The Chronicles
of
Young Dmitry Medlov
Volume 1-4
Latrivia S. Nelson
The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Volume 1-4
RiverHouse Publishing, LLC
80 Broad Street
5th Floor
New York, NY 10004
Copyright © 2011 by Latrivia S. Nelson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
All RiverHouse, LLC Titles, Imprints and Distributed Lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising and educational or institutional use.
Printed in the United States of America
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
www.riverhousepublishingllc.com
This book is dedicated to all of the Medlovians out there. We have had so much fun over the last two years developing characters, plots, blogging up a storm, creating book trailers, having colorful global conference calls and reading about our favorite characters together. We have grown from a mighty group of 50 to over 10,000 women who love our favorite bad boy, Dmitry Medlov and his crew. Thanks for making this such a lively experience. Now we’re on to Book Two: Volume 5-8. It’s going to be hard to top ourselves.
Acknowledgments
Acknowledgment is due for key people on this project who have displayed exemplary skills and undeniable talent. Karen Moss has done such a wonderful job with proofreading and copy editing this book. Even when I was ill or taking care of sick husband, she committed to this project and worked without me. Kandace Tuggle has done another wonderful job on my cover. My administrative staff, Megan Woods and Crystal Peeples have been instrumental in research, follow-up calls and so much that it takes to develop a true concept for a book. Mark Todd Lenowski, words cannot express my gratitude for uncanny talent to evoke deep thought and inspire awe and creativity. The entire Medlov Crime Family fan base that has sent countless emails about their ideas of how the stories should develop are owed a tremendous debt of gratitude. Adam Nelson, thanks for the push to truly commit myself to this business.
Volume One
Prologue
The climate in Prague always seemed to remind Dmitry of Russia in the winter. As he sat looking out the picturesque windows of his study, he felt the warmth of the fireplace and listened to the crackle of the embers trickle into his thoughts.
The relentless snowfall made for a beautiful view. As he wrote in his daily journal, he caught a glimpse of his sons running and playing in the light snowstorm with their snowmobiles. Putting down the pen, he marveled at their happiness.
He remembered when he was just a little older than they were, but he and his brother, Ivan, were doing dramatically different things than Konstantin and Maxim. There was no playing in the snow, no hearty meals with the family, no talks of college and respectable dating with girls of a respectable ilk. Instead, for he and Ivan, there was only chaos.
Even the simplest things were pained memories of a time of total hardship. As he looked over at the fireplace, he remembered why he had one in every house that he owned, always one in the master bedroom. A fireplace. A warm space.
It was a memory that he had locked away in the sacred vaults of his mind designed to repress the pain that came with the life that he had struggled to make for himself.
At times, he wondered was it all worth it, but then as he looked out in the snow as his boys played, he knew that it was or at least, he would like to think so. Many had perished since his rise to a new freedom. He was only 15 when he first began his climb...
Chapter One
The heavy rains poured down on Dmitry Medlov’s face as he exited prison for the first time in the three years since his conviction. Clutching his soaking wet coat around his protruding chest and the precious release papers hidden in a plastic covering tucked securely inside his pants, he looked up above the shaking halogen lights into the storm.
For most, the sight of such a natural violence would have been depressing or at least alarming, but he smiled at the coming blizzard and gratefully breathed in free air.
No car was waiting for Dmitry, so he began his long walk to the nearest town. Cold and shaking, he inched down the dark gravel road in the silence of his thoughts.
There was a great deal to do in a very small window of time. Kirill had secured a plane ticket out of Moscow in two days time for him and his little brother, Ivan, to get to London, where they would set up shop for a while.
He had learned much while in prison, things he could not have possibly learned on the streets, and he was now anxious to put those things to good use and teach his small crew. Plus, he had to get out of the city for other reasons.
On paper, Dmitry Medlov had been freed for time served in the murder of Ukrainian drug lord Hamel Stegnof after a stint of twenty years in prison, but in fact, the papers had been forged at the high price of 300,000 American dollars to the head of the probation board. He still had seventeen years left on his bid, and he wasn’t about to spend that amount of time behind bars. When the offer came to hijack him out of jail, he took it.
By the time the prison board realized that they had released him by mistake due to faulty paperwork, he would be gone and a cover would be given for their mistake or pushed under the rug for their protection.
But his freedom had also come with a price. He had twenty-four hours from this very minute to get to his boss’s enemy, Sacha Karpenko, and kill him. The thought made him walk faster towards his destination. It would be a small price to pay to gain his absolute freedom.
***
When Dmitry arrived in town hours later, his bones were icy cold and frozen. Walking through the door of a small bar, he was met by warm heat from a nearby fireplace, the smell of beer and the snitch of unwashed men. They all turned to look at him, covered in water, towering in the small space at nearly seven feet tall and covered in a thick, blond beard.
His intense blue eyes scanned the room and saw a woman sitting alone in the corner. Quietly, he walked over to her and kneeled down.
“Do you know where I can get some dry clothes?” he asked in Russian.
She looked up at him, startled by the sheer size of the giant and turned from her mug of lager. “I don’t think we have anything to fit the likes of you,” she said, greeting his stench with the smell of her own.
She reeked of beer and sweet cologne that made his nose twitch. Her jagged teeth were yellow and stained from cigarettes.
“What size are you?” She looked him up and down.
Dmitry looked down at the puddle of water under his pants. “I don’t know really. I’ve grown a bit since I’ve been in prison.”
The middle-aged woman stood up, barely coming above his waist. “You’re a fine specimen. But I don’t think we have anything to fit you. Why don’t you go in the back room, take your clothes off, and I’ll dry them for you, love,” she said, pointing towards the doors in the back of the bar past the kitchen.
He nodded gratefully and headed back, ducking under the narrow archways as he went.
Pulling off his heavy, wool coat, he opened the door to the small room housing a twin bed and a wooden desk and looked around. It was a simple place with no hanging pictures or even a mirror, but to him it was heaven.
He quickly peeled out of his clothes, one wet layer at a time, and placed his belongings on the wooden floor. His teethed chattered, and his lips had turned deep blue. It was obvious that
if he had been forced to walk much longer in the storm, he might not have made it.
Walking to the fireplace, he dropped to his knees and soaked in the warm heat. It felt so good to his aching body. When he got his own house, he would make sure that it had a fireplace in his bedroom just like this one to always remind him of how wonderful the simple blessing of fire could be on a cold winter night.
The door creaked opened, and the small woman came in and closed it behind her. She looked over at the pile of clothes and quickly went to pick them up. “You’re from the prison, da?” she asked, looking at the mural of tattoos that covered his entire back. Instantly, she knew that he was Vory. Everyone around the town knew what those markings meant – trouble.
He looked over at her and shook his head without saying a word.
“It’s amazing that you were able to keep on so much muscle. I heard that they barely feed you in those places.” She gathered the wet clothes in her arms. The excess water ran down on her tattered dress.
“It’s survival of the fittest,” he explained as he stood up. His deep, baritone voice carried through the small room like thunder. He turned to her and walked over to retrieve the paper that he placed inside of his pants. He did not want her carting off his key to freedom.
The woman was transfixed by the size of Dmitry’s naked body and his long, limp penis slapping lazily across his large, hairy thighs. She snaked her tongue around her cracked lips and sighed. “Will you need anything else while you’re here? I’m sure that you’ll want someone to warm your bed with you tonight,” she said, touching his muscular stomach riddled with tattoos and scars.
Dmitry raised his brow. He hadn’t had a woman in three years. The last time had been for his fifteenth birthday before he had been carted off to jail. His erection prodded between them only inches from her throat as he looked down at her.
He had been with many women as a young teen, most of them far older than he was. They had treated him as something of a toy, which most of the time he didn’t mind. But they had never looked as rough as this woman did.
She was a barmaid with wiry brown hair and wild eyes. Dmitry thought that she looked like a witch from the children’s stories of his youth.
Without approval, the older woman dropped his clothes and took his thick penis into her weathered mouth. Her warm touch caused a small excitement in him. He watched on a little surprised by her actions. He had been told a hundred times that older women liked a big man and he was that, but he didn’t know if he liked them.
He thought back on his past experiences. The older woman who had allowed him and his brother to stay in his mother’s apartment after she was murdered made him pay for their rent through sex twice a week. The butcher’s wife allowed him to buy their meat with sex once a month, and even the first car he owned came from an older woman who liked his sex.
His mother, a slain prostitute who always stunk of cigarettes, sex and vodka, had shown him bartering of this type early in his life, and he had used the skill when necessary. It never made him feel dirty to have sex for what he needed, but it did make him feel the loss of control. He had grappled with the feeling for a long time, and it still bothered him, even now.
A warm wave came over him quickly as he held the older woman’s shoulders, moving in and out of her hollow mouth with the sucks and sounds that made his toes curl. Her small hands gripped his rock-hard buttocks, and he felt her nimble tongue on the tip of his shaft.
Sitting back on the bed, he looked up at her and wondered why he was doing this. She was not attractive, but the oral pleasure that she provided was enjoyable. Could he give into her?
Cursing, the woman pulled up her dirty dressed and pulled down her dingy underwear. A musty odor seeped from below her, and her hairy vagina peeked out from under her garments. A thought flashed in his mind.
The woman in her grimy lust suddenly reminded him of his mother with the many Johns she had provided service. He had been responsible for protecting his mother from them but had failed. He had been her pimp. It was he and his brother that she worked for – to provide for them.
A flash of her bloody, beaten face flashed before him. He flinched involuntarily from the painful memory of his mother and the pleasure of this woman’s touch.
With little effort, his large hands grabbed the woman by her chubby waist and raised her off his mountainous erection. He spoke gently, looking into her desperate eyes.
“Stop, please,” he said, moving her. “Stop.”
A familiar surge started to grow below him. He didn’t want to climax for her. He didn’t want to see it spring forth from his loins with a woman of this ilk.
“Well, what’s wrong with you, boy? Don’t you like women?” She wiped her mouth and panted heavily. She wanted more than anything to feel him inside of her – having never been with a man like him before.
“Da, I like women. You just remind me of someone,” he said, sitting up on the bed beside her. His long legs reached across the floor as he tucked his dying erection in between his hairy, sculpted thighs.
“Who?” she asked curiously.
“My mother.”
“Oh, I see,” she said sympathetically. “She was in the old arts, was she?”
Dmitry nodded.
The moment was quickly over. Heated lust fizzled into nothingness.
Giving up, the woman pulled her dingy panties up on her waist, pulled her tattered dress down past her wrinkled knees and stood up beside him. She sighed, “I’d best get this dry for you then, boy. Get some rest if you can. Would you like something to eat?”
“Anything that you can manage. I’m flat broke,” he said, looking up at her.
“Don’t worry. Your money is no good here,” she said, closing the door behind her.
Chapter Two
Ivan Medlov sat on the steps of their impoverished, over-populated apartment complex smoking a cigarette and talking to his little crew of two as he waited. He watched his watch as the dial slowly moved from one hour to the next. It was torture to wait on his big brother’s arrival. Dmitry had never been late in all the time that he’d been forced to serve under him in their small gang.
Word had gotten to him that Dmitry was out, and he was to wait right where he sat for his arrival. However, one hour had turned to three and now frustrated, he spat on the ground and cursed.
“What is taking him so fucking long?” the young boy cursed, thumping a half-smoked cigarette at the whore only inches away working on the corner in front of him.
The older woman turned around and cursed, flipping her middle finger at the trouble maker. Ivan paid her no attention.
Their crew was anxious, talking to one another about their latest heist while they bided their precious time. They had been together for two years now, emulating the men that they had come to look up to, many whom were Vory v Zakone, the most feared and respected organized crime sect in the country.
Since they formed their small crew, a junior representation of his big brother’s Medlov Crime Family, they had amassed a poor man’s fortune and prided themselves on the flashy watches and cool clothes that they could not afford to purchase but had successfully stolen. Everyone in their area feared them; the police didn’t bother them, and their road was set. They were on the way to being like his brother, Dmitry.
“He’ll be here,” Yani assured. “Calm down.”
“Maybe he left without me,” Ivan spoke his doubt, scratching at the back of his hairy neck and the curls that formed on it. “It would be just like him.”
“He wouldn’t leave you,” Yani assured his friend, realizing that Ivan was still brooding over Dmitry’s tardiness. He took a swig of his beer. “You’re too impatient. Everything doesn’t happen exactly when you want it to. You’re not that important, you know.”
“If he did leave, I’ll kick his ass,” Ivan promised.
“Name one time that Dmitry has left you anywhere alone?” Yani asked.
Ivan rolled his eyes. “How about the
last three years”
“He’s been in prison, and you’ve had more help since he’s been in than when he was out,” Gistofani chimed in.
“So, where do you think you’re going now?” Yani asked as his voice cracked. He was barely 14 years old and was starting to suffer badly from growing adolescence.
“He won’t tell me,” Ivan answered. “But I plan to find out. When he sees what we have been up to, I’m sure that he’ll take us all. We can start over somewhere nice with real weather and real pussy,” he said aloud so the whore could hear him. “These cheap, nasty whores are worthless. I got crabs twice last month.”
The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One Page 1
