Free The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Volume 7 (The Medlov Crime Family Short Stories Series) by Latrivia S. Nelson Page A

etim delat' imenno?” He said in a deep, low, taunting voice into Ivan’s ear.
    “Oh, I’m going to do something about it,” Ivan smirked.
    “What are you going to do?” Dmitry asked, ready.
    Ivan shrugged with the grin still on his face, even though he knew what was coming. “I told you. I’m going to Russia, and I’m going to find Alexandria to give her the best night…”
                  Before Ivan could finish his statement, Dmitry picked him off the floor nearly two feet in the air and carried him several feet back into the wooden book shelf, knocking books and trinkets to the floor. Ivan’s head hit the wood with a clang, but he used the shelves to climb backwards and pull himself up above Dmitry just enough land his right elbow onto of Dmitry’s shoulder.  Unable to get free, he punched Dmitry in the face, but the man did not budge. 
                  Reaching back, Dmitry penned Ivan with one hand to the shelf and punched into his rib cage with the other, knocking the wind from him.  When Ivan went slack for a moment, Dmitry picked Ivan’s 250 pound body up by his shirt and belt and threw him to the corner of the room on top of the nightstand.
                  Landing on his back, Ivan knocked the lamp and picture of Catherine down.   Dizzy, he fought to gain his balance, before his brother could strike again. 
                  Running a hand through his hair, Dmitry flexed.  “It’s been a long time, but I think you need to remember who the boss of this house is,” he said, voice still low.  Pissed, he kicked the books out of his way. 
                  Ivan fell off the nightstand on the floor and at the same time grabbed the brass candle stick holder between the bed and table.  “Give me your best shot, motherfucker,” he said, raising up in a defensive stance.
                  Incensed by the fact that Ivan thought a candlestick holder was going to stop him, Dmitry rushed him, picking Ivan up again and carrying him completely over the bed. In mid-flight, Ivan beat the stick into Dmitry’s back, but as they fell, Ivan was the first to hit the floor. 
                  Sitting up on top of Ivan’s chest, Dmitry punched him hard in the face with his right hand and tried to snatch the holder of out Ivan’s hand with the other, but Ivan was able to roll his brother over after several punches and get on top of him.
                  Aiming for Dmitry’s face with the holder, Ivan tried to bash his head in, but Dmitry caught the holder only inches from his face and at the same time caught Ivan by the neck.  Throwing him off of him, he punched him again, this time in the temple.
                  They struggled in the floor, rolling and punching, until they ended up at the wall.  Blood flew onto the carpet from both of them as punches rang out.
                  Hearing the struggle throughout the halls of the house, the guards and Davyd headed back up the red, carpeted staircase, but as they did, they saw Ivan’s nearly 7’ body fly through the opening of Dmitry’s bedroom and land with a thud.
                  Dmitry had kicked him dead center in his chest with his barefoot, but his thighs were so powerful until carried the man out of the room.
                  Coming out of the broken door behind him clad only in his underwear, Dmitry reached for Ivan’s head and pulled him back up to his feet by his black curly locks. “I’m not done with you yet,” Dmitry grunted before he punched him again. 
                  Ivan hit the wall and knocked down a painting of Catherine’s mother. 
                  “Fuck you!” Ivan spat, falling back. 
                  “Fuck me?” Dmitry said, swinging another air-bending punch.  As he did, Ivan found enough strength to move his head.  Like a bulldozer, Dmitry’s hand