The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One Page 17

  Dmitry stepped out of the board room last with Elsa following at his side. Smoothing his suit out, he looked around at the large group of people standing still and staring at him in the corridor. Their eyes said it all. They knew a war was coming as well. Many of them never thought they’d see the day that the board would be eliminated, but seeing them all eliminated at once was almost unthinkable.

  “Can someone tell me where my office is?” he asked. His deep voice vibrated throughout the halls.

  A hundred hands pointed at the large suite at the end of the hall – the office that Brenneman had thought only hours before that he would occupy. Dmitry bent to Elsa and pulled her near. His large hand wrapped around her small waist and felt her voluptuous curves. He did not try to hide his sexual attraction. Instead, he licked his lips and smiled. “Why don’t you go in there and make yourself comfortable. That’s your office now,” he whispered into her ear.

  His touch created a warm electricity throughout her body. Goosebumps formed on her skin. “My office?” Elsa asked confused. She looked up at him.

  “Da. I don’t work, Elsa. It’s against my code. You, however, are very good at this. Go in there and do what you do best. I trust you.”

  “But what are you going to do?” she asked, eager to see what great office lay behind the oak doors.

  Dmitry winked. “I’m going to prepare for a war, Elsa. Were you not paying attention?”

  “Yes, I was paying attention to your every word.” She felt his fingers move.

  “Good. Then we’ll recap later,” he said, hoping she understood his words. “For now, go take care of my light weight.” He smiled at her and flicked her perfect little nose. “See you at home tonight. You did well.”

  “Yes. Thank you, sir,” she said excited.

  Turning from her, he headed to the golden elevators as the office women, hidden by cubicles and office doors watched him curiously pass them. Even in the middle of corporate breakdown, it truly vexed Elsa how much sexual energy radiated from the young man. Many of these same women were about to lose their jobs, yet they pined over the mysterious man, hoping for just a glimpse from his angelic eyes or a smile from his luscious lips.

  However, all of Dmitry’s attention was on Elsa. His carnal stare had burned through her. His eyes had said the things that his lips would not. When he turned away from her, it was like the sun stopped shining on her skin, stopped heating up her body. She was finally given a moment to rest, to feel something other than his attention as it crawled over her. Just being in his presence drove her into overload.

  Chapter Six

  Ivan watched Dmitry’s new private team of assassins as they cleaned their weapons and went over tactical procedures in the basement of the manor home for hours. Their cohesiveness was a thing of envy to him. Even though Dorian was obviously their leader, he did not lead with an iron fist. He, instead, inquired about their suggestions and gave their opinions heavy thought.

  It was a pity that Dmitry did not take a page from this black man’s book. Dmitry’s word was always the last, full of self-righteous, pseudo-omnipresent assumptions and convoluted rhetoric. He swore that the man talked just to hear his own voice sometimes. It was an irritating and often inefficient micro-management technique in Ivan’s eyes. It showed that Dmitry was not nearly as confident in himself or his rule as he had others believe. A chink in the armor. The thing that would bring his brother down. Ivan didn’t know why that thought made him warm and fuzzy inside but it did.

  He tilted his head as he watched their leader a little closer. Was Dorian black or was he blackish? He wouldn’t hold his tongue for much longer, and would soon ask when the opportunity presented itself. He simply had to know – not that it was important. However, he enjoyed the quizzical shit that no one else bothered to ponder.

  Eastern Europeans were stranger than the western world in that it was not so much one’s color that mattered more so than one’s religion. Being Muslim, Jewish or even Christian could get you killed a lot quicker than being black. He wasn’t sure which was worse. Racists or religious fanatics. He’d found that often they were one in the same.

  Ivan, of course, had no religion. He found it hypocritical considering their line of work. Why have a higher power to have to answer to upon your death when you knew that you’d show up with a bad report? It made no sense to him. By all religious standards regardless of faith, he was hell bound.

  But from what he had learned of Dorian, he was a hybrid of religions, mudded by a multi-ethnic background. Whatever his true religion, he regarded most those things that centered on honor and trust. Ivan thought the man to be a bit of Boy Scout. Then there was his half-sister, Arie. She was a completely different animal. Her exact ethnicity was unknown.

  A short woman with dark-olive toned skin, jet black hair and big, almond brown eyes and full lips, Arie could have been a number of races. However, she claimed nothing. Adorned in tattoos with wild eyes and a gritty, rough disposition, she stunk of anger and hatred, quite the opposite of her balanced brother, who seemed to be in harmony with the world that he terrorized.

  She was a wild card like Ivan. Rebellious down to her dead core. The stink of a thousand men was upon her. Ivan had sniffed her out in their very first meeting. But he liked that about her. There was nothing honorable about a shrewd to him. Holding out, playing hard to get, perfuming raw emotions with pretty little words all were signs of weakness to him. Arie didn’t seem like that type of woman. She was his type. Complete and utterly reckless. A woman who didn’t give apologies or expect them.

  She watched him now as he stood across the room watching her. Her eyes started at the top of his body and slowly made their way down to his feet. Ivan’s eye involuntarily flinched. He liked that – liked that she wasn’t afraid to make her intentions known.

  “Let me count the ways,” Ivan said aloud as a dirty, lustful thought clouded his mind. His eyes told on him.

  Arie cracked a smile in response. Putting down her gun, she walked over to him, past her brother, who gave her an admonishing glare.

  Ivan bent down as he watched her lips curl to say something. They were red and pouty, begging to be kissed.

  “I bet you wish I could give you a hand job right now,” she said, making eye contact with him as her minty breath tickled his nose.

  Ivan’s eyes lit up. “What makes you think that you can’t?” he asked quickly. “You’re already eye-level with my package. All you have to do is open it.”

  Arie chuckled, happy to know that they shared the same sick humor. “The real question is can you reciprocate?” she asked, leaning against the wall. She planted her large, steel-toe boot against the brick.

  Dorian sat up from his chore of building a dirty bomb and looked across at the both of them under his make-shift glasses. “Don’t you have something that you need to be doing instead of being a sharmuta?” he asked, gritting his teeth. His square jaw clenched down tight, revealing the small muscles in his chiseled, caramel face.

  “What does sharmuta mean?” Ivan asked, whispering into Arie’s ear.

  Arie rolled her eyes. “It’s not a compliment,” she said, nodding at her brother. Before she went back to her work, she turned to Ivan and looked up at him. “Find me later and we can finish this conversation. This place is getting old with nothing and no one to do.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Ivan said, smiling at Dorian.

  He knew that her brother didn’t approve, and rightly so - but what did he care? This was a Medlov compound, a Medlov operation, and if Dorian wasn’t careful, his sister would be a Medlov woman.

  Arie could sense Ivan’s sudden territorial presence over her and used it as a shield from her over protective brother as she sauntered back over to her weapon and began cleaning it again. She kept her small, narrow back turned towards them all, certain that everyone was watching, especially Ivan, but she could feel his eyes bore through her.

  They would be together if it was the last thing that they did
.

  ***

  There was nothing more pathetic than waiting for the opposing side to strike as far as Dmitry was concerned. And it was never in his nature to be second at anything.

  Coming into his study, he tore out of his suit and sat behind his desk to strategize his next move. Pulling out a notepad and pen, he began to jot down notes on each of the men who had stood by Oscar Brenneman and the questions that he had about them. Where did they live? Who were their mistresses and wives? Where did they congregate? What are their vices? Where was most of their money?

  Pulling at his tailored short, he reached to the far edge of his massive desk and grabbed a bottle of vodka and small glass. He’d have to think through this if he wanted to survive. There could be no loose ends, no fuck ups. Every part of his operation would have to be seamless.

  Ivan walked to the door and knocked. Peering inside, he instantly knew that his brother was irritated. Dmitry’s eyebrows spiked at the interruption until he saw who it was. Then he relaxed. Something about seeing a familiar face was soothing at that moment.

  “I take it that the meeting didn’t go well?” Ivan said, closing the door behind him.

  “We have to crush them now,” Dmitry said, looking up from his paper. He poured Ivan a glass of vodka as well and pushed it across to him.

  Ivan took it and sat down in the seat in front of Dmitry’s desk. “Crush them financially or kill the fuckers?” he asked with a menacing grin.

  “I want you to prepare to do what you do best,” Dmitry said, sitting back in his chair. The sun rays beamed across his golden hair and he slowly flapped his long eyelashes. Bright, determined eyes rested on Ivan.

  “And I can do this the way that I want to do it?” Ivan asked intrigued. He never received free reign from his brother. This had to be bad.

  Dmitry paused. “Yes.”

  Ivan let out a sigh of gratitude. “When?”

  “Soon. I’ll know by the end of the day after I’ve had a moment to calculate this all.” He ran his hands over his notes.

  “A blood bath will probably lead back to you,” Ivan pointed out. “Should this look like an accident or a hit?”

  “There is nothing accidental about a massacre,” Dmitry answered. “I’m looking for a way to kill them all at once, but if we can’t then pick them off one by one. Make sure that no one on the team is caught, and make sure that you are not videoed, photographed or seen. I don’t want you to end up in prison before we can even get to where we want to be.”

  “I can handle that,” Ivan assured.

  “Yes, I know you can.” Dmitry emptied the vodka bottle into his glass. “Well, if you’d excuse me. I’ve got a lot to figure out here.”

  “One more thing before I go,” Ivan said, raising his long index finger.

  Dmitry blinked.

  “About the money for Emma. Have you forgotten?” Ivan waited.

  Dmitry took the key from on top of a pile of paperwork beside him on the desk and opened his top drawer. He took out a check and pushed it across the table to Ivan. “I had a chance to review the previous will. This is what she was supposed to receive.”

  Ivan looked down at the check astonished. “Thirty-two million pounds?”

  “To the penny,” Dmitry answered. “See that she receives it. All of it. For her and your child.”

  “It’s not my kid,” Ivan snapped.

  Dmitry raised his brow. “Whatever. I don’t really care, Ivan. Just make sure that I don’t lay eyes on Emma or this boy. I have too much to deal with right now, and I doubt that playing the surrogate grandfather slash uncle to my stepdaughter’s illegitimate heir is going to help me find clarity.”

  Ivan shook his head. “Every day you sound more and more like these British aristocratic fucks and less like one of us.”

  Dmitry was suddenly intrigued. “And what do we sound like, brat? Please don’t tell me that you’re one of those self-loathing idiots who believe that we are incapable of being educated, formally trained or even elevated in society because we are Vor. If anything, it is quite the opposite. We are most ready for the challenge.”

  “I’ll leave the social climbing to you. I’m just after cold, hard cash,” Ivan sneered, rubbing his hand over the check.

  Dmitry watched his brother for a moment in silent wonderment. He knew that there was a large possibility that neither Emma nor the boy would ever see a cent of the money that he had just given his brother for them.

  However, the last words between Emma and he had been full of hatred and disdain, and he did not wish to return to her presence for any reason – even a good one. Plus, it was his brother’s responsibility now to do right by her. He felt his hands were washed of the Hutton’s completely. He owed nothing to Emma or her mother at this point.

  Remembering his present issues, he cleared his throat. “Right, so why don’t you go and do what I asked while I prepare to climb a different type of ladder, da.”

  “What do you have in mind for them? I’m curious.”

  “I’ll tell you when I’m sure,” Dmitry said, looking down at his notes. He needn’t look up to know that Ivan was shooting him a deadly stare.

  “Am I not your second-in-charge, brother?” Ivan asked. “It doesn’t look like it if you layout all of your plans alone or distribute them to me like I am one of them – in front of them no less. I want to know before the team and especially before that old fart, Davyd.”

  Dmitry looked up, irritated that Ivan was still there and talking. “Has something changed? Did I not just give you more in your hands to trust than most men see in their entire lifetimes? If it really is about just the cold hard cash with you, then what does it matter how I manage things?”

  Ivan opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it shut. Nodding, he stood up and strode out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

  Dmitry was a hard man for Ivan to understand. In one moment, he would entrust him with responsibilities only bestowed on heads of state and in the next he would regard with him less thought than he would give a house servant.

  One day, he’d make him pay for his constant pompous attitude. One day, he’d be the boss.

  ***

  Once Ivan was gone, Dmitry cleared his head of the thoughts that seemed to stab at him regarding his brother’s growing pestilence, and he was able to refocus on the steps that he needed to take to make Hutton Industries a Medlov business.

  The entire time that Dmitry had been with Catherine, he had planned to take whatever money she left him and purchase munitions from Russia in bulk. However, what he had not depended on was the amount of money that he was given or the dramatic impact it would have on his plans.

  Davyd had been doing recon for him for over a year, and one thing was clear. In order to purchase munitions in bulk from Russia, one not only needed money, but he would also need the blessing of the organized crime families that ran the men who sold them. This led him right back to the men who were already filling his circle.

  There were two men who were paramount to Dmitry’s success. Vladimir and his father Khalid were the first men he would need to woo and form a working relationship, but the ultimate man would still be the Czar of the underworld, Boss Evgeny Smirnov. Between the two of them, Dmitry would no longer need Kirill, his old boss from Russia.

  In fact, since he’d gotten married, Dmitry had all but lost contact with Kirill, especially since he’d failed him with the shipment he’d needed when he first made contact with Catherine before they began their relationship.

  Khalid Sidorov and his son were part of the highest ranks and ran the second largest family that carried the exclusive name of the Vory v Zakone. With men in Russia, Ukraine, Israel, Poland, the Czech Republic and over 20 other countries across the world, the Sidorov family was a wealthy and powerful organized crime syndicate with ties to banks, industries and politicians far and wide. Khalid was also second-in-charge to the most powerful Vor in the world.

  Boss Evgeny Smirnov was an in
stitution in his own right. Admired and feared, his name was only whispered among the elite and never uttered by the underbosses of the world, mostly because they did not know who he was. He had a seamless operation of spies, butchers, and other powerful men throughout the ranks that reported to him and him only.

  The only chink that Dmitry could identify in the old man’s armor was that he held complete control without anyone to truly help him mediate things or provide balance. The last word came from Smirnov, without consultation of a group or the support of it.

  Dmitry always thought that every man in power should have a council, and one day when he was big like Smirnov, he would have one to secure his own interests and to ensure the organization’s perpetuity. But that would be for much later.