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

"Thanks for asking. Anatoly didn't give me a choice with the other part." She pushed Royal's long black ponytail from her shoulder and rubbed her arm. "Take care of yourself, Royal."

Royal shook her head. "You too." She adjusted her backpack and headed out of the hotel into the streets of the city to catch a cab.

* * *

Davyd saw flashes of light as he came to. His eyes fluttered, and he realized that he was sitting in the chair with his feet elevated in the great room. Anya sat on his lap watching television and doing his hair, which consisted of a lot mousse and colorful barrettes.

He cleared his voice and shifted her off his left leg that had gone to sleep. Patting her back, he beckoned her to move.

"Up, up, Anya," he growled.

As bolt of lightning stuck through him as he noticed that it was nightfall and felt the sweat on his back. How long had he been asleep?

He looked down at his watch and realized that it was a quarter past ten. Jumping up, he dashed out of the room, screaming for Stepan and Brigitte.

"Where is everyone? Stepan! Briggy!"

His old bones rattled as he moved as fast as he could.

Stepan came down the hall with guns on his side and four men following behind him. Davyd instantly recognized them. They were men from Dmitry's small army in Prague. If they had been activated, then something was wrong. He straightened his pants and wiped his sweaty face.

"Where is Royal?" he asked, knowing without being told that she was not there.

"That is what we have been trying to find out. Brigitte swears that she went into town. But you were unconscious, and we haven't seen her all day. Plus, she hasn't been to shop."

"Has Dmitry been notified?"

"Of course." Stepan clenched his jaw. He knew protocol.

"What did he say?"

"He said if she wasn't here then she was there. He's sent a team to comb the streets and look for her in Sochi."

Davyd hit the wall with his fist and felt for his guns. They had been taken. Probably by Royal. Stepan looked at him in his frustration and looked back at the men. "We took your guns. Didn't want Anya to shoot you in your sleep." They all smirked at the older man.

"Well give them back and give me a few men. Were headed to Sochi," he growled.

"Dmitry said you'd say that. He said that what is done can't be undone now. He wants everyone here with Anya, just in case. Call him if you like. He has got over a hundred men on the premises here in trees and out in the barn, throughout the house. You name it. Were on lockdown until whatever is happening happens."

"Well if that's the case, then send ten men into great room. Well sit with Anya until Dmitry arrives back to this house with Royal. Send man to the insides and outsides of every exit and tell them to take their safeties off." He started to walk off. "And give me my fucking guns back."

* * *

Full dressed in a tailored tuxedo, Dmitry sat in his suite with his son drinking a glass of vodka in the silent calm of luxurious ambience. Everything was ready, and now it was time to wait.

Anatoly watched his father carefully. Something was off. Clearing his voice, he broke the silence and uncrossed his legs.

Dmitry looked up from his distant thoughts and peered at Anatoly under blonde eyelashes. He moved the glass from his hand. The dim lights flickered off of the diamonds in his Rolex.

"I'm sure that they'll find her," Anatoly assured his father.

They had only found out a couple of hours earlier than Royal was missing. Dmitry was silent when he first found out. The wheels of his mind turned over and over until he finally spoke, informing them all that she was in the city. Anatoly found it odd, almost impossible. How did she find out? But Dmitry was certain and if he was certain, even if he was wrong, in their world it was the truth.

"Let me worry about Royal," Dmitry said finally. He smiled revealing his long, deep dimples. His eyes sparkled. "Victoria should be preparing to go over to the art gallery to make the final payment. Has she been properly instructed?"

"Yes." Anatoly sat up in the chair a little straighter. Would his father ever stop grilling him?

"You know, if you care for her at all, you should send one of the other men?"

"Care for her?" Anatoly smirked. "I told you… "

"Listen to me. You send pawns out in the field—people who you do not care if they don't come back. You don't send anyone you care about."

"Papa, she'll be fine."

Dmitry didn't smile. His voice was low. "No one is safe tonight, especially anyone involved in this deal. She could go to jail. She could be kidnapped. She could be killed. Are you ready to accept that?"

"Shell be fine," Anatoly stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out at all the people moving around on the streets below. It was like New Years in New York.

"You don't have much time to change your mind," he heard Dmitry say from behind him. His voice sounded worried—worried about a woman who had betrayed him and his wife.

"My mind is made up."

"Moving on then," Dmitry put down his glass on the table beside his chair and planted his elbows on his long legs. "I don't want you at the ball. I need you on the yacht. Once the deal is made, I have a feeling that the only way they're going to get the shipment out of the city is by water."

Anatoly hadn't thought of that, but it