Kingpin's Foxglove (The Tarkhanov Empire Book 1) Read online

  “What’s hard?” I hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, especially since Danika was apparently my only ally—in the loosest sense of the term. But I really didn’t want to discuss it. “Were you looking for me?”

  Danika nodded. “Konstantin wants to brief us on the third murder. He’s waiting for us in his office.”

  “Third murder?” I stepped away from the wall. “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t know?” Her eyes searched my expression. “Thaddeo really never said anything?”

  I shook my head.

  “Strange…” Her cheeks suddenly pinkened. “Sorry, I know he’s dead. It’s not okay to speak badly of the dead.” Danika patted my arm. “Let’s go, yeah? I’ll catch you up.”

  My mind flashed back to the newspaper I had left on the kitchen counter. It felt like a lifetime ago, despite it being only yesterday. “Does it have something to do with Eithne McDermott?”

  “The second victim,” Danika confirmed. We began to walk towards the study, Danika outlining all I needed to know. “Three women have been murdered over the past couple of months. First was Letizia Zetticci—she was poisoned. Then Eithne McDermott. I think she was hit in the back of her head. Kostya’s going to tell us about the third, a woman named...well, Roman called her Melanie but I think he was trying to trick me.”

  I frowned. “So? Women die all the time, Danika. Why does your Pakhan care about these ones?”

  We reached Konstantin’s study. Danika pressed on the door, giving me a strange look. “Didn’t I mention? All the women had their teeth removed post-mortem.” With that she stepped into the study, me hot on her heels.

  “What do you mean all their teeth were removed?” I demanded.

  “She means,” came Konstantin’s purring voice, “that all three women’s bodies were found toothless.”

  Sitting at his desk, Konstantin was leaning back in his chair, that fucking cat Babushka comfortable on his lap. Leaning on the wall behind him, Roman stood in the shadows, top lip curled up. The other person in the study was Roksana, her head of white-blonde hair visible over the top of a chair.

  “Take a seat, ladies.” Konstantin waved a hand, the other stroking Babushka. “Danika, you have updated Elena?”

  Danika blinked at Konstantin like something had surprised her. “Yes, I updated Elena.” Her gaze moved to me in question but she didn’t say anything.

  Roksana peered over the chair she was sitting on, her gray eyes taking me in. She sent me a slight smile, like she wasn’t sure what to make of me being here.

  “A third woman has been found dead,” Konstantin said, getting right down to business. “Mallory Nicollier, daughter of Claude Nicollier. Her father is part of Lefebvre’s Union.”

  “You said Melanie,” Danika directed this accusation to Roman.

  His sneer disappeared for a second to grin at Danika. “Did I? Whoops.”

  Konstantin didn’t entertain their bickering. “The Union hasn’t reacted yet, but I want you to be on your guard. You included, Elena.”

  I scanned his expression, realization settling into my gut. “You think someone is going around killing these women and removing their teeth?”

  “I thought you said they were inside jobs.” This came from Roksana. She sounded a lot more worried than I.

  “Perhaps they are,” Konstantin said. “But until we know that for certain, we’re not taking any chances. Artyom will tell you, Roksana, but you will be required to take Mikhail with you to the ballet.”

  Roksana didn’t look pleased with her Pakhan’s command but nodded. “Of course, sir.”

  “I will make sure he wears a suit,” Konstantin assured her.

  She forced a smile but no one in the study was convinced.

  Roksana’s dislike towards this ‘Mikhail’ or the act of having a bodyguard interested me. Women who grew up in the mafia were used to having more protection, since it was believed they couldn’t defend themselves against an enemy if the situation arose. Roksana didn’t seem like she was one to break the mold—though, I didn’t really know her. So, who was I to say?

  “Has the Union responded?” Danika asked.

  I glanced at her. Her expression remained bright and friendly, but her eyes had hardened into a look of calculation.

  You have underestimated her, Elena, I told myself.

  “No. They continue to stay quiet,” Konstantin answered, not shielding any information.

  Danika tucked her legs under her. “Strange,” she muttered. “Though Lefebvre has never been one to react quickly.”

  How did she know that? From overhearing snippets of conversations throughout the years, I knew that Lefebvre was the leader of a Corsican Union located around North Dakota and Minnesota. I didn’t know any of his character traits. I had never been privy to those.

  Why was Danika?

  “Indeed,” Konstantin agreed. His light brown eyes focused on me. “Did your husband mention anything?”

  “No. I only knew Eithne McDermott was dead because of the newspaper.” I picked at Tatiana’s medical files in my lap. “Thaddeo never shared much about his work with me.”

  Roman huffed. “I told you that.”

  I wasn’t sure who he was addressing until Konstantin nodded, “You did.”

  Obviously, they had been discussing me behind closed doors. I was, technically, a security threat. But still knowing they had been deciphering how much knowledge I had on the Falcone organization annoyed me. I felt like telling them I knew a lot more than they thought but kept my mouth shut.

  “Is that all?” I asked. “I have things to do.”

  Roman stepped forward, ready to say something, but Konstantin held up a hand. Immediately, his pit bull returned to his post.

  I gave him a poisonous smile.

  Roman bared his teeth in response.

  “You’re all excused. Danika, if I might have a word…”

  As I left, I looked down at the medical files and thought, what the fuck am I meant to do now?

  7

  Konstantin Tarkhanov

  Deep cavernous holes disrupted the once picture-perfect garden of the Falcone property. My men spread the land, shovels in hand dripping with sweat as time wore on.

  “We’re running out of places to search,” I said.

  Beside me, Feodor Rodzyanko nodded. “Falcone might have been smarter than we think.” He laughed as soon as the words left his mouth. “Ha! I doubt it. We haven’t checked the land beneath the greenhouse yet.”

  “That greenhouse has stood for many decades. We would be able to tell if Thaddeo had disrupted it.” I scanned the holes, as though amongst the dirt and roots I might be able to spot the treasure I sought.

  “Have you asked his pretty widow yet?” Feodor asked. “Women like to listen in on conversations. I’m sure she knows something.”

  Thaddeo’s pretty widow did know something. In fact, Elena’s reaction when I had mentioned it to her had shown me not only that she knew of the key but had seen it. Her lie had been subtle, barely noticeable if you hadn’t been searching for it, but behind her dark green eyes there had been a flicker of familiarity... A flicker of fear.

  “She does,” I said.

  He snapped his head to me. “Well?” he prompted. “Does she know where it is?”

  “Elena denied knowing anything about it.” I looked to the Falcone manor, where Elena had lived for nearly a year. Was there proof she had made a home there? Or was it just as cold and perfect as the garden?

  “Did you get your little interrogator to ask her?”

  I smiled at his description of Danika. Little Interrogator was one of the more patronizing names the older men had given her over the years. It bothered Roman a lot more than it bothered Dani; she always laughed at the title.

  To Feodor’s credit, it was quite accurate. Danika wasn’t very tall, and she was one of the best interrogators in the world.

  The only person who had ever been immune to her charms and intelligence h
ad been Roman. Perhaps it had been growing up on the streets that had made him harder to break than the average soul, or maybe his attitude meant Danika never wanted to get close enough to actually try and dissect information from him.

  Whatever the reason, the two often found themselves on opposing sides. Fighting like little children on the playground.

  “Danika,” I said, “has barely started interrogating Elena. So far, she has deciphered the marriage and Elena’s relationship with the Falcones. Anything else will take time. Elena’s not very forthcoming.”

  “Women love chatting,” Feodor said. “I’m sure she’ll start sharing soon enough.”

  Disregarding his stereotypical views on women, Feodor did have a point. Danika had never failed once, and with time, it was guaranteed Elena would end up sharing a piece of information that would be vital.

  “We shall see,” I replied.

  A strange part of me hoped she didn’t succumb to Danika, that she kept her secrets locked up tight. Despite that not benefitting me or my Bratva at all.

  Feodor narrowed his eyes at me. He had known me when I was a child and had known me as a mob boss even longer. “Artyom mentioned Thaddeo’s widow is living at the house.”

  “Elena insists she knows what is wrong with Tatiana and can cure her.” I glanced at Feodor. “Is there something you want to say?”

  He wasted no time. “Now more than ever, you need to assert yourself as a powerful figure and one willing to play nice with the other organizations. Parading around the widow of your enemy is not…”

  I laughed. “Since when did you become quite the publicist?” At his expression, I said, “Elena is my guest. She has the blessing of the Rocchettis and me to stay in New York. There is no reason to be worried, Feodor.”

  “The Rocchettis…did the Chicago Don give permission?”

  There was only one permission Feodor was referring to.

  “Boss!” Yelled a voice before I could answer.

  Immediately, Feodor and I both turned, hoping for good news.

  Instead, one of my men pointed down at a hole, his expression tight. “We hit a pipe.”

  Water was filling the hole in question, muddy and opaque. If the key was there, it was beneath meters of disgusting water and days away from being useful to me.

  “We need to find this key, Kostya—”

  “I’m aware.” I cut Feodor off and gestured to the men. “Do what you can. But we are not leaving this property until we find the key.”

  I worked my jaw. I should have kept more Falcones alive. Overthrowing the family would have been harder but there would’ve been more people who knew where this key was.

  You do have one Falcone left, said a small voice in the back of my head. An image of Elena came to mind, her long straight brown hair framing her sharp but wild features. Even in my mind, her eyes were narrowed with irritation and her lips parted as she said something sarcastic.

  I turned on my heel and headed towards the manor, waving away my men who tried to accompany me. Roman would shit a brick when he found out I had entered our enemies house alone, but all our enemies were dead, or those who weren’t soon would be.

  As I had expected, Falcone’s taste bordered on mundane to ugly. The layout wasn’t complicated—a design flaw on his behalf—and I easily found his office. Whereas the rest of the house had been plain, Thaddeo’s office held the most intrigue and interest.

  This obviously had been where he spent most of his time, despite the allure of Elena outside and upstairs.

  Stupid man, I thought, scanning the room. But one man’s loss is another man’s treasure.

  My men had already torn through the Falcone manor, going through all the documents and safes. There was nothing left to be read or seen.

  Thaddeo had lived on the earth for thirty years and failed to leave any real mark. It had taken barely an hour to learn all we could from him, memorize his legacy and then throw it away with his flesh and bones.

  But nothing about that key had been found.

  A second look in his office proved useless, with the only notable objects being his phone and a bottle of heart medication. The phone had been scoured, but there was nothing on there we hadn’t already known.

  I found myself walking around the house. I liked running my hands along Thaddeo’s walls and striding over his floors in my shoes.

  This was all mine now—I didn’t want any of it.

  Many of my men, Roman especially, were itching to burn it down. The last final act against our enemies. But I liked keeping it here, liked showing everyone that I’d intruded Thaddeo’s place of rest and shot him in the head.

  He hadn’t been safe, and neither were they.

  Loud violent acts were not always the way to go. Sometimes quiet, haunting reminders served a king better.

  As I went to leave, I walked through the kitchen. To my surprise, this was the first place I found any sign that Elena had lived here. In a pile next to the back door, leading out to the garden, was a worn tower of books and a flowerpot filled with a vibrant lilac flower.

  I picked up the book at the top of the pile, tossing it in between my hands. It was worn and old, dedicated to someone else in old faded calligraphy.

  Behind me, the door suddenly burst open and Feodor came storming in, his booming voice entering the room before he did. Anger and disgust gripped his features.

  “Kostya, another woman has been found.”

  I didn’t turn around. “Who?” I asked darkly.

  “Annabella Benéitez.”

  I turned slowly to take in Feodor’s expression. It resembled how I felt. “Eleazar’s granddaughter.”

  Feodor nodded. “She was found outside her school. How she died hasn’t been confirmed, but her body was found without teeth.”

  I placed the book back onto the pile, precise and slow. “Eleazar?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  I ground my molars. Deep inside me, stirring like a cobra to a flute, visceral rage began to grow.

  “I see,” I said quietly.

  My Sovietnik shifted on his feet, his usually bright expression dampened. “What are we going to do, Boss?”

  My eyes caught sight of a newspaper on the kitchen counter. Eithne McDermott’s picture stained the front page.

  “What we have done every time we have been under attack,” I replied. “Go to war.”

  Before the day was up, Eleazar Benéitez, drug lord of the Benéitez Cartel, had made his move.

  If you hadn’t been watching for it, you might not have noticed. But as the hours after his granddaughter’s death wore on, it became clear.

  Benéitez protected the women. Any female related or associated with the Cartel was taken under his protection, moved to high-security homes, or found themselves followed by bodyguards at all times.

  Eleazar believed we were under attack—why else would he take such measures?

  “They’re speeding up,” Dmitri observed as we were discussing the death in my study. My men and the women spread around the room, and even Babushka had shown her face. The only person missing was Elena. “Something has frightened them.”

  “Or maybe they feel more confident,” Roman argued, sitting on the floor and leaning against a bookshelf. “They have successfully killed four women without leaving any evidence. I’d be feeling pretty fucking confident, too.”

  “Eleazar’s reaction is interesting.” This came from Artyom. He sat in a chair, Roksana on his lap, her white hair framing his shoulders.

  Everyone looked to Danika. Curled up on a chair, balancing on her ankles, Danika wore a calculating expression. “These are precautionary actions he is taking, but I think it would be bold to assume he knows nothing. How quickly he acted…That is the timeline of a man who knows something more than the rest of us.”

  I agreed with Danika. Benéitez was no fool—you didn’t rule a Cartel for over six decades being an idiot.

  Feodor spoke up, leaning against the back of Danika’s chair. “
Benéitez is known for his high security. There is a good chance one of his men or cameras caught something.”

  “Or maybe even a child at the school,” Olezka said, sounding sad about the fact.

  I nodded, processing the information and coming to a conclusion.

  “Keep an eye on the Lombardis, McDermotts and Lefebvres. There is no doubt they are watching Benéitez too, and I’m curious to see how they respond.”

  With that final statement, my family began to disperse. Danika stretched out her legs. “Do you want me to tell Elena?”

  “It is none of her business,” Dmitri said sharply. He was in a particularly sour mood after Tatiana had expressed that she liked Elena to her husband; Dmitri saw that as a personal attack. “She is here to help my wife, not advise us on mafia issues.”

  Roman nodded in agreement. Even Roksana looked like she agreed—though I’m sure her reasons differed from the men.

  I ignored them and said to Danika, “I will tell Elena.”

  “Have you gotten anything out of her yet?” Roman asked, looking up at Danika from the floor. Neither of them knew how to use furniture properly.

  Danika shook her head, glancing briefly at me. “No, not yet. She is...”

  “A bitch?” Roman said.

  “Roman,” I warned.

  He took in my expression and quickly muttered a sorry.

  “I was going to say aloof,” Danika interrupted. “She’s just a little harder than everyone else, with the limitations. I’ll crack her, don’t worry.”

  We discussed a few more pressing issues before the meeting was dismissed. Artyom briefed us on the security for the horserace in a few days, while Feodor updated us all on how the lab was progressing and when the next shipment would be ready.

  After the meeting, I sought out Elena. She wasn’t in her room or with Tatiana; instead I found her in the library.

  Elena kneeled on the floor, books fanned out in front of her that she looked to be sorting out. Her curtain of brown hair fell forward, hiding her face from view.

  She stretched forward to grab a book out of reach, giving me a nice view of her backside. From her sweet peach-shaped ass to her long, blemish-free neck, Elena was the definition of temptation. She was a tall, lithe woman; close enough to my height that I would be able to kiss her while entering her. Her hollows and curves had been the main characters of all my dreams for the past year.