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

their men, who already had been instructed to get Russia immediately. Over fifty men were strategically placed around the city, many of them at the airport. Even Anatoly had to take note of his fathers flawless execution.

Dmitry was all business today. He went over the plan twice with his son on the plane, sent his top guys to prepare their teams for the possibility of an ambush, had the lawyers on call and was strapped like a black ops solider under his perfectly cut suit.

After seeing that Dorian had not only been in Prague but had interaction with his wife, he had activated a team in Prague, Sochi, Memphis, and Moscow. They could not be too careful now. He knew Dorian well, and if there was one thing he was good at, it was the element of surprise. Only this time, he'd be ready for him.

In watching his father, Anatoly realized that he still had so much to learn from the real boss. With his father, they moved with finesse and accuracy from one location to the other on time and seamlessly, even with their large numbers.

Dmitry had explained to Anatoly earlier that there was nothing more dangerous than closing a deal, even in the most public of places. And with the kind of money that they were dealing with tonight, there would be a need for a small army.

"Load them into different cars," said Dmitry's bodyguard as he routed the men.

"See you at the hotel," Dmitry said to Anatoly as he loaded in the back of his car with his men.

"Alright, lets go," Anatoly said, following his bodyguards to his car.

* * *

Dorian sat at the dinner table with the only representative from the Spentznas that would actively participate in the deal. The older man seemed relaxed and at peace. He ate his lobster slowly, relishing in the taste and occasionally sipping his wine.

Dorian found it odd that he drank wine and ate lobster when their restaurant served the best Beluga caviar in the city. But it was of no consequence to him.

"I trust everything is on schedule," the man said, dapping his weathered, tanned mouth with the napkin.

"Yes, it is," Dorian answered without looking up to make eye contact with the man.

"And the Medlov's are still prepared to buy?"

Dorian smiled casually as looked up from his plate. Although he inwardly cringed at someone second guessing his ability to coordinate a buy, he played along. He knew the line of questioning was going somewhere.

"They will be here tonight at the masquerade ball. Well meet briefly in a side room, where we will go undetected after their person purchases the art at the art show across town," he answered.

"I did a little checking on the Medlov's and found out that you have had dealings with them before, at least on the occasion when Dmitry tried to kill you." The man raised his brow and put down his napkin.

"All water under the bridge."

"I have worked in Intel for 25 years. I've seen my country turn from a dictatorship to a democracy. I know that there is no such thing as water under the bridge."

"Well, lets just say that our past relationship won't interfere with the deal. You'll be on your way with your money before there is ever even a word uttered."

"Good. Well then, you'll have your final fee tonight, and my colleagues and I will be on our way to a pleasant retirement."

"I'll toast to that," Dorian said, raising his glass of water.

* * *

When Royal and Victoria arrived in Sochi, they headed directly to the hotel where Anatoly had reserved a room for Victoria to dress before the art show. Hidden in plain sight, Royal blended in to the thousands of people rushing through the city going back and forth to the Winter Olympic Games.

She was amazed at all the activity and had not seen so many people crowded in one central location in her life. It was exhilarating for her to move on her own, make her own decisions and most of all to be unescorted for once. There was no entourage, no men with guns, no limos and diamonds—just her with a backpack and a dress bag.

She smiled to herself as the people zoomed by her, brushing against her, ignoring her—not fearing her like they often did when they saw the Medlov clan parading through a city.

However, when they arrived, she saw that being a Medlov had its perks and not being with her husband had its drawbacks. Checking into the hotel was actually more complicated than she had first thought.

All the rooms were booked, her money wasn't good enough to bump anyone out and to announce that she was Dmitry Medlov's wife would send alarms off to all the wrong people.

"No big deal. You can just stay in my room," Victoria said, taking her key card from the hotel desk clerk.

"That's probably not smart," Royal sighed. "Anatoly will surely come to see you before you go."

"Why would he?"

Royal raised her brow. "You don't know the Medlov men very well, do you? Hell come up before he goes to make the deal and pick up where he left off. Probably a quickie. But one things for sure. Hell come to you."

Victoria hadn't thought of that.

"Well, what will you do?" she asked, looking around the elaborate lobby perplexed. "There's probably not a hotel in the city that isn't booked."

She looked at her watch. "I have four hours. I'll get across town, find a hovel somewhere that's not on the tourist grid, and I'll make my way back here by show time. Do you have your phone on?"

"Yeah, you got your throw away?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, well good luck. We probably won't see each other before this all goes down."

Royal felt compelled. She paused and then