Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen Nelson, S. (best finance books of all time TXT) 📖

him under dark thick lashes. "Why can't you tell me?"

Dmitry looked down, somewhat ashamed. "I don't want to scare you."

"It's not you who scares me, Dmitry. It's the reminder of him." She rolled her eyes. "I've never been afraid of you?"

"No?" Dmitry asked, raising a brow.

"No."

"Really, well what's this then?" he asked, showing her an old knife wound in his arm from where she had stabbed him when she first found out about his ties to the mafiya.

"I overreacted," she said smiling. She couldn't help but laugh. Neither could he.

"I haven't been afraid of you since, should I say," she corrected.

"Well that makes one of us. I've been scared shitless of you since then."

She smiled again, revealing white pearly teeth as she did.

Dmitry sighed. "God, you're beautiful."

Royal shook her head. "Not as beautiful as you."

Chapter 6

When his jet touched down in Sochi, Russia, Dmitry was engulfed in deep thought about his wife and her confessions to him the night before.

He sat alone in the back with his legs crossed and his chin buried in his hand as he looked out of the window. Even many hours later, he could smell her cologne on him. He had even avoided taking a shower just to keep her scent on him as long as possible.

Royal's confession had awakened the passion in him yet again. Letting her guard down had been the best thing she could have done for the both of them. In fact, the entire experience was magical and oddly enough with no sex involved.

However, she had kissed him for hours—like they had never kissed before. She allowed him to touch her in places that before would have sent her into a frenzy. Her eyes were bright in the moonlight, almost as bright as her angelic smile. His heart fluttered. Royal was back.

"Now you really look like the bastard, papa," Anatoly said, making his way to the back of the jet.

Dmitry looked up and snapped out of his daze. "Don't remind me. Lets just get this over with so that I can get this shit out of my hair and off my eyebrows. I feel like idiot." He slipped on his Aviator shades.

"The car is waiting outside for us."

Anatoly turned around and headed off the plane behind the bodyguards. "Since this is not as official, I was hoping that we could ride in the same car for once."

Dmitry stood up and made his way off the plane. As he did so, his staff and men looked on amazed at his transformation. He went from a blonde giant to dark, sinister brunette with piercing looks that mirrored his dead brother, Ivan.

Getting in the back of the Bentley, he checked his phone and looked over at his son. He had to continue to remind himself of why he was doing this. It was only after they had left the salon, after his transformation, that he realized how traumatized his wife must be.

When he looked in the mirror after his hair color had been changed, he nearly tore out his own eyes. He was Ivan Medlov incarnate, and while the look would surely benefit his son's new project, it was killing him inside.

"Are you sure about this, Anatoly?"

"I thought that we had discussed this. Of course, I'm sure. Trust me, papa."

"Alright," Dmitry said, trying to relax.

"Are you… uh… listening to this?" Anatoly asked, reaching into his Louis Vuitton backpack.

"No," Dmitry said in a daze again. "Listen to whatever you like."

Anatoly passed the bodyguard a CD. "Play this," he said.

The man took it quickly and turned off the local Russian radio station. Suddenly, Lil Wayne came on the radio. Anatoly gave a bright smile as he heard the beat drop and guitars screaming. The tempo filled the car with heart-pounding music.

Dmitry stopped looking out of the window and looked over at Anatoly with a furrowed brow.

"Hey, I'm boss now, remember?," Anatoly smiled.

"What kind of shit is this?"

"Wheezy." Anatoly's accent became thicker.

"It's… .it's rap music," Dmitry said, holding his head. "It's like nails against chalk board. Please, please. Turn off."

"What's wrong with rap music?" Anatoly laughed. His father was visibly in pain. The music stopped.

"What isn't?" Dmitry ran his fingers over the side consul and let down the window to breathe. Wheezy had almost given him a heart attack. "Save for when I'm not in car, eh."

* * *

Brigitte knocked on Mistress Medlov's door several time before she entered. Oddly enough there was no answer. She came through the double doors with her back to the bed as she pulled in the tray of breakfast food.

However, when she turned around, she realized that she was alone in the room. She looked around curiously. In the last year, she had not come into the room one morning that the Mistress was not in bed, knotted in sheets with a glass of scotch on her nightstand.

"Mistress Medlov?" Brigitte called.

She looked in the large bathroom, in Dmitry's closet, in both of Royal's closets and in the sitting room connected to the bedroom and found no one there. It was not her place to fetch her, but she felt the sudden urge to turn and run out of the room calling after Davyd.

* * *

Royal was still wrapped in the covers that smelled like her husband in the guest room where Dmitry had left her. She slept heavily, uninterrupted by nightmares and with a slight grin on her face.

Davyd looked in on her just to make sure that she was okay. After Brigitte had come into the great room sweaty and wide-eyed, he had no choice. Evidently, the poor girl had run all the way from the Mistress's bedroom on the second floor to the great room on the first floor. Thousands upon thousands of concrete and marble