Gabriel's Regret: Book 1 (The Medlov Men Series 2) (4 page)

So casual and confident in his demeanor, Dmitry shrugged.  “You made a bad decision,” he said, wiping his wide-set mouth with a red linen napkin. Unlike Anatoly, he had enjoyed and finished his meal while it was still hot.

“How so?” Anatoly asked, stomach growling loudly.  They had been knee-deep in meeting with Royal all day about the new Magna Carta munitions plant on President’s Island and had just had a moment to pull away for dinner before they were off to deal with the not-so legal business with some possible new accounts popping up due to a conflict in West Africa. But those were his father’s deals with his father’s accounts. 

“You should hand deliver the shipment to Ukraine as the client requested.”  Dmitry raised a thick blond brow.  “It’s not a very big ask with all things considered.  These are not just buyers; these are patriots.  They think differently, more passionately.”

“Why would we go into the Ukraine and run the risk of capture and all that other bullshit for these
faceless
patriots when we have paid Slovakia millions to be able to do business on their border without the liability?”

Dmitry smiled a pearly white million dollar smile. “Because the client does not need the product in Slovakia.  They need it in the Ukraine.  And if I recall correctly, certain Ukrainians are on our payroll as well.  It’s not a stretch.”

“I don’t know if you’ve missed it in the news, but Donetsk is a war zone right now,” Anatoly rolled his eyes.  “Why would we put our men at risk?” It wasn’t that he was afraid, but he didn’t believe in getting involved beyond the point of purchase and these fuckers had already purchased. 

“You should put your men at risk, because it’s what we do.”  Dmitry threw a long arm over the chair beside him.  “It doesn’t matter if we sell munitions or diamonds or little plastic dolls, customer service plays a role in ensuring repeat customers.  You’ve got to learn to put some charm on the client, make them feel special.”

Anatoly wasn’t exactly the customer-service type. “Good service for me is about doing what we say we are going to do when we say we are going to do it, not providing favors.  If you give these people an inch, they will take a mile.  Next thing you know they’ll want guns on credit.” 

“I’ve done guns on credit before.  I’ve done favors before.  Eventually, they are repaid,” Dmitry said, biting his bottom lip.  “It’s all about building relationships.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Dmitry picked up his glass and sipped it. “You’re going to regret this.”

Anatoly didn’t believe so. “No disrespect.  Papa, things are done differently from 20 years ago, before you all had the Internet.”

Dmitry laughed outright. “This business is older than the United States or the Russian Federation.  Munitions dealers have been in existence since the first wars on a patch of land in Africa before government was even a real thing.  Now, I’m not saying that evolving is not important.  It is. Plus, you boys do bring a world of innovation to the business with technology and such, things I could not have done myself.  For that, I praise you.  But it still does nothing for the argument of customer service and relationship building.  In these things, you young men have no patience, and that is your downfall. But learning these skills are very important to growing the business and your reach in the world.  Long after I’m gone you will need to know how to do this.”

Anatoly placed his elbows on the table and threaded his fingers together. He always found his father’s advice to be useful, but in this he felt right. So, he would not budge.  However…

“I tell you what, if something happens, then Gabriel will not only deliver the product to the client in the Ukraine, he’ll take it to the war zone over in Donetsk and put it at their front door.  And we’ll do it for free. We won’t recharge them for the product, and Gabriel and I will personally cover the losses and cut you a check on time.” 

Dmitry licked his lips and gave a smug grin. There had to be a catch.  “And if it does make it without problems?  What then?”

“Then trust me to do business
my way
with my accounts.  I’m not asking for you to change the way that you handle your people. I know that you all are old school or whatever, but with people under 40, please allow me to make the final decision. I understand them and the way that they think better.” He waited for his father’s response.

Dmitry didn’t make Anatoly wait long, just long enough to play out both sides of this life learning experience in his very calculated mind.  He drugs a hand over his chin.  “I don’t see how that’s unreasonable. Da, da. We have a deal,” Dmitry said as the server brought dessert into the small meeting room for the men. 

Anatoly thought of something very quickly.  This was after all Dmitry Medlov, a man known for playing the game six moves ahead. He stuck up a finger in protest. “
But
there will be no interference from you on this.  I don’t want you to jack our load yourself to make a point.”

Dmitry winked at him. “Of course not. I wouldn’t think of such a thing.”

Anatoly knew that not to be true.  His father would do just about anything to teach him a lesson before “the world did.” 

***

Allan hated to be the one to break the bad news, but it was as much a part of his job as making the buys for his clients back in the Ukraine.  However, these people who were depending on him were not just clients on a spreadsheet; they were family, some in blood - some in belief.  His parents had come to the United States from Kiev back in the seventies before the fall of the USSR and made a reasonable life for themselves as a small family-owned investment firm - first with two employees and now fifty. 

They had gone from nearly starving to death in the Ukraine, even with college degrees, to living the American dream with residences in Beverly Hills Flats, memberships to private country clubs and vacation homes in Aspen. 

With capitalization of over $500 million, their firm had become not only recognized not only as a viable source for immigrants who wanted to invest over the decades but also for well-funded Americans who wanted to develop a strong portfolio in multinational markets.  They had built a name for themselves in the business community and the civic community, donating hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years to socially conscience non-profits and working tirelessly to become non-threatening, assimilated American citizens. 

Still, their first love was their beloved Ukraine and the families they had left behind in the pursuit of happiness, safety and an overall better way of life.  When it mattered, they sent money back to their mother country to back politicians who believed in their cause, to pay for college tuition for bright but poor students and to fund projects designed to make their country better like schools, hospitals and playgrounds.  And when that didn’t help, they bought munitions and helped back paramilitary patriots.    

His father had taught Allan well, urging him to get the best American education possible and to dedicate himself to family and his country.  He had done all of that. He had even married a girl from Ukraine instead of conforming and marrying one of the thousands of blonde beach girls from Orange County that dangled themselves like low-hanging fruit. 

But still he felt absolutely helpless in this war against Russia and the Nazi separatists. He felt betrayed by some of their government’s countrymen who had sided not only with the Russians but refused to become a viable part of the European Union, even against their counsel.  And now he felt helpless with the Medlov’s because of their unwillingness to help them ensure the arrival of their munitions through heavily guarded centuries who would surely be on the lookout for illegal imports, especially weapons. 

Just past dusk, he punched in his code at the security gate and pulled into the drive of his Georgian-style mansion on North Alta Drive.  It was lit up inside, which meant his wife had picked up their three kids and was probably preparing dinner and giving baths.  Anxious, he pulled his white Volvo XC90 into his garage and darted to his office, hoping to avoid them and the bad news he had to share with his wife.  

Pulling out his untraceable cell, he dialed impatiently. 

“Brother, please tell me you have good news,” Alexei Nenya said, sitting around his men. 

Allan rubbed his forehead. “They won’t give us an escort.”

“I don’t understand this. Why not?” Alexei asked, raising up. “Did you not make clear our situation?” 

“Of course, I did.  They seem to think it’s not their responsibility.  They have agreed to deliver it to the Slovakian border, no further.  However, they will give us more men on the detail to try to ensure that it won’t be ambushed.”  Allan knew before he explained that it wouldn’t be good enough.  Intel inside of the country pinpointed Alexei as a target and a threat to the country.  If he were ever located, he would be imprisoned immediately and surely put to death. 

Alexei looked over at his teenage brother, who was busy counting bullets, and felt a chill run up his spine.  His voice lowered.  “Can you not reason with them again?  There are many innocent lives on the line.  Half of my militia is teenage boys and girls.”

“I tried.”

Alexei’s disappointment was evident; still he refused to give up. “What about Dmitry Medlov.  In the past, your father said that he was one of the most professional and reasonable men he had ever worked with?  Maybe if he were to call him…”

“It’s not my father’s show anymore.  When I made the deal, I made it with Anatoly and Gabriel Medlov – not Dmitry.  So, we have to deal with them.  Dmitry doesn’t intercede over his men once they’ve made a decision.  It’s just the way that he is.”  Allan pulled at his tie and pushed back in his leather chair.  His father had told him to work only with Dmitry, but he hadn’t listened.  He felt that Anatoly and Gabriel would be more pliable considering that they were so young.  He had been dead wrong.   “I’m sorry, brother.  I did everything…”  He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of scotch.  Placing it on the table, he felt his heart constrict.  “I fucked up.”

Alexei cut him off.  “You of all people don’t have to apologize.  We would not even be alive if it weren’t for the money that your family has put behind this.”

Allan appreciated Alexei’s graciousness, but he didn’t feel worthy of the compliments.  After all, he was safe at home in his mansion in Beverly Hills while his comrades were halfway across the globe hiding out in abandoned buildings, planning attacks and seeking shelter from mortars. 

“We have a whole family of Romanyuk men, women and children that you fight every day to protect over there.”  Allan ran a hand through his hair.  “People we couldn’t get over here to America where it was safe.”  He thought of his father’s sister was killed the year before in a blast that ripped through her third floor apartment and countless others who had died in the square in 2014 during the big protest. 

“Well you can’t export the entire country of Ukraine to California.  Some people had to be left behind.”  Alexei looked over at two young Romanyuk men in the corner working on a plan to get food to families behind enemy lines, remembering how many men in Allan’s family had been lost to this civil war.  He took a deep breath and sucked up his melancholy.  People were counting on him dammit.  “I’ll meet the Medlov’s on the border myself.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Allan protested.  “You are a wanted man.  If the Russians, the Nazis or even some of the Ukrainian turncoats get you, you’ll be executed.  And it’s not like you don’t stick out, brother.  They will recognize you immediately.”

Alexei could think of a lot worse than him dying.  His baby brother.  His baby sister.  No.  He had to ensure this was done right or die trying.  “I could get caught right here any day of the week.  No, we’ve put all of our money into this.  People are selling the clothes off their backs to raise funds for the militia.  I have to personally go to the exchange point and pick it up.”

Allan held the phone.

“Are you there?” Alexei asked.

“I’ll make sure everything is ready in Slovakia,” Allan said, staring blankly across the room. 

“I trust you, brother.  Don’t worry so much,” Alexei said with a smile.

“I wish I had your faith, brother.  Take care.”  Allan hung up the phone and poured a glass of the scotch.  Hitting the button on his desk, he dimmed the lights.

Chapter Two

Something to Prove…

While Gabriel was always able to enjoy the luxury of a decadent life as a boss, there was no amount of money that took away the predicaments inconvenience of traveling.  Everyone had to deal with it, no matter if one was flying commercial or private, especially someone who was watched by every government entity in the country and the enemy of every other crime syndicate who wanted to be number one in weapons trafficking. 

Even with a $100,000,000 jet, there were many arrangements that had to be made before Gabriel could actually depart.  His team had to coordinate with Memphis, pack his things; and then with a very extravagant convoy of SUVs and speed bikes that only drew more attention; he had to be escorted from the Beverly Hills Hotel through chaotic Los Angles traffic to Crystal Airport. 

To top off the logistical nightmare of flying, Dmitry had certain rules that made the process even slower, like inspecting the plane for bombs with trained dogs, double checking the flight crew to make sure an agent or assassin wasn’t aboard posing as one of their own or hiding away and restocking food and beverages each time they landed to ensure that nothing had been poisoned.  It was never an easy thing to be reminded of one’s mortality on a constant basis, but it was as much part of the job as the million-dollar deals, the beautiful women and the unchecked power. 

He remembered a time when it all excited him – the attention, the entourage, the glamour.  But the luster soon faded into indifference with the many trips around the world.  And eventually the large metal edifice became just another home, another office, another construct designed to carry out his family’s will.  In this, he had learned one invaluable lesson – man’s attention could never be held long with simple materialistic pleasures no matter how grand they were. 

As soon as the large convoy arrived to the airport, he jumped out of the SUV and almost sprinted up the steel staircase into the plane, making a B-line for his favorite white leather recliner right in front of the flat screen television where he could catch up on the episodes he had missed of his favorite shows. 

Quickly, he kicked off his loafers, wiggled his toes and rolled his neck. 
Damn, that felt good.
  What would be even better was a drink. 

“I hope your trip was pleasant,” the blonde Russian stewardess said, approaching from the back of the plane, cocktail in hand, made special just for him. Making her way to him, she leaned into his personal space as she passed him his drink and gave a cool grin. 

A trace of humor laced his quirky smile as he dragged his lazy gaze from her ample bosom to her sparkling eyes.  “The only thing pleasant about this trip…is getting to see you, Diana.” He gently took the tumbler from her hands and winked at her, “and heading home, of course.”

“Of course,” she replied, completely immune to his charms.  “Well, I’m glad that I could provide some pleasure in your trip.  I’ve also prepared the bedroom just in case you need to take a nap.”  She stood back up and turned to watch the bodyguards as they filed onto the plane.  Scanning each one, she tapped the armrest with her long sculpted nails.  “Let me know if you need anything else,” she said, suddenly distant.

Gabriel put the crystal tumbler to his mouth and smirked as he turned and looked out of the window at the clear blue skies. “I will.  Thank you,” he said, knowing that their moment was over as quickly as it had begun.  Diana was now focused on the second part of her job, which was securing the airplane and all of its passengers – a job she took far more seriously than she ever did flirting with the likes of him.

There were always two beautiful stewardesses working the flights, tempting Gabriel every time that they bent down to pick up plate or offered a beverage.  They always wore the same blue tailored slacks and classy, white silk tops, hair pulled in a bun, eyes twinkling, and lipstick flawless.  But the thing that always drew more attention than their perfectly curved bottoms or long legs were the shiny Smith and Wesson handguns in the leather holders under their arms. 

Coincidentally, more dangerous than beautiful, these two angels had very dirty wings and had served in the Russian armed forces before coming to work for the Czar.  The rumor mill said that they were Special Forces, but in truth, no one really knew what their specialty was – assassins or actresses.  They were a beautiful enigma whose story was only known by their boss, who had hand-picked them and kept them on his private payroll.

Maybe it was the mystery that fueled his curiosity, but on many occasions, he had played with the idea of asking one of the dream girls, as they had been dubbed behind their backs, out on a date, especially when they were off in some secluded locale half-way around the world with no one else to play with, but ultimately, he had passed on that adventure. 

Dmitry said that the men could look all they wanted to at the dream girls,
but don’t touch and don’t make them uncomfortable
.  It was laughable really – an underworld boss who did not believe in sexual harassment.  Still, if Dmitry said that they were untouchable, who was he to say otherwise?

Dismissing thoughts of Diana, he pulled down his woodgrain seat tray, placed his laptop on top of it and opened it to find countless emails waiting on a reply – all of them marked URGENT. 
Great.
  Even if he were 50,000 feet in the atmosphere, work would still find him. 

Taking off his shades, he grabbed the remote from the seat pocket, turned on the flat screen and started reading and returning messages as his six-member bodyguard team settled in for the flight.  He drowned out the sound of them as he focused on his work.    

Clutching a half-eaten Hot Pocket® in his tattooed hand, Boris hunkered down in a seat directly across from Gabriel and threw his suit jacket over the chair beside him.  His long legs spread out as he adjusted loudly in the seat to get ready for takeoff.   “We’ll be in Memphis in four hours, boss,” Boris said, taking a bite of his lunch.  With his mouth still full, he continued, “Do you need to make any stops before we go back to the compound?” He wiped his face and waved at Diane for a drink. 

Gabriel knew exactly what Boris meant but unfortunately with a full schedule there would be no time for that. He had to get back to the house and report in.  Without looking up from his computer, he answered under his breath.  “No stops today.”  He paused with his finger on the ENTER button.  “Have we heard from our men?  Is the shipment on the way?”

Boris brushed crumbs from his lap.  “Which one?  We’ve done three this week.”

Gabriel took his eyes off the monitor and looked over at his bodyguard, watching him cram the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.  “The Ukraine shipment.  I promised extra men on the detail. Did you take care of that?”

“I made the call at 8:00 p.m. Los Angeles time yesterday, so 5:00 a.m. in Prague.  The men were already getting the shipment ready at the warehouse.  They called in a few more men who will meet them at the Slovakian border and deliver the shipment on time to the Ukrainian border with a double detail.  It’s like clockwork, already taken care of.”

“And they will still arrive on time?”  Gabriel didn’t understand why this particular shipment was weighing so heavily on him, but it was. 

“Tonight at seven o’clock their time.”  He looked at his watch.  “Noon for us.  By the time you get to Memphis, the deal will be complete.  So you can relax, boss. Like I said, it’s taken care of.” 

“Then I’ll start to
relax
at 12:30 this afternoon,” Gabriel said, returning back to his work. 

His cell phone made a distinctive ding, indicating he had a text.   Putting his code in, now made extra-long after his fight with Briggy about his infidelities, he found that Sasha- no last name needed - in Bucharest, Romania was thinking of him.  It was seven o’clock in the evening there on a Saturday night, and she was feeling quite frisky and lonely.  With the sun setting on the horizon behind her, she sent a creative and quite complicated selfie of herself naked in only black stilettos and a diamond necklace perched on a lounge chair by the large pool in her villa, showing all of her better assets.  Her note was just as alluring as the picture. 
If you were here right now, you could rub me down.
 

Zooming in to get a better view of her impeccable landing strip, he licked his lips. Thank God for high resolution photos.
Damn, girl.
  Sasha knew exactly how to make a man want to forget his priorities. About two months ago, he was there doing business with some very seedy types and was introduced to her in an underground club, literally under the city.  Out of nowhere, she brought him a drink and licked the side of his face while he was talking to the buyer then walked away.  After the deal was complete, he found her by the bar, waiting on him.  The rest was history.  

He texted back. 
If I were there right now, I’d be in between those gorgeous thighs. TTYL. 

***

Somewhere between sending urgent emails and watching DVR episodes of his favorite shows, Gabriel nestled into his headrest and fell into a deep dreamless sleep on the short flight.  It wasn’t hard to do these days, considering that he was always exhausted. 

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Diane whispered into his ear.

Gabriel’s eyes flashed open and focused on her. “Are we already there?”  He looked around him, wondering how long he had been out.  Everyone was awake and alert but him. 

“We
are
here,” she said, rising up. Taking the throw off of him, she folded it in her arms.  “You might want to get your shoes.  We’ll be landing very soon.”

He looked at his watch and shot straight up in his seat.  “Fuck my shoes.”  As Boris came out of the restroom, he motioned for him to come quickly. “Is the deal complete or what?” he asked, slipping his feet into his loafers. 

Boris sat beside him and put on his seat belt. “Da, da, Boss.  The men delivered with an hour to spare.  They are already headed back to Prague.”

Gabriel didn’t understand.  “How did they have an hour to spare?”

“The Ukrainians got to Slovakia earlier than expected.  Said they had a window of opportunity to get across the border without being detected or some shit.  So Yuri and the extra men brought the shipment to the checkpoint early, considering they had already paid in advance, and off they went.”

So it was done.
  Gabriel gave a sigh of relief.  “Good,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “That’s good news.  Good job.” It was like a weight had been suddenly lifted from his shoulders. 

He looked out the window in awe at the images on the ground that came into view as the clouds subsided and knew that it wouldn’t be long before he was back in front of his liege.  Landing in Memphis was always surreal – like Alice going down the rabbit hole and ending up in some new and odd little world.  It was strange to him that the Medlov family had ended up here in this little music box of a place instead of one of the global meccas they did business in any day of the week. 

However, strategy was something that was not often understood by the outside eye.  Dmitry had chosen Memphis well before he was in the picture because of one simple thing.  Intermodal transportation.  They were traffickers with as much need for air, road, train and water mobility as any other business. This place had it all with cheap legislators and even cheaper labor. 

There were also other parts of the city he appreciated, like their world famous BBQ, thick southern girls, who knew better than most how to misbehave and their basketball team.  It was all so lazy and simple, like watching the tide come in from a hammock on the beach.  Everything just rolled here at its own pace, except for the crime.  But then again, they were criminals.  

There was something foul in the air.  As Gabriel stepped of the plane in Memphis, he could smell it mingling with the heat and humidity that plagued the bluff city during this time of year.  He squinted behind his shades as he ducked into the black SUV waiting on him on the tarmac and slipped into the cool comfort of the leather interior.  The door closed behind him quickly as the men scurried to get him loaded and secure.  As soon as Boris jumped into the passenger seat, they sped off in their convoy, headed to Medlov Compound.

The air blasted in his direction as he kept his gazed focused out of the window.  Hearing the distinct ding of his phone, designated for Briggy, Gabriel rolled his eyes and chose not to read it.  Tightness stretched across his chest as he strained for breath.  He remembered a time that coming home to her was not a chore at all.  With butterflies and anticipation, he would greet her with gifts and kisses, holding her tight and whispering soft words in her ear.  Now, he felt something closer to nausea at the thought of having to deal with her.  Another ding.

Strangely enough, while he hated coming back to Briggy, he did enjoy coming back to the family.  Being a Vor was rewarding, more rewarding than he had ever imagine.  He had two families now, his biological family and his crime family. 

The Vory v Zakone was an old construct that was around well before Gabriel had been born.  His father had been a Vor. His uncle and grandfather as well.  Each of them carried a legacy of murder, survival and domination with them that was known both inside and outside of the underworld.  Dmitry had learned that sticking to the code, while respected, was a red flag when moving through society, especially when one had acquired a considerable amount of wealth.