by Bree Porter
My men stepped back into the shadows as I entered the room, their eyes growing brighter as the promise for violence became a reality. Respectful nods were inclined in my direction, but no one dared to speak.
“Mr Ainsworth,” I said softly.
He snapped his head to me, eyes probing my form in the darkness. Blood dripped down his lips–no doubt the work of Dmitri. Pulling and cutting tongues was a personal favorite torture technique of his.
“Y—You bastard—” he stuttered.
I stepped into the dim light, hands in pockets. There was no need to be threatening. I didn’t need to come into the room with guns blazing and a knife between my teeth. Sometimes the lack of weapons was more chilling than the presence of them.
“May I call you Edward?” I asked.
Ainsworth breathed heavily, more blood dripping from his mouth. “I’m not—” He gasped. “Going to tell you. Shit.”
I smiled slowly. “Oh? Is that so?” I neared Ainsworth. Fear flickered briefly in his eyes as I prowled closer.
“Tell me about your Titus.”
Devotion lit up in Ainsworth’s eyes. “Titus will kill you all.”
“How does he intend to do that?”
Ainsworth smiled like he knew something I didn’t. “A man who cannot protect his woman is no man at all.”
My eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me Titus is an advocate for women’s rights. If he is, he seems to be going about it the wrong way,” I noted.
“You don’t even know…” Ainsworth’s eyes were bright, his smirk arrogant. “Count your fucking days, Tarkhanov…Titus is coming for you.”
“Is that so?” I asked. “Then why doesn’t he show his face?”
Ainsworth coughed up more blood, the sticky substance staining the concrete. It missed my loafers by an inch. Lucky.
I repeated my question.
Ainsworth wiped his bloody mouth on his shoulder, shuddering a breath. “Has…already…” He sucked in air.
I cocked a brow. “Your Titus mustn’t have been very memorable then. I never forget a face.”
Ainsworth heaved another breath.
“What does he want with the women?” I asked. “And their teeth?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t…tell…me…anything.”
“Ah, but you must know something,” I said. “You were sent to kill two women…with your eyeless Vik.”
He didn’t say anything.
With a flick of my wrist, I broke his nose. The bone broke easily beneath my grip, like a canary’s bone.
Ainsworth shouted out in pain, bowing over. More blood sprinkled the concrete, blood that would have to be cleaned up. We couldn’t risk some teenagers stumbling in and finding it.
“Why two?” I wondered. “That is not the pattern you have shown.”
He didn’t respond.
“Unless…you weren’t expecting one of the women to be there.”
Ainsworth’s eyes flickered.
My smile grew. “Ah, that’s it, isn’t? So, which one were you after?” I swung the chair on its legs, causing panic to flare in his eyes.
“No, no!”
“Which. One?” I repeated.
Ainsworth regulated his breathing, trying desperately to gain some control back. There was no use—all the power belonged to me. And nobody was able to take it away from me.
Not in this lifetime, and certainly not by some nameless soldier.
Ainsworth’s swollen eyes creased as he forced a smile. “Titus knows your face, Tarkhanov…and your little Elena’s.”
Brutish rage fueled me as I grabbed the back of his chair and held him over the side. Instantly, he began squirming and shrieking, the threat of falling make him a little less brave.
I leaned close to his ear, not relenting my grip on him. “Enough games,” I hissed. “Where is Titus?”
“I’ll never tell you—”
I tilted him further over the side, my muscles contracting at the strain. Ainsworth squealed, causing a few of my men to chuckle in the shadows.
“Where is Titus?”
“Not—”
I tilted him further over. The legs of the chair skidded on the concrete, threatening to slip over and take Ainsworth with them. “Don’t be shy,” I coaxed. “You want to live, don’t you, Edward?”
He breathed rapidly, eyes glued to the ground. He nodded.
I lifted the chair up. “Tell me where Titus is and live to see another dawn. Or don’t and die.”
He didn’t respond.
“It’s your choice, Edward. Life…” I tilted the chair further over the ledge. “Or death.”
Edward shuddered another rattling breath. He peered at me, eyes bruised and blue. “I would die for Titus.”
I smiled. “And you shall.”
His eyes widened as I flung the chair over the side. The sound of his bones crunching into the ground echoed throughout the night, silencing the breeze and waves.
A bratok on the ground ran out to check. Seconds passed until he yelled, “Still got a pulse, boss. Want me to finish him off?”
I smiled and gestured to the men. “Pick him up and take him to the podzemel'ye.”
“They’re gonna need a shovel,” Roman muttered as he came up behind me. “All good, Boss?”
I turned away from Edward’s crumbled but alive form. “All good.” I straightened my cuff links. “Send Danika to tend to him. It’s time this man knows what it means to really break.”
Roman grinned viciously. “Consider it done, Boss.”
15
Konstantin Tarkhanov
I spotted her willowy figure stretched out high on a thick branch, the tree’s branches offering a semblance of privacy. At the roots, two dogs lay, glancing up at her every now and then—not furiously, but in curiosity and concern. Most of the dogs had taken to Elena, especially since she was the one who spent the most time outside.
Elena didn’t notice me as I approached. She leaned against the trunk, book in hand, and long dark hair caught on the bark. She looked like she belonged in a book of fairy tales, the beautiful wood nymph who lived amongst the trees and wild animals and led unsuspecting men to their deaths.
“Elena,” I called softly so as not to startle her.
She peered down at me, green eyes bright. “Why are you awake so early?”
I smiled. I usually got up before the sun. Most dawns I spent with the horses; however, the few times I had gone to the study, I had been able to spot Elena in the grass below. She usually read or dozed, looking relaxed and calm.
I hadn’t slept ye—still too charged up with adrenaline from interrogating Edward Ainsworth. I had spent the morning in my study, scanning the garden every and now for Elena.
When I hadn’t been able to see her, I’d come looking for her.
“Concerned?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “More like wondering why you’re bothering me.”
“Ah, then, I’ll leave you to your book,” I mused. “I was just wondering why you’re up in a tree. The dogs bothering you?”
“No,” Elena answered crisply. “I haven’t climbed a tree in years. I was curious.” She said it so simply and factually that she implied I was the idiot for asking.
Elena was very talented at implying the person asking the questions was an idiot and the answer was obvious. It drove Roman insane—I thought it was brilliant. It was a special skill to be able to make those around you feel inferior using only the tone of your voice.
“Not a lot of tree climbing in your marriage?”
She shot me an annoyed look. “What do you think?”
I laughed. “Just don’t hurt yourself.”
“I won’t. I’m not stupid.” Elena tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Her eyes held me to the spot. The color of mossy leaves after the spring rain hit, but with the same viciousness as the eyes of a wolf.
“I am quite the early riser. Like yourself.”
She thinned her lip
s. “I’ve never seen you around the garden before at this hour.”
“I imagine it’s hard to see anyone when you’re dozing amongst the underbrush,” I told her.
Annoyance mixed with surprise crossed over her features. “You’re spying on me?”
“Of course not. But—” I pointed up towards the manor. “My study is right there. It is difficult to miss you.”
Elena looked slightly embarrassed before she pulled her up chin, peering down at me as if I was a bug that wouldn’t stop buzzing around her. Like I was something she needed to swat.
I wouldn’t mind being swatted by Elena. But only if I could swat back.
The thought caused me to smile slightly, the act only making her look angrier.
“Don’t you have anyone else to taunt, Konstantin?” she asked, but the usual fierceness behind the question fell flat.
From the reddening of her cheeks and neck, I knew what thoughts had occupied her mind. That conversation from the night of the ballet had been on my mind too, as had my taunt, my question.
You’re a scientist. Why don’t you test your hypothesis?
Inviting her to my bed… At the time, it had been an offer fueled by lust and that emerald colored dress. I stood by it—I wanted Elena. I wanted Elena more than I had wanted anything in a long time. Her refusal hadn’t been a surprise but the expression in her eyes afterwards had been.
It had confirmed a faint hope I’d held: Elena wanted me too.
The knowledge had done nothing good for my ego. Artyom had called me insufferable twice since I realized.
But Elena wanted her freedom badly, and with Tatiana growing healthier by the minute, Elena was closer than she had ever been before.
I wasn’t letting her go so easily.
I craved Elena’s body, craved it in a way that would terrify her. My dreams centered around her wet, wanting sex, my teeth biting down into her flesh, her screams of pleasure echoing for hours.
But my desire for her body was nothing compared to how much I coveted her. Her mind, her attention, her everything.
I wanted it all and I didn’t want to share. No more thoughts about Thaddeo, no longer Falcone as her surname. Mine.
Careful, I remembeedr the Queen of Chicago had warned, after I’d asked the Rocchetti Don for permission. Elena is not one to succumb. She can bite, too.
I was counting on it.
“So many,” I said. “Yet I keep coming back to you.”
She glared. “I take it Ainsworth hasn’t woken up yet.”
I had briefed all the women upon returning home from interrogating Edward Ainsworth. Roksana was still shaken up about the attack, sucked back into the violent memories of her past. Elena had made a few sarcastic comments before leaving.
But I had seen the flash of panic in her eyes, the memories. Identical to the look in Roksana’s eyes.
I hoped Thaddeo wasn’t growing too comfortable in Hell. Because when I arrived, I would spend an eternity punishing him for hurting Elena.
“No, he hasn’t,” I answered honestly. Like always, there was a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “But he belongs to Danika now.”
“That sounds terrifying,” she remarked.
I laughed softly. “It is.”
Elena broke our gaze, picking at her sweater. She wasn’t cleaning the leaves and dirt off it–instead she was pulling at a loose piece of string. I was relieved to see her words had returned to her hands, random thoughts that had overflowed from her brain throughout her day.
I caught only a few. Suspicion, unbalanced, enucleation.
“You gave me to Danika,” she accused.
Danika had warned me that Elena had seen through her, understood what she was trying to do. I wasn’t surprised; I had expected nothing less from her.
“You are the widow of the enemy.” The words were enough to irritate me.
“And that means I know all his secrets?” Her green eyes snapped back down to me. Some part of her looked like she wanted to climb down from her niche and yell at me face to face, but she didn’t move. Perhaps she preferred being taller for once. “Well?”
I shrugged. “Do you?”
“No. You know women in this world aren’t privy to their husband’s secrets.”
I didn’t bring up Danika—or Roksana and Tatiana. Instead, I asked, “Would you stay if they were?”
Elena’s entire body tensed. Her mind seemed to go a million miles an hour behind her eyes. I could see her absorbing the question, calculating the answers and implications. She gripped her book so hard her knuckles went white.
Her silence made me smile mockingly. “Ah, my empathetic girl, of course, you would.”
She scowled. “I’m not your anything, Konstantin.”
Not yet. “If you wish to stay after curing Tatiana, I could offer you a position. Not an interrogator like Danika, but something else. How about our resident scientist? I’m sure Rifat would adore having someone else with intellect around. I fear we bore him.”
Elena opened her mouth, then scowled and closed it again. Then she snapped, “I’m not staying.”
“It is up to you,” I replied. “What do you plan to do with your freedom?”
“Anything I want,” she said. “That’s what makes it so alluring. You can offer me all the jobs in the world, but I am never going to serve a man ever again.”
“Who said anything about serving?”
Elena cut me a look. “Oh, please. Like I’ll be allowed to speak to you the way I do now if I work for you. Sure, that’s going to stand.” She rolled her eyes like I was an idiot.
I cocked my eyebrow. Her fierce refusal didn’t hide the fact that for a second she had considered it.
I pressed a hand to the tree’s thick trunk. “Ah, but what are the hierarchies of man to a tree that has stood for thousands of years?”
Elena sucked in a sharp breath, snapping her eyes down to me. I didn’t need to be telepathic to know what she was thinking. Does he know? Surely not. How would he know? He couldn’t. What does he know? Nothing.
In my own mind, my own questions were tumbling through. Will she figure it out? Or do I have a little longer to enjoy my secret? My pride?
“Trees don’t have thoughts,” she said, the words heavy with confusion. “The hierarchies of man are nothing to them.”
I smiled. “I thought you would say that.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Why, Konstantin?”
Before I could answer, a voice floated over the gardens, “Breakfast! Quick—before Roman steals all the syrup!”
As soon as we entered the kitchen, Elena beelined for her usual spot, like she couldn’t bear to be in my presence any longer. Her hands and feet were dirty from climbing trees, but nobody said anything. Most mornings, Elena came into breakfast with some garden left on her, be it dirty feet or twigs caught in her hair.
My attention moved from Elena as Tatiana swept into the room. Dmitri followed closely behind, prepared to catch her if she needed it, but Tatiana didn’t. Her cheeks were flush, her eyes bright.
Though she still didn’t look like her usual self, she did look healthy. Strong.
I kissed her cheek in greeting as we took our seats. “You look like you’re feeling better,” I said.
Tatiana nodded, smiling brightly. “I am, Kostya.”
Elena noticed her patient as well. “Have you been taking the dosage I prescribed?”
“Of course,” lilted Tatiana, her voice like music instead of croaky and phlegmy. She pressed an affectionate hand to Elena’s head; Elena nearly snapped her neck trying to get out of it. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“Don’t thank me,” Elena responded tightly.
The rest of the family came to sit down, including Anton, who took up position on Dmitri’s lap. His mother feeling better meant his father was in a better mood—something Danika was convinced Anton could sense.
I thought she might be onto something.
“Save some syrup for the rest of
us, Roman,” Artyom scolded, taking the pitcher off him.
Roman scowled and tried to snatch the syrup back. “Start making more syrup if you all insist on having some.”
“Just take less, Rom.” Danika pointed a fork at him. “If all of us drowned our waffles in syrup like you, there’d be a national shortage.”
I caught Elena cracking a grin. The movement lit up her face, even her humor unable to hide from her honest nature.
“Oh, ha ha,” Roman mocked. He tried to take the pitcher off Artyom again but my Obshchak dodged easily and poured some onto his wife’s plate.
A loud thump caught our attention. Babushka pulled herself up onto the table, causing cries of outrage. Her paw went straight into a plate of butter.
“Down, cat. This is the dining table,” Artyom warned, whereas Roksana tried a kinder approach, “Oh no, darling, your food is over there…”
“Don’t look at my syrup, Babushka,” Roman threatened.
Anton cheered at the sight of Babushka, clapping his little hands together. “Baba! Baba!”
“No, no Baba,” Dmitri said. “She eats somewhere else.”
“Baba!” Anton shouted again.
Danika was closest and went to grab the cat, but Babushka was smarter. She leapt out of the way, going straight over the plate of waffles.
Roman lunged out but Babushka knew him, too. She skidded across the table, taking down a glass of orange juice. It spilled over the table, causing Roksana to shout and leap back, now soaked.
Artyom took it as a personal attack, reaching out to grab Babushka. He caught her fur, but the cat moved too quickly for his hands.
I took a sip of my tea.
“A little help, Kostya,” Artyom hissed.
“If Babushka wants to eat at the table, she is more than welcome,” I laughed.
“Cats don’t eat at dining tables,” said Elena.
Artyom nodded in agreement.
When Babushka got near Tatiana, Tatiana reached out and caught the cat. Huge and furious in her hands, Babushka instantly began to struggle, claws out.
“Sorry, Babushka!” Tatiana tried.
Babushka’s tail hit the pot of syrup, sending it pouring across the table. Tatiana gasped as Danika cried out, allowing Babushka to slip out of her arms.