Anatoly's Retribution

by Latrivia Welch

  Hard slaps of defined muscle pushed into her body as he held her tight. He put his chin on the crown of her head and covered her in his embrace. “No mercy,” he whispered.

  “None,” Renee said, face tight. Hugging him tight, she glared at their image in the mirror. His white skin was pressed against her brown skin. Together, they were one. Without him, she was only half of who she was supposed to be.

  Royal had been right about it all.

  ***

  Dmitry had never run with anyone before. His brother, Ivan, always let him have the time to himself to reflect or whatever, but no one ever wanted to hit the pavement and stretch their legs. Running beside his son, a spitting image of himself at that age, was absolutely exhilarating.

  As they ran into the fog, inhaling the fresh air coming in from the bay, he counted himself blessed.

  The street lights were still on as they trotted with long, valiant strides down the road, a car following behind them.

  Anil was quiet. Pushing his body to the limit, he mulled over his life and what had led to this point. He was running on a street of mansions beside a billionaire who was his father. Just last week, he had to decide if he wanted to eat Ramen noodles again or splurge on a subway. Last night, his stepmother ordered him steak and lobster for dinner with a bottle of wine that could have paid his tuition. What a turn of events. It brought tears to his eyes.

  Anil ran past the pain, but all he could manage to think of was his beautiful mother wasting away in her hospital bed. She had told him the truth all those years. She had tried to prepare him for this day. And while he dwelt in a mansion, ate fine foods and slept in a luxurious suite, she was slowly dying.

  “I need to stop for a minute,” Anil said with a halt. Maybe it was all the effort that was being put into saving his brother’s sister, but the reality of what he was losing in his own life was consuming him.

  He bent his large body over, breathing hard to stop a raging panic attack. Dropping to his knees, he twisted his baseball cap around to hide his face and covered his eyes with his large hands.

  He was so embarrassed. Around men like this, he was certain that tears and whining were looked down on, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Dmitry stopped running and turned to Anil. He barely knew the boy, but he could feel everything that his son was feeling. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything to stop the pain – not for him, not for Anatoly, not for what had happened to Anya. It was emasculating.

  Waving toward the car to stop, he walked up to Anil. “What can I do?” he asked, ducking his head.

  Anil sniffled into his hands. “I don’t know.” Snatching off his hat, he sat on his bottom on the wet pavement. Looking up at his father with red eyes, bereft with confusion, he shrugged his large shoulders. “Why now?” He rocked back and forth. “Why couldn’t you have just found me sooner, so that I could help her.” Tears streamed down his face into his mouth. Visions of her broken body hooked up to machines, fighting to survive, washed over his mind. “Why can’t I have you both?”

  Dmitry went to his son. Kneeling beside him, he wiped Anil’s eyes and pulled him close. Hugging him, he kissed the top of his head. “I wish I knew. If I knew, I’d spend my last dime to fix it. You have to believe me.”

  “She’s dying,” Anil said flatly. “She gave me everything, sacrificed every fucking thing she had, and now that I can repay her…she’s leaving me.” A great sob escaped him and danced down the street. “She’s rotting away. Do you know what it’s like to watch someone you love rot in front of you? To clean her vomit, wipe her tears, clean up her blood, wash her wilting skin? It’s torture. It’s fucking…torture.”

  Holding him close, Dmitry tried to comfort his son. He knew all too well, but relating wasn’t what Anil needed. “I am a man of many means, but I’m not God. There are some questions that I simply cannot answer, some problems I cannot fix.” He pulled his son’s face up and wiped his tears. “Just give me a chance, Anil. Let me prove to you that I’m worthy of your love.”

  Anil wiped his face. He was a grown man, damn it. Why was he crying? “I don’t…blame you. I blame me.” He swallowed down hard.

  “Why would you blame yourself?” Dmitry asked confused.

  “If I had never been born, maybe she could have had a life.” Anil wasn’t looking for sympathy. It was the truth from his heart.

  “If you had never been born, she would have never lived. Money doesn’t buy happiness. It doesn’t buy love. It can only buy you so much health. What you had with your mother is irreplaceable. It’s a God-given gift. Trust me, she wouldn’t change a thing.” He covered his son’s head with his hands and held him close. “I’ll take care of you now.”

  “I don’t need to be…”

  “You do.” Dmitry said quickly. He held Anil to keep him from snatching away. “I don’t understand purpose completely, but I know I found you for a reason. You are my son, my blood, boy. My flesh and my blood. And I will take care of you, not because you need it, but because I owe it to your mother. I owe it to you. I’ll pick up where she left off, and I’ll do my best. And until she transitions, I’ll take care of her. I’ll do what I can. I promise. Just… please,” Dmitry wiped his own tears. “Give me a chance. More than that, give yourself a chance.”

  Anil didn’t blame Dmitry. He didn’t do anything wrong. In truth, he was grateful for the man. Reaching up, he wiped his father’s face. He never intended to hurt him or make him cry. He was just overwhelmed by all of this. “Okay, old man. You give me a chance. I give you a chance. We’ll figure it out together. Just promise me, you’ll take care of her. She’s all alone.”

  “I promise,” Dmitry said with his entire heart. “I’ll take care of both of you.”

  ***

  When Anil and Dmitry arrived back at the mansion, covered in sweat and free from the chains of their thoughts, the entire house was up and moving about.

  Food and beverages lined the kitchen bars and tables, the televisions blasted the news of the impending hurricane, and guns and ammo cluttered the corners.

  Breezing into the kitchen, Dmitry wiped his face of sweat and bent down to kiss his wife, who sat at the kitchen table with Peaches and the girls going over their plan, while Gabriel mocked Anatoly by the stove for his transformation into a resemblance of him.

  “How was your run?” Royal asked, mouth lingering over his. She kissed him gently and held on tight.

  “Needed,” Dmitry said, sitting beside her at the table. He nodded toward Peaches as she toyed with her food. “What did I miss?”

  Royal smiled at Anil and patted the seat beside her for him to come and take a seat. “You missed a call from the restaurant. It came in about ten minutes ago,” she said, passing Dmitry a piece of paper. “Your assistant said it was urgent.”

  Dmitry took the paper as one of his guards passed him a bottle of water. He read it carefully twice before dropping his head. Just when things were looking up…

  Royal kept her face serene as to not alarm everyone, having read it already. It was her husband’s job to lead the charge, not hers. Leaning into Dmitry, she passed him her cell phone. “You might want to take this call privately.”

  “I don’t want to call from your phone. We should use the one in the office. It’s already been prepped to ensure no trace.”

  Royal placed her phone on the table. “Well, you should tell your son.” She glanced over at Anatoly and took a deep breath.

  Anatoly stopped talking to Gabriel and noticed his father. The old man’s mood was all wrong. Something had to have happened. Walking over to him, he bent to Dmitry’s ear. “What’s wrong?” he asked, preparing for the worst. He prayed he would not tell him that his sister was dead.

  Dmitry passed Anatoly the paper. “It has begun,” he said, pushing away from the table. Though his stomach growled to the point of pain, he no longer wanted to eat.

  Anatoly read the note quickly and motioned for his men. Standing over his father, he accepted the we
ight of it all. “Let’s call the bastard,” he said, walking out of the kitchen.

  “What bastard?” Gabriel asked, putting down his biscuit.

  Within minutes, they all gathered in the study, Anil included, and Anatoly read the note aloud for everyone to hear. “Ryan Colt called early this morning. He said that he has Anastaysia. He wants to talk about a trade.” He looked around the room at Dmitry, Gabriel, Vasily and Anil. They all felt the same way that he felt. Relief and anger. Demands would be made now, and ultimatums given. Time had finally run out. One thing was for sure, if they didn’t act fast and smart, Anatoly would lose his sister forever.

  “Should we call now?” Anatoly asked his father. It was different when he was taking orders and preparing to save someone else, but this was far more personal. He needed someone else to guide him beyond his knee-jerk response and rage.

  “Yes,” Dmitry answered, trying to appeal to Anatoly’s reasonable side. “But whatever we discuss, you have to know that, there is no turning back from our plan. We act quickly, we act rationally, we act harshly. If he’s calling with a demand, Popov has provided him with protection and end game. Since we don’t know what that is, we have to tread carefully on the phone. If the Popov has decided to include himself, then we are going to war with more than just Ryan Colt. We are going to war with our brothers. And don’t get me wrong, I have no allegiance to anyone who comes against this family, but the stakes are higher – much higher. So, we must be smarter.”

  Anatoly understood. Let them think they are running the show, eh.” His voice betrayed him, he was wrapped up in his emotions right now.

  Vasily walked over to Anatoly and put his hand on his shoulder. “Tell him what he wants to hear, but know that we won’t do anything that you don’t want us to do. It’s your show.”

  “Don’t show your hand, no matter what he says,” Gabriel added.

  Dmitry wasn’t afraid to go to war, but he was scared to death of his son losing his sister. He had lost his only sister once, and while he didn’t know her, it still pained him till this very day. “Be careful with your words, son. Don’t let him rope you in. Sound as though you don’t give a damn about the outcome as long as you get her back alive. Play him into your game, don’t play into his.” He knew his son well. The main reason Anatoly had given over control over the council was because of his inability to be diplomatic.

  After a few second of thought, Anatoly knew what had to be done. “You make the call,” he said, certain that in his current state he would mess everything up.

  “Are you sure?” Dmitry asked.

  “Yes,” Anatoly answered sternly. “I can’t afford to fuck this up.”

  ***

  Ryan was awaiting by the phone with his men. Now that Popov had sent twenty able-bodied assassins to protect the stronghold, he felt more secure in his position but still woefully out of his depths. When the phone finally rang in the study, where he had sat for more than three hours, he picked it up reluctantly.

  “Hello,” Ryan answered.

  Dmitry’s eye twitched. Having to speak to such an underling was beneath him. “I expected your daddy to answer,” he said with a smug grin. “Where is Popov?”

  “Welp…good ole dad is not here,” Ryan said, heart racing. “You have to speak with me.” He got to the point, having already been schooled about the butcher’s ability to intimidate. Stilling his trembling voice, he looked down at his notes. “I have a few options regarding my situation. I can carve your little whore into a thousand pieces and deliver her to you in Ziploc bags, or you can pay the bounty on her head and get her in one piece. I don’t give a shit at this point,” he lied.

  Dmitry looked around the room at everyone listening on speaker phone. He could see their faces tighten with Ryan’s threats. “What are you offering?” he asked, voice flat and void of emotion.

  “I want fifty million dollars, every fucking dime that you took from me between burning my businesses and stealing my money from Arnolt. It’s a reasonable request considering I could demand a hell of a lot more.”

  “I would agree,” Dmitry said, looking over at Gabriel, who tried to trace the call on his computer. He was getting closer, but needed Dmitry to keep him on the phone at least another ninety-seven seconds. Motioning for Dmitry to slow the conversation down, he kept his eyes on the screen.

  “I need proof of life first,” Dmitry insisted.

  “It’s already been sent to the email address on your restaurant website. A picture of the girl with today’s newspaper in front of the news. That’s all the proof you are going to get.”

  Ryan had already been explicitly told by Popov to make the call short, or else it would be traced. He knew the Medlov men too well. One slip up, and they’d all be dead.

  “So, how am I supposed to deliver this money to you? And I’ll need at least two days. Fifty million dollars isn’t something I can just get out of the ATM.” Dmitry toyed with him, hoping to slow the clock.

  Ryan’s voice was forceful, hiding of all his fear. “I want the money transferred to one of the accounts that you took from Arnolt. The one in Geneva ending in 9784. You’ve got the information, correct?”

  “Correct,” Dmitry said, thinking of new ways to kill Ryan and Popov once this was over.

  “Good. Because if I don’t get the money in that account by tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. eastern time, your whore is dead. No exceptions. No discussion. Once the money is there, I’ll tell you where you can pick her up in one piece.” He hung up the phone and took a deep breath. “Fuck,” he said, holding his head. Pushing his drink away from him, he lowered his head into his hands and clenched his fists. “Tell Popov it’s done,” he said to one of the guards.

  Dmitry hung up the phone and looked over at Anatoly. “We have until 6:00 a.m. tomorrow to find your sister or pay him the money.” He didn’t waste time worrying about if Ryan was telling the truth. He knew the sniveling little shit was not working alone. The real puppeteer was Popov. However, to keep Anastaysia safe, they had to appear to play along.

  “We’re not paying him the money.” Anatoly wiped a hand over his face, trying to hold on to the hope that was evaporating in front of him. He knew they would carve his sister into pieces if he didn’t act fast. But he also knew that giving them the money would only strengthen their position.

  That simply was not acceptable.

  Anatoly glanced at his watch and felt his heart drop into his stomach. Leaning against the desk, he pulled himself together. Now was not the time to allow his emotions to run amuck. Renee had already told him he could do this. And damn it, he would. “Whatever you planned to do,” he said, looking across the sea of faces staring at him, “do it now. Do it right.”

  “Let’s go,” Gabriel said, jumping up from his seat. “Grab your guns and meet me at the front door in five minutes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Everything is Not as it Seems….

  Little Haiti

  Miami, Florida

  Monday Morning

  7:00 a.m. Sharp

  O n any normal weekday, Little Haiti would have been bustling with both vehicle and foot traffic early in the morning as children headed to school, people headed to work, and the small businesses opened their doors. But the hurricane preparing to make landfall in less than a day had the entire area looking more like an eerie ghost town instead of a small cultural mecca.

  Since just last night, the weather had changed dramatically. Strong winds ripped through the coastline, bringing with it dark clouds and pockets of heavy rain, but the real core of the storm was still 300 miles out in the Atlantic.

  The governor of Florida had already ordered Miamians to evacuate the city, but those who could not afford or did not want to leave were hunkering down and preparing for the impending natural disaster. Florida Power & Light had already warned it was expecting "unprecedented" power outages. Local law enforcement and emergency services were working on skeleton crews from temporary locations in higher-elevated
areas. Gas supplies all over the city were overstrained; flights out of the Miami had been cancelled for the next three days, rental car locations were sold out; homes and buildings were boarded up and for criminals lurking, the situation was ripe for the picking.

  Only blocks away from the Little Haiti Cultural Center on NE 59 Terrace was a little pink shotgun house with black iron bars over the windows that served as a stash house for the Medlov operations. It was unsuspecting from the first view, a cheaply built single-home dwelling with a red cobblestone drive and patchy crab grass. An old beat up SUV was parked out front; a Pitbull was housed out back. It fit the description of most homes in the area, but if one were to look closer, they’d see a sophisticated security system with cameras facing toward every angle of its meager exterior and very little traffic in or out of the home.

  Inside the house, a black sofa was placed in the living room with a television on wooden crates, and it was the only furniture to speak of outside of a chair in the back bedroom.

  An older Russian guard, barely fluent in English, watched the news as reports of the hurricane approaching, flashed over the screen. He sat on the sofa, sipping a can of strawberry Fanta and flipping between the news and the surveillance footage that watched the house.

  “I have to pee!” Eddy screamed, trying to free her hands from the ropes around her wrists. She had been screaming since she arrived with a black bag over her head the night before, but no one had come. Sitting in her own waste, she struggled in vain as cloud-covered light shined in through the black satin curtains hanging over the windows.

  “I know you hear me!” she screamed again. She wasn’t sure what was more frustrating, being ignored or being tied to a hard-wooden chair for hours. Her bottom had gone numb.

  “I’m pissing on your floors!” she professed as a trickle of urine ran down the chair and pooled around her bare feet.