Dmitri Prokofitch Novels & Stories

I wonder if it was intentional. Silence loomed heavily when Dimitri stopped playing. A swift end to an animated piece composed by Franz Liszt and Niccolò Paganini. La campanella, I wasn't surprised that he liked that composition. There was a rumour surrounding those two world renowned pianists, they were accused of selling their souls to the devil for such virtuosity.

Dmitri looked at the bodies. “Messy.” Then he smiled. “I approve.” I stared at him. “You’re insane.” “Probably.” He extended a hand toward me like we were meeting at a dinner party. “Dmitri Volkov.” Then he added casually. “Russian Bratva.” My stomach tightened slightly. Great. Another Russian. “Relax,” Dmitri said lightly, noticing my reaction. "I don't bite...unless you want me to." His eyes twinkled mischievously, making me wonder just how dangerous this man really was.

He was never fit to run a pack. I arrived at the tombs. At first they appeared uninhabited, but once you understood the layouts of the maze like crypts, you realize that you could weave through them easily. A fire lit torch burned brightly at the entrance, and I took it making my way through the tomb. "Nikolai Rydor," an attendant's voice bounced off the walls of the tomb. "We've been expecting you." I nodded, going after her. And soon we came up upon the elders gathering.

When Dmitri called, you jumped. And when he had asked Worthington to step in and find out more about Delano, Worthington had leapt at the chance to oblige. No one ever said ‘No’ to Dmitri Rudenko. He was a sick bugger all right. His vats of acid where it was rumoured he dunked his rivals and opponents, leaving them to die a painful death, were whispered about fearfully.

“Secretary of whom?” “Dimitri Kingston.” My eyes widened to the size of saucers. “What!” *** This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ***

Dmitri didn’t just kill his brother—he made sure it was on his terms. Dante studies him for a long moment before asking, “And his replacement?” Dmitri inclines his head slightly. “I chose a successor.” “Who?” Dmitri’s smile doesn’t change. “A man I trust.” That’s all he says. No name, no details, nothing. Just that. Vague as fuck, but that’s Dmitri Mikhailov for you.

“ If you don’t mind me saying this, I think we have waited long enough. It’s best if we talked about what brought us here so we could handle more important matters. “ Viktor said. He was the head of the security detail to make sure all the ranks and Nikolai remained protected. “ More important issues? “ I asked while cocking my eyebrow at him. “ Yes. The war with the Russians, for example. “ He replied. I laughed, eliciting dirty looks from the ranks. “ Is there something funny with what he said? “Vincenzo asked. Everywhere there was disrespect towards me, Vincenzo had to be involved. “ As a matter of fact, there is. How do you expect to fight the Russians if you have battles in the family?

Or is he just older than he looks? “Dad, Leonardo and Natalia Moretti,” Dmitri says, finishing the introductions. It doesn’t escape my notice that he deliberately does not mention Leo’s title, a silent fuck you to him. My brother doesn’t seem to care, too preoccupied with staring at the man in front of him. I catch the faint glint of respect in his eyes as he stands and extends his hand for a handshake. “It’s an honor to meet you, Volkov. Your reputation preceds you.”

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

I spit out fiery. Arlette gulped, shifting on each leg. “Who were the guys?” I asked, staring at her naked body, her small curvy frame designed against the wall. Arlette shrugged, then answered my question. “Some Russians. I don’t know their names, but one guy, the main guy, his name was Dimitri Volkov,” she said. As if the guys being Russians didn’t give them off already, but fucking, Dimitri Volkov? That was the Bratva’s Pakhan and he was ruthless and as sneaky as a snake.