by Bree Porter
Nikolai didn’t seem to notice.
“You can help me with another big boy job,” I told him, dragging my attention away from Elena. Paying attention to my son didn’t make me want to go ballistic. “In fact, some might say it’s the most important big boy job of them all.”
I had caught his interest, but his eyes kept flicking to the burning stove.
“Laying the table.”
Both Elena and Nikolai gave me identical looks of that’s some bullshit. I wouldn’t be able to win Elena over, but Nikolai might be a bit more pliable.
“No, it’s not,” he grumbled.
“Yes, it is. Little boys can’t touch knives.”
The mention of the dangerous cutlery had Nikolai perking up. He laid his entire attention on me, face bright with interest.
In that moment, I saw the Tarkhanov in him. Excitement over knives? That was the pure Tarkhanov blood running through his veins.
Nikolai Konstantinovich Tarkhanov.
I couldn’t tell you how many times I had said his name. I had told the entire family and let it spread to the guards. I said it over and over until it was more noise than word, until it sounded like an alarm and not a name.
Nikolai Tarkhanov.
When Elena had said his name was Nikolai, the masculine version of the name Nikolia, I had been surprised. It had been the first indication that Elena was still entangled with this family. But then she had said his name...
Nikolai Konstantinovich Tarkhanov.
It didn’t feel like an ode to his father, a namesake for the sake of her guilt. It felt like she had named him with the intention of him using that name in the future. She had named him like I had been in the delivery room with her, like I had been the one filling out the birth certificate of my firstborn.
She might not have done it intentionally, I had reasoned with myself when that old familiar bulb of hope began to bloom once more. She was alone and had just gone through labour, perhaps her mind was still addled by the epidural.
Not for the first time I wondered what was going on in Elena’s head. What secrets she kept locked up behind that pretty head of hair and sharp green eyes.
I repeated the question I had been asking for nearly three years.
What is the real reason you left, lyubimaya?
15
Konstantin Tarkhanov
Sunlight tilled through the windows, warming the dining room in shades of gold and oranges. The smell of pancakes and bacon sizzled through the air, mixed with the clatter of cutlery. Everyone but Anton had joined together at breakfast, even Babushka made herself known. She sat on the window ledge, closest to the children.
I watched Elena interact with the others. She was trying hard not to slip back into our fold, but I could see her struggling to keep up the façade. Just like when she had first arrived here, when she was that selfish beautiful woman, she tried to keep her distance.
But every member of the family seemed determined to drag her back in. You’re one of us, they seemed to say each time a plate was offered, or anecdote shared. Whether you like it or not.
When my attention wasn’t on Elena, I was watching Nikolai. He and Evva giggled between their mothers, eyes set on their uncle Roman. It quickly became clear why–every time Roman would look away, Nikolai would reach out and steal something from his plate.
Every time he did, he would always half his spoils with Evva. The two had plenty of food to eat, but it was the thrill of trouble and getting caught that made the syrupy blueberries so much tastier.
I smiled but didn’t bring attention to their little game. I didn’t want to ruin their fun.
Beside me, Danika’s phone began buzzing. She finished off her orange juice before fishing it out.
“No phones at breakfast,” I warned her.
She shook her head at me. “I’ll be quick. It might be Olezka.”
Artyom had also noticed Danika’s mobile. He opened his mouth to say something but fell silent when he met my eyes. Our relationship had remained sour, now one of tense cooperation rather than brotherly affection.
I did miss our talks, listening to his ideas and critiques.
There had only been a few times Artyom and I had been in a fight this bad. Usually, we knocked each other around, discussed it like diplomats, hit each other again and then the fight was over. We would be drinking vodka together before the next day.
My eyes fell on Roksana. She was the heart and soul of this family, the sister I had never had, the only person at this table who appreciated my admiration for art. How strange it was to think that once I had been against Roksana joining this family, not only out of concern for Artyom, but also for her.
I thought she would break, shatter like the porcelain dolls she resembled.
But life put her to the test, and she came out stronger than I–or Artyom–had ever been.
I looked back to Artyom.
Perhaps it was time to offer an olive branch–
Danika held her phone over the table, movements robotic.
“Dani, what are you doi–?” Roman started but a cool voice cut through his demand.
“Let me guess,” cooed the woman on the phone, the loudspeaker letting her voice reach all our ears. Even the toddlers fell quiet. “It’s family breakfast. Pancakes and bacon–and blueberries. How could I ever forget the blueberries?”
Roman was mouthing hang up to Danika. She was frozen in place.
Gently, I took the phone from her. “It’s okay, Dani. I got this.” As soon as it was in my grip, Danika collapsed backwards, falling into Elena’s arms.
“Tatiana,” I said. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Kostya.” Her using my affectionate nickname made my molars grind together. There was no affection left between us. “It has been too long.”
Three years and not a peep from Tatiana. She had left that fateful day, never to be seen again. We had searched the country up and down, from maternity wards to mortuaries. That woman had remained a spectre, impossible to catch.
Why was she making herself known now? What was the catalyst that had set this off?
My eyes went to Elena. She was very still, eyes trained on Nikolai with enough intensity to silence the child.
“Not long enough,” Roman grumbled.
I smiled faintly. “If it is a catch up you’re looking for, let me call you back at a better time. I’m with my family right now.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in the noise. “Ever the charmer, Kostya. What is it your mother used to always say? The prettier the snake, the meaner its bite?”
“Who can remember that far back?” I didn’t appreciate her bringing up my mother, though I couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why.
“We are getting old.” Tatiana said. “Lots of history.”
“Indeed.”
Dmitri lost his patience. I was impressed he waited so long to say anything. “Get to the point, Tatiana.” He hissed.
“Is that my husband? My darling, how is Anton?”
His cheeks sharpened. “How is Anton? You–”
“Uh uh uh,” she cooed. “Watch your language in front of the children. How many are there now? You must be overrun. I do believe congratulations are in order, Roksana...and Elena.”
Elena’s fingers twitched, scraping over her arm. It was like she was writing a word but didn’t have a pen on hand.
Roksana had gone very pale.
Nikolai reached towards Elena. “Mama?”
“Shh, baby.” She stroked his hair, pulling him into her arms alongside Danika.
“I was surprised to hear Elena had returned. I thought you were after your freedom, Elena. That is why you pretended to know the cure for my sickness?”
“The cure to your sickness is a bullet to your head,” Roman snapped.
Tatiana clicked her tongue. “The adults are speaking, Roman. Hush.” She continued. “Was the outside world not all you
had hoped, Elena? No scholars waiting for you, ready to pass you a doctorate and Noble Piece Prize?”
“I must’ve taken a wrong turn,” Elena said.
My grip on the phone tightened. I wasn’t overly fond of Elena interacting with Tatiana, even if there was no real physical threat.
“You must’ve.” There was another meaning to Tatiana’s words. Why else did Elena suddenly become so pale? “Ah, well, reunions are always cause to celebrate. I was hoping to have one of my own soon, actually.”
“With Satan?”
“Roman, what did I just say?” She scolded. “These few years have been prosperous for my organization. I look forward to sharing that prosperity with the kings of North America. Especially with you, Kostya, my first friend.”
“Keep them.” I said. “We have no use for you anymore or your dramatic tricks. The world has kept moving without you in it, Tati, and it will continue to do so long after you’re gone.”
“To be called dramatic by Konstantin Tarkhanov...quite the compliment indeed.” Tatiana laughed. “Ah, well, I find myself growing bored of this. I rang to warn you.”
“Warn us of what?”
Tatiana didn’t address me. Instead, her voice rose out of the phone, aimed at one person. “O loro o tu, Elena?” She hung up, the tone beating on repeat in the silence she left.
Elena didn’t look at anyone besides her son. I could see her mind running circles around itself, stumbling to reach a conclusion I couldn’t understand.
Before anyone could say anything, Dmitri leaped to his feet, shoved his chair against the table and stormed out of the room. The sound cracked through the room, sending Evva falling into tears.
“Did the noise scare you, darling?” Roksana fussed but Artyom was already out of his seat and scooping her up into his arms.
Nikolai looked highly alarmed and glanced to Elena for an explanation. She offered him a small smile, but her mind was far away.
Then he looked to me.
I was used to people looking to me in a crisis, used to people expecting me to have the solution or answer. It was my job, after all, to know the ending before the beginning started. That was why human beings entertained the idea of kings and leaders, so for a moment, even a second, they could have someone else figure out their issues and make decisions for them.
But when Nikolai turned to me expectantly, it wasn’t for an answer but rather for comfort.
“It’s okay,” I told him, words strange in my mouth. What did one say to a toddler who needed comfort? One who needed comfort from his…from his father? “Uncle Dmitri just needed some alone time.”
Nikolai looked to Evva then back to me.
“Evva doesn’t like loud noises.”
He nodded, then stood up on the chair, stretching out to reach Evva. He gave her an awkward pat on the back, trying to replicate comfort his mother had most likely shown him. “’s okay, Evva.” His words toppled over each other in childlike speak.
“Bums go to the chair,” Elena said suddenly. She rose to her feet. “It’s not safe to stand on chairs. You know this.”
Nikolai bent into a crouch but didn’t put his bum back on the seat. “Mmm.”
“Bum. Seat. Now.”
He relented at her tone, falling back into the proper sitting position with as much enthusiasm as a soaking wet cat.
“Chin up, Niko.” Roman reached over and patted his head. “Your mother scolds everyone. Not just you.”
Nikolai shot him an interested look. He might’ve been a son or nephew to us, but to him, we were all still just strangers. It would take him a bit longer to get used to everybody.
“Only those who need scolding,” Elena warned.
He grinned toothily at his mother.
Evva’s crying quietened, and she rested her head on Artyom’s chest. He rubbed her back and whispered sweet nothings while swaying her gently in his arms.
Nobody really knew how to act. Everyone was itching to discuss the phone call, to theorise and try to trace the number, but no one would dare speak business in front of the kids.
Elena glanced at me, meeting my eyes.
My Italian had improved dramatically over the past three years.
O loro o tu, Elena? Tatiana had said to her. Clearly it was a message just for Elena, something that had freaked her out enough to cause her to go silent.
Them or you, Elena?
I rose my eyebrows at her, indicating I had heard the little message and I intended to find out the meaning behind it.
Elena scowled and looked back to Nikolai. “Help me clear the table, baby. Then we can go and climb some trees.”
Nikolai brightened and immediately began grabbing random knives and forks. He even took the spoon out of the syrup, causing the sticky substance to fall to the table.
Domesticity returned quickly, all of us desperate to gain back some mundaneness to our day. Danika and Roman joined in cleaning up, while Roksana went to fill a bowl for Babushka. Evva had calmed down enough to help but stuck close to her dad, who carried the heavy plates for her.
I wanted to check on Dmitri, but he needed his space. It wasn’t every day you got a phone call from your criminal mastermind wife before your morning coffee.
When Elena was stacking dishes, I slid up behind her, murmuring, “What does she mean? Them or you?”
Her entire frame stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie.” I caught a fresh new word just below her elbow. Priorities. “She called you by name. She knew you were with us. Why?”
“I don’t know.” Elena hissed. She twisted around, pressing herself up against the counter. She was caged in my arms, mere inches away from being flushed up against my chest.
My brain darkened with thoughts of lust immediately. I could see her peeling off her shirt, me pushing her up onto the counter. The warmth of her flesh and familiarity of her cries would be mouth-watering temptations that became mouth-watering pleasure as we both succumbed to the animalistic sides of our nature.
Elena’s chest rose and fell sharply, her cheeks warming.
A smile grew up my face as I realised her mind had gone to the same exact place mine had.
“My Elena–”
Roman slammed a plate down beside us. “Cool it down, Tarkhanov. This is a public place, and your child is not even three meters away.”
“No, leave them alone!” This came from Danika. “I want another nephew.”
That comment poured cold water over Elena and she wiggled out of my grip. “You’re both too nosey for your own goods,” Elena said stiffly. “And I have no intention of getting a c-section ever again.”
“Fuck, Elena, come on.” Roman put a hand to his stomach. “I just ate.”
She shrugged, looking like she couldn’t give less of a shit. “Sucks to be you, I guess.”
Their banter didn’t distract me from the mysteries that still hung in the air.
Them or you, Elena?
Why had Tatiana’s men been hunting Elena? How did Tatiana know Elena was saved by us and living with us once again–though the answer to that was quite obvious. What had spurred Elena into disappearing into the woods–had it just been the fear of Tatiana’s men?
Elena met my gaze across the room.
You have secrets, I told her. And I intend to discover every single one of them.
She looked away, her reply going unsaid.
A glass of orange juice caught my eye on the edge of the bench. It was still full to the rim, but there was something dark inside if it. I grabbed it, sticking my fingers in and clutching the object inside. Perhaps one of the kids had been playing around.
It wasn’t a toy.
It was Danika’s phone, now drowned within an inch of its life. Roman didn’t look at me but I knew how the phone had ended up at the bottom of the glass.
Part Two –
Konstantin’s Poison.
�
�Words kill, words give life; they’re either poison or fruit.
You choose.”
– Solomon.
16
Elena Falcone
A few days after the call from Tatiana, Roksana and Evva sought me out. Niko and I were laying on the grass, basking in the rare December sun when they approached.
“Hi Auntie Lena, hi Niko!”
Niko lifted his head, grinning in delight. “Hi Evva!”
I tapped his shoulder. “And hello Auntie Roksy.”
He blushed. “Hi, Auntie Roksy.”
“Hi, Nikolai, hi Elena.” Roksana sent me a gentle smile. “Evva wanted to ask something.” She stroked her daughter’s hair, which was separated into two little ponytails.
Evva sent me a sweet shy smile, swinging on her heels. “Can…can…” She glanced at her mother before looking back to me. “Can Niko come see the horseys? With Daddy.”
“Horseys?” I kept my voice soft when speaking to Evva. Out of everyone at the estate, she was in my favourite top three.
She nodded rapidly. “Baz, Odessa…”
“Artyom is going down to the stables to see the horses and taking Evva.” Roksana explained. “She wanted to know if Nikolai wanted to come.”
My son leaped to his feet, not wanting for my response. “Yes, yes.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t think…”
Nikolai and Evva both turned to me, expressions dropping as they heard the reluctance in my tone.
“Oh, please, Mama!”
“No Niko?” Evva looked like she was going to cry. “Please, Auntie Lena. Please, please!”
Nikolai wasn’t as polite as Artyom’s daughter. “I wanna go,” he whined. “Pleaseeee. I wanna see the horseys.”
I sent Roksana a look. Having Evva ask me in front of Niko had been a very calculated move, and one I was the victim of. She just gave me a small shrug, feigning innocence.