Dmitry's Closet
LATRIVIA S. NELSON
www.latrivianelson.com
Copyright © 2010 by Latrivia S. Nelson
RiverHouse Publishing, LLC
9160 Highway 64
Suite 12, #176
Lakeland, TN 38002
Lake
S
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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.
First RiverHouse, LLC Trade Paperback Printing: 01/08/2010
2 1
Imprint: Nelson & Nelson Press, LLC
ISBN: 978-1-61658-745-1 (sc)
Printed in the United States
Memphis, Tennessee
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
For Adam,
My brave Viking
!!!Warning!!!
This book contains graphic violence, explicit sex, rape, murder, vulgar language and is only intended for adults over the age of 18. If you are not 18 or you wish to prevent the transfer of this kind of content to your psyche, please do not proceed. For those who have the stomach and meet the minimum age requirement, enjoy.
Rated: R
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Laura Sitterson for indulging me with hours upon hours of drafted material. Thanks to Markum Todd Lenowski for your invaluable insight and guidance into a new world. To my professor, Kevin Beaver, thanks for sparking my interest in organized crime. Thanks to my dear friends at Pa Pa Pia’s, the local Italian restaurant hangout and watering hole, for jolly good afternoons and evenings. Thanks to Felicia & Robert Gray for helping me maintain my family and my sanity.
Special thanks to Kandace Tuggle for your help in my newest project. The cover looks great. Thanks to The Carter Malone Group and Deidre D. Malone for giving me the support and resources to finish this before I went crazy. Deidre, I hope to call you Madame Mayor before 2010 ends.
Eternal thanks goes to GOD for my dear family (Adam, Jordan and Tierra) who put up with me when I flocked to the cave. I couldn’t have done it without you.
A special, juicy thank you goes to my loving husband, who fed me, held me, loved me and shoved me throughout this tedious process. Tusen takk.
To all of my fans, I love you so much. I hope that you enjoy this. It’s all for you.
Chapter 1
Graduation was less than a week away, and Royal had no idea what she was going to do about living arrange-ments. The job that she had secured fell through two days before with a short phone call to inform her that the offer was off the table due to cut backs. So, she was about to be living in a hotel off of her small and meaningless savings unless she found a job.
Determined, Royal was now walking the hot pavement of downtown Memphis in a pair of worn black stilettos and an awkward, black borrowed dress suit going from inter-view to interview trying to close a deal that would promise her the ability to sign a lease to a one-bedroom apartment by month’s end.
The economy was a mess. Over three million people had lost their jobs in the last few months; the unemploy-ment lines were unbearable; banks were being bailed out by the bus loads. They were in the middle of a presidential primary election with no sure way to know who would win. And still, she was out trying to find gainful employment.
In her mind, there had to be hope. All it took was one manager to see her potential and give her a chance. She would do the rest. However, the odds for such an event happening today were not looking good.
The sun had baked completely through Royal’s rayon getup causing the icky clothes to stick to her body. She was sweating from the outside in and holding back a heat stroke with a bottle of tap water.
Adjusting her worn out, black leather satchel on her aching arm, she stopped for a moment at an inviting, old wooden bench under the cool shade of a lonely tree.
She sat down, slumped over and took off her pumps. Wow, did her feet hurt! They were red from irritation, and a nasty little bruise had started to form on her baby toe.
Exhaling her last bit of hope, she massaged her heels and prayed for strength. Really prayed. Meditated as the waves of smoldering heat consumed her. For a moment, all was silent. The heat didn’t burn,and the sweat stopped. The millisecond of peace gave her just enough clarity to not lose it right then and there by a homeless man, who stood a few feet from her talking to himself about the aliens coming on Thursday. She finally opened her eyes and focused.
Slipping back on her shoes, a small tear crept from be-hind her pride and tried to fall down her burning face, but she wiped it quickly. Like a stretching seam, she could feel her strength giving away under the stress, but she had to push on until she met her objective. She was capable of that…wasn’t she?
The Memphis heat was ridiculously relentless. With not one cloud in the sky, the rays beamed down on the concrete and cooked the aching bones of her body like meat in a steamer. Salty sweat started again to pour down her face and neck into the collar of her shirt, making her feel sticky and leaving an unattractive and unmistakable stain. Her stomach growled. Rubbing it, she thought about the last time that she had eaten – many, many hours ago.
“Screw it,” Royal huffed, taking off her jacket.
She could feel the humidity wrap around her skin as she unbuttoned the top notches of her shirt and curled up hersleeves to her elbows.
Desperate for a meal, she pulled a ten-dollar bill from her purse and wondered down Main Street looking for something to eat.
She would resume her job hunt after she had fed her growling stomach. Maybe then she would be able to think straight.
It was mid-afternoon and all the lunch dwellers had rushed back up into their high-rise buildings and their important business meetings. Now only shopkeepers, vagabonds and tourists walked the streets, monitored by police officers on bikes and in beaten up patrol cars.
Royal slowly inched down the cobblestone lane along the trolley line clutching her money and trying not to further agitate her pulsating toe. A hot wind blew down the street and brushed through her long, damp hair. She moved thewild strands from her face and yawned.
Feet swollen and stomach growling, she followed the beautiful smell of cooked apples and mangos to a small shop covered with large crimson awnings and smoke-tinted bay windows. She inhaled again, feeling her stomach growl louder in response to the prospect of a hot meal. Grasping the elaborate, hot gold handles, she pulled opened the large black, embroidered wooden doors and walked into the dark restaurant.
From the outside, the restaurant appeared very simple and adequate, but to her surprise inside the beautiful two-story building was decorated in decadent colors, gold textures and brilliant hues of crimson. It reminded her of a setting that she had seen on an old movie. She looked around curiously, wondering what new world that she had accidentally stepped into and grateful for it.
The winter breeze coming from the air conditioner cooled her hot cheeks instantly as the door closed behind her.
Gratified by the change, she sighed thankful for some relief. She would owe them strictly for the ability to not breathe fire.
Remarkably, the place was empty. No waiters or wai-tresses came out to help her. Standing alone in the middle of the floor, she looked around confused and cleared her throat.
“Hello?” Her voice cracked.
There was no answer.
She walked on.
“Um…helloooo?” she called again, this time loude
r.
There was an intoxicating aroma coming from the kitchen, indicating the place was still open. But where were all the people? Where was one person? Anyone would do. All she heard was music playing from the back of the room.
Instinctively, she followed the sound of a lonely violin weeping its melody from small stage near the bar in the back of the restaurant. She walked slowly on the wooden floors, feet still aching, to the edge of a staircase, where below a man sat playing the instrument.
The musician was perched flawlessly on a long, black piano stool. His wing-like arms were perfectly formed around the small instrumentwith his left arm protectively cupping the hollow wooden frame and his right hand gracefully guiding his bow. While his fingers plucked the strings, his eyes tightened as if the music was a continuation of his own emotions. Somber. Magnificent. Resilient.
Royal stood entranced by the beauty of the harmony, by the smell of the food, the stunning translucent glow of the foreign restaurant and the welcoming crisp air. Alas, she had found a safe havenin the eye of Memphis’ hell storm of heat.
She listened on gratefully as he played, trying not to interrupt his apparent concentration. However, the melody that he played was so sweet and so alive that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. It sounded very much like her own life, full of high peaks and such low, intricate valleys. It was controlled by the men who had touched her, played like the man who now played his violin, made to cry out – to weep. Her little life.
The music swept through her, creating small goose bumps over her body. She sighed deeply with her eyes closed for a moment, trapped in his lovely tune.
Oblivious to his audience, the man played passionately with his eyes closed for a while, until he felt her presence. When the slits of his ice cold blue eyes opened, the grip on his bow loosened and his perfect chin dropped. He stopped, looked curiously at her for a moment and then set his violin down on the polished Fazioli grand piano.
Royal’s breath was suddenly shallow. She didn’t mean to spy on the man. She didn’t mean to disturb him, but she could not help it. Without saying a word, he had impri-soned her with his fiddle.
There was a moment of utter silence as the exchange was processed. The two locked eyes and captured each other in a blank space in time, strangely enough with Royal still hearing his now silent violin. She looked on not knowing what to say.
At a loss for words, she swallowed hard and blinked. Only, the man did not move; his body was like a statue. He had no expression on his face, no surprise in his movements. He was merely there.
Finally breaking away from the moment, jolted out of his shock, the man stood up, exposing the full height of his monstrous enormity, and began to walk towards her.
His black, Italian dress shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he moved. Click. Click. Click.
Royal’s eyes widened in awe. He had to be nearly seven feet tall. He was a giant; a very beautiful Zeus-like creature commanding in all of his presence. His golden blonde hair caught the sun in the reflection from the mirrors behind him and casted a luminous glow as he came to her, making it even harder to take her eyes off of him. He was absolutely mesmerizing.
Royal tried to move but was stuck. Maybe it was his sheer height or his liquid blue eyes or his chiseled, high cheek bones, or maybe it was just someone to serve her a meal, but Royal felt an indescribable urgency. Unable to move, her posture horrible, she was planted concretely at the top of the steps as he approached her.
In long, leisurely strides that equally matched his very graceful body, he moved down the aisle. She barely blinked as he stopped at the bottom of the short steps at eye level with her. He looked dead into her wide brown eyes, paralyzing her more.
While the shock was over, Royal still did not speak. Her mouth would not move. She only hoped that her eyes would speak for her.
The man stood stone faced for a moment then smiled at her nervousness. He instantly recognized her discomfort, sensed her attraction. Perfect, white pearly teeth were revealed under his shapely rose-color lips. A long dimple exploded in his left cheek and his eyes sparkled like diamonds. It only made Royal weaker, more lost in his spell.
“Is someone helping you?” he asked in a thick foreign accent. His cologne floated up to her nostrils, and she took in the scent of extremely expensive cologne.
“No,” she said, voice pitched high. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. No. No one is helping me.”
She opened her sweaty hand and showed him the mon-ey to validate her reason for intruding on him.
He made his way up the polished wooden steps past her. She looked up at him as he did so, still in wonder of his giant build.
“Do you want to pay me for music or for food cooking in kitchen, my dear?” His deep voice reverberated through-out the empty restaurant as he talked.
“Just the food,” Royal swallowed again.
He chuckled a little. “This is polite way to tell me not to quit day job, dah?”
Royal smiled. “I enjoyed it, actually.” Her eyes told him that she loved it.
“Er…enjoyed it? Well, good. Now, come with me, my little spy,” he said reading her.
She followed him obediently to the front of the restau-rant, where he pulled a single seat from a table near the bay windows.
“Anatoly, bring me a plate of duck you are cooking,” he ordered towards the kitchen door. He looked back over at Royal and motioned towards the seat. “Please, love, sit down. I have made you wait long enough.”
“Thank you,” she said sitting. His hospitality and warmness was most appreciated. It almost made her blush.
“You’re welcome.” He pushed her up to the table and bent down to her ear. “Do you like duck?” he asked, tickling her nose with his minty perfumed breath.
“I…I’ve never had it,” she answered, feeling slightly embarrassed and completely controlled by the situation.
“Never?” the strange man asked, amused. His eyebrows arched.
She nodded no.
“Well, you will try my duck today. It is best in all of Memphis, recipe straight from Russia.” He stood back up.
She nodded yes, frustrated at her sudden lapse in verbal communication. Struggling, she tried to make herself spit out her words and stop acting like a school girl.
“Thank you,” she said again, forcefully this time. “I’d like that very much.”
“It is my pleasure,” he said, bowing out like a trained waiter.
“One question though?” she asked before he could get away.
“Yes?” He stopped and looked over at her curiously.
“I only have ten dollars. How much does the Russian duck cost?” Her eyes were wide. Maybe the man had mistaken her second-hand business suit for something valuable? She was in no position to pay for an expensive dinner.
“It will cost you conversation with me.” He looked at her sweat-stained white oxford, run over pumps and exhausted state and felt instantly responsible for feeding the woman. It was the least that he could do.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me for just a minute.”
“Okay. Thanks,” Royal said, watching his long, muscular body disappear into the restaurant.
A duck recipe straight from Russia? So he was from Russia? She looked around the restaurant again. Yes, unmistakably Russian. So unmistakable, she found the whole setting to be slightly stereotypical; all that was missing was a framed photo of Putin and the national flag. She looked over in the far corner, saw both and giggled to herself.
The day had most certainly turned around. She was about to have free duck in a plush restaurant with a hot man out of the hot sun. And that was completely fine by her. She needed a break. She’s been job hunting all day. And if she heard, we’ll be contacting you, one more time, she would lose her mind. What they really meant was that the economy was in a complete downward spiral, and she had a degree in business and no real experience outside of working her butt off doing odd jobs to pay for school, so she would never hear from them a
gain.
However, she wouldn’t focus on all of that now. This man had given her a millisecond break. She would just take it and forget for a while that her life truly sucked. Happily, she slipped her feet halfway out of her shoes, wiggled her toes and sighed. Ahh. Freedom at last.
Minutes later, the man whom Royal guessed was Anatoly came walking towards her lonely table with a two plates. The young dirty blonde moved quickly. His stocky frame was covered in tattoos, and he wore dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt covered by a white apron. His hooded eyes never looked up from the ground. He sat the food down and walked away. Then an even shorter redhead woman came out with two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka, two red crystal glasses and a bottle of wine and set it on the table in the same manner. She also never spoke a word.
“I was hoping that you’d still be here,” the man said returning.
He pulled his seat away from the table and sat directly across from her. She watched him carefully while he inspected the presentation of his meal. His long, muscular arms rested beside him, reaching nearly the length of the table.
“Shall we toast?” he asked, picking up his glass once he was satisfied.
“Sure. What to?”
He thought for a minute then smiled. “To prosperous futures.”
“I like that.”
She toasted his glass and drank the potent contents. The burn rushed down her throat to her empty belly and caused a shiver through her body. Maybe it would do exactly what she wanted it to do - numb the awkward exhilaration of being across the table from the giant man.
“You took good drink,” he smirked, sipping from his glass. “But it’s vodka that I would recommend taking straight to the head, not the wine.” He lifted his glass for her to observe.
Dmitry's Closet Page 1
