Anatoly Medlov (24 page)

What about his father? His father had been the one who had taught him the Medlov way before any of them. Then, Ivan had found out what he was. A leak in his own organization had tipped his father off and told him that his son was a federal agent. When he had gone to training, when he had been accepted into the DEA, he had told his father that he was going off a few months to get some things clear in his head. He had lied to him and told him that if he didn’t hear from him, it was because he just needed some time. And that excuse had been enough. But when he had arrived back, a few months into being undercover, his father had found out.

The news had nearly killed Ivan. He came to him one night, snuck into his small one-room apartment and put a gun to his head. With every intention to kill him—to murder his only child. But the murderer, the psychopath could not do it. He sat on the side of his bed weeping. When Gabriel had awakened, his father had stopped crying and disowned him, told him that he was leaving for Memphis and his fate was his own. That had broken his heart a great deal more than his father wanting to kill himgun tnever heard from him again. Word had traveled shortly after that Ivan had been killed by his brother’s son.

To this day, he still didn’t know why he had chosen one side instead of the other. He was after all a Medlov. It would have been easier to go the easier path, to be his father’s pupil. But his mother’s teachings had been the fuel for the fire deep inside of him. She had preached righteousness and justice to him his entire life. And in the background, his father had preached the opposite. He could still hear his voice even now. “Gabriel, this world functions on greed and power. If you think any differently, if you function any differently, it will consume you. And you will be forgotten,” Ivan would say to him, even as a child.

He rested his head back as he panted, thinking of his dilemma. No, it was more than a dilemma. It was it an all-consuming situation that would end either with him overcoming it or dying. He had to face that fact. He had to know deep inside that he was more than likely headed to his own early death, if he continued. Because the Medlov’s had proven so far that they were larger than anything he was a part of. They traveled the world like he traveled the subway. They owned banks. He barely had a checking account. They lived by the Vory v Zakone’s code. He worked for the very government that they swore to hate. How could he not be headed toward his death? And in truth, he was ashamed of it, ashamed of the side that he had chosen.

There was a knock on the door. He looked at his watch quickly and realized that all of his thinking had pushed him past getting at shower. It was 7:00.

The door opened and Briggy came in with a bright smile. She looked down at him on the ground and stopped. “Are you alright?” she asked pushing the tray in front of her.

He sat up and pushed his back against the bed. “Yeah, I was working out.”

“I can see that,” she said, closing the door. “It’s the look in your eyes. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

***

Royal sat in the middle of the bed still looking at the picture of the woman who was her mother. She had stared at the picture all night. In her mind, she had thought about what she would say to her when she found her.

Dmitry came out of the bathroom dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his waist. He stopped at the door and leaned against it.

“You’re still looking at the photo?” he asked.

She looked up at him and smiled. “I just can’t believe it, Dmitry. How did he get it? You’ve been trying to track her down for years.”

Dmitry hid his jealously quickly. “Maybe it was just meant for him to find.”

“Did you see him last night? He was like a boy who had just found his home. He fits in perfectly here.”

“So, you like him now?” Dmitry asked, pulling his towel . “Don’t want me to kill him?”

“Something about him is right...I can’t explain it. He’s a good boy.” She ignored his constant reminder of her growing harshness of others.

Dmitry nodded. “There is one thing that I’m certain of and that is that he is
not
like his father.”

“Thank God,” she said with a sigh.

Dmitry walked over to the bed and crawled in with her. Naked, he pulled her body up in between his legs still damp with shower water and kissed the top of her head. She ran her hands down his hairy thighs and shook her head.

“I’m so happy, baby,” she said with tears in her eyes.

“It’s the hormones,” he explained, massaging her small shoulders. He had become extremely accustomed to outbursts of both happiness and sadness from his pregnant wife.

“No, it’s more than that. Everything around me seems right. Last night seemed so peaceful with the entire family here. Waking up this morning with a full house of people seemed so right. Having this baby... Even Gabriel.” Suddenly, she was overwhelmed again.

Dmitry chuckled. “Sounds to me like you have a lot of joy bundled up inside of there.” He rubbed her stomach. “Having a boy will do that do you.”

“I do feel happy...even though it’s a girl.” She felt his strong hand slip over hers. “I love you,” she confessed in a state of pure euphoria.

Dmitry carefully turned her around to face him, straddling her body over his long legs. “Let me look at you,” he said gruffly. His sparkling eyes flitted over her, instantly causing her blood to boil.

Running his hands over her half-buttoned pajama top up to her neck, he pulled her precious face to his and kissed her full mouth slowly. “I love you, too,” he said softly. His deep voice vibrated in her chest. “I love you with all of me.” He said this with his eyes open, staring right into her soul.

She raked her nails over his chest, on top of his tattooed pec muscle, feeling his lion-like heart beat hard and strong. He was all man, every inch of him.

As she drifted into his kiss, she felt him slowly adjusting her legs, moving her over his erection. His large hands cupped her bottom and squeezed tightly the extra pounds she had lovingly put on.

He had said
I love you
to her a million times, but each time it sent warm butterflies down to the core of her. There was something so dramatically spectacular about him. The knowledge of being adored by a man like him was mind blowing. And yet each day, she tried to understand it, to comprehend him. And each day, he did something else even more outstanding.

The flame of her hot body agst his own immediately began to ignite his insatiable passion. Pulling her clothes from her body, he ran his hands over her bare skin and moaned. His thumbs brushed against her pebbled nipples, and he rested them there while he spoke.

“I want you again,” he said with a grin. The long dimples in his cheek emerged. “And again,” he said, undressing her. “And again.” With a strong grip, he curled his fingers around the sides of her underwear and tore them off.
His signature move.
He licked his lips and pulled the lace from between her legs as if her undergarments were a diaper.

“Why do you always do that?” she asked, looking at her panties. “I loved those underwear.”

“Umm. I love them, too,” he said, dropping them on the floor beside the bed.

The wet silk from her sex slid down his inner thighs and made Dmitry forget all about her playful banter. Raising her up in the air as if she were a feather, he planted her on the tip of his erection.

“Ease down on it,” he commanded, resting his head back on the headboard. Closing his eyes, he felt her body stretch around his own. “No more talk of nephews,
Malenʹkaya zhenshchina
. All I want to hear now is my wife in pleasure.” His accent made the act sound even more erotic.

“How can you even call me a
little woman
now, as big as I’m getting?” she asked with her eyes closed shut.

“You are perfect size.” His hips pulled back and drove inside of her. The words lingered on his lips. “Perfect.”

***

When Anatoly’s eyes popped open and he realized that he was in the same bed that he had once spent with Victoria, he jumped up. For a minute, he could smell her perfume.
Chanel
. He could see her perfect mahogany face smiling at him. He wiped his eyes and pulled the comforter from his legs.

“Stop fucking with me,” he said to himself as he stood up.

“Did I do something wrong?” the blonde asked, peeking her head from under the cover. She blinked hard at him, trying to understand his sudden mood.

Anatoly didn’t look back at her or respond. Instead, he bolted into the restroom and slammed the door behind himself.

What was wrong with him? He’d killed a hundred times for his father, for his organization, for his family. And to add insult to injury, he had not even killed her. His father had done the job for him. However since that day, he wondered if his father had done it because he knew that he could not. Was he getting soft or was he going crazy?

The cold water splashed against his face and over his stubby beard. He stared at himself in the mirror, judging himself harshly in his mind.

Nothing made sense anymore. He had beaten the shit out of the pimp at the club last night. However, it had done little to cool his red-hot temper. And he had taken the man’s whore and brought her here with every intention of screwing her blind, but instead, they had talked all night. He couldn’t bring himself to touch her.
Why?
The answer was ridiculous but true.
Renee
.

“Get a fucking grip, you pussy,” he said to himself as he jumped in the shower.

The woman tapped her knuckles on the bathroom door. “Mr. Medlov, I’m going to leave now,” she said, listening for him to say something...anything.

He ran his hand over his face and scowled. “
Da da
,” he said gruffly. “Lock the door when you leave.”

There was silence on the other side of the door as she waited. Evidently, even though he had gotten rid of her pimp, she still expected payment.

“And be a smart girl and don’t take anything on your way out,” he said, adjusting the shower jets. Dismissing the very thought of her, he grabbed the soap and washed the dried blood from under his nails.

The water was cold by the time that he pulled himself out of the shower. His mind had raced from Prague to Memphis, and he had arrived at one conclusion. He had to call her.

After getting dressed, he headed downstairs in the lonely condo, down the quiet halls on his bare feet, missing his dogs and wishing for her voice. The kitchen was spotless. It was an aesthetic temple of expensive monochromic appliances and pewter-colored countertops, of abstract paintings and muted walls of absence. However, while it passed for expensive taste and fine living, it did not pass for the southern grace of his mansion in Memphis. This place was not warm, was not pleasant. It was a testament to modern living, a picture for an architectural digest. It made him lonely. It made him ache inside for the human touch, for laughter, for conversation.

With a bowl in front of him, he sat at the kitchen table with the phone in his right hand. Staring blankly into the milk and oats, he thought of her. Finally, he dialed her cell phone.

“Hello,” she finally answered.

Anatoly looked up, focusing his eyes on the stainless steel refrigerator in front of him.

“Renee,” he said softly.

“Hey, Ana.” Her voice was rich and full of life.

“Renee, I miss you.”

He couldn’t believe that he had allowed himself to say it. But there was something hollow deep inside of him that needed to be filled, and he was certain now that she was the only person capable of doing so.