Dmitry's Closet by Nelson, S. (read people like a book .txt) 📕

longer. You are only as com-petent as your weakest employee. And I think you have strong employees, eh?”

“I should have been up two hours ago.” She felt a flut-ter in her stomach, remembering his masculine smell all over her. She’d hated to wash it off.

“Well, you look great. Actually, I wish that I had more time. I’d let you know exactly how beautiful you look.”

With his long arm, Dmitry reached across the fine jewelry to the back of her neck and pulled her in to his embrace. Slowly, he kissed her right in front of Cory, Renée, the customers and God Almighty. Tasting the sweetness of her lip gloss, he released her and licked his lips. He was fighting a hungry erection again.

“Umm…you still taste delicious,” he noted.

Royal opened her eyes and knew instantly that all eyes were on her. She stood back up straight and smiled.

“Thank you…for that. Have a good day,” she said blushing.

“You, too,” he said, rubbing her arm. He looked at Renee, who was standing dumbfounded with her mouth gaped wide open. Quietly, he turned and walked out just as he had come in -with all eyes on him.

Royal could feel the chaotic energy in the room, but for once she didn’t care. They were in love, and if he didn’t mind that the world knew, neither did she.

“Don’t say a word,” Royal said to Renée as she grabbed a yellow button down to slip on to hide her bruises. “You either, Cory.”

“Oh, we are way past words,” Cory said, turning to help a customer.

“I need to grab the fire extinguisher. It’s hot as hell in here,” Renee joked.

Chapter 8

The basement of Mother Russiarestaurant was basic and unattractive, quite the opposite of its upstairs luxury. It was illuminated by industrial halogen lights, painted in pewter black paint, covered in black linoleum floors and highlighted by one very large wooden table sent from Russian with seating for the divine 16.

No windows gave the large space a depressing, dunge-on-like feeling. It reminded Dmitry of the rainy nights he had spent in prison. It was such a constant reminder until he absolutely hated going downstairs in the basement and would only conduct business there when it was most necessary.

Today, unfortunately, was one of those necessary days. Dmitry had just left the springtime of Royal’s presence and had abruptly entered the hell that he called his private life.

Anatoly followed closely behind him as he walked down the steps of the hidden space, where a small group of men sat around a long table awaiting him. His feet made an echo through the concrete staircase as he made his way down. Each step made him nervous. The winding stairs were in a tight place, perfect for ambush. When his foot met the last step, the entryway expanded into a very large opening. Dmitry took a deep breath, glad to get rid of the claustrophobic feeling.

Two men with automatic weapons stood at a double door’s entry. When they saw Dmitry, they opened the doors quickly and moved quietly out of his way.

He walked in the room and sighed. “Gentlemen,” he said, bidding them a good morning.

They all spoke collectively and watched as he sat at the head of the table. It was after all his rightful spot. He was the head of the Medlov Russian Organized Crime Family, a faction of the feared and revered Vory v Zakone that had migrated from Russia to southern London to New York to Memphis.

Dmitry ended up in Memphis due to the growing distribution hub in the city and the convenience of the ever useful Mississippi River. When he first arrived, he had only a team of three, but his expansion required the recruitment of old friends from around the globe.

The men had come obediently through the years to serve the Vory and their fearless leader, Dmitry. He had spent ten long years working to build his empire, and in one decade he had amassed more wealth and power than anyone had in his position before him.

However well-known he was in the dangerous under-ground circles, Dmitry hid in plain sight well, behind lucrative and very upstanding investments both in safe stocks and real estate, starting new businesses and pretend-ing to be an upstanding citizen working hard in his restau-rant because of his passion for food and his desire to be around people.

However, everyone in this room knew that hewas the coldest, strongest, and most astringent of them all. A true member of the obocheck. He had slaughtered anyone who dared stand in his way, purchased both politicians and police alike, intimidated and followed through on the most unthinkable threats. And never truly worked a day in his life. He was Boss Dmitry Medlov.

The other fifteen men around him had been allowed to live within a modified code of the Thieves-in-law. They had been permitted wives, children, the ability to intermingle with the society and the denial, so far, of the penalty of death for their transgressions against the code.

However, Dmitry had stayed true to the old ways. He had watched over them, rightfully chosen as their leader because of his denial of all things that went against the code. He had not taken a woman as anything more than a lover; he had no children bearing his name; although he had businesses, he had never worked a day in his life – lived on only what he made through the code; and he loathed the government and all of its criminal justice departments. He had a file within every federal agency in the U.S., several in UK, was on watch by Interpol and still feared in Russia, the Ukraine and Georgia.

Only no one could touch him, because he was so skilled at covering his tracks.

“You know the drill, Anatoly. Check the room before we begin,” Dmitry said, looking through a file that had been placed in front of him.

Not only did Dmitry run all of their secret gatherings like corporate board