In truth, he desired power a great deal more than being in a woman’s arms. He desired to be taken seriously more than to be taken for granted, and he knew that this was the path that he must take if he wanted the last two years to count for anything. Many women over his short marriage had thrown themselves at him, but he had more than willingly thrown them back. Lady Hutton’s purse was far too deep to give it up for a young woman’s virtue.
***
With a bubble bath drawn, Dmitry placed Lady Hutton’s delicate, fragile body into the warm water and helped her to rest her head back on the gold-plated basin. Her health had worsened since morning. Dmitry sat on the cold marble floor beside the tub and ran the yellow sponge over her skin. Water cascaded down her back and wet the edges of her golden hair. Under heavy, tired eyes, she looked over at him and smiled, but Dmitry did not smile back. He was worried.
“Shouldn’t I call the doctor?” Dmitry asked, gently rubbing her skin.
“Why? We already know what’s happening,” she said with a sigh. “I’m fading.”
Dmitry looked down at the floor, unhappy with her answer but sure that it was so. He wasn’t sure what was worse – finding his mother beaten and bloody or watching the woman he’d grown to appreciate slowly die over time. Both were cruel ends.
Lady Hutton raised her hand from the water and touched his chin. “You shouldn’t be so sad. I thought that I had prepared you well for this.”
“How can anyone be prepared for this?” he asked in a low, sulking voice.
“It’s amazing to watch, isn’t it? Life is a delicate thing. God gives it, and God takes it away,” she said in aching voice.
“How can you be so calm?”
“Haven’t I lived a charmed life?” she asked with a spark in her voice. “Haven’t I had had more than most? Haven’t I had you?”
Dmitry looked up at her with a frown. “I wouldn’t say that I’m much to brag about.”
“How I’ve tried to make you see how special you are. I’ve spoiled you, and yet you still feel unworthy.” The water splashed around as she moved. “My only hope is that one day you will realize your own worth, Dmitry. I do not cast my pearls to swine.”
Dmitry cracked a grin. He had read that once in her Bible. “This has become more than an arrangement for me, Catherine. You have become more than a partner.” His voice ached as well.
“Dare you say the words after two years?” she asked with tears in her eyes.
Dmitry sighed. Washing her skin again, he shook his head. “Dare I say the words? There are so many words to say. Why linger on a few?” He kept his gaze on her skin, intentionally looking away from her eyes.
“Before I die, if it is true, I want to hear you say them. However, if it is not, I understand. Our arrangement will still stand. I am a woman of my word.”
Dmitry trailed his finger down her shoulder and made goose bumps form. He looked over at her, his bright, blue eyes beaming with sincerity. “I love you.” He swallowed hard, clenching his square jaw as he waited for her response.
She looked at him with wonderment in her face. Sitting all the way up in the water despite the shooting pains, she took his beautiful face in her hands. “Do you truly mean that, my dear young husband?”
“Yes,” he said sternly. “I would never say anything that I don’t mean. I don’t have to. You know that.”
Lady Hutton rested her head back down against the basin. Looking up at the crown molding above her, she smiled. “Go into the bedroom and look inside of my desk. Bring me the paper that has been double clipped.”
Dmitry thought that it was a strange response by her after saying something so intimate, but he did as she asked. Standing up, he went into the bedroom to her desk and pulled the drawer open to find a thick, legal document. Without reading it, he headed back into the bathroom.
“And bring a pen,” she screamed weakly.
He turned back around and grabbed the gold Cross pen on the table. Returning back to her side with the paper in hand, he sat down on the floor beside the tub and put the document in his lap. The cold floor cooled his backside.
“Do you want me to read it to you?” he asked.
“No, I know what it says,” she said, taking weak, low breaths. “Pass it to me with the pen.”
Dmitry got on his knees and passed it to her. She flipped through the pages and smiled at him. “Turn around,” she said, leaning over to use his back as a desk to sign her name. Scribbling her name on the dotted line, she hit his back with the pen and passed him the document. Small sprinkles of water left delicate bubbles on the document.
“What is it?” he asked, taking it.
“Your inheritance,” she said, looking at the document. “It is every last cent that I own, that my family has owned since we’ve become what we are – English royalty, corporate giants, lords of war.” The last title made her grin.
Dmitry was speechless. He knew that she was going to include him in the will, but he had no idea that he was inheriting everything. Hundreds of millions of dollars. With his mouth open, he looked at the document in shock.
“What about your daughter? How will she take care of herself?” he asked.
“You are here. You have taken care of me. You will have my money.” She ran her hand through the water and made waves. “Does that say I love you?”
“Da,” Dmitry answered, putting the document on the table across from them. “It says I love you, and you’re insane.”
She laughed. “Ahh, humor is good for the soul. Remember that.” Her weak eyes searched his.
“I will.” He nodded.
“Now, help me finish bathing so that we can go back to bed and rest a while.”
***
After Dmitry dressed Lady Catherine in a soft gown and placed a silk wrap on her head, he put her in their massive bed and crawled in with her. The storm outside rumbled the dark room, which was only illuminated by the candles and fireplace.
In the tranquility of their privacy, he read her favorite book to her as Carmen McRae’s Something to Live For played on her record player in the corner of the room.
With her head on his chest as he read, she listened to his Russian brogue accent read Welsh poet Dylan Thomas’ poetic work, Death and Entrances. With every word, she listened to his heart beat as it drummed against her, full of life, full of fight. Taking in deep breaths of his masculine scent and basking in the muscular embrace of a loving man, she drifted off with the last thoughts in her mind of his face when he said, “I love you.”
When Dmitry finished reading, he placed the book down and rubbed the top of her head. Just then, the violent storm shook the windows and knocked out the power. The lights in the bathroom flickered off, pulling Dmitry’s attention from the fireplace.
“It’s a good thing that we have the candles out already,” he said, pulling the chenille throw over her feet. “Are you cold? You feel icy?”
The silence of the room was eerie. Suddenly, Dmitry felt alone. “Catherine?” he whispered for a response. But her body was still - no faint breaths, no movement. “Catherine?” he whispered again in a strained voice.
Moving her slowly off his chest, he laid her limp body against her own pillow and looked into her hollow eyes. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. They had spoken on several occasions about what would happen when she finally passed, but somehow in his mind, he didn’t exactly expect it to happen like this.
Taking her hand in his own, he bent to it and kissed her wedding ring. The warmth of his body swallowed her coldness as he hovered over her. Salty, painful tears burned the sides of his eyes as they moved down his cheeks onto her face.
His Catherine was gone. It was a devastating feeling made all the more painful because of its reminder of his mother. He tried hard to hold it, to bottle the emotions, to keep them from springing forth, but he was only a man. In his unwilling, acrimonious desperation, he began to cry. It had been the first time that he had cried in many years, and it overwhelmed
him – scared him.
With his face buried into the pillow beside her, still holding her hand, he wept in his bitter dissatisfaction of all the things that he been required of him in his short life. In the darkness, he cried for his mother, for his brother, for every person he had murdered, for every family he had destroyed, for every cruel thought and every multiplied cruel action.
He cried for his wretched soul and the daunting days that lie ahead. But mostly, he cried for his Catherine. She had deserved so much more than he could give.
Chapter Two
Many miles away as the storm raged, Ivan stood looking out of the window of his penthouse apartment drinking a glass of vodka and contemplating if he would go into his club tonight or get into a little trouble. Lightning stuck across the night sky, illuminating it with its grand fury and suddenly reminded him of his brother. Turning from his view of downtown London, he focused his gaze on the three women quietly sleeping in his disheveled bed.
He walked over to the trio, covered in black silk sheets, drunk with vodka and high from cocaine, and touched the top of the Asian woman’s head nearest the end of the bed. The slits of her eyes opened, and she stared up at him.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked in a distinctive English accent, trailing her finger over his leg.
Ivan smiled warmly. His perfect white teeth sparkled. “That’s funny. I was just asking myself why you and your friends were still here,” he said, setting down his glass on the nightstand. “Come on. Up. Up. You girls have to get out of here.” He clapped his hands together creating a thunderous boom.
“Are you serious?” she asked, rising up to show her expose breasts. “It’s storming outside. It’s a fucking monsoon out there.” The other two women began to move about in the bed because of the abrupt ruckus.
Ivan turned and looked out of the window. “Monsoon in London? Hardly. Besides, it was storming when you got here. What’s the difference?” he asked, shrugging his large shoulders.
Still naked from his sexual encounter the hour before, Ivan made his way to the door of his bathroom. Running his hand over the switch, he turned and looked at the woman, who sat up looking baffled at his quick mood swing.
“By the time I get out of the shower, I do hope that you and your friends have left. I’ve got shit to do, and the only thing left on my agenda for you tonight is a trio human sacrifice if you stay,” he said, closing the door behind him.
As the shower head pushed out hot beads of water against his body, the stench of sex wafted up to his nose before it dissipated in the steam. Ivan rested his large hands against the black tile and arched his back to let the water rush down his body. He had been up over two days, unable to sleep, uneasy for some enigmatic reason.
It was times like this when he wished that he was back in Moscow, where he could let loose some of his pent up frustration. But here, since his brother had become freaking royalty, every time that he put someone’s face into a wall, he heard about it later.
A knock at his bathroom door made him forget his thoughts. He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. “What?” he asked in a raised voice. “I thought I told you bitches to leave.”
“It’s me, boss,” one of his soldiers answered. “Boss Dmitry is on the phone for you. He says it’s urgent.”
Ivan opened the door and grabbed the cordless phone. Walking out into the bedroom, he looked around. “Did they leave?” he asked as he looked down at the man.
“Da, just now,” the man answered.
“Good.” Ivan pointed towards the door. “Give me some privacy, eh.”
Sitting on the end of the bed with the towel draping over his long hairy legs, he answered the phone. “Hello.”
“Catherine passed,” Dmitry said gruffly. “There are going to be things that I need to handle, and I want you here.”
“Are you out at the castle?” he asked facetiously.
“I’m where I always am,” Dmitry said shortly. “Look, I’m not asking you to come, I’m telling you. Get Davyd and meet me out here.”
“What makes you think that I wouldn’t come in first place? Your fucking wife just died.” Hanging up the phone, Ivan laid his head back on the bed and smiled. FINALLY. He’d been waiting on that old hag to kick the bucket for two long years, so he could finally get his brother back and his organization on its feet.
Now, they could really get down to the business of being a Medlov.
***
Changing gears in his black Porsche, Ivan sped through the countryside with Davyd in the passenger seat. Music blasting, he drove quietly thinking of all the things that had been sitting on the back burner since Dmitry married Catherine.
“I imagine that he wants us to get there alive, you impatient little bastard,” Davyd said, turning down the stereo.
“Stop being a pussy,” Ivan answered with a smile. “If my driving makes you nervous, then why didn’t you drive your own car?”
“It was oversight,” Davyd said, shaking his head. “You know, your brother will need some support. So, don’t go in there being…yourself.” He looked over at Ivan.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ivan asked offended. “Who else am I supposed to be?”
“Try being a loving brother for once.”
Ivan rolled his eyes. “Am I the only one who remembers that this shit was supposed to happen? Dmitry never loved Catherine. He was banging her to get the money we need for our organization. It was business move. How is he supposed to mourn getting what he wanted?”
“This still might be difficult for him,” Davyd said, irritated that he had to explain such an obvious situation. “You don’t need to complicate things further with whatever on your mind is causing you to drive like idiot.”
“What’s on my mind is that my club is finally taking off, but I need more money, and I need women, and I need fucking drugs that Dmitry won’t let me bring in. He can’t be a saint and a…” Ivan couldn’t think of the word.
“Sinner,” Davyd answered.
“Yeah, he can’t be that shit. He has to choose.” He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“Your brother is far more complicated than you, Ivan.”
“That’s not my fault.” Ivan tugged at his suit jacket. “We all had to sacrifice for him to get where he is. He didn’t do this by himself. Only, I’m the only one who reminds him of it. Everyone else just hangs on to his coattails while he drags us around the city.”
“You’re ungrateful, and it’s pretty hard to watch while you sit in a thousand dollar suit and drive such an expensive sports car.”
“I’m a fucking Medlov and a Vor. I don’t have to be grateful,” Ivan scowled.
“Well, you can be respectful,” Davyd said, raising his brow. “Don’t ask him for anything tonight. Let him get over this first.”
“Let me handle my own business. You just focus on whatever it is that you do for him,” Ivan said, pushing his foot down on the accelerator.
***
By the time that Ivan and Davyd arrived, the coroner had already taken the body to the morgue. Dmitry was alone in the study sitting by the fire and having a drink. The butler tapped on the wooden door and stepped inside.
“Your brother and your business partner have arrived, sir,” the butler said, waiting for instruction.
“Bring them in here, please,” Dmitry said, sitting up in the chair. He wiped his tired eyes and put down his glass.
Shortly after, Ivan and Davyd were escorted into the dark room where Dmitry sat brooding. He looked up as they entered.
Ivan was the first to note his brother’s melancholy. It only took a glance to know that it was genuine. He looked like the day their mother passed. Looking around the room, Ivan sighed. “Where are the lights?”
“Leave them off,” Dmitry ordered. He didn’t dare want them to see that his eyes were not red from exhaustion but from crying.
“Do you still have on pajamas from this morning?” Ivan asked, walking over to the fi
replace. He looked down at Dmitry and noticed his five o’clock shadow. “Shit, you do still have on your night clothes. Damn, you really are taking this shit to a new level.”
“Ivan!” Davyd admonished.
“It’s alright,” Dmitry said, standing up from his chair. Rising to his full height, he walked up to his brother and stared down into his eyes. The look on his face was menacing, deadly. In an instant the man had gone from sad to quietly furious. Clenching his jaw, Dmitry narrowed his gaze and flinched. Muscles protruded from his neck and shoulders; veins lined his sinewy frame. The crackle of the fire and silence of the room made the tension even more thick.
The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One Page 12
