Emma turned to Ivan and touched his face. “I used you. I’m sorry.”
Ivan pulled away, disgusted by her declaration of guilt. Standing up, he slid on his black shorts. “Dmitry, do you mind giving me a fucking minute with this bitch or what?”
“Don’t call her a bitch,” Dmitry ordered, walking to the door. “I’ll be downstairs. If you need to talk to me after you’ve dressed, then I’ll be willing.”
“Fuck you!” Emma screamed, throwing a book.
“Yeah, fuck off,” Ivan said, shaking his head at Dmitry.
With that, Dmitry left the room, closing the door completely shut to give them the privacy that they rightly deserved.
Emma grabbed her clothes angrily and began to pull them on.
Ivan watched unsure of what to say. Sitting back on the bed, he ducked his head down into his hands. “Sorry for calling you a bitch, but you sort of had it coming,” he said gruffly.
She stopped dressing and walked over to his side of the bed. Taking his face in her hands, she whispered, “I don’t expect you to understand this. You’re much too young and… What I’m trying to say is that you’re a decent kid. And you need to hear this from someone who has nothing to lose.”
Ivan looked up at her. His blue eyes shined through her, open to whatever she had to confess.
“You will never be as smart as your brother. You will never be as beautiful or as powerful as he will. You’ll never outrank him or out shine him. So, it’s best when you can to leave and do your own thing. He’s cold and calculating, Ivan. No woman will ever be able to resist him. So if you find just one who thinks more of you than him, marry her. But trust me, dear, if you stay here, bad things will happen. And more than likely, it will be by his hand.”
With that, she pulled on the rest of her clothes and left him alone to think.
Ivan lay back in the bed and looked up at the dusty ceiling above. Hell, he already knew all of that himself, but if everyone else thought it – if everyone else saw it. The thought angered him. Fuck Dmitry.
The End
Volume Three
Prologue
Prague, Czech Republic
The aroma of sugar cookies and chocolate cake filled the polished limestone hallways of the Medlov Chateau draped in beautiful paintings of Bohemian castles and antique busts as a violent winter storm beat on the windows outside of Dmitry’s study. Taking in the scene of heavy, dark clouds whipping forceful winds about in a downpour of rain, Dmitry quietly sipped on his vodka and propped his feet up on the leather ottoman in front of him by the fireplace.
He rather liked the gloom today. It did well to remind him of how two opposite forces could be at work at one time in the same place. For at that very moment, a different type of more pleasant storm was taking place in his home. It was being overrun by the Medlov women cooking Valentine’s Day treats in the kitchen and preparing the house for the family’s annual grand gathering.
There was nothing more tranquil than a house full of family. His precious wife, Royal, was leading the charge, cooking with the girls and ordering about the staff in her normal fashion of graceful smiles and careful words. Emma, his nephew Gabriel’s eldest daughter, and his own daughter, Anya, were making cookies while Alexandria, Anatoly’s eldest daughter decorated the dining hall. His sons were surely up in their quarters looking at pictures of girls and on their phones. And he was certain that his youngest daughter, Demi, was somewhere taking a nap, in her normal lazy fashion.
Dmitry’s mouth watered at the prospect of the meal to come. He hadn’t had a bite since lunch, and he was near starving now.
However there was no room to grumble, because he truly loved this time of year. There was nothing that he would trade for it. It reminded him of all the wonderful years he had spent with his wife and his loving family. It reminded him of how gloomy those years were in his life before he had them. It reminded him of how hard he had fought to keep them. And the smell radiating throughout his home reminded him that they were all still here with him. That was a true testament to a good life.
Each year for nearly a decade his nephew, Gabriel, had come to visit on Valentine’s Day. And while his eldest son was never as consistent, he also participated as much as possible, considering the constrictions of his position and his high profile in the public eye.
Still, he imagined that Anatoly would be arriving soon as well. Then tonight, they would all gather in the main dining hall to swap stories of all that they had missed in the last year. He would be caught up and revived in his youth through their many adventures – allowed to feel young again.
The thought of the word intrigued him now as an older man. Youth. The fleeting word danced through his mind like candle light in a dark room. He remembered well when he was a youth. It was a careless time for his brother, Ivan, and a time to test his own strength through fiery trials. It was as he played through the vivid thoughts of his aging mind that he decided that he wanted to see her face.
Getting up from his chair, Dmitry made his way, a little slowly, over behind his desk. The wind behind him continued to hit on the windows as he ran his hands over the glossy finish of his antique wooden desk. Streaks from his sweating finger tips decorated its perfect polish.
Taking a key from his jacket pocket, he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a small black file with a single photo inside. He ran his hand over the image.
On the photo, Lady Catherine Hutton stood beside him in their only family portrait. She was a regal woman with the depth of the Caspian Sea in the blue of her eyes and the weight of the world on her fragile shoulders. Still, she stood - proud and triumphant even as she was dying. His Catherine.
Lady Hutton had been the first woman to teach him the art of being a gentleman, and she had done so painstakingly, amidst a grueling chemotherapy treatment and under the constant watchful eye of her board of directors of the former Hutton Industries.
He could still remember her smile and the clever words she always spoke even when things seemed to be completely out of control. She had been his mother in a weird sort of unthinkable way. She had been the only woman in his life to teach him something of real value before Royal. And in truth, he had given her more than he had ever expected at that time. A glimpse of love.
He remembered the day that she passed away. It was sort of like this afternoon, rife with storms of all sorts. He was a young man then, barely twenty two. There was so much that he didn’t understand then, although he thought that he knew absolutely everything. It was only after Catherine’s death that learned how ill-equipped he was for life.
It was after that Valentine’s Day many years ago that Dmitry put on his full-armor, never to take it off again...
Chapter One
London, England
Valentine’s Day 1994
The Hutton manor was cloaked away in the countryside nearly an hour from the busy streets of London. Wrapped in the shroud of thick trees and acres upon acres of rolling hills and lush green land, the 18th century castle was the hiding place for Lady Catherine and the pseudo-Lord Dmitry Medlov after their sudden and unexpected wedding. They had retreated to it now after Catherine had been released from the hospital for a bit of rest and for a lot of privacy.
There was not one approval among either of their families, the English royalty, the corporate community or even the Vory regarding their marriage. In fact, Catherine’s daughter, Emma Hutton, upon hearing the news of her mother’s engagement to a man thirty-one years her junior, disowned her, leaving Catherine completely in Dmitry’s care, which was fine by him. And the only other rightful Hutton of noble blood, Emma’s brother had been recently killed shortly after the wedding news while on a freedom operation in Kosovo with the Free Right.
On Dmitry’s side of the family, Ivan Medlov was a different character altogether. He was neither shocked nor impressed. There were no foreboding words or public acts of anger. He simply requested a larger condo in the exclusive downtown area in which
he lived, a larger spending account and a more respectable car.
As for the wedding itself, Ivan had missed it all together, having been arrested for a bar fight that later caused the family to hire four lawyers to get him free. In fact, for the last two years, since the night Ivan slept with Emma, he had been altogether removed, even secretive about his dealings with the Hutton family. The young man’s only desire was to gain more power and to lead the organization further towards the Vory way of life and away from the social-norm effect that he felt the marriage was having on their grand plans of building an unstoppable crime family.
As a violent storm ripped through the countryside and rattled the priceless stain glass windows in their bedroom, Dmitry rolled over in the antique king-size bed and felt small fingers trail along his chest, shaking and cold. Grunting, his eyes fluttered open and focused on the woman beside him.
Lady Hutton was sicker than usual this morning. Trying to fight through the pain, she wiped the salty tears from her face and looked up at him with a weak smile. Her pale features were sapped of life, leaving only a shell of the woman he had met two years before. She was severely underweight and always in excruciating pain. Still, he found her beautiful.
In a cracked, weak voice, she managed to speak. “I didn’t have the strength to get up and put my face on, dear,” she tried to explain, rubbing her hand over her bald head. “I must look dreadful to you.”
Dmitry slowly sat up in the bed, trying desperately not to disturb her fragile body too much and carefully put his muscular arm around her.
His beautiful face, full of life and bright with color was completely unreadable to her, as she had not learned him yet and doubted that she ever would.
Piercing blue eyes looked back at her under heavy lashes and arched, dirty blonde eyebrows. His high cheeks were rosy and brought even more attention to his full pink lips, wet and ready for a kiss. A blonde mop of curls danced above his head and drew attention to perfect, pale skin, unblemished and milky. She thought him to be a beautiful angel, unlike any man that she’d ever laid eyes on in all her long years. And she thought herself lucky to have him in any capacity, even more so as her husband.
Dmitry was oblivious to her private ogling. Pulling the covers over her body, he touched the crown of her head and sighed. “Would you like for me to cut my hair too? I would do it, if it would make you feel better. Maybe they can find way to make nice wig for you.”
Fresh tears dotted her cheeks at his simply ridiculous and selfless statement. Shaking, she tried to pull herself up towards his hot body, but her strength had completely left her.
Dmitry stopped her from moving. With large fingers gripping her, he quickly pulled her up to cradle her in his strong embrace.
She settled in his arms, enjoying the smell of him. Sandalwood, soap and virility used to be a heady mix for her.
It killed Dmitry to see her struggle. The chemotherapy only made her weaker, and the doctor had told them that it was probably best that she simply try to enjoy her last days, instead of spending them in a hospital bed.
Ultimately, they had been given weeks, but since their arrival, Dmitry had begun to fear that it would be just days before she passed. Still, she never complained and always did everything in her power to seem less like a burden and more like the lady of the house.
Remembering himself, he took his eyes away from her aged face and the lines that showed when unmasked from behind the many layers of makeup. “Are you ready for breakfast?” he asked, wiping her tears away. “You should try to eat. You barely touched your dinner last night.”
Catherine inhaled a deep breath and licked her cracked lips. “You dote over me as if I were a child,” she said, touching his square jaw. “This was supposed to be a business arrangement. Remember? One that involved me teaching you how to be a gentleman, and you helping me remember what it is like to be alive again. I never said that you had to also be my bed nurse.”
Dmitry clenched his jaw. “But I am still your husband. And as your husband, it is my responsibility to take care of your every need…even the most basic ones.”
His deep voice shook the very foundation of her heart. Nodding her head, she laid back down on his chest. A few months ago, she would have been strong enough to argue her position, but now she could only submit.
“You’ve been a good man. You deserve every penny of what I’m leaving you,” she said, giving in to him.
“Enough talk of money. It’s barely seven in the morning.” He laid her comfortably on the pillow and sat on the edge of the bed. His back was towards her and the many tattoos than decorated the sinewy muscle and scars called out for her attention.
Dmitry ran his hand over his curly locks and nestled his feet into the rug below. He would never admit it, but he was exhausted. He had barely slept since they had arrived. Still, he knew that he must continue as long as she did. It was the least that he could do.
“The maid will bring breakfast,” Catherine said, reaching for him. “Why don’t you lay here with me for a while?”
“No. I’m going to get your medicines and some hot food for you. When I get back, I’ll bathe and dress you. Then, we can talk about what you want to do for Valentine’s Day. It’s today. Remember?”
“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.
Dmitry looked back at her and smiled. “I know you don’t,” he said with a grin on his full lips. “Now, get some rest. I’ll be back.”
Naked, he stood up by the bed and slipped on his pajama bottoms. He could feel her eyes on his body, but he did not turn around to face her.
Even after being married for six months, she was still infatuated with his muscular build.
In a slow stroll, he made his way out of their dark master bedroom into the dimness of the stately hallway. As he closed the double doors behind him, the maid walked up with a tray of food.
He looked down at the little plump women in her black and white uniform staring up with him in amazement. She blinked quickly as she tried to speak. In her pudgy hands, she carried a silver tray with a white, porcelain bowl of cereal, a glass of juice and a flower in an antique vase.
Dmitry bent to the woman and inspected the tray. Shaking his head in disapproval, he said, “She needs warm food. How is she supposed to get better if you continue to feed her this bird seed?” Even in a whisper, his voice shook the hallway. “Here. Give to me. I’ll take it downstairs and prepare something myself.”
“But sir…” the woman protested in a wispy voice.
“No buts,” Dmitry said, taking the tray from the woman. He tried to warm his tone when he saw how nervous his displeasure made her. “Look, if you want to be helpful, then have the grounds keeper bring in some fresh roses for Lady Hutton to admire or bring her up a good book and read it to her. She’s wasting way in there.”
“Yes, your Lordship,” the maid said, bowing.
Dmitry turned from her and headed down the corridor towards the stairwell with the tray. As he did, he could still feel the woman staring at him, probably trying to cipher the tattoos that covered him. He turned quickly towards her to see her avert her gaze and turn away. He shook his head.
It would be nice to find one person on his staff that didn’t gawk at him, but there was none. Their marriage was on the lips of everyone around them, regardless of station.
Plus, Ivan didn’t help. Whenever he came around, which was often, he created even more of a buzz with his street talk, expensive dark clothes, wondering eyes and enormous mystery. Everyone was mystified by the men’s youth, although no one knew their exact ages, and even more perplexed by Dmitry’s maturity. He was an old wise man in a young man’s body - a very attractive young man’s body.
Between the two brothers, London was rife with tales of the Medlov men. Every woman who laid eyes on them desired them. Every man who met them despised them. And collective men in high places knew that soon enough, organizations would fear them.
As promised, Lady Hutton had intentionally s
poiled Dmitry with obscene luxury. Only the finest clothes touched his body, flown in from around the world, tailored by only the best tailors. He drove only the best cars ordered from Germany and Italy. He only ate at the finest restaurants, drank at the finest bars, attended the best events and spoke to the most powerful people. If one was photographed with him, it was a big deal. If he accepted an invitation to your event, you were the cream of the crop, the crème de la crème. After all, he was Dmitry Medlov.
She had in two years, created a man who only knew a royal lifestyle, and she provided him such a life with intense veracity. She was always on him to inspect his lifestyle, inspect his appearance, inspect his environment, inspect his affiliations and to always when possible, control the outcome of his situation. That was the one part he had always done.
Her astute tutorship of his life had transformed him. Before he was a young man with dreams and ambitions, fighting to become someone in order to obtain a more powerful place in life. Now, he was young man with unthinkable resources and extreme power. And in return, Dmitry had been faithful – Lady Hutton’s only stipulation. It wasn’t even hard for him to do, although no one around him believed it.
The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One Page 11
