Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen by Nelson, S. (classic reads .txt) 📕

Soft. Stupid. The both of them were. They had gotten so wrapped up in their little fairy tale until they couldn't even deal with reality anymore.

He hadn't figured out what he would do just yet, but he figured that an eye for an eye would just about make them even. It had to be done for Anya if for no one else. He pulled up to the front of his fathers restaurant, where a young man stood waiting.

As soon as he saw Anatoly, he ran over to the car.

"Boss, you want us to take of? This is small shit. One of us can do it. I can do it. It would be honor," he said in a Russian accent, leaning over into the window of Anatoly's car.

"No, it's personal. I'll take care of it. You got my shit?"

"Da," he handed Anatoly a small vile. "It was just made… for you."

"For her," Anatoly said nodding. "She's still eating?"

"Over at the PlzeHská restaurant at Municipal House. She's eating outside."

"Spasibo, brat," Anatoly said, speeding off.

The sun gleamed through his curly strands of hair as the wind ripped through the windows of his Bentley. Someone could have mistaken the young man for a model or an actor, but Anatoly was what he was. A killer. The thought of the act of killing her itched through him now. He wanted to peel the skin from her bones for the blatant disrespect she had shown his family.

However, he wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do to her. He would play it by ear. Pulling quickly on to Republiky, he parked outside of the Municipal House and slipped on his Aviator shades.

People were out in droves. Tourist stood outside taking pictures and laughing in the square. Business people walked up and down Republiky Street pasted to their cell phones as small taxi cabs sped by.

Anatoly couldn't blend. His splendor stood out among the crowd. Women watched him as he passed, eyed him as he approached. He was his father's son. Beautiful.

Clutching his keys in his hands, he walked down the sidewalk to the tables lined up on the walkway outside the building and found Victoria there eating with her back turned from him. He smiled a little. From afar, she seemed harmless. Attractive.

A waitress batted her eyes at him as he sailed by with a cool swagger that hid his inner rage. He licked his lips and slid into the chair across from her abruptly, startling her on purpose.

"You should have taken Davyd's advice and left Prague before noon," he said with a clever smile. He revealed the deep dimple in his left cheek. "Instead you lunch like you're on fucking vacation."

Victoria looked up stunned. "Anatoly? What are you doing here? What happened to your hair?" She put down her fork and wiped her face with her napkin.

"I was looking for you," his deep baritone voice carried. He ignored her second question.

"Why?" her heart stopped.

"Unfinished business," he raised his eyebrows. "You have been very bad girl, Victoria."

She looked into his eyes and saw the malice. Instantly, she stood up to leave, but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back down to the table.

"Where you going?" his jaw clenched. "Don't make scene. It's not nice."

She sat back down and looked around. No one had seen her. She wanted to scream out, but fear gripped her.

"Mistress Medlov told me to leave. I left. It's finished now," she explained in a hushed tone. "I don't know what you want with me, but… "

Anatoly let go of her arm and pulled her drink over to him. "What is this?" he looked down in the glass.

"Wine," she felt her bruised wrist. Running her soft fingers over her delicate skin, she rolled her eyes at him.

"Chardonnay? What year?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vile.

She watched him as he opened it and dropped the white contents into the glass, then swirled it around. He pushed it back over to her and motioned for her to drink it.

"I'm doing you the courtesy of not sneaking it to you like fucking snake. Now drink it."

Tears ran down her eyes. "No."

"Drink."

"No!" she snapped.

He reached across the table to her face. She shrieked away but felt his cold hand wipe the tear from her cheek.

"Drink it," he said softly with a soothing look in his eyes. She heard the gun click under the table. "Drink it… or else."

With shaking hands, she picked the glass up and put it to her pouty lips. Then finally while looking into his cold eyes, she drank it.

He put his index finger on the bottom of the glass and pushed to make sure that she drank all the contents. Then, he took the glass from her, checked the bottom of it and stood up.

She flinched, scared of what he might do to her. This was all supposed to be over. She had learned her lesson. She was out of a job, receiving a poor review and headed home—flat busted broke. She had spent most of her money on blow and shopping. What else did he want from her?

Looking down at the table, she wondered what she had just ingested. Cocaine? Oxycotin? Maybe something worse? Poison?

He stood beside her and tapped the table as he stared at the crown of her head.

"Alright, lets go," he said, grabbing her by her arm. He threw down money on the table and picked up her bags.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked struggling. Her tips toes brushed the ground as he nearly lifted her from it. "Let go of me!"

People looked at the odd couple as they made their way to his car. Anatoly never uttered a word, but without much of a struggle, he guided her