Dorian stared at himself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom, stared at his face, his eyes, his mouth—all slightly aged with time. He wondered who he had become in three years, because he was not at all the man he used to be. He was successful, powerful, rich and still he was empty.
The treacherous murder of Royal Stone had haunted him like a ghost, reminded him that he would burn in hell for his dealings with Ivan and his desire to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to what he knew his long-time friend would do and did do that fateful night.
If he could have, Dorian would have simply avoided Dmitry for the rest of his life. He would have been more than pleased never to mingle or do business in any circle that the Russian dwelled, but it had gone too far. He had to finish this now.
His plan was simple. He would spend exactly one day in Prague meeting with the man who would place the bomb on Dmitry's plane before he left the city, then fly back to Sochi to prepare for the transaction tomorrow.
His liaison would facilitate the buy and once the funds had been confirmed, the Medlov's would request an audience with the go-between, which was him. When he revealed himself, Dmitry would be incensed, but the deal would already have gone through and his clients would be out of the loop.
He would then tell Anatoly where to have his people pick up the shipment and then Dmitry would wage war. Only the Russian will be outgunned, out manned and outsmarted. He will leave Sochi immediately and head back to Prague. Then his private jet will explode and go down in smoke over the Black Sea.
Nothing will be provable except that they had a rivalry. Anatoly will be forced to move on, Dmitry will be dead, and he can finally move on with his own life or what was left of it. There will surely be remnants of an after taste to deal with, even the possibility of the murder of Anatoly. But the biggest threat will be out of the way and either way, the family will fall.
* * *
After dropping Royal and Anya off, Dmitry headed into his restaurant and immediately began to cook. His staffed danced about him as he prepared for a long day and a hot date with the two ladies of his life. While his hands stayed busy, his mind wrapped around him like a thick fog. His son was about to rise to the highest level achievable in organized crime, and he was about to help him.
A few years ago, before the birth of Anya, it would have been his proudest moment. Now, he fought within himself over what he was making a monster of a massive proportions. He would never allow his daughter to break the law even once, and yet he was preparing his son to be the epitome of criminal.
The irony was more than a notion. If he made his son back out, it could cost many people their lives. If he pushed him forward and made sure the deal was completed, it could cost many people their lives. If he did nothing, he could lose his son. If he did anything, he could lose. It would have helped to have Royal to talk to about the matter, since had become his closest confidant and dearest friend. And even though she didn't know it, she was very sound in most of her decisions. She was his rock, and yet he deceived her. His actions made him question his very sanity or at the very least his loyalty.
* * *
Anya played in the mirror, dressed in a pair of her mothers heels, while Royal stood in the dressing room with a duchess and her assistant picking out gowns for an upcoming event. It felt extraordinary to Royal to be back in her favorite place doing what she felt she did best-running her own business. The staff had been surprised to see her but ecstatic for her return.
She immediately started to reorganize the shop, making lists and ordering new products. The day had all but whizzed past her when she looked down are realized that it was half past eleven.
After getting the duchess's order and seeing her out, Royal prepared to go and have lunch with Dmitry. Just as she was about to grab her coat, a tall black man entered into to the shop.
Everyone stopped when the door closed behind him. Royal looked up stunned. It was not as if a black man had never shopped at Royal Flush. It wasn't that he was black at all. It was simply that he was beautiful.
Beautiful people bothered Royal. Ivan was beautiful and rotten. Dmitry was beautiful and dangerous. Anatoly was beautiful and cold.
Now, a strange man entered her shops with his eyes planted on her, and the only word that could possibly describe him was beautiful. But there had to be something else. Beautiful and crazy. Beautiful and gay. Beautiful and what? She could go on but stopped herself. The amusement in her quest was most inappropriate for the time.
The man seemed startled by Royal. It was as if he knew her. She looked over at Anya first, always thinking of her little one. In a quick motion, she snapped her slender, long fingers together and pointed at the back. Obediently, her daughter dashed to the back office without asking one question.
"May I help you?" she finally asked with less than a welcoming smile on her face.
Dorian was lost for words. Her face had been burned into his memory. It was impossible to forget her or her untimely death. It had been the thing that had haunted him
