Kingpin's Foxglove (The Tarkhanov Empire Book 1) Page 6

  I decided to humor myself. “I’ll send Dmitri with her tomorrow.”

  Predictably, Roman’s eyes hardened. “Dmitri? Really? Isn’t he a walking corpse at the moment?”

  “I’m hoping Danika will be able to convince him to sleep. You know how persuasive she can be.”

  Roman grunted. “I’ll take her. Poor bastard is going through enough. The last thing he needs is to listen to Dani’s chatter.”

  “If you insist,” I relented, trying not to laugh.

  Odessa swung her head over the fence, trying to gain my attention. I brushed down her mane with my fingers.

  “Do you think he was telling the truth about the key?” Roman asked.

  “I believe he thinks he is telling the truth,” I noted. “We won’t know for sure until we’ve searched Thaddeo’s property.”

  Roman regarded me, picking up something in my tone. “Do you think his widow knows where it is?”

  “Not consciously.”

  “Fuck, Kon!” He rubbed his face. “Is that why you agreed to her curing Tatiana? You’re trying to find out what she knows?”

  “Everything I do usually has one or more agenda, Roman.” I stepped back from Odessa and waved the stable hand over. “Finding that key is imperative to establishing ourselves on Staten Island. And if someone else finds it before us…”

  Roman grimaced. “We may as well kiss all your hard work goodbye.”

  “Exactly.” I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Day one has been successful, but we must plan for the upcoming days.”

  “Especially for Tatiana and Dmitri.”

  I closed my eyes briefly at the mention of our sickening family member. “Especially for them.”

  Roman didn’t like to linger on dark topics, particularly ones concerning his family. For all his anger and nasty retorts, Roman did care for Dmitri and Tatiana and was handling Tatiana’s sickness as well as he could. So, I wasn’t surprised when Roman brought up the topic of the next horse race.

  “Artyom mentioned you’re considering inviting Ishida to the race?”

  I smiled slightly at Roman, “You and Artyom are no better than two old ladies.” At his scowl, I laughed and said, “It will be a good chance for Ishida and me to talk. Rumor has it he was never a fan of the Falcones.”

  “Was anyone?”

  “Vitale Lombardi.”

  “Has he still not congratulated you?” Roman demanded.

  I turned away from Odessa as the stable hand led her to her pen, cajoling her with treats and pats. As she left, Hilarion started towards us, anger in his eyes. Before he collided into the fence between their paddocks, he dug his hooves into the grass and came to a sudden stop, breathing hard. He got the reaction he wanted; the stable hand startled and dropped a carrot in shock.

  Before Odessa could swipe it, Hilarion stuck his head through the fence and grabbed it. He pulled up, looking awfully pleased with himself.

  “Hilarion,” I commanded quietly.

  He paused at the sound of my voice.

  The stable hand muttered something under his breath about how the stallion should be put down but fell quiet as he noticed me listening. His cheeks went red as he realized he had just insulted my champion in front of me.

  I assessed Hilarion. Even in his youth, he had been the most rambunctious colt in the paddock. His owner had been so sick of him that he had gladly sold him to me, warning me to double the strength of my fences and watch him with the other horses.

  Half-demon, his owner had told me the day I’d showed interest in the chestnut foal. That horse is half-fucking-demon.

  Perhaps Hilarion did carry some demon in his blood. But even the cretins of Hell had to serve a master.

  I rose a hand to the horse and Hilarion watched me closely.

  “Enough now,” I told him.

  Hilarion tossed his head, displeased, but obeyed my command. I didn’t believe he could understand English, or even Russian. But he was intuitive enough to know the shift in my tone, the warning timbre to my voice.

  It had been my tone that had been instrumental in training him. Even today, in his adulthood, Hilarion listened to no one but me. Whenever I introduced him to a new rider, I had to be there or risk Hilarion going ballistic.

  Only once before had his trainer tried to adapt him to a new jockey without me. It had ended in two broken noses and three sprained arms, but Hilarion had walked away just fine.

  “He’s more trouble than he’s worth,” Roman pointed out.

  “Funny,” I mused. “Many told me the same about you.”

  5

  Elena Falcone

  When the sun rose the next day, I was already awake.

  I pressed myself up against the window’s cold panes, searching the garden for movement. Some part of me ached to escape the bedroom and venture outside. I needed to feel the dirt beneath my feet, calm down my senses and brain after a stressful and restless night’s sleep.

  But I didn’t dare try. If I was caught, I could find myself in danger—or worse, small talk.

  The guest room was nice, but I hadn’t realized how much I had left behind until I had been tossing and turning in the sheets. Not only was it weird not falling asleep to the sound of Thaddeo’s snores, but the absence of my books and clothes had made me feel awkward and out of place.

  I was so itching to leave the room that I could almost burst from my skin.

  I wanted to read or write something or just take off into the woods, letting the earth take me into its arms.

  The word agitated came to mind, bouncing around my brain.

  Then in the underbrush, between the trunks of the trees, was another slither of movement. I caught sight of a huge hairy behind before the creature disappeared into the greenery.

  It had to be a dog of some kind, though the size indicated it was a wolf or bear. Whatever lurked in the woods had had my attention all night. When I couldn’t sleep, I had sat by the window, trying to be as close to the garden as possible, and spotted a few furry beasts stalking in the shadows.

  As the sun had risen, the creatures had grown less active, meaning my chances of seeing exactly what was lurking in the shadows was reduced by the minute. If one just stepped into the golden morning light, then I would be able to see what I had been watching for hours…

  A knock at the door caused me to startle.

  “Elena,” came the familiar voice of Danika. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  My stomach gurgled.

  I had barely touched the food Danika had brought me the night before. However, if I saw the meal prepared in front of me, I would eat it. My body needed it.

  Couldn’t very well find the cure on an empty stomach, could I?

  I opened the door for Danika. By her feet, so large she nearly came up to Danika’s knees, was Babushka. She assessed me coolly, her bushy tail swaying behind her.

  “She’s been at your door all night,” laughed Danika. “I’m surprised she didn’t murder you.”

  It was said in good humor, but the words made me tense. “You and I both.”

  Danika caught my reaction and her face softened. “Oh, Elena, I’m so sorry. I know it’s only been twenty-four hours.” She patted my arm comfortingly.

  She was referring to the death of my husband, but that wasn’t why I reacted.

  Konstantin is not going to lay a hand on you, I told myself rationally. The reaction from Chicago would be too severe. Plus, he needs you to cure Tatiana.

  “I’m not upset. Just jumpy,” I told her.

  “I can’t say I blame you. I remember my first night alone with these men. To be fair, I was a bit younger than you, but still it was pretty tense…” She trailed off, her eyes blurring slightly as she disappeared into her mind.

  I knew a post-traumatic stress episode when I saw one and lightly pressed her arm, so not to startle her. “What’s for breakfast? Danika?”

  Danika blinked, coming back to Earth. “Oh, sorry…” Despite being pale, she gave
me a bright grin. A part of me wondered how much the smiles and jokes hid the trauma in her mind.

  But I wouldn’t poke and prod. She was owed her privacy, just as I was owed my own.

  I also had enough problems on my plate. I didn’t need to take on anyone else’s.

  “Breakfast?” I repeated.

  Danika nodded and began to lead the way, the Siberian Cat shadowing us. We only got lost a few times, but the detours allowed me to take in more of the house, though the lack of furniture made it difficult to catalogue where we were exactly.

  It was the smell of bacon and eggs that ended up helping Danika find the kitchen.

  I was expecting breakfast to only consist of Danika and me. Instead, when we reached the kitchen, voices and the clattering of plates poured out. Danika didn’t look bothered as she pushed open the classical French doors and declared, “We’re here! I hope you didn’t eat all the croissants, Roman.”

  “I stopped him,” someone answered.

  Danika pulled me into the room.

  I noticed Konstantin first. He was sitting at the end of a small table, leaning back in his chair and looking strangely relaxed. His blonde hair was brushed neatly back, his suit immaculate, and his wristwatch gleaming mockingly in the morning light. A true gentleman, I thought.

  Konstantin caught my eyes and smiled slowly.

  I turned away, taking in the other members of the kitchen. I recognized Dmitri with his pale skin and icy blue eyes, as well as Roman with his tattooed cheeks and dog-like expression. The two unfamiliar faces were a man and woman sitting beside Konstantin at the table.

  The woman gracefully rose from where she was sitting, with long hair that was a shade away from white and delicate features. She smiled politely at me. The man remained in his seat, his dark eyes watching me from where he sat. Like Konstantin, he was also dressed in a suit.

  “Did you have a good sleep, Mrs Falcone?” Konstantin inquired.

  “Fine,” I gritted out. “The cat didn’t kill me.”

  I looked to his face to see a glint of humor bloom in his expression. “Always an upside.” He gestured a hand around the room. “You know Dmitri and Roman already, but I don’t believe you have met Artyom and Roksana Fattakhov. Artyom, Roksana, meet Elena Falcone.”

  Roksana stepped forward like she was going to shake my hand, but she didn’t offer it. “It is lovely to meet you. Are you hungry?”

  “I am,” I said.

  Danika dragged me to the table. Over her shoulder, I spotted Roman sending me a harsh look. I returned it with one of my own.

  I ended up being tucked in between Roksana and Danika, close enough to feel the weight of Konstantin’s stare on me. Some part of me wished I was still upstairs in my bedroom, hungry, but alone. Now I felt like I had stepped into some warped family breakfast.

  To my utter surprise, Roman and Dmitri brought the food to the table. I felt my jaw slacken as I watched them place the piles of pancakes and bacon into the middle of the table.

  “It’s Roman and Dmitri’s turn to cook,” Danika told me, “so get excited for your future food poisoning.”

  “That was one time!” Roman shot back.

  She ignored him and gave me a meaningful look.

  “One time too many, I say,” I said to agree with her.

  Danika brightened. “Exactly, Elena! My thoughts exactly.” She peered around my head, giving Roman a mocking glare. “Did you hear what Elena said, Roman?”

  Roman muttered something in Russian under his breath.

  “Let us not fight,” Roksana interrupted, her voice floating above everyone’s. “Poor Elena doesn’t need to hear all the bickering.”

  I didn’t mind. A part of me found it interesting listening to them argue, especially Danika and Roman. If I was nosy, I might’ve asked Danika about it. But my husband was barely cold, so I wasn’t in any position to get into someone else’s love life. Listening to them argue was satisfying enough.

  I stayed quiet as they chatted about their plans for the day, a blend of American and Russian accents. There was a strange domesticity to hearing them discuss the groceries and the paint they had to buy for the living room. Someone mentioned the plumber coming out at three, so someone had to be here to receive him.

  Of course, they spoke of all the domestic issues of the house. In my mind, I had built them up as mobster machines who only spoke of drug deals and racketeering.

  “What time does Anton’s day finish?” Roksana asked at one point.

  Dmitri glanced at the clock. “In three hours. I’m grabbing him.”

  Anton, I guessed, was Dmitri’s son. I hadn’t seen much signs that there was a child running around the place, but I hadn’t been here very long. Perhaps he was an abnormally clean toddler.

  I went to reach for a second slice of toast, but Dmitri’s cold voice snapped, “That’s not for you.”

  “Dmitri,” Artyom warned.

  I looked to Dmitri, his electric blue eyes glaring down at me. Keeping eye contact, I picked up the piece of bread and dropped it onto my plate.

  Someone swore under their breath.

  The cold fury that overtook his face made the room feel cooler. His lips parted, preparing to deliver a shattering insult, then—

  “Mrs Falcone is our guest, Dima.” It was Konstantin’s voice commanding the table. Even the scrap of forks and sounds of chewing paused beneath his words.

  Like a switch had been flicked, Dmitri’s lips pressed together, and he leaned back in his chair, retreating.

  I buttered my toast but didn’t take my eyes off the masculine icicle.

  The rest of breakfast continued without another hitch.

  As it dwindled to an end, people began to leave. Roksana floated away, saying something about Tatiana, with Dmitri and Artyom following with the intention of going to work. Even Danika bounced to her feet, tripping in the process.

  She squeezed my shoulder as she left, glancing at Konstantin and Roman warily.

  “Go tend to your duties, Danika,” Konstantin said kindly.

  To my surprise, Danika shot me an apologetic look as she left. Why did she care that she had thrown me to the wolves? We barely knew each other.

  I narrowed my eyes at Konstantin. He was dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin, his eyes trained on me.

  “Since you are staying here indefinitely, it is only appropriate I give you a tour,” Konstantin said, rising to his feet. Roman stood too.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do?” I demanded. Being alone with Konstantin and his dog of a bodyguard wasn’t high on my list of things I wanted to do.

  “Of course,” he said. “But I would be remiss to let you wander around cluelessly. I would hate for you to get lost and miss out on lunch.”

  “It’s a big house, Konstantin,” I replied. “Not the minotaur’s labyrinth.”

  Roman turned away; I could’ve sworn he was choking on a laugh.

  Konstantin did laugh. “Indeed. Come now, Mrs Falcone.”

  Konstantin went to the kitchen first, fetching something that I couldn’t make out, before gesturing to the classical doors that led to the gardens.

  “You can leave us, Roman,” Konstantin said as he held the door open for me. The crisp morning air tickled my cheeks. “Mrs Falcone wishes me no harm. Do you?”

  “You’ll know when I do,” I sniped, stepping outside.

  Roman didn’t want to leave, and I heard him exchange a few words with his boss. Konstantin must have won because he joined me outside without his pit bull. His palm remained closed.

  “What are you holding?” I asked.

  His eyes gleamed. “Curious?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

  Konstantin’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Your disrespect is almost admirable, Mrs Falcone. Did your husband enjoy it?”

  No. The first few months of our marriage had been a lesson in me biting my tongue. I had grown up with my aunts pinching my cheeks when I said something sar
castic, but it was easier to control myself around someone whom I didn’t live side by side with. I had woken up, eaten and lived beside Thaddeo.

  A few sarcastic slip-ups were expected—and very quickly led to punishments.

  Phantom pain tightened around my arm, the sensation of his grip still prominent in my memories.

  It’s all in your head, I told myself harshly. Get over it.

  The pain did not fade.

  “No?” Konstantin answered his own question. “Thaddeo must have been more patient than I thought.” His head turned to me, his eyes too knowing. “Or not.”

  “You could ask him if he wasn’t dead.” I gestured to the unruly garden, the overgrown flowers and wild roots. The paths were merely loose stones dotting through open spaces between the plants, not shaped or carved through. “Why are we out here?”

  “For your own safety, you need to be acquainted with the dogs.” Konstantin led me through the garden, towards the cluster of trees. As he neared, the underbrush shifted, and a huge furry head poked out.

  I stepped closer, my curiosity overtaking my survival instincts. “They’re not bears or wolves at all.”

  Konstantin opened his palm, revealing a collection of bone-shaped dog treats. “Hold out your hand.”

  I did and he dropped the treats into it.

  “Don’t let them steal them from you. If they suspect you are a doormat, they will not hesitate to take advantage of you.” He cast his eyes to the woods. “You need to make sure they know you’re the alpha, and a friend.”

  “I’m sure they already know who their alpha is,” I muttered.

  Konstantin smiled but didn’t say anything. Instead, he brought his fingers up to his lips and whistled loudly.

  The furry head stepped out from the bush and—

  I stepped back. “It’s bloody huge.”

  No wonder I had suspected they were bears or wolves. Before me stood the largest dog I had ever seen. I was tall, but the dog easily surpassed my hip, his nose high enough to reach my neck if he so pleased. He had near-black fur, with the exception of lighter brown patches around his nose and paws.

  “They’re bear-killers,” Konstantin said. “Or more commonly known as Caucasian Shepherd Dogs.”