Dmitry's Closet (20 page)

     Royal must have dosed off for quite awhile, because when she awoke again the alarm was sounding. She reached over to the night stand and hit the blaring machine. She laid her head back down on the pillow and watched Dmitry walk towards the bed, fully dressed. He smiled at her, and she sat up a little, covering her body with the sheet.

     "Good morning," she said, waving as she clutched the sheets.

     "You slept well, dah?" Dmitry asked, standing at the foot of the bed, smiling back at her.

     "Yep," Royal said, stretching her long body. She yawned. "You're off mighty early."

     "There is a lot to do." Dmitry pulled the comforter from the bed and grabbed a hold of the sheet. Pulling it down to him slowly, he watched Royal's body revealed. He swallowed hard as he looked at her.

     She lay with her elbows planted firmly into the mattress, her long legs crossed at the ankles and breasts exposed. Dmitry was silent, only talking to her through the sensual look in his eyes. He pulled the cover to the ground and reached out for her ankles. Pulling her body to him, he heard her giggle. He opened her legs and lay in between them, kissing a trail from her ear down to her neck.

     "I should brush my teeth," she said, trying to cover her mouth.

     "You taste wonderful," he said, pulling her hands away. He could feel her body coming alive with every kiss. She moaned a little, causing a stir in his pants. He kissed her shoulder softly then shifted his focus to her pouty mouth. Sucking at her bottom lip first, he then passionately covered her mouth. She kissed him back, lost in his embrace. Her long hands ran down his chest to his belt and unbuckled his pants. Eagerly, she pulled his pants down grabbing his exposed buttocks. His pants hit the ground, pooled around his ankles. Kicking them off, he crawled fully in the bed over her body and took off his jacket. Now, only in his white button down, he kissed her ankles and her feet as he stood on his knees in front of her.

     "I love you," she said sincerely, smiling and looking into his eyes.

     "Do you?" he asked.

     "I do," she said, shaking her head. "So much."

     "I love you, too," he said, running his hand up her long leg. "Lift your thighs," he said, focusing on her body.

     He pulled her to his growing erection and entered her softly. Her body arched as he did. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Biting her bottom lip, she reached out for him. He moved her hair from her face and kissed her lips again.

     "I'm going to be late," he growled, laughing and rolling over in the bed with his hands on her hips.

     "Well, you should stop now, before you're late." Royal grabbed his face in her hands as she sat up on his thighs. Her long dark hair wrapped around her like a blanket.

     "Not going to happen," Dmitry whispered as he watched her move on top of him. He held her by her wide shapely hips and closed his eyes.

     "Open your eyes," Royal demanded. "I love to see your eyes." She adored the ice blue crystals that peered up at her with so much power and resilience. His look was the one thing that continued to devour her long after his touch.

     Dmitry opened his eyes and looked at her sensually, his eyes rolling a little. "If I look at you, I may not be as late I as I could be."

     Royal laughed. "Open them still."

     "Alright," Dmitry sighed. He pushed into her body, holding tightly to her hips and pushing her down against him. Her hands sat atop his chest, her long legs planted beside him. He looked at her in sheer amazement. This creature making love to him was in part his own making.

     "One day." He rolled her over and lifted her leg over his shoulder. "One day, I'm going to give you my son." He kissed her lips.

     "Anatoly?" she asked, confused.

     "No," Dmitry laughed. "I'll give you my second son. Here." He touched her stomach. "What do you think of that?"

     "One day, I think that I'd like that," she whispered.

     "I'd like that too," he said, kissing her wide inviting mouth again. "But for now, I'll settle for giving you orgasm."

∞♥∞

     Dmitry crossed the threshold of his home and closed the large wooden front doors behind him fully dressed in a tweed Burberry jacket, a crisp white Michael Bastian button down, Louis Vuitton jeans and a pair of vintage loafers.

     He looked out across his manicured lawn at the foggy, dark overcast. No sun would greet him to do his business today. There was no need for his shades or flip-flops. The weather was changing dramatically covering the city with cold winds, dreary skies and the closest resemblance of climate that he had to Moscow.

     Mexican lawn workers dressed in old tattered jeans and red cotton jackets edged Dmitry's massive lawn and cleaned up fallen leaves on his property while one of his men sat on the long porch rubbing the guard dog and watching them carefully. He looked over and nodded at the man, who immediately stood up.

     Dmitry never came out the front door. He normally went to the garage through the hallway leading from the kitchen. But today he was surveying -checking out what his staff was doing and how they were doing it. The maid had already cleaned up the food from the night before and had started coffee and breakfast for him when he arrived downstairs to grab his newspaper and check his emails earlier that morning. The grounds crew was doing their job. His man was up and guarding the front of premises. Overall, he was pleased.

     "Relax," Dmitry said, smiling at his guard. "I'm just going to my car."

     "Yes, sir," the large, graying Russian said, pulling at the dog's chain to walk Dmitry around to the car.

     "No need," Dmitry said, opening his jacket just enough for the man to see his gun. "I remember time when I had no bodyguards, just balls and gun." He motioned for the man to sit back down.

     Walking along the manicured walkway, Dmitry made his way across the front of the house, to the garage. As the doors rose, he quickly jumped in his Mazarati and pulled out of his driveway.

∞♥∞

     Royal watched from the bedroom window as Dmitry pulled out of the gate. She was still naked, wrapped in the sheets that Dmitry had torn from the bed. Her mind was now drifting the to night before, when she had come down the back stairwell in the middle of the night and heard Dmitry speaking in Russian—screaming at Anatoly, screaming at the men that guarded their home with a gun in his hand.

     They all stood stiff as board, evidently afraid of the man that she adored. She couldn't make out what he was saying to them, but she could hear that it was not good. She sat near the base of the stairwell as quiet as she possibly could, wrapped in their bed sheet listening—making out some words and completed missing others. The one word that she could understand was IVAN! Once she was sure that no one had seen her, she quickly made her way back up stairs, leaving him to his tirade.

     Now she was confused about what to say to him about his brother and her increasingly complicated life. Looking at her Rolex watch, she turned away from the window and went inside of the bathroom to get ready.

     After a quick shower, she walked into the large walk-in closet and circled the racks looking for something simple to put on. Even though she had access to every label in Memphis, she still liked understated elegance. Hair in a simple ponytail, she pulled on a black Ralph Lauren turtle-neck, jeans, slipped on a pair of black boots and grabbed her RL Rickey bag.

     Her stomach growled as she headed down the main stairwell leading into the front foyer of the house.

     Quickly, she headed to the kitchen to grab an apple and found Anatoly sitting quietly looking at CNN on the flat screen mounted on the wall and nursing a cup of coffee and a bowl of corn flakes.

     "Hi," she said, trying to smile.

     Anatoly looked over at her but did not speak. Evidently, the good feeling of the Thanksgiving dinner the night before had worn off.

     Royal walked up to the table and grabbed a green apple out of the bronze bowl. She rubbed it on her pants to make it shine and sighed.

     "Is everything alright?" she asked, trying to start a conversation.

     Anatoly looked over at her from the television with a smirk on his face. Hunched over his food, he ran his spoon around the edge of the white porcelain bowl.

     "Does it have to do with Ivan?" she continued, when he did not answer.

     Anatoly still said nothing.

     "Don't you think yesterday was a lot more fun. We should communicate more...like normal people." Her words fumbled out. She was treading in new territory by trying to talk to him. He was like a statute most days.

     "Everything is fine," he finally said, tired of her whining.

     "Now was that so hard?" Royal asked, recognizing progress, even in small increments. "I'm headed to the shop." Turning on her heels, she headed out the back hall to the garage but she stopped at the doorway. "Have a great day, Anatoly," she said, turning around to give it another try.

     Anatoly didn't take his eyes off the television. "I will."

∞♥∞

     Lt. Agosto and FBI Special Agent Danny Sorrello followed behind Dmitry in an unmarked, unwashed black Dodge Charger as he pulled into the Peabody Hotel valet parking area. Stepping out his conspicuous vehicle, Dmitry stretched and looked around, then proceeded inside to have a meeting with Omar Jackson, a well-known financial advisor.

     Agosto turned off his car on the hill of the parking area and got out after Dmitry went inside of the doorway. Sorrello soon followed, putting away his half-eaten Porto-bello mushroom wrap. The two men had been following Dmitry since he pulled out of his driveway to various meetings all over Memphis with some of the most influential bankers in the city. This was the most activity that they had seen in nearly a year. Most of his meetings were out of the city and often out of their joint-task force's reach, especially when he chose to meet in London and Moscow.

     "Something big is going down," Sorrello said, closing the passenger door.

     "I don't get it. He never meets in broad day light and never this many meetings."

     "Reorganizing because of Ivan, I suppose," Sorrello concluded, pulling his leather jacket to ensure that his guns were concealed.

     "Let's take a walk inside and visit our old friend," Agos-to suggested, hitting the alarm to the car.

     Dmitry had just ordered a nice early evening meal of fresh hearts of palm, Great Hill blue cheese and black truffle casserole, when Agosto and Sorrello interrupted him.

     They found him sitting at a small booth on the second level of Chez Phillipe restaurant nestled comfortably in the east wing of the hotel sipping on a glass of wine and reading the newspaper that he had neglected the entire day.

     It had taken Agosto and Sorrello showing both badges and one gun to get into the restaurant in their jeans and t-shirts, since Chez Phillipe only allowed a minimum of business casual. Plus, it was only five o'clock and the restaurant had not officially opened to the public.

     Dmitry ate alone, as he often preferred to do. The ambiance of the soft music, the strategic low lighting, beautiful rich fabrics and painting, regal French decor and marble columns throughout the fine dinning establishment fit Dmitry just right. Waitresses set down his drinks and picked up the extra placements quickly, but he never took his eyes off the newspaper.

     Lt. Agosto skipped the theatrics of making a scene and quietly had a waitress bring both he and Sorrello a chair. Dmitry finally looked up as she set the chairs in front of his table. He placed the newspaper on the white table cloth and sighed.

     "If I had known that you were coming, I would have ordered for you." He motioned at the chairs and invited the men to sit. "Please bring these men a bottle of your best wine," he said, sitting up a little from his slouched position.

     "You know we're on the job. We can't do that," Sorrel-lo said, countering Dmitry's offer.

     "Speak for yourself. Bring me a glass of your best scotch. Keep the wine," Agosto said, looking at Sorrello. He raised his eyebrow and smiled. "What?"

     "Nicola, you still are drinking scotch?" Dmitry asked.

     "Still doing a lot of the same shit," Agosto smirked.

     "You too know each other," Sorrello asked, even though he already knew the answer.

     "Yeah, we used to know the same girl," Dmitry chuckled.

     "That was way back when you first came to Memphis," Agosto reminisced. He looked over at Sorrello. "She was a Grizzlies dancer, very flexible."

     "Really?" Sorrello said, suggestively.

     "Only, I can't remember her name now." Dmitry looked at Agosto.

     "Me either. It was Karen or Keasha. I don-no... something." Agosto shook his head.

     "Miss, please bring him a scotch and water for the other gentleman," Dmitry said to the petite woman still standing by the table waiting with pen and pad. The woman scribbled something and quickly excused herself.

     Now alone, the three men convened an impromptu meeting at the dinner table. It was a strange sight to see. Each man was comparable in size and all three overshadowed the small table. They sat trying not to invade the other's space with their overbearing bodies crammed into the little area.

     "I can arrange for us to sit somewhere else," Dmitry noted.

     "Don't worry about it. We won't take up too much of your day." Sorrello shifted in the chair.

     "An innocent man would want to know what this is all about," Agosto said, softly. He looked up at Dmitry under long dark lashes, his brown eyes focused in on his new opponent.

     "My question was just about to be, tell what this is all about," Dmitry smirked. He looked back at him with an ice cold stare.

     Sorrello let Agosto take the lead considering that he had an established relationship. He watched as Agosto did his magic.

     Agosto tapped his fingers on the table before he began contemplating how to convey to Dmitry that he knew more than he actually did. "You're a very hard man to track. You've been all over this city today, burning gas like its water. Hell, I had to run three red lights to keep up with you. I'm surprised that you didn't get a ticket."