Dimitri Belikov Novels & Stories

Dimitri accepted it and gave a gallant bow. It's a pleasure, Princess Lissa." Lissa gave a huff but accepted, knowing she probably wasn't going to get anything better. Dimitri nodded towards Christian. "Lord Ozera. It's a pleasure to see you again. I trust you're doing well?" "Likewise, Belikov. And, yes, I'm doing very well." Christian replied pulling Lissa back to him. I looked back and forth between Christian and Dimitri with a puzzled look. Christian just gave me a smirk but didn't say anything. Dimitri eventually took pity on me and explained.

It was his cloak. “Alpha Dalton?” One of the warriors standing behind him called out. The handsome man turned his head towards the man who had spoken. A gasp left my mouth before I could stop it as I stepped back in fear. This was the Alpha Dalton. He was known for being reckless, intimidating and merciless. He normally wouldn’t think twice before killing someone who dared defy him. With a cold voice, Alpha Dalton asked “What the fuck is going on?” Sensing the coldness radiating from his voice, I flinched.

Then he set the knife down, his fingers folding together atop the table. His gaze lifted—and it was cold. Not angry, but distant. Guarded. “I know exactly what Valerian is doing,” he said evenly. Serena blinked. “You do?” He leaned back in his chair, and there was something in his voice that was harder now. Sharper. “He’s a master manipulator. He’s done this before—rattling borders, feeding fear, drawing attention without ever making a real move. He pushes his enemies into wasting their strength while he watches from the shadows. It’s not new.”

“We go to Washington and take them out of the equation. Isn’t it obvious?” The predatory grin on my face only grows when he says this. “Sounds like music to my ears.” Dimitri chuckles. “I haven’t gotten my Jagdkommando wet with blood in years. Hopefully, I am not too rusty.” “With all due respect, Dimitri, you’re the Bratva Bishop; I doubt you can get rusty,” I say, knowing that even though we were on equal footing now, I could never match up to the legend that is Dimitri Baranov.

After a spoonful of sugar Dimitry suddenly grabbed his hands. “Enough, I don't like coffee that's too sweet. The taste will change, "said Dimitry. "OK." Beverly stirred the coffee and sugar until dissolved and gave it to Dimitry. Every night, ever since Beverly was exposed to that neurotoxin, Dimitry has stayed over at Jackson's Island. Dimitry did it on purpose because he wanted to see Beverly's condition. The effect of the poison wasn't completely gone, Dimitry didn't want to see Beverly's condition getting worse just because Jackson couldn't treat her.

Her stomach turned as she read: DMITRI VOLKOV - THREAT ASSESSMENT Age: 52 Citizenship: Russian Federation Current Status: Cultural attaché at Russian consulate in New York (diplomatic immunity) Net Worth: Unknown, estimated $2-3 billion Background: Dmitri Volkov is the son of Yuri Volkov, a prominent Russian oligarch with alleged ties to organized crime and the FSB (Federal Security Service). Dmitri serves as cultural attaché at the Russian consulate in New York, a position widely believed to be a cover for intelligence activities. Criminal Allegations (Unproven): - Money laundering - Weapons trafficking - Association with organized crime figures - Intimidation and assault (multiple allegati

Dimitri didn’t believe in accidents. Not in business. Not in family. Certainly not when it came to the tangled knot that had become his life over the last seventy-two hours. So when he opened his secure server and typed in the search parameters—Volkov Gala, February 20XX, Masquerade Event, Private Floor Access, Camera 12-A—he wasn’t indulging paranoia. He was hunting facts. Because facts, unlike feelings, could be controlled. He sat alone in his study, bathed in pale morning light bleeding through the penthouse’s north windows. The skyline gleamed behind him, but he didn’t see it. His eyes were locked on the monitor as old file paths bloomed open like frost fractals across the screen.

“I asked your name. I want to know the name of the pathetic prick who needs to kidnap a woman to feel powerful.” He paused, “A tiny spark of the fire remains! Good. Don’t worry, Aryn. You will know my name intimately. You will remember it every night when you wake up screaming.” He leaned against the table, running a perfectly manicured finger across the cold steel. “My name is Dimitri. Dimitri Volkov. And I suggest you commit it to memory, because it is the name that will make you shake with terror for the rest of your short, miserable life.”

The eyes of a monster who had slaughtered his own family to take power. "Dimitri," I whispered. His smile widened, sharp and delighted. "Smart girl," Dimitri Stratovsky said. "I knew we would get along."

Some men loved to do that because they were a bunch of sick rapists. Hazel tried to look away thinking I was not going to approach her but if she thought that, she had another thing coming. “Alonzo,” I greeted. The man looked at me and smiled. His yellow teeth looked disgusting. I almost wanted to knock them out. Why would a rich man like him not invest in veneers? Maybe he enjoyed turning people off. “Markos—” “How much for your date?” I asked. Hazel’s eyes widened and she shook her head.