come back.”

“Forgive me, baby.”  Dmitry understood how difficult this was for her and how difficult it was for everyone else, but he dared not try to explain the reality of their situation.

They were mobsters, and every day in this business, you had to get up and do something to protect your territory, or you might very well lose it.  Considering the sacrifice made to get here by so many people, he could not allow that to happen.  He wiped a tear from her eye.  “I know they will never come back, but we have to look to the future now.  There is no place for us in the past.”

“How will you ever explain that to Gabriel?”  Resting her head on his chest, she inhaled his cologne and melted in the warmness of his protective body.  It was good to have him back like this, where he was whole and in control of his life, but she hated having to share him with the rest of the world.

“Gabriel is probably more like his father now than ever before.  I see it in his eyes and the way that he sees the world.  The way that he copes.”

Royal begged to differ.  “Ivan was a horrible person.   Gabriel is nothing like him.”

Again, Dmitry knew better.  Gabriel’s mother had died; his father had died.  The same for Ivan.  Gabriel’s wife had died.  The same for Ivan.  But where some people learned from pain.  Gabriel and Ivan cut it off until they eventually felt nothing at all.

“Will he ever hurt his family?  No.  Will he turn against us?  No.  But is he void of all emotion for anyone outside of us?  Yes.”  Dmitry knew men, especially broken ones.  “That’s why I sent him to represent me in some of my business dealings.  These desperate times call for strong men, who will not break under adversity and will not bend when their feet are put to the fire.  His is that now – all Vor.”

“Do you think I should offer to help him with the kids until he gets on his feet?”  she waited for Dmitry to offer some advice on the matter since no one else in the family could suggest anything at all.

“Let him decide.  Ask him tonight after the meeting.  If he says yes, we’ll happily take them on and raise them until he’s ready.  I love a house full of kids.  It’s just the adults that give me heartburn.”  Looking at his watch, he had to go.  It seemed to be the new story of his life.  “Are we having a big dinner tonight?” He stood and brushed off his clothes.

“The biggest,” Royal answered, picking her book back up.

9:00 p.m.

The Medlov Council Meeting

It was the first time that they had convened to discuss family business since the assassination attempt in Memphis, but it felt right now to gather, to access how far they had come and what all they needed to do.

In Dmitry’s private meeting room behind locked doors that were guarded by a large contingent of heavily armed guards, the men sat around the long wooden conference table under dim lights and bottles full of spirits.

At the head of the table, Dmitry unknitted his fingers and sat up in his chair, looking over all of his men.  Gabriel.  Anatoly.  Vasily.  Marat and Boris.  This was his core team. He trusted no one above them when it came to the affairs of the family, and he knew they honored him with the same.  But tonight was all about shaking things up.

“I’ve had some time to think, and we can’t live together anymore.”  Dmitry started the meeting with something for them all to dwell on.

“You want us to move out, Papa?” Anatoly asked, sitting to the right of his father.  His eyes were hooded, cast down to the table as he picked his nails with his knife.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you think.”  The room quieted.  “Over the last few weeks, I know you all have seen that I’ve been swamped.  We sent out assassins to kill anyone who was an ally or cohort of Lev, Oleg, Renat, or Erik.”

Gabriel, who sat two chairs down from Dmitry, shifted in his seat at the name.

Dmitry continued, though gently.  “I’ve been trying to reallocate, put things in place for you so that even if something were to happen to me, you’d be taken care of.”  He cocked an elbow on the armrest of his chair and settled his index finger under his bottom lip. “Gabriel, you’ll head the United States portion of Vor investments.  You’ll also continue to be the face of our upcoming business venture.”

Gabriel turned in his chair.  “The entire United States?” he asked, waiting for the punchline.

“From sea to shining sea,” Dmitry responded.  “You’ll check in with me weekly and make yourself available whenever I need you to.”  He knew it was a heavy lift, but a man suffering the loss of his wife needed something to fill his time.  “You will also inherit my properties in the United States, including my Memphis compound.”

“Anatoly, you will head our East European investments, and you’ll be gifted all of Oleg’s properties.  There is an especially beautiful property in Omsk that you now own, and your main address will be in Vienna, Austria.  From what I’m told, they have amazing schools for the children, and you will have access to our banking contacts on a regular basis.  Peaches will serve as your second-in-charge in Moscow. As a matter of fact, she’s already there cleaning up some less than desirable businesses that we acquired with Renat’s holdings.  She’ll be there working for you until you arrive.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Anatoly said, focused on trying to control his need for an outburst about Erik Popov.  His father had kept the man under lock and key for an entire month.  He wanted to see him, to know that he was going to suffer for what he put this family through, but his father had said nothing.  Not one damn word.

Dmitry moved down the line.  “Vasily, you’re going to handle our African assets from Algeria to South Africa and everything in between.  Now, I own a sizeable property in Angola. You’re free to take that or the property in Cape Verde.”  He pushed a leather portfolio down to him.  “Look at those and let me know what you think.

“Thank you, boss.”  Vasily was speechless, honored, and a little afraid of what his wife would say when she found out they were moving to another continent news.  One thing was for sure.  She would not think it nearly as bad as living on top of each other in Siberia.

Dmitry slapped his hands together. “Boris, you’ll run point in Western Europe for me and be based out of London.  Marat, you can pack your bags.  You’re headed to South America.  Argentina, to be exact.  Do you speak any Spanish?”

Marat stepped away from the wall, realizing that he just was promoted and moving in the same conversation.  “No, boss.”

“Well, that’s why they made Rosetta Stone.”  Dmitry ran down his agenda in the back of his mind, speeding up the conversation to get the parts that everyone really wanted to know about.  “Everyone has to be settled in their new locations in 30 days, so you may want to get moving on making arrangements, but there is an International Council meeting next week that I expect everyone to attend.”  Looking down the long table of aggravated faces, he finally nodded at Marat.  “Bring him in.”

Marat moved quickly out of the door while the men mumbled amongst themselves of their new appointments.  Moments later, he knocked and reentered with the man who was on everyone’s minds.

Erik Popov strode into the meeting without chains or bruises.  Evidently, Dmitry had been keeping him not in the barn or at some disclosed location, but at the guest house only a few hundred feet from where they slept.  He had around-the-clock guards and had signed overall property and assets to the Medlov family, seemingly cooperating for his life.

For this bit of treachery, they were all upset.  Anatoly had begged his father to kill Erik, to let Gabriel kill him – Anya even, but still, Dmitry had refused.  Instead, he had reiterated the need to make sure all business matters were handled in the manner in which he set out to do at the start of the war.

“Come sit with us, Erik,” Dmitry said, standing briefly.

Gabriel pushed back from his chair in protest. “Man, look, I’m not going to stand for this shit any longer!”

“Please,” Dmitry encouraged Gabriel without a forceful tone.  “Entertain us one last conversation before you head off into the world, Gabe.  Just one.”  He pointed toward the chair at the end of the table. “Marat, take Erik down to the seat at the end and bring him a meal.  Everyone else here has eaten dinner already, and I’d like not to be rude as we discuss the next phase of business for the council and the Medlov and Popov families.”

Erik rolled his eyes, freshly shaven and showered, dressed in a decent suit, he plopped down in the leather chair and looked around at the sea of faces scowling at him.  Maybe they just didn’t understand, but Dmitry did. He wasn’t just some common thug to be beaten and tortured when instead their families could make money together.  Now, of course, he was getting the shortest end of the stick, but at least he was still drawing breath.  If he played his cards right, he might even walk out alive.

“What can I do for you, Dmitry?” Erik asked, enjoying their collective reaction and outward pain.  He inhaled it like the meal he enjoyed every day despite Dmitry’s attempts to goat him into complaining about being served the same gamey meat at every meal.  At least, the sauce was to die for.

Dmitry raised a finger, asking Erik to hold his thought for just a second later as the wait staff brought in a gold-domed meal served on the best bone china, gold cutlery, a nice bottle of wine, and of course, a linen napkin.

While Anatoly turned in his chair so that his back was to Erik, Gabriel’s face suddenly changed from a gut-wrenching grimace that furrowed his brow, pursed his lips, and wrinkled his nose to mild acceptance of his uncle’s choice of punishment.  He glanced over at his uncle, but Dmitry shook his head for him not to speak.

Taking his knife and fork, Erik cut down in the meat, picking up soft potatoes and carrots as he tasted the meal, steaming hot and perfect as usual.

“Is it to your liking?” Dmitry asked, sipping on a tall glass of vodka.

“Yes,” Erik answered, barely looking up from the one meal a day that he received.  “I know I said I wasn’t going to complain, but this particular meal is much smaller than my normal.”  He winked at Vasily.  “So, what’s the new game plan?  Are you going to starve me to death?”

Dmitry laughed.  It started low and snarky and ended up booming and jovial.  Everyone except Gabriel and Marat looked on confused.  Finally, shaking his finger at Erik, he stood up again.  The entire time that Dmitry seemed entertained by his culinary questions, Erik continued to eat – faster and faster, just in case they tried to take it away.

“The only reason that the meal is smaller than normal is, Erik because we’ve run out.  There is no more meat like that meat anywhere in the world. It’s special.”  Dmitry rolled up his sleeves.  Walking around the table, he made his way slowly toward Erik.  “You’re an underworld prince. You understand the quality of things. That’s what I keep trying to explain to the boys.”

Erik wiped his mouth with the napkin again.  “Ahh, they’re young.  It takes time to learn how to treat your equals.”

“Or your betters,” Dmitry shrugged, insinuating he knew how Erik had felt about him for years.  “So, I tried to provide you with a lifestyle that was appropriate, even for a situation like ours.”  Stopping at Gabriel’s chair, he leaned against the back of it.  “Take, for instance, I bet you didn’t know this meeting room is completely soundproof.  I had them knock it down and rebuild it after a man shot himself in here.”  He rand his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “It was a mess.  And I remember wondering if my wife was going to hear it and be traumatized.”  He shook his head as he recalled. “So, like a good husband, I soundproofed the room.”

Erik could feel the shift in the room.  He looked around suspiciously, even eyeing the steak knife in front of him.  “What’s your point, Dmitry.  You’ve already got me by the short and curlies, and now you want to talk about interior decoration after you’ve taken everything, including my family’s land right from under me.  You’ve won.  You don’t even know it.  You’ve already won, and you’re still here trying to rob me and bore me to death with a special cut of meat and soundproofing walls.”  He pretended to be brave, not to show that he was scared of where this conversation would go, to realize there was nowhere to run, that the kindness was over, but no matter what, he was not ready for what was to come.

“I didn’t say specialty cut meats,” Dmitry corrected. His face hardened, showing the anger that had been there since the day he had to scrape two women into the ground because of Erik’s cowardly acts.  “I said special one-of-a-fucking-kind meat!”  He hit the table with his balled-up fist.  “What’s so hard about that?”

“Okay, okay.”  Erik raised his hands and surrendered the conversation.  “I only meant; how can I be of service to you now?” he asked flippantly.

“I had that meat specially prepared for you…” Dmitry continued.

“Ah fuck,” Erik said, giving up.  “Again, with the meat.”  He scratched his brow.  “Where did you get the meat, Dmitry.  Just tell me.  I still have a little pull, even though I’m broke, the name still works. Okay.  I can have some more meat delivered to you.”

Gabriel smiled, enjoying the interaction, knowing his uncle was prolonging it for his entertainment.  “He doesn’t get it, Dmitry.”  Glancing up at his uncle, he shook his head. “This guy is fucking hopeless.”

“Hopeless about what?” Anatoly asked, tired of being outside of the conversation. What had he missed?  What did Gabriel know that he didn’t?

“Do you want to tell him?” Dmitry asked Gabriel.

“No,” Gabriel licked his lips.  “You tell him.  It was your ingenious idea, after all.”

Erik looked between them. “What?”

“Your friends had a choice. They could give you up, sign over everything and suffer one shot to the temple, or they could be disrespectful, and I would have them harvested by Simeon’s guy, Daniil, who is really good at what he does.  Anyway, at the end of the day, you had some pretty loyal friends, because each of them chose you, either by pissing me off or just dying outright like Renat.  But I didn’t want you to miss them when they were gone.  We all need mementos.  So, I had them carved into restaurant-quality meat sizes, sautéed, and stewed in a meal just for you.  That’s all you’ve been eating – every day for the last 30 days, I made you feast on my enemies at my table.”

Vasily offered an object.  “Point of clarification. I think that saying goes a whole other way.”  Everyone laughed.

Dmitry rose from the back of Gabriel’s chair and rubbed his tired eyes.  “Unfortunately, Andros wanted Lev’s head for deceiving the council, so I had to send that back to St. Petersburg, but I did manage to save these for you.”  He walked over to stand beside Erik and reached into his pocket to pull out two eyeballs in a small Ziplock bag.  Taking each one out, he dropped them in Erik’s wine glass like they were ice.

Erik’s face went pale in absolute disgust.  Looking down at the plate, the meal itself already gone, and the glass with floating eyeballs, he snapped his head over on the side of the table and threw up.

Dmitry moved out of the way.  “Don’t fuck up the shoes,” he said, walking around to the other side of the table where Anatoly and Vasily watched on without words.  “They say revenge is best served cold. So, if that is really the case, I had to wait to make you really suffer.  I had to prove to you that just like before you ever put a hit on me, had my mother in law murdered and my niece in law martyred, I was providing safety over your family, the food at your table, a sense of control through the same fucking thing that I’m doing right now.  The only thing that has changed is that I’m no longer a council member.  I’m the head of the council.  These men, right in front of you, and Simeon, and Maksim, and Pushka, we run things now.  Andros and Geni have happily agreed to serve in the service but to step aside.  It’s what they call a young man’s game, which I think speaks volumes to just how old they are if they are calling me young.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Dmitry bent across his son to the 24-carat gold platter that the wait staff had placed in the middle of the conference table.  On it, was a single large utensil wrapped in black linen.  He unrolled it slowly to reveal a long sharp, serrated-edged knife.  It gleamed under the light, perfect in design with a large handle with a grip and Japanese steel.

“So, as you see, Erik, this is your...last supper.”  He looked around the room, all eyes transfixed and awaiting what he would possibly do next.  “I made them wait.  I made you wait.  I wanted it to sink in just how bad things are for you.”  Dmitry glanced back over at Gabriel.  “How long do you want me to make him suffer for what he has done.”

Gabriel shook his head, snarling with a smile on his face.  Wiping a defiant tear, he shrugged, “I don’t think he can suffer enough.”

“Do you want him to die now?” Dmitry asked.  “Because if you do, here’s the knife.  Take it, cut what you want off of him, or just run him through.”

“It’s not good enough!” Gabriel yelled.  He stood up; the chair flew behind in into the wall.  “No matter what I do, I can’t have her back!” He screamed as loud as he could, spittle flying from his mouth, veins protruding from his forehead.  Tears filled his eyes.  Anger overwhelmed him.  “I could carve a piece of him like a holiday ham every fucking day for the rest of my life,” he inhaled a breath that made his chest swell.  “And it won’t matter, will it?”  He clenched his jaw.  “She’s not coming back! She…”  Gabriel balled his fist and yelled.  “Damn you!”

Marat moved out of the way.  The tension in the room intensified.  Anatoly looked away from his cousin, feeling himself being close to a breakdown.

“What do you want me to do?” Gabriel asked Dmitry.

“I want you to accept it,” Dmitry said, voice low.

“ACCEPT WHAT!” Gabriel screamed.  He turned, punching the wall.  Planting his hand against it, he lowered his head.

Dmitry walked over to Gabriel and put his hand on his shoulder. “I want you to accept that no matter what, you have to live for who you have here now.  Because if you spend your entire life plotting and seeking revenge,” he turned Gabriel to face Erik.  “You’ll end up like him,” he whispered.

“So, what he walks?” Anatoly asked, wiping a tear.   Fuck this guy? How was eating your friends punishment enough for what he had done?

“No,” Dmitry said incredulously.  His eyes were full of prickly tears.  “He doesn’t walk.”  He said so even as he walked past where Erik was sitting and stood behind him in the chair.  “I’m just asking for you to start over, start new, start fresh, and let me carry the burden of everything in the past on my own.  Wipe your slates clean while you can.  Let me carry it for you so that you can move on.  Can you do that for me?” Dmitry asked forcefully.

Gabriel shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. I can.”

“Da, da, Papa.  I can,” Anatoly answered.

“Good.” Dmitry smiled, grabbing Erik by his perfect head of hair, he snatched the man’s head back and reached up in the air for momentum, bringing the knife down into the man’s chest with such force that the knife’s edge stuck into the back of the chair.

He yanked it out as Erik tried to breathe and did it again, this time harder.   Then, snatching his bloody body out of the chair, he pulled him close, stuck the knife into his lower abdomen, and brought the knife up until he gutted him.

Dropping the man on the floor, in a pool of his own blood, Dmitry turned to his men, wiping his nose with the knife still in his hand.  “Tomorrow, we start anew.”

International Council Meeting

St. Petersburg, Russia

Word had traveled the entire world and back over the last month and half that Dmitry Medlov, once at war with the most notorious members of the International Council, was now its sovereign Czar.  No Russian mafia figure in the world was more powerful, richer, or dangerous.  All his enemies had been slain.  All of his debts paid.  All recent questions answered.  He was untouchable with hands, ears, and eyes across the world on every continent.

As he walked into the meeting room, prepared to convene his first meeting as Czar, the council members stood up, a show of full support for their new leader.  In the corner, behind him, Anya sat with guards, listening, learning, waiting.  At the table, his family and friends were awarded a seat.  But in his mind, he remembered the day that he walked out of prison, the day he walked into his first council meeting, and now because of those dreams that he would not allow to sit idly by and die because of doubt, he was king.

THE END OF THE MEDLOV MEN SERIES

But Dmitry Medlov will be back!

Order to Read Medlov Books

The Medlov Crime Family Series:

Dmitry’s Closet

Dmitry’s Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen

Anatoly Medlov: Complete Reign

Saving Anya

The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Short Stories

Volume 1

Volume 2

Volume 3

Volume 4

Volume 5

Volume 6

Volume 7

Volume 8-13 (Coming Soon)

The Medlov Men Series:

Vasily’s Regret

Gabriel’s Regret: Book One

Gabriel’s Regret: Book Two (OR)

Gabriel’s’ Regret: The Complete Book

Anatoly’s Retribution: Book One

Anatoly’s Retribution: Book Two

Dmitry’s Redemption: Book One

Dmitry’s Redemption: Book Two (OR)

Dmitry’s Redemption: The Complete Book

All Books by Latrivia

The Agosto Series

Ivy’s Twisted Vine

The World in Reverse

The Lonely Heart Series:

The Ugly Girlfriend

Finding Opa!

The Contingency Plan

The Grunt

The Grunt 2

Highness

The Laveau Coven:

Warlocks: The Creole Coven

Stand-Alone Books from Various Boxsets:

Seeking Santa

Good Luck, Charlie

The Mad King

The Medlov Crime Family Series:

Dmitry’s Closet

Dmitry’s Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen

Anatoly Medlov: Complete Reign

Saving Anya

The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Short Stories

Volume 1

Volume 2

Volume 3

Volume 4

Volume 5

Volume 6

Volume 7

Volume 8-13 (Coming Soon)

The Medlov Men Series:

Vasily’s Regret

Gabriel’s Regret: Book One

Gabriel’s Regret: Book Two

Gabriel’s Regret: The Complete Book

Anatoly’s Retribution: Book One

Anatoly’s Retribution: Book Two

Dmitry’s Redemption: Book One

Dmitry’s Redemption: Book Two

Dmitry’s Redemption: The Complete Book

Contact Latrivia

Email:

Lwelch@RiverHousePublishingLLC.com

Twitter:

www.Twitter.com/LatriviaWelch

Facebook:

www.Facebook.com/LatriviaWelch

Facebook Red Door Retreat Private Group:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/900497796676283/

Instagram:

www.Instagram/com/Latrivia_Welch

Website:

www.LatriviaWelchBooks.com

Official Newsletter:

https://bit.ly/2PpszGU

About the Author

L atrivia Welch (formerly Latrivia S. Nelson) is a USA Today, Amazon and national bestselling author of interracial romance and interracial romantic suspense novels.  She divides her life into three professions: author, CEO of Welch Public Relations and CEO of RiverHouse Publishing, LLC.  Based out of Memphis, TN, she is considered one of the founders of the bw/wm romantic suspense genre.  Latrivia is married to the love of her life, Bruce Welch, and is the mother of 3 beautiful children.   She has penned 30 novels under the Latrivia Nelson and Latrivia Welch brands.  To learn more or join her newsletter, visit her website at www.latriviawelchbooks.com or follow her on Facebook, Twitter and/or Instagram.