The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One Page 13

  Ivan’s smirk disappeared. He swallowed hard and turned his gaze away from his brother’s.

  Davyd noted Dmitry’s control over his brother and the fact that even amidst the finest luxuries a man could have, his young boss had not lost his ability to establish dominance in the most basic and instinctually male ways.

  “I want you to have the lawyers to come out here,” Dmitry said, walking away from Ivan. “There is going to be a lot to discuss, and I want them on my territory.” He walked over to the bookshelf and put away the book that he had read to Catherine.

  “What has happened?” Davyd asked alarmed.

  Dmitry looked over at Davyd and gave a weak smile. “She gave me everything. The money in the banks. The stock in other companies. The bonds. The CDs. The land. The houses. The cars. Hutton Industries with 58 percent of the company in my possession. I now own it all, plus much, much more.” His words were slow and cautious.

  “The men who sit on her board are going to lose their minds. That wasn’t the original agreement,” Davyd said concerned. “When did this happen?”

  “Today, right before she passed,” Dmitry answered. “They are not going to take me seriously, Davyd. I need to make sure that I’m ready. I’m only twenty-three years old. They’re going to try every move in the book. For the men who won’t negotiate, we’re going to need muscle.” He looked over at his brother. “Ivan. That is where you come in. I need you to scout out a team of assassins we could put on payroll, but they can’t be our normal guys. If we have to do something, I don’t want it to be traceable back to us.”

  Ivan nodded and looked back into the fireplace.

  “What do you know about running a multi-national corporation?” Davyd asked.

  “Nothing,” Dmitry said, biting his lip. “But I want you to get in touch with Khalid Sidorov. His son is at Oxford. Arrange a meeting. We’ll need them. They are Vor, but they are also respected business men. Between the three of us, we should be able to figure things out.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” Davyd said, leaving the room.

  As soon as the door closed, Dmitry turned to his brother. Shaking his head, he ran his hand through his hair, smelling his own musk as his arm raised. “What is bugging you, brat. And don’t lie.”

  “I need money,” Ivan answered shortly, turning from the fireplace to face him. “I need money for my club, but I also need a large chunk of whatever you’re getting for someone else.”

  “Someone like whom?” Dmitry asked in a huff.

  “I assume that if she left you everything, she left nothing for Emma,” Ivan said quietly.

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, Emma has…an obligation that would be better handled if she had more money.”

  “An obligation?” Dmitry asked momentarily intrigued.

  “A child,” Ivan answered.

  Dmitry was lost for words. He walked over and sat back down in the chair by the fireplace. Looking up at Ivan, he took the glass of vodka back in his hand and sipped it. “Is it yours?” he asked. His blue prisms sparkled.

  Ivan didn’t blink. “No. It’s hers, but she deserves the money just the same.”

  Dmitry looked at his brother and knew that he was lying. “How old?”

  “Two. Just turned two. And it’s a boy before you ask,” Ivan answered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. With his hand on his hip and the other on the mantle, he shook his head. “Are you going to do it or not?”

  “I’ve never heard you ask for money for anyone else. And you want me to believe that this child isn’t yours?” he laughed. Titling his head, he looked at his brother. “Where is Emma anyway? The last word we heard was that she had left the country.”

  “New York,” Ivan answered. “Look, it’s just a bastard baby. I only know about it, because every once and a while she and I call each other and talk shit about you and your dead wife. So, considering that some of that money should have gone to Catherine’s only daughter, it just seems right that you would send some to help her and the kid out. If you don’t, fuck it. I don’t care. But the kid isn’t mine and even if it were, I wouldn’t claim it, because the code doesn’t bend. Or at least for me, it doesn’t.” He looked down at Dmitry.

  Dmitry sat with his legs cocked open and his bare feet planted firmly in the 200-year old rug. Snarling, he looked up at his brother. “Don’t ever in your little pathetic life ever remind me of the code again. I have lived by it. I have abided by it. You don’t have to use guilt to get things from me. You only have to ask. I’ll give Emma and her baby, your baby, whoever’s bastard kid, the money only because it’s the right thing to do. But don’t push me, Ivan. No one told you to fuck that girl, in the first place.” He pointed at his brother.

  “It’s. Not. Mine,” Ivan bit out as he walked away. “I don’t ever want to talk about it again. Just send the bitch the money if you want to.” Crossing the room quickly, he slammed the door as he left.

  Chapter Three

  Three long days after the funeral, Dmitry was still numb with disbelief and discontent. Newspapers around the country were covering the sensational story of Lady Catherine’s death and her unbelievable final wishes of leaving her fortune to her mysterious 23-year old husband. And because of the news, he had not left the manor. He had turned down over 50 interviews and resorted to locking off the property to ensure the paparazzi didn’t get unwanted photos of his home.

  Instead, he spent his time holed up in his study reading book after book on corporate law and financial investments. Evidently, he owned thirty one small businesses outside of the larger corporation. Plus, he had inherited a personal plane – not really just a plane, a jet.

  Catherine had never made mention that she owned the aircraft that they often traveled on, but then again, she had also never mentioned the span of her power. It reached far beyond the shores of England into Austria, Rome, Stockholm and Prague. Many of the places where he had investments, he had never even seen with his own eyes, but he planned very soon to visit them all.

  Now the phone calls were pouring in, and he had to provide answers to more than just reporters. Yes or No, would business go on as usual? The answer for at least for the time being was yes. It wasn’t that he felt the least bit responsible for the people and jobs that he held in his young hands, it was just that the money was too good to simply get rid of. There would be some reorganizing, but he planned to relinquish no power in the process.

  Davyd walked into the office followed by a maid who brought brunch. Setting the tray on the desk, she bowed out quietly and left the men to speak. Dmitry barely looked up from the books. Perched behind the desk, using a lamp light, he read carefully, scribbling on his notepad as he processed the information.

  “You need to rest,” Davyd said concerned. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

  Dmitry looked up and ran his fingers over his aquiline nose. “I can’t rest. I have to figure all this shit out. We have our first board of directors meeting in four days.”

  “I spoke with Khalid’s son today. He has agreed to meet with you this afternoon, if you are available.”

  Dmitry smirked. “When have I not been available?” Pulling the tray of food over to him, he savored the aroma of a huge ham sandwich and cream of potato soup.

  “With all your money, why don’t you have them bring you something less common,” Davyd asked.

  “I haven’t been able to eat common, as you call it, since Catherine came into my life. I’m trying to remember what it’s like to be normal.”

  “You’ll never be normal again, Dmitry.” David cleared this throat.

  Dmitry nodded in agreement as a large chunk of food caught in his own throat. He swallowed hard and felt the strain of the food breaking up. He shook off the discomfort. “Normalcy is irrelevant for the time being anyway, I guess. Has Ivan assembled a team?” He reached over and took a sip of water.

  “He says that he has. He wants to bring them here to meet you tonight.”

/>   “Finally that boy does exactly as I have asked,” Dmitry sighed. “It’s like pulling teeth with that one.”

  “Da,” Davyd agreed.

  “Do you know that he has a son?” Dmitry asked, still in shock. He wiped his hands together.

  “With whom or should I ask what?”

  “Emma Hutton,” Dmitry said, tasting the soup. “Though he says that it is not his, I don’t believe him. He’s lying. He has fathered a child with that woman.” He shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth knowing that Catherine would surely disapprove.

  “Are they together?” Davyd asked.

  Dmitry laughed. “Ask yourself who you are talking about first. This is Ivan. He is with no woman. He called her a bitch, told me never to mention her again and stormed out.”

  “He’s so romantic,” Davyd said sarcastically. “And he wants you to take care of the child?”

  “Yes,” Dmitry answered.

  “And will you?”

  Dmitry furrowed his dirty blonde brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “The code prevents such ties,” Davyd answered. “I have no children, no wife, no obligation outside of the Vory.”

  “Not even a lover?” Dmitry asked.

  Davyd smiled. “There is always a woman around to call, but never one to call wife.”

  Dmitry raised his brow. The old men were so different. “I don’t consider them to be an obligation. I’m paying her to go away. It’s probably safest for both she and the child. Could you imagine him babysitting? He’d kill the poor rebenka before the night was over.”

  “Within the hour,” Davyd corrected. He put his hands in his jacket pockets. “But what if he’s being honest? What if the child isn’t his?”

  “Then it’s not. I don’t care one way or the other. I’m trying to streamline an entire empire from my dead wife’s study with the education of a blind, deaf mute. I don’t have time to play daddy to some woman who left her mother to die. Besides, it’s not my kid. I didn’t make such stupid mistake.”

  Davyd looked at him curiously. “Based upon your very judgmental tone, I assume that you haven’t heard then.”

  Dmitry sat back in his chair and put down his spoon. He knew that Davyd was about to tell him something else that he didn’t want to hear. “What haven’t I heard?” he asked gravely.

  “There was a rumor that you had baby back in your old neighborhood in Moscow. Kirill told me that a girl named Alexandria gave birth to a boy of yours a few years ago. I believe his name was Anatoly. I assumed that you already knew.”

  Dmitry barely blinked. “Alexandria?”

  “Yes, do you know her?” Davyd asked intrigued. Never once had he heard Dmitry mention her name.

  Dmitry nodded. Pushing his food away, he put his hand over his mouth and shook his head. “Davyd, give me minute, da. I want to be alone to marvel at how completely fucking clueless I am.”

  ***

  At dusk, the rain finally gave way to clear, crisp skies. Dmitry stood on the balcony of his bedroom looking across the vast landscape and admired the full moon high above. However, his thoughts were not on the beauty around him but around the madness that surrounded him like an angry fog.

  It had taken him the entire rest of the day to process what Davyd had told him earlier, that he was possibly a father. It had taken a few hours to process that his brother was possibly also a father. And it still had not processed that he was now such a wealthy man.

  However, he did understand his brother’s desperation for once. Just the thought of what could be put such a heavy weight on his chest until it made it hard for him to breathe. A child. His child. His seed.

  Still, he had to compartmentalize his own emotions to prepare for the meeting that would take place in just a moment. He would think of that much later. The men with whom he was about to speak were of a different caliber than the men who sat around board room tables and discussed stakeholder interests. The men who were coming here tonight were of his ilk. They were bred for war and fed on battles.

  Before now, he would have never been able to arrange such a meeting. To meet with members of the elite was only for the real players, men who had promise, who would rise to the top of the food chain – eat their way up one man at a time. Evidently, Dmitry had arrived at that level. Evidently, he was finally a prospect.

  Slipping on his black suit pants, he slowly dressed himself, unable to take his eyes off the bed that his wife once slept on, where he used to make love and be loved. He found it still depressing when he truly thought about it. No one really knew that he cared deeply for her; no one could ever know how it pained him to be without her.

  Instead, he would devote himself to learning his new craft. He would study on how to be a good billionaire. Funny, just days ago, he thought he was going to be a millionaire and could not fathom it. The word sounded surreal, even in his thoughts. Billionaire.

  What did a billionaire do every day? How did he eat, live, play? What did he sound like? Who did he counsel, and who counseled him? He had heard that he was the one of the youngest, richest men alive now. At least, that was what the newspaper reporters wrote. He heard that he was the most sought after bachelor in the world. At least, that is what the gossip columnists wrote. He heard that his power could help reshape Europe. At least, that is what the radio and talk show hosts said. Everyone was talking about him, yet, he remained silent. No comment. No contact. He knew in his heart that eventually the standing statement would grow stale, and he would finally be forced to speak. But what would he say?

  Fully dressed, he stared critically at himself in the custom mirror Catherine had ordered for him. He looked stately, educated – a total façade.

  Running his tattooed hand over his suit jacket, he shook his head. Who was he kidding? It would be impossible to hide his marks. Anyone with eyes could see them.

  Stepping closer to the mirror, he squinted as he ran his hand over his blonde locks. Could that be a gray hair in the front? Wow. He stood back and raised his brows in amazement. Buttoning his jacket, he slipped his hands in his pockets and walked out of his dressing room.

  ***

  Dmitry sat behind the antique desk in his grand study, once occupied by the great and powerful Lord Hutton of a long lineage of men of notable wealth and titles of esteem and royalty - now occupied by a street kid from Moscow.

  He smirked at the ironic thought as he looked around him in the quietness of the room as they all waited on Khalid’s son and his men to arrive. There was much to discuss before the next board meeting, and it was imperative that Dmitry have a sound plan - one that included him losing nothing but gaining everything.

  Ivan sat nearest the fire as they waited. His blue eyes sparkled as they met the quiet blaze in front of him. He was still brooding, probably over his earlier request of Dmitry and as always in a bad mood. Ivan seemed perpetually angry, unable to control his fiery temper and always eager to inflict pain.

  Dmitry watched him from across the room in dismay. Ivan was only eighteen years old, and yet he carried the weight of an old man on his broad shoulders. His life was further complicated by his growing stature not only in society by his physically startling appearance. He was now six foot, nine inches and filling out more and more.

  When Dmitry and Ivan were boys, they used to scrounge for food in gutters of Moscow, happy to get their hands on a steak every once in a while. Now, Ivan had a private maid and ate five times a day, worked out religiously and desired power more than regular men desired air. He breathed it in, extracting from it the explicit high that it gave him to be regarded as some important figure.

  Dmitry thought that Ivan had been dealt a horrible hand in life. He was young, obviously disturbed and yet contradictable beautiful. His pale white skin was completely unblemished; his coal, jet black, inky hair was thick and wavy; his eyes were like blue diamonds cut for the first time. Every feature on Ivan Medlov was breath taking, from the curve of his lips, to the cut of his square jaw, to the perfection of his
nose to the clever smile he often gave a person right before their demise. He was muscular, animalistic, vengeful and now powerful. Ivan Medlov was the perfect storm, only before he did not know it, and now, he relished in it.

  Dmitry truly wished that his brother had not been so beautiful, for he knew that it was his attractiveness that brought people to him, that lured people into his clutches – both men and women. But he also knew that it was his brother’s anger and resentment that caused senseless murders and disastrous raft.

  Since his marriage to Catherine, Dmitry had not killed a soul. He had spent his time under the tutelage of his wife, learning to be more than a brut with a gun. However, Ivan had made up for his absence with his own depraved actions that according to Davyd had become unimaginable.