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

from her purse and proceeded in. After many years of being a Medlov, the one thing she knew was to keep a weapon handy. Not bothering to say a word, she walked through the house quietly to each room, all of which had been occupied since she had last been there.

At the base of the stairs, she looked up towards the window on the second floor and saw no one in the reflection.

Slowly, she inched up each step until she arrived at the second floor. Her heart pounded a mile a minute in her chest. She swallowed hard as she arrived at her bedroom. The door was open and someone was lying in the bed asleep.

Cocking the gun, she went into the room and nearly fainted as she saw who was in the bed. That bitch, Victoria! She slipped out of her heels and dove into the bed on top of the startled woman.

"You fucking whore!" Royal screamed, snatching the woman up.

Victoria's body jerked and her eyes popped open to see Royal hit her in the eye with the end of her spiked stiletto. Blood spurted across the silver comforter as the women struggled. Royal reached back with a balled up fist and punched Victoria in the lip, then dug her nails into her chest.

"Get off me!" Victoria fought back, but Royal was much too angry and heavy. Her attempts were feeble at most.

Royal dragged her out of the bed by her hair and pointed the gun at her.

"So, Dmitry just figured he would play me like a fucking fiddle, huh? Move you across town like I wouldn't find out? I will cut his balls off!"

"No! No, Anatoly brought me here," she explained, covering her bloody face. "Please!"

"Anatoly?" Royal wiped her tear-stained face.

"He drugged me and brought me here," Victoria explained. "I'm working for him now. I swear!"

Royal stopped pointing the gun, pushed Victoria down and paced from side to side.

"I don't believe you. What the hell would he want with you?"

"I'm supposed to go to Sochi tomorrow."

The words rang in Royal's ears.

"Sochi?"

"Yes," Victoria covered her wounded face. "Dmitry had nothing to do with it!"

"I told you if I ever saw you again… " Royal pointed the gun and screamed. "You fucking home wreaker!"

"I know! I had every intention of leaving. Please. You have to believe me!" the woman cried. "Anatoly wouldn't let me. He grabbed me at the restaurant and brought me here. I don't even know where I am."

"What is going on in my family?" Royal screamed. She put her hand on her head and grunted. She looked back at Victoria bundled up by the bed covering her face. "What are you doing in Sochi tomorrow?"

"Buying art," she stuttered.

"For Dmitry and Anatoly?"

"I guess. I don't know. I wasn't told everything."

"Anatoly brought you here?"

"Yes. See, I'm in his shirt," she looked up at Royal desperately. "He just left. He said he wouldn't be back tonight. I'm supposed to get on a flight in the morning for Sochi and purchase some art tomorrow night. That's all I know."

Royal calmed herself. She breathed through her mouth, exhaling her anger. "You low down, conniving bitch."

"Look, I know that I was wrong," she wiped her face and calmed her breathing. "I've been apologizing for two fucking days, but I think that I've been paid back adequately for what I've done now."

"Did Anatoly touch you?"

"He didn't hurt me if that's what you mean."

"So you slept with him?"

"Yes," she said sighing. "Yes. Okay. I slept with him." She wiped her face on the sleeve of the shirt and shook her head.

Royal looked at her and shook her head in disgust. "I trusted you," she pointed the gun again.

"I. Am. Sorry."

Royal bit her lip and wiped the tears from her face. "Well, sorry just isn't good enough anymore," she said in a cool tone.

Royal leaned against the bed holding her heart and slid down against the mattress. Crying, she let out a painful sob as she dropped the gun.

Victoria was mortified, dumbfounded by what she had done to the woman. She went to her and sat by her on the floor.

"I am sorry," Victoria said in a hushed one.

"Yeah, me too."

They sat quietly in the now silent room alone together.

* * *

Dmitry had only made it home a half hour before he got a call from a manager at the Hotel Iron Gate. Royal had hand-delivered a dress to a suite and a gentlemen staying alone by the name of Andrew Oriachiav.

When he hung up the phone, he threw it across the room, knocking the picture off the wall. He knew something was wrong with Royal. It had to be this Andrew guy. Royal never hand-delivered a damned thing. And she was so eager to leave the restaurant earlier with her story about the shop.

He stood up and paced the room for a minute, turning redder by the second. If she was cheating on him with another man, he would kill her lover right in front of her. He would cut his heart out of his body and cut it into pieces in front of her! He leaned against the desk, then threw all the contents against the wall.

"Davyd!" he called, pulling his guns out of his desk drawer. "Bring my fucking car around and get the men together!"

* * *

Royal and Victoria talked over a cup of coffee and an emergency kit that Royal used to apply to Victoria wounds. They discussed the deal and Victoria's brief sexual encounter with Anatoly. Oddly enough, Royal had been extremely understanding and forgiving of the woman.

"I need your help, Victoria," Royal said, applying a bandage.

"How?"

"I have money. Lots of it. I need to get to Sochi with you in the morning.