Empress of Poisons ARC

by Bree Porter

  Yes, it is, I sent back.

  Nikolai took his mother’s hand, letting her lead him out. As he went, he turned back to me and gave a little wave. “Nun-night.”

  Elena sent me another heated look. Say it back, you piece of shit.

  “Good night, Nikolai.” I didn’t look at his mother. “Elena.”

  If her son wasn’t there, she might’ve cussed me out again. Instead, Elena reigned back her temper, scooped up the toddler and left.

  In a calculated move on her part, she left the study door open.

  I knew she would feel satisfied in the idea that I would get up and close it behind her, like I was her damn butler.

  When I stepped around my desk to close the door, I paused by the hallway. I told myself that I was just checking for threats, just stretching my legs.

  But even I couldn’t fool myself.

  Through the walls, I could hear Elena cooing to her son. Every now and then he would let out a jubilant giggle before falling quiet under his mother’s shushing. I could hear her voice running over words and rising in tempo, which meant she was reading him a story.

  I leaned against the wall and listened.

  The words were muffled but it was her tone I was enamoured by. How delicate and sweet her voice was when she was speaking to her son, how patient and loving she was when she described and explained the world around him.

  Even in the forest, when we had first found them and were walking to the vehicles, she had answered all his questions.

  Birdie?

  Yes, that’s a woodpecker.

  Wood-pecher?

  Pecker. Remember your k sound.

  K, k, k, he had repeated until Elena had laughed. Woodpecker.

  Elena often balanced on the line between patience and impatience. She could struggle with people who didn’t understand concepts as fast as she could or grew annoyed quickly by conventional ways to do things. But she had also sat with Roman for hours when she taught him how to read and had waited over the course of months when she had killed her father.

  Listening to the two of them...

  It was difficult to describe how it made me feel. I had felt anger, sadness, joy, all in the past few hours. Usually, all at the same time.

  I adored my nephew and niece, doted on them with the intention of always having children of myself one day. But I had missed nearly three years of Nikolai’s life. I hadn’t seen him as a fresh newborn or seen him take his first steps. I didn’t even know his first word–and I had only learnt his full name three minutes ago.

  I had been cheated; Nikolai had been cheated. Our relationship had never formed or grown, and for what? So, Elena could live with her freedom?

  Elena had never even had the chance at freedom. She had had a child to take care of, and then when Nikolai was old enough to go to school, Tatiana had sent her men to hunt Elena down.

  Tatiana’s involvement in this situation was cause for concern. Why now? Why would she choose to strike now?

  I had long suspected that her silence over the past few years had been so she had time to build her army. Yet, when my men and the other organisations had looked, there had been no proof of an army–or even Tatiana herself.

  She had managed to outsmart us all again.

  Except now, my failure at capturing her didn’t only threaten my family or the women I loved. But also, my niece, my nephew...and my son.

  The ringtone cut through my brooding, allowing me a momentary distraction from the twister that were my thoughts.

  “Yes.” I answered.

  “Boss,” it was Feodor. “We’ve got the Don of Manhattan on the line.”

  “Patch him through.”

  The dial ran for a second before Giovanni Vigliano’s voice said, “You need a secretary.”

  “I have one. Only don’t tell Feodor.”

  He didn’t laugh but Giovanni never did. I imagined it was because he didn’t see the point of laughing. Whereas I laughed to calm the people around me or charm those who needed to be charmed, Giovanni wouldn’t bother.

  He’s a psychopath, Roman had said to me the first time we had met with Giovanni privately.

  Psychopaths try to blend in, Artyom had replied. They’re charming and productive in society. Giovanni is...Giovanni is simply apathetic.

  I agreed with Artyom. The emptiness inside of Giovanni couldn’t be explained away by a medical term. It was something much more horrific than that.

  “I hear your little woman is back.” Giovanni said. “Can I believe your murderous rampages are also coming to an end?”

  I leaned back in my chair, smiling to myself. “You’re one to talk.”

  “Indeed.”

  “While I have you on the phone, I have to thank you for the boat. It cut our travel time in half.”

  “You did me a favour and now I have done you one. We are even.” A few months after Elena had left, Giovanni and his new wife had found themselves in a spot of trouble–and I had been more than happy to offer them a helping hand.

  “For now,” I replied.

  Giovanni made a noise of agreement. “I hear you’ve found yourself with an heir. Congratulations.”

  My grip tightened on the phone. “His mother and I are not married.” A sly dig at Giovanni’s own parentage. “If he wants a kingdom, he’ll have to kill an old don and marry his daughter.”

  “Or steal his widow.” Giovanni countered.

  “Very true.” I picked an invisible piece of lint off my slacks. “Such examples we have set for our boys.”

  The don didn’t laugh but there was humour in his voice when he replied, “Let us hope their mothers are better influences.”

  Neither of us believed that.

  “I rang to inquire after the Titus situation. Is she back?”

  For the first time in decades, mafia bosses had been putting their rivalries and differences aside to hunt down Titus. She killed innocent women and children–everyone wanted a bite. Giovanni and I had been working close together. He hadn’t forgiven her for her attempt on his daughter, Marzia’s, life.

  “Her lackeys are–and working hard. But the woman herself remains hidden.”

  “Let me know if there are any updates.”

  “You, as well.”

  We hung up, much more cordial with each other than we had been all those years ago. Time–funny thing, wasn’t it? It could soothe as well as ache. It could lessen pain but could also build resentment. The worse thing was you couldn’t take a break, it continued going and going until you looked back and thought where did the time go?

  When I left the study, lured by the smell of bacon, Roman found me. His expression was bleak and his nose had doubled in size, blood dripping.

  “Dmitri?”

  My byki sighed. “Dmitri.”

  “Where?”

  Roman’s face warped. “Are you sure you want to deal with him, boss?”

  The meaning behind his words wasn’t hard to decipher. To him, I was a powder keg ready to explode–pairing me with a drunk Dmitri would only end in disaster.

  “Where?” I repeated.

  He didn’t bother hiding the worry in his eyes as he said, “His bathroom.” He looked like he might say something else, either a warning or piece of advice, but he fell silent. Roman wouldn’t dare risk my temper these days, but then again who would?

  She did, a voice whispered in my mind.

  I ignored it and went to find Dmitri.

  I found Dmitri on the floor of his bathroom, discarded bottles of vodka placed around him like a bizarre ritual. His head hung low, hair matted and sticky. His right hand was bleeding, the swelling around the knuckles indicating that Roman’s face had been the reason for the injuries.

  “Dima?”

  Dmitri had been raised in the States and hardly ever used Russian pet names. He even forgot to add the -a suffix to women’s surnames when speaking to Russian-born women. But in this moment, he rep
lied, “Kostya?”

  I bent down to his level, glancing briefly at his hand. The wounds weren’t deep–he wouldn’t need medical attention. “What’s the matter?”

  Dmitri lifted his head. He had always cutting features, like he was made up of straight lines. Danika had once pressed her finger to his cheekbone and asked him if it could cut her it was so sharp. Anton used to reach up and yell ‘spiky!’

  Now, his features made him look gaunt and hollow, all the life drawn from his body. The once electric blue eyes were now deep and dark, filled with nothing but pain.

  “Brother,” he said, voice heavy and slurred.

  “Brother,” I cupped the back of his head, squeezing hard. The pain momentarily cleared his brain. “You know the bottom of the bottle is not a cure.”

  “Miss my wife,” he grumbled.

  I briefly closed my eyes. “I know you do.”

  “Miss my son.” Dmitri gestured into the open air. “Miss my daughter.”

  “I miss them, too.”

  “It’s not the–” he hiccupped “–same. You got yours back.” Dmitri put his hand to his heart, like he was showing me where it hurt. “I’m never getting mine back.”

  I resisted the urge to go ballistic, to let my madness take over. I could feel it on the fringes of my mind, like mold that was slowly growing over my hypothalamus and cerebellum. Even the slightest mention of that woman and the secret she had kept from me was enough to ignite the beast that roamed beneath my skin.

  In a rare moment of control, I merely said, “Your son is downstairs now, waiting for his father.”

  Anton was waiting for his father. Even if physically they were only metres apart, the two of them were separated by a canyon of loss and misery.

  Dmitri shook his head. “Can’t…I can’t be what he needs. What he deserves…” His chest rattled with an unspoken sob. “God, we’re all just our parents. Just repeats of the same fucking story over and over until the trauma is in our fucking genetics.”

  “None of us are our parents.”

  “Artyom said you look like your mother sometimes.” He grumbled. “When you’re in your…madness, when Elena first left…”

  My grip on his hair tightened. “We all look like our parents. It can’t be helped.”

  “Anton looks like me…Nikolai looks like you. Poor boys.” Dmitri gave me a sarcastic smile. “What will we do to them before our time is up?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Evva will be fine but the boys? Oh, our sons, the boys. Maybe Elena had the right idea…not letting him be raised here. Not letting him be raised by you.”

  “Now I see why Roman was so angry with you.” I tried to smother my temper, tried to remind myself that Dmitri was sad and drunk. It was easier said than done.

  Dmitri shrugged. “I told him the truth.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “He needs…” His trail of thought dropped off before he found it again. “Danika will not wait much longer.”

  “I always assumed Roman was the pursuer and Danika was the denier,” I said.

  Dmitri shook his head. “Danika has loved Roman since she laid eyes on him…She told me not to say anything so…don’t tell her I told you.”

  “I won’t.”

  “But not much longer…she is a woman now. Puppy dog crushes do not stand the test of time.”

  “No, they do not.” I gave him another squeeze. “The worst part is all we can do is watch them. These people we practically raised. Let us hope they won’t make too big of a mess of each other?”

  Dmitri smiled blearily. “Good practice for the babies.”

  “Good practice for the babies,” I agreed. I almost cringed with the next thought that came to my mind. “I don’t want to even think about them dating. Roksana will need a tranquiliser for Artyom.”

  He grumbled. “I already pity the boy who tries to date our niece.”

  I laughed. “As do I. But let us not worry about that now. They are children. Anton is a child. He needs his dad. Go be his father, Dmitri.”

  Dmitri leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine.

  We stayed in our embrace for a few minutes, both breathing quietly.

  I recalled the day he had shown up at my doorstep. He had been raised by a Vor and had known no other life than one of crime. His entire youth he had gone from Bratva to Bratva, Pakhan to Pakhan, looking for someone to serve.

  Dmitri had knocked on my door. He had been younger but darkened by life. A worthy soldier of my empire.

  I am here to serve the one they call the Russian Gentleman, he had said.

  That is what they call me, yes.

  His dark blue eyes had sized me up. Alright then, he had said finally. I am Dmitri Gribkov.

  I didn’t shake his hand. Konstantin Tarkhanov. Come in.

  Artyom had nearly burst a vein when I had recounted the tale to him later. He couldn’t believe I had let a stranger into our home like we were old friends. Roksana had calmed him down, assuring him that sometimes you just know when to let people into your home.

  Dmitri hadn’t stood out the makeshift foyer. We had been living at a temporary home while ensuring a more permanent place of residence. In fact, Dmitri had stood there and assessed the place like he had been there a thousand times.

  Dmitri, I had broken the silence. Consider this your job interview.

  Sir.

  I had walked around him, a lion circling its prey. Tell me about yourself. Father?

  Soldier for Smirnoff Bratva.

  Mother?

  Teacher.

  You?

  This is all I ever known.

  How did you find my address?

  Someone…told me it was in this area. I figured this was yours.

  How so?

  This is the only building armoured to the teeth.

  I thought we were being discreet.

  To the normal pedestrian, sure. But I was raised in this world. I saw the security cameras, dogs tied up to the gate. So, I knocked.

  What brought you here?

  Dmitri had taken a deep breath. I have served dozens of men, all who think they’re greater than the last. I have watched them make the decisions of cowards and torture their loyal men. I was not made to be a passing thought, an ink stain on a page.

  What were you made for?

  I was made to serve an empire. I am not a novel; but I am an important chapter. I am necessary to the story. That is what I was made for: to serve and build and bring glory to those I deem worthy for it.

  How do you figure I am worthy?

  He met my eyes in blazing force, the colour so bright they could’ve been their own sources of light–the sun be damned. You did not kill your brothers or disrupt the peace of Russia. Instead, you came here and grew. You have acquired power slowly, but it is power that does not disappear. You are building an empire to rule for centuries, for your children and grandchildren. I want to be a part of that.

  I smiled and held out my hand. Welcome, Dmitri. May we build an empire together that both our sons can rule and one our grandsons can inherit.

  Dmitri hadn’t been listening to me, however. His eyes had gone to the top of the staircase, where Tatiana had been coming down from.

  Oh, Kostya, she had laughed. Who have you brought into our house? Artyom will kill you.

  He held out his hand, his attention trained on her with such tenacity I might’ve not even been there. Dmitri Gribkov, miss.

  Tatiana had laid her hand in his, as delicate as a butterfly landing on a leaf. Please…call me Tatiana.

  They had been married a year later. Anton had come not long after.

  In love, I had always thought when I spotted them together. They are two people in love.

  I had been wrong. We had all been wrong.

  “Brother,” I breathed. “Let me bare this pain for you.”

  “No,” he sighed. “It
is my job to endure it. I am her husband, her other half. I cannot let it touch our son. I can’t let Anton feel this.”

  I didn’t release my grip. “Nothing will touch him.”

  “Our sons are safe now. But not forever. No one can stay safe forever.”

  It was a horrible thought, but Dmitri was right.

  No one could stay safe forever.

  That was where Artyom found us. He was breathing heavily like he had bolted to us as soon as he heard I was alone with Dmitri. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have been so worried, but I was not the same man I once was.

  Where is he? The man I met nearly three years ago.

  Her words haunted my brain, affecting me more than I would like to admit.

  The man who gave me a library and joked with his family. The man who was respected by his men before he was feared.

  I want to know where he is.

  I didn’t know where he was. I had eaten him alive the day Elena had left me, swallowing him and all his weaknesses whole.

  All that was left was the Tarkhanov monster and his full belly.

  11

  Konstantin Tarkhanov

  The orchard stretched before me, each tree a naked awkward figure with ice dripping from the branches instead of ripe red apples. Cold air swirled around us, racing over the frozen ground and whistling as it stung our noses and cheeks.

  The weather may be brutal, but it was the tension that made the world feel a few degrees colder.

  I stood in front of the lab, hands in pockets and assessed the damages.

  During the night, we had been attacked. Not robbed, not swindled. No, our enemies hadn’t taken any of the merchandise, instead choosing to destroy every piece of thousand-dollar equipment they could. Windows were shattered, product was ruined, and the security cameras lay scattered around me.

  A few of the Vory had been shot, some dying instantly while others were fighting for their lives in hospital. None of the workers had been there during the night–a small mercy.

  We hadn’t even had breakfast before the call came, alerting us of the attack. No alarms had been triggered; no warnings signs had been seen. That indicated who it was immediately…only one person knew enough about my security to outsmart it.