Empress of Poisons ARC

by Bree Porter

  “Titus?” Artyom said from beside me.

  “Clearly.”

  He thinned his lips but didn’t respond.

  “Why haven’t we updated our defences.” It wasn’t much of a question.

  “You haven’t asked, sir.”

  “Must I?” I worked my jaw, feeling my muscles twitch in irritation.

  I was to blame. I had changed security around the estate and our other assets, but not the orchard. Maybe it had slipped my mind, or maybe I had been too arrogant to think Titus would stand a chance. Another reason could be I was too far gone in my grief and madness to rationalize where our defences were weakest.

  Either way, this attack was on me. My men’s deaths were on me.

  Another sin to add to my hefty collection.

  The attack was curious…why wouldn’t they take any of the heroin? Why leave millions of dollars of merchandise in the snow?

  The hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood up.

  “Clear out.” I said.

  Artyom didn’t argue or ask why. Just barked, “Let’s go now.”

  The roaming Vory immediately began to disperse. Some disappeared into the cluster of trees, while others grouped around Artyom and I, eyes protective. Even the large bear-killer dogs by their legs tensed, tails wagging.

  I turned and began to walk away from the space. Slowly, methodically. The ground crunched beneath my feet.

  “Kostya?” Artyom’s voice was quiet.

  I didn’t look at him. “You don’t think it’s strange that all our merchandise is accounted for?”

  Realization struck his features and he quickly scanned the area. He ordered a few of the men to go up ahead and see if anyone was lurking by the cars, waiting to catch us.

  One of them came back immediately with a warning.

  "There's two Feds waiting." The Vor warned us. "They got cameras and shit."

  I smoothed down my coat. "Very well." I jerked my chin. "Olezka."

  My torpedo didn't need a command or order. The tone in which I said his name told him all he needed to know.

  "Boss?" Artyom asked as I continued forward. "Let's go around the back."

  "There's no need, Artyom."

  The man shared looks with each other. They were looks I had seen plenty of times in the past three years. It translated to: boss is insane and we're all going to suffer for it.

  "Those who wish to hide from the Feds and their camera may go around the back." I said out loud. None of them moved. "As I thought."

  The Feds hadn't done an impressive job of trying to camouflage. They watched from the front seat of a car, windows up to preserve warmth. As we walked to our vehicles, the flash of their camera glinted.

  I paused, hands in pockets and surveyed them.

  The entire world seemed to still as I assessed them. Even the wind paused its endless howling.

  Then I began to move.

  My men shouted in alarm as I strode over the agents. Before they had the chance to lock the doors, I wrenched it open and pulled out the driver. Both of them pulled their guns, but I didn't pause.

  "Well, what do we have here?" I asked.

  The one I had dragged out of the car was laying on his back, gun poised up at me. He had flushed red cheeks and a shiny nose, looking like an everyday Santa. The passenger agent was younger with a large forehead and pointed chin–his gun was poised at me but his hands shook ever so slightly.

  "Quite the little team," I mused. "A young buck and old ox."

  The older agent didn't let his fear show as obviously. "Watch it, Tarkhanov. There's two guns on you."

  "And there's six on you."

  His eyes skidded around my legs, catching sight of my men. All of them were ready to draw their weapons and attack–no questions asked.

  "Shoot me and they'll never find your bodies."

  The older agent didn't lower his gun. "If that's what it takes to wipe out a man like you, Tarkhanov, so be it."

  I laughed coolly. "How rude of me. You know my name and I don't know yours." I leaned down and untucked his badge from his jacket. The I.D. was worn and faded, showing just how long he had been an agent for the FBI. "SSA Stephen Kavinsky. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

  His jaw tightened. For a man lying on his back, completely at my mercy, I admired his bravado. "One wrong move, Tarkhanov, and you’re finished. Finished.”

  “I don’t think that’s entirely true.” I replied. “Why are you here, Agent Kavinsky? Apple picking season has passed.”

  “That’s none of your business–.”

  I pressed my foot down on his throat, corrupting the air flow. “Stephen, that’s not the answer I wanted.” His lungs struggled to take in air, and his gasps grew louder.

  “A tip.” The young agent blurted. “We got a tip you would be here.”

  “Andy, no–.” Gasped Kavinsky.

  I removed my foot from his throat and smiled at the young buck. His gun began to shake faster. “Go on, Andy.”

  “We got a call...that you would be here. If we got a photo of you, we would be able to incriminate you...”

  “I see.” I stepped back, slipping my hands back into my pockets. “Thank you for your honesty, Andy.”

  Stephen slowly got to his feet. If had got up too fast, my trigger-happy men would’ve attacked. He rubbed his neck as he took me in, eyes filled with contempt and suspicion.

  “Is there another gang war on the horizon?” Asked the older agent. His tone implied he had seen many gang wars before and had no interest in seeing another. His young partner looked to him in alarm at the question.

  “It entirely depends on who gets in my way.” I inclined my head. “Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure.”

  Both of them watched, guns still poised, as I strolled away. My men crowded around me, pride and smugness radiating from them. Only Artyom wore his disapproval, sending me cautioning looks all the way back to the estate.

  Their laughter was the first thing I heard.

  Hours after my impromptu meeting with the FBI agents, I was working in my formal study. The damage to the lab had damaged our exports and bottom line, but nothing a few months of recovery wouldn’t fix. We had other labs, though none nearly as large, and would double their resources in order to maintain our good reputation surrounding merchandise.

  However, it wasn’t the thought of my business that distracted me. Elena’s return and her adamant refusal to step back into the family had spread throughout the manor like an infection. Every move was tense, every sentence was careful.

  Everybody felt the shift in energy, though only Roman had been bold enough to ask me about it. When I had given him a look, he had backed down, but the whispers and shared looks across the dinner table remained. Her empty place had mocked me silently.

  The second burst of giggles were followed by a jubilant, “Mama!”

  It didn’t take long for me to rise and stand by the window, peering out at the garden.

  There was a clearing that Artyom had made when Evva had begun to walk. It was only small, but he had laid down soft grass and cut away any rogue bushes that could cause his daughter harm. Artyom had spent the entire day setting it up, and Roksana had spent the entire day watching him, lips parted and eyes wide.

  It wasn’t Evva and Roksana who danced across the grass now, but Elena and Nikolai.

  Nikolai reached out and grabbed his mother, laughing, “Tag!”

  “I’m it!” She mocked her horror. “Oh, you better run, Nikolai.”

  He took off in a speed of giggles. With his little legs, he didn’t get far, only making it to the edge of the clearing before Elena wrapped her arm around him and swung him into the air. He cried out with indignation.

  “Mama! You cheated!”

  “I cheated?” Elena laughed. The sound was music to my ears. “My baby, how dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

  Nikolai wiggled out of her arms. He wen
t to tag her, but she danced out the way, long legs practically stretching over him. “Mama!”

  “You’re going to have to catch me!”

  He laughed and went after her. Elena made him run a few paces, dodging a few swipes, but eventually slowed down and feigned defeat when he tagged her.

  “You got me!”

  They both played a few more rounds until Elena rolled over the ground, catching Nikolai in her arms before he could tag her. They didn’t care about dirt or grass as they stretched out beneath the sun, laughing in breathless gasps.

  I couldn’t hear what they were saying as they laid on their backs, but Nikolai would stretch his arms up, touching his legs. When his mother joined in, showing off her mouth-watering physique, he cheered and tried to stretch higher than her. His little legs kicked the air.

  These moments were the ones I had missed out on when she had left. Quiet, untroubled moments where both parent and child were happy. Nikolai’s childlike joy was infectious, not even was Elena immune to his charm.

  How many more of these moments does he have left him in? I asked the universe. And how many do I get to be a part of? If any?

  The sudden rage that filled me could’ve lit the world on fire.

  A sharp knock on the door interrupted my spying. I turned away from the window, calling, “Come in.”

  Artyom stepped into the room, face set. “I found the certificate.”

  “Let’s see it then.”

  The wrath that turned inside of me whenever I saw Artyom hadn’t cooled with time. His secret, Elena’s secret, had stained this family forever. He hadn’t said anything about Nikolai, had kept them both unsafe and unprotected. I would’ve never disregarded Roksana in that way.

  Artyom passed me the certificate, a strange look in his eyes.

  “Does it have Thaddeo listed as the father?” My tone was dark indicating just what I would do if it said something so blasphemous.

  “No.” He did not expand.

  I unfolded it and read.

  Nikolai Konstantinovich Tarkhanov. Born on August 11th, 4:23 am (the kid must’ve kept Elena up all night – trouble from the beginning). Mother: Elena Agostino Falcone. Father: Konstantin Evgenevich Tarkhanov.

  Beneath my name was an impressive forge of my signature.

  “She forged my signature.”

  Artyom cut his dark eyes to me. “You sound impressed.”

  “Perhaps I am.” I folded it up.

  “Did you truly believe she had written anything other than your name?” He asked. He seemed more critical than curious.

  I slid the certificate into my desk. It would be moved to a safer location when I had the chance. “She implied she had left it blank.”

  I told her the truth, she had said when I had asked her about it. I assumed the truth had been a blank line; not my name.

  “Elena implies many things,” Artyom said. “It’s her way of protecting herself.”

  I cut my eyes to him. “Fancying ourselves psychologists now, are we, Artyom?”

  His lips almost twitched into a smile, the only sign of his amusement. It surprised me; neither of us were on good enough terms to be teasing each other. “Our family would do better with one, but no.” He gestured to the birth certificate. “I am just saying that I have my way of defending myself, you have your way, and Elena has hers. I would suggest you not be so ready to believe all she is telling you.”

  “Is this your way of warning me away from Elena?”

  “It would be nothing you haven’t said to me,” he said, reminding me of a conversation I had with him when his love for Roksana threatened his power. “But no. In fact, I think I’m encouraging you to get closer, to bring her back into this family.”

  My eyebrows rose. “I’ve never heard you support bringing someone into this family. You were against Tatiana, Danika, Roman and Dmitri.” I didn’t say what I really wanted to say, which was: even if I offered, even if I forgave, I don’t think she would come back to us. Come back to me.

  “I didn’t support Babushka, either.” He said. “I thought she would infect the house with fleas.”

  “And she did.”

  Artyom nodded. “She did. But we were all the better for it. Who else would guard our children so fiercely when we cannot? Who else would’ve guarded Elena?”

  “You had the chance to.” I reminded him, tone hardening as I recalled his failure. “You could’ve easily brought her and Nikolai back home.”

  “Physically, yes, I could’ve.” Artyom said.

  I slid my hands into my pockets, observing him. “What was she like? When you did see her?”

  Surprise flickered in eyes his at the question...and the camaraderie to my tone. “No better than you, my friend. Though her madness was less obvious, it was clear she was just as heartbroken as you.”

  “I see.”

  Artyom looked out the window. I could still hear Elena and Nikolai out there, but I had moved so they were out of my view. His cheeks crinkled when he spotted them. “Elena was in a motel with a newborn, tired and sad. She was also terrified.”

  “Terrified of what?”

  “What we’re all terrified of.”

  I felt my smirk grow. “Coy?”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  That made me laugh. “Indeed.”

  We shared a surprised look of amusement, one between men who considered each other brothers. I still remembered the day we met, two young boys who were suffocating beneath the shadows of their fathers. Artyom had been protective and rational even then, never interested in my elaborate plans or love for art.

  It hadn’t been until I killed my father that Artyom began to support my ambitions. As teenagers, outcasts from the Bratva and not yet powerful enough to take our own land, we had spent hours creating our hopes and dreams, feeding into each other’s aspirations.

  Our violent natures had always set us apart from others in the schoolyard and even our families, but we had had each other. When my brothers and father had hunted me mercilessly, when my mother’s madness had threatened my own sanity, I had always had Artyom.

  There had never been a single dream of my empire I had formed where Artyom was not by my side.

  Then he had betrayed me.

  Some rational part of me understood and knew that Artyom would’ve done whatever it took to protect his family. There were no lengths too great that Artyom wouldn’t go to keep us all safe. We were the centre of his world, and Roksana was the axis in which his world spun.

  I may have been filled with such violent and burning hatred at the sight of him and the knowledge of his betrayal, but I knew that Artyom believed he had a good reason.

  “Tell me more about Elena in that motel.” I said instead of illustrating any of the other thoughts inside my mind.

  Artyom’s brow rose but he didn’t comment. “It took Olezka and I a long time to find her.” He said. “She was careful not to leave traces, even the hospital she gave birth to Nikolai in was stripped bare of her footprints. But we did find her.”

  “Olezka was in on it?”

  Another man of mine who had to be punished.

  “Olezka knows about things about this Bratva that you and I couldn’t even fathom. That is his job.”

  I nodded, reluctantly agreeing, indicating for him to go on with the story.

  “She was skinny, tired. Nikolai was screaming. I thought she might cry when she saw me, but she didn’t.” Artyom looked out the window thoughtfully. “I gave her the emergency phone and some cash. I also changed Nikolai’s diaper. Then I left.”

  If Artyom expected me to believe that was the entire truth, he was sorely mistaken. I knew a conversation had happened in that hotel room, whispered beneath the cries of Nikolai.

  “Did she say why she left?”

  Artyom cut his eyes to me. “You know she did.” He did not expand.

  “I never thought you liked Elena,” I remarked. “But the
n again, you’ve never been one to like someone at first glance.”

  “No, I am not, unlike my wife.” His features softened the way they always did when he brought up Roksana. “I didn’t like Elena at first glance. Or even the second. She distracted you, consumed you. She threatened all we had worked for with her unfortunate first marriage.”

  “What changed?”

  Artyom didn’t reveal anything on his face. “I saw something in her that I recognized. The fervent need to protect the ones you love–even if it means breaking yourself in the process.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  He grinned, teeth flashing as the corners of his eyes crinkled. Artyom rarely ever smiled, most of his smiles reserved for Roksana, but he grinned at me now like I had told him something hilarious. Even as a boy, Artyom had never been one to show carefree humor.

  “Yes, it does.” He mused. “Think about it, Kostya. I’ve answered your question.” He gestured a hand to the window. “She has answered your question. Stop being so hard on her.”

  “I have been nothing but welcoming.”

  “You would welcome the Devil, Kostya. Elena is not the Devil; she is the woman you love. Act like it.” Artyom bowed his head like he was trying to rectify all the disrespect he had shown me. “Brother.”

  I inclined my head but did not return the affectionate nickname.

  12

  Elena Falcone

  It turned out avoiding everyone was easier than I had hoped.

  When everyone was inside, Nikolai and I raced each other in the garden and swung from the highest branches. When everyone was outside, we snuck into the kitchen and feasted on leftovers like hungry raccoons digging through trash. When the inside of the house had begun to populate again, I had taken Nikolai to the one place I knew no would go: the library.

  My smugness over my intelligence didn’t last long. As soon as I stepped into the wide-open space, my stomach dropped to my ankles.

  The entire room looked exactly the same, not a book overturned, not a lamp dusted. My imprint on this estate had not disappeared, had not lessened, instead it looked like I had never left.