Dmitry's Closet (16 page)

     Under the dimming lights of the dinner table and among the 60-rose bouquet in the center of the table that gave off a beautiful aroma, they toasted and drank merrily, recapping every minute of their first encounter with Ivan, the valiant efforts of Anatoly & Cory, and discussing the king of them all, Dmitry.

     "Okay, so Cory and I have been talking, and we've come to the conclusion that Dmitry is mafia," Renée said, looking for Cory to chime in. She sipped her wine and nodded her head.

     Royal stopped smiling. Her face changed into a grimace.

     "You watch too many movies." Royal denied.

     "And you are too naive. Did you see what happened downstairs? I nearly pissed my own pants," Renée said, savoring the taste of the thousand dollar bottle of wine.

     "I was scared too, but you don't have to get so Hollywood. This is Memphis, for God's sake. Home of Elvis sightings and pig-eating contests. What would the mafia or anyone else for that matter want with Memphis?"

     Renée raised her brow. "Well you do have a point."

     "Exactly." Royal got up and went to the kitchen to retrieve a platter of cheese and a handful of grapes. Leaning against the countertop, she held her stomach. She stood there quietly for a moment, praying softly, silently moving her lips with her eyes clothes. Then she took a deep breath, exhaled her troubles and grabbed the tray. She came back and set the food on the table and smiled. "Anybody want some caviar? I've got extra."

     "Okay. Well, who has extra caviar sitting around, and bottles of expensive wine in this economy. I don't even have extra containers of milk at home, and that runs me about three dollars each not one thousand," Cory argued.

     Royal snapped quickly. "So every one who has any money is now suddenly a criminal, especially a Russian man, right?" she asked defensively. She took a deep breath. "Dmitry has worked hard his entire life. He's made some very wise business decisions, and he's paid his dues. That's why he's wealthy." Her hands shook in frustration and pain.

     Cory raised his brow. "Royal, I've never seen Dmitry actually work once since I've been here. He gives orders, but I don't even think he drives his own car."

     "What does that have to do with anything?" Royal snapped.

     "Well, I'm sure he worked at some point," Renée added.

     "I mean, the abundance of caviar though, Royal?" Cory continued. "He seems to have an abundance of everything. Cars. Businesses. Money."

     She ran her fingers through her hair. "He owns a caviar company in Russia. It's like owning a fishing business here in the states... nothing to get all hyped about. And he made his millions over a decade ago. We were all still teenagers then." She looked around for understanding but there was no compassion around the table, at least not for Dmitry.

     "Uh huh," Cory said, pouring another glass of wine. "He also has a lot of bodyguards and guns for a restaurateur. It's kind of odd, don't you think?"

     "No, I don't," Royal lied as she stood up, unaware of how upset she was becoming. "He's Russian," she ranted. "They protect their own." She could hear his voice as she said it. She sounded like him. She was defending him, even though he had cut her down moments ago downstairs.

     Realizing she had stood up, she sat down in her chair and looked down at her hands covered in expensive diamonds and pearls. Suddenly, she wanted to pull off the jewelry and hide it. She was ashamed of it, of him, only she didn't know why. There was nothing left to say. She didn't know anything else.

     "The truth of the matter is that I love him. And I know that he would never lie to me. It's not in him," Royal's voice was soft and timid.

     "Maybe he's not lying to you, he's just avoiding telling you something that he knows that you know that you already know." Cory reasoned with her.

     Royal sighed. "You both are making my head hurt. He pays you above the normal pay grade. He gives you excellent benefits. All he wants is a little loyalty. You're both ready to throw him to the dogs."

     Cory looked at Renée and set down his glass. They had obviously gone too far and needed to fix things as best they could before she fired them both and kicked them out.

     "Look, we are in no position to talk bad about our boss. He's been great to us, but honey, you have to wonder," he said, sighing. "Well… don't you? You're too smart not to wonder or maybe you're just too scared. Believe me, no one would not understand that. We just love you. We've grown to see how beautiful you are, and we don't want you to get hurt, is all."

     "I'm not afraid of Dmitry. I trust him," Royal said, looking at Cory. "So, I don't have to wonder." But the statements that both Cory and Renée made weren't new thoughts for Royal. She wondered about Dmitry and his businesses now more than ever. Only she was far too in love with him to stop now, to leave him or push him away.

∞♥∞

     Back upstairs in the elegant ambience of
Mother Russia,
Ivan sat across from Dmitry in a closed private room in the back of the restaurant. Anatoly stood in the far corner, quietly watching and listening as his father and uncle sat at a large table under the light of a Tiffany glass hanging lamps talking quietly.

     "Is he your pet?" Ivan asked, referring to Anatoly. He looked over at the young man and blew him a condescending kiss.

     "More like protege," Dmitry said, relaxed in the red leather booth. He looked over at Anatoly and nodded.

     "Huh... well, he looks like fag." Ivan turned around in his seat and popped his knuckles. "I don't like to be stared it. It makes me conscious of my overbite," he said, sarcastically. He took a shot of vodka and slammed the shot glass on the table.

     "Don't worry about him." Dmitry waved at the waitress, who entered the room quickly and brought their lunch. "Tell me why New York sent you of all people? I thought you had good thing going in Bronx since I left a ton of shit for you. Now, you come here? What for? What are you up to?"

     "Kirill was a friend," Ivan said, tasting his brother's legendary borscht. "This is excellent. You were always a great cook. You could do amazing things with the trash we had to eat as kids."

     "It's your mother's recipe. Probably the only thing that she ever gave us worth anything." Dmitry watched his young brother eat the food quickly and sloppily. With all the wealth that he and Ivan had acquired over the years, he still had never learned any manners. It was true what they said, all the money in the world couldn't buy a lick of class.

     After he had scoffed down the food, Ivan put down his fork, wiped his mouth with the napkin and used the knife to check his teeth. Lighting a cigarette, he waved his sulfuric match out and took a long, needed drag, slowly blowing smoke out of his mouth.

     Dmitry watched irritated. Ivan had always been so theatric. Waiting for an answer to his question, he sat up and clasped his hands together. His nostrils flared.

     "Dare I even ask about the beautiful black girl at the shop? Are they calling themselves black or African-American these days?" Ivan asked, cocking up one of his long dark eyebrows. A devilish grin crossed his lips.

     Anatoly twitched a little in the corner wondering if his father would demand that he shoot Ivan right then. He would enjoy every second of it. Family or not, Anatoly's only thought was to draw first blood.

     Dmitry looked at Ivan with a stone stare. "My patience is starting to run very thin with you, brother." He sighed but continued to control his tone.

     "Well, we all know what happens when you become impatient," Ivan taunted, tapping his knuckles on the wooden table. "Bodies hit the floor." He sucked his teeth again and smiled.

     "Do you think you are immune?" Dmitry asked. "Answer my questions now, before I get... frustrated. Why did they send you?" His square jaw clinched.

     "I requested to come here, and I gave up my territory in the Bronx. That rat race was getting old anyway. I wanted to start over here with family," he smirked. "Plus, Kirill was a friend." He made sure to reiterate his point.

     Dmitry shrugged his shoulders. "He was coward, and he deserved to die. I should have killed him myself to make point."

     "What is your point, brother?"

     "You will know if and when I ever have to make it to you, and don't think because you are my blood that I would hesitate for even a minute."

     "Oh, I know damned well that you wouldn't. You've proven that. Just answer me why you thought that you had to kill the only family that we've ever really had?"

     "And don't ever question my authority. It has its consequences. Not much has changed since we last saw each other, brother. I do not answer to those below me, and I don't play well with others."

     "Oh, I remember. I still have this to show for it." He pulled his shirt collar down to show his brother the long knife mark that Dmitry had left many years before only inches from his carotid artery. "Besides, I'm not here for fight. New York said I could leave, start over and take over for Kirill with your blessing, of course. That is all that I'm here for. So many years have passed; I thought that this would be a new start for us."

     "A start to do what?"

     "Business. What else?"

     Dmitry ran his finger down the table, checking for dust. He looked back over at Ivan, wide-eyed and trying desperately to be clever. If he had trusted him, even an inkling, he would have informed him that he did have more family in the form of the young man holding tightly to the nickel-plated Glock in the corner, but the truth of the matter is that he did not trust him at all. And considering there was still a score to settle, evidently now more than ever between the two, maybe it was best for him to keep his long lost brother close and under a watchful eye.

     "For now, I let you take his place, but you play by my rules. Don't get creative down here. It's taken me long time to get things where I want them. And if you came here to avenge Kirill or anyone else for that matter, you might as well get up and leave now, while you're still breathing."

     "Given that we are still brothers, I feel as though I can say my piece."

     "Then say it."

     "He came over from Russia with us. He took care of me while you were in prison. He planned your escape, for God's sake," Ivan said, tapping his cigarette. "And you shoot him like he's nothing, when you could have still been rotting in prison for being a thieving, murdering bastard."

     Dmitry smirked. "I made it painless. I could have cut him open with the end of broken bottle in front of his family, shot his young daughter and mother, raped his wife
repeatedly,
burned down his house and took his dog," Dmitry said, tasting the borscht and making his point that Ivan wasn't very angelic himself.

     "Hey, I liked that dog," Ivan said, smiling. "I still have it. And I didn't shoot Vladimir's granny. She had heart attack from too much commotion."

     "You're the real monster, Ivan. I thank God everyday that we have different fathers."

     "What did you expect? Our mother was whore," he laughed. "Okay. Okay. I work your plan .this way I can grow."

     "Memphis isn't big enough for the two of us, brother, unless you do work my plan. You stay here; you will always play by my rules. You work for me. I give you his share. You take his pay, his territory and his responsibilities." Dmitry leaned closer to him. His voice lowered. "You work the plan, you have good life, live long time, maybe even have family. Hell, you can have Kirill's wife, if you'd like. She is as discerning as a blind, deaf dog in heat. But if you get out of your lane, get greedy, disrespect me one time, I swear to the sweet, precious Mother Mary that I'll kill you myself. and for good this time." Dmitry's words were laced with paralyzing venom. He seethed with anger and disdain, but it was only evident in his tone, his eyes, and the point of his finger to the table.

     "I'm not interested in getting out of lane. I just want new start," he said seriously.

     "Alright." He stood up. "Anatoly, show him to his new place. Oh...and one more thing, Ivan. I didn't kill your men just because I didn't trust them. I killed them, because you brought them near Royal. Stay away from her, or you'll be next."

     Dmitry walked out of the door and in his gentle manner greeted a customer who passed him.

∞♥∞

     Royal and her friends had nearly finished the bottle of wine and had moved on to other discussions about various unimportant issues when they heard the front door open and close. Heavy footsteps on the hardwood floors echoed throughout the loft and silenced them all. Royal's heart skipped a beat. Her tyrant was evidently back. He rounded the corner and leaned on the doorway. Cory and Renée sat up in their chairs, a little uncomfortable. Both wondered should they be there.

     "Sorry, I didn't know that you had company," Dmitry said, looking at Cory, who shifted in his seat.

     "We were just leaving," Renée explained, standing up. "We just wanted to keep her company for a while."

     "Please, don't leave on my account," he said, waving her to sit back down.

     "It's getting late anyway." Cory stood and pushed up his chair. "Royal, do you mind if I use your restroom?"

     "The guest restroom is just down the corridor to your right," she said, barely acknowledging Dmitry.

     Dmitry looked down at her, still angry at him from earlier. He knew that he deserved it. None of this had been her fault, but somehow, he had gotten her involved. Running his fingers over the door frame, he sighed and turned away.

     When Royal was certain that Dmitry was out of earshot, she turned back to Renée, who was quickly gathering her things. "Thanks for coming over," she said appreciatively.

     "You're welcome, girl." Renée reached over and hugged Royal. "Call me if you need anything."

     "I will." Royal sighed.

     When Cory came out of the bathroom, Royal thanked her friends and saw them out of her house. After making sure that the door was locked, she went to her bedroom, where Dmitry had retired to the bathroom to take a shower.