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

was the thought of revenge. He had kissed Victoria among other things in clear view and unknowingly in front of Royal. Why wouldn't she seek revenge? Women always sought revenge. His blood boiled. He wanted to kill. He wanted to rip the man's throat out with his bare hands.

He looked back at his wife, tear-stained and wide-eyed. She was telling the truth, but still he could not control his anger.

Davyd looked over at him with concern. This had gotten completely out of control. He had never seen Dmitry so angry with Royal. Because of his relationship with her, he wanted to step in and say something, but he knew Dmitry's temper. It could cost them all more than it could save anyone.

Dmitry looked over at Davyd with pure rage in his eyes. Royal was his everything. Without her and Anya, he had nothing. He would not lose her without a serious fight, one that lasted until the death. She did not know that he had seen the video of the man who she had delivered the dress to earlier that day. She did not know that Andrew was actually Dorian, his arch enemy from many years ago—a true brother to Ivan.

Yet, he had taken everything out on her as if she did know. Fury had gripped him, paralyzed him from rational thought. It was shameful, the way that he had treated her.

Royal sat in the back seat with tears in her eyes and her arms folded. Looking out the window, she gritted her teeth and talked under her breath.

When they pulled into the garage of their home, she opened the door and darted into the house, still cursing at Dmitry.

"You messed up," Davyd said to Dmitry.

"Da Da. I know, brat."

"Better go to her before she has time to think too much. You know how she can be."

Dmitry ran after her, following her through the long corridor, up the stairs to the second floor.

First thing first, Royal checked in on Anya. She had fallen asleep in the TV room watching a movie with her doll on the floor.

Royal picked her up and carried her to her bedroom with Dmitry following like her shadow. "I'm sorry," he whispered behind her.

"Whatever," Royal snapped. "Open the door," she ordered at Anya's bedroom door.

He twisted the knob and moved out of her way.

Whisking past, Royal laid Anya in the bed and covered her up.

"We need to talk," Dmitry whispered again.

"Go to hell," she said, leaving the room.

Stomping down to her room, she opened the door and tried to slam it behind her, but Dmitry caught it and pushed in. She turned around and stared at him.

"You fucking bastard," she said in a low growl.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that," he said walking closer. His voice was low and stern.

"Or what? You'll kill me too?" Her catlike eyes narrowed.

"No," he said incensed. "I messed up. Alright. My head is still screwed up because of Victoria."

"Don't you dare speak her name in this bedroom."

"What else am I supposed to call her?"

She rolled her eyes. "What has gotten into you, Dmitry? You know that I would never allow a man to treat me the way that you just did. I am not one of your belongings. Okay. I have my own mind and my own rights. I don't owe you, of all people, an explanation. If you don't trust me, then fine. Leave me. But don't go accusing me, because you are perverted." She rolled her eyes.

Dmitry breathed in hard. "I. Said. I. Was. Sorry."

"Tell me what's going on with you. If you just told me, I could understand better. I could forgive you," she pleaded.

Dmitry bottled up. "Nothing is wrong. I thought something that was not so."

"Nothing is going on?" she asked with her hands on her hips.

"No."

Royal huffed. He still chose to lie even when it would have benefited him just to tell her the truth, which was that he had gone back to the Vory.

"I think that you should sleep in the guest room tonight," she bit out.

"I'm not sleeping in the guest room tonight or any other night," he growled. The veins showed in his neck again.

"This is a marriage bed, and people who are married tell each other the truth," she lectured.

"What do you want me to say, zhenshchina!?"

"Just tell me the truth!" she cried.

"There is nothing wrong!" he snarled, turning from her. He walked to the door and was about to leave when he saw her head to the closet. He turned around quickly and followed her.

"Are you looking for valium? I threw it all away," he said. He rounded the corner to find her pulling a nightgown from her dresser.

"You really are a bastard," she said with tears in her eyes. "I made a promise, didn't I?"

He paused in shock, wishing instantly he could take back his words.

She walked past him, but he caught her arm in the fold and pulled her to him.

"Let me go!" she screamed.

Effortlessly, he snatched her up in his arms and felt her slap him again across his face again. He carried her kicking and screaming to the bed. She fell back on it and cried.

"I hate you. You're a liar!"

Dmitry caught her hand as she tried to swing again. He pulled her to him and held her down on the bed. It was déjà vu and also very much like a horrid fight that they had in Memphis many years ago.

"You BASTARD!" she roared.

"Call me what you want to call me, but I am your husband, provider of your lifestyle and head of this house! I have the right to be concerned… territorial even. What did you expect me to do? Do you think that I