Kingpin's Foxglove (The Tarkhanov Empire Book 1)

by Bree Porter

  Elena glanced out at Anton, his giggles rising above the plants. Something flickered in her expression, and she said quietly, “No. No, it’s not.”

  A voice called out across the garden, and Tatiana joined us. Her hand rested on her swollen stomach, cradling it the same way she had done when she was pregnant with Anton.

  “Is he behaving?” Tatiana asked.

  “Always,” I said. Elena nodded in agreement.

  Tatiana put two hands to her stomach and laughed softly. “She’s kicking again. Honestly, Elena, it is you.” She smiled down at her. “Do you know your Auntie Lena, Nikola?”

  Elena’s expression tightened but she did not deny her title as Auntie Lena.

  I searched her beautiful features, the freckled olive skin and eyes the color of ferns. Elena had never mentioned a deep connection to her family and had vocally hated Thaddeo, but she had blended well into this family, gaining the trust and love of Danika and Roksana easily, followed by Tatiana, Roman and even Artyom.

  Babushka and Dmitri were the only ones holding out, unsure what to make of the newcomer.

  As for me, Elena had already been a part of me, deserving of my love and trust, since the day I picked up her thoughts in the shape of an academic article.

  20

  Elena Falcone

  I was standing in my childhood dining room.

  I had hated this place growing up, hated the chairs and chandelier and table with a fierceness that the intimate objects hadn’t deserved. Hours I had spent angrily scanning the walls out of boredom, counting all the holes (37) and dents (17). I had catapulted 54 peas into the chandelier and hidden 12 broccolis under the chair.

  Like another part of my memory, my father formed from the wall and into his chair. He always sat in the same place and ate the same three meals. He always took a sip of wine before every bite and ate his meat before his vegetables.

  I’d hated him as well.

  “Elena, how was school?” he asked, his words warped and dream-like.

  I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came out.

  My father looked up at me, his green eyes growing brighter and brighter. “Elena, how was school?” He repeated.

  Suddenly, his face began to shift. His nose grew, his skin tightened, and gray hair darkened to brown. I watched as his chin changed shape, and his eyes blended into a familiar brown.

  Thaddeo was now peering at me from across the table. “Elena, where were you?”

  Once again, I could not answer.

  He repeated his question. “Elena, where were you?”

  His words echoed through my head, growing louder and quieter, hard and softer. I couldn’t form an answer, couldn’t manage the words—

  “Elena, why would you do this?”

  I snapped my gaze back to Thaddeo, but he no longer looked at me. Instead a feminine face stared at me from across the table, golden hair bouncing down her shoulders and blue-grey eyes cold.

  Tatiana held a flower between her fingers, the familiar lilac color and horn-shaped petals indicated what it was immediately. Foxglove.

  “Elena,” she said again, voice too mean and nasty, “why would you do this?”

  I woke up with a start.

  It took a second for my body to tell me that I needed to vomit now. Lurching from the bed, I skidded to the en-suite and crouched down into the bath. I had passed the toilet but there was no time to go back.

  As I pressed my forehead to the cool tiles, uncomfortable with the sense of burning nausea up and down my throat, all I could hear was Tatiana’s voices ringing in my mind.

  Elena, why would you do this? Why would you do this?

  Why had I done it?

  The soft tinkering of the lab calmed me as my thoughts grew wilder and wilder. Listening to the bubbling of beakers and crunch of powder managed to help narrow my thoughts, give them proper direction.

  I fiddled with the thermometer in my fingers, using it to trace out invisible answers and theories in the air.

  Options sat before me. None of them ideal.

  But time had forced my hand, the threat of the world around me had forced my hand.

  And if I was being completely honest…Konstantin had pushed me into action, not because I wanted to be free so bad, or because I wanted the upper hand.

  No. It was something else entirely.

  I rubbed my forehead but forced myself to concentrate as I contemplated my options.

  One, give Konstantin the instruments he needs to figure it out all on his own.

  To do this, I would point him the right direction, drop a few hints, but there were already too many variables attached to this idea. Would Konstantin even come to the realization on his own? His devotion to his family could blind him from seeing the truth.

  Also, how would I drop hints? A few sly comments or catch her in the act? But how could I possibly do that?

  Two, don’t say anything, claim my freedom and leave.

  I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a tempting option. Leaving them to their own devices, their own traitors, could save me a lot of grief and time. At the end of the day, these people were not my family—and they certainly didn’t consider me theirs.

  So why was it my job to unravel the deception in their midst?

  But…some part of me physically could not do this. I don’t know where my selfishness had gone, my calculating nature, but when I called upon it to make me apathetic, it refused to answer. Instead my heart and gut physically hurt at the idea of leaving without saying anything.

  Leaving them in danger.

  Last but not least, the third and final option.

  Three, tell Konstantin.

  Option one was too iffy and option two made me feel physically upset. But option three…If I told Konstantin outright, who was to say he would believe me? He could react in such a myriad of ways. He could trust me, accept the evidence and deal with the situation as he saw fit, or he could deem me a liar and treat me how Bratva traitors were treated.

  My tongue curled at the thought.

  But option three was the only immediate option. The only one that could guarantee the truth being exposed.

  I drew little columns in the air with the thermometer, sorting out the options. Advantages and disadvantages were ticked and noted.

  I didn’t see myself as someone who shied away from the truth. In this moment however, I would have done anything to believe the lie, to be ignorant and blissful.

  Being swept up in the fibs and falsehoods had never been who I was. I walked around this world I had been born in, able to see into the shadows and know exactly what I was looking at.

  It wasn’t the blessing you would think.

  The word punishment came to mind, bringing with it a tirade of memories.

  My father’s strong fist, head hitting a wall; my uncle’s slap, my cheek stinging; Thaddeo’s grip, my arm aching.

  I knew deep in my bones, in my primordial ooze, that Konstantin would never lay a hand on me.

  But violence wasn’t the only way I could be hurt.

  I came to the sudden and horrible realization that not only did Konstantin hold my freedom in the palm of his hand, but he also held the ability to hurt me.

  And with one single movement, he could curl his fist and crush my heart into pieces.

  Ironically, it was Tatiana who was able to drop me off at the Russian Bathhouse. She was heading to a pediatrician’s office, with two bodyguards of course, and was happy to go on a short detour past the baths.

  “Don’t let them embarrass you,” she told me as we arrived.

  “Embarrass me?”

  Tatiana nodded. “Men think their dicks are magical and expect all women to feel the same.”

  I almost cracked a smile. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  “That,” she mused, “is something I seriously doubt.”

  21

  Elena Falcone

  I didn’t offer anyone the satisfaction by shieldin
g my eyes. I kept my chin high, my shoulders straight, and strode straight through the bathhouse. A few men cried out at my arrival whereas others invited me to their heated pools.

  Ignoring the men allowed me to take in the Russian tiles and design of the house; a collection of steaming baths, decorated with fountains and modern tiles. It was an old Russian past time, I had been told a few times, to bath publicly and with your friends.

  I passed a group who hollered in delight at the sight of me. “Come join us, malishka!”

  “Shut up, man,” someone hissed. “That’s Elena Falcone.”

  The jeering stopped immediately.

  I ignored them all and beelined for Konstantin.

  Separated from the others, but still part of the public area, Konstantin and his men sat around a bath. They were relaxed, chatting and laughing, all dressed in nothing but a towel hanging low around the waist.

  Sweat dripped down Konstantin’s chest and disappeared beneath the towel, his hair falling around messily, strands sticking to his forehead.

  My brain blurred into a confused soup of images. Konstantin’s naked chest, his long neck, the Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his chin—

  Keep it together, Elena, I told myself.

  The steamy. heavy air of the bathhouse automatically raised my temperature, but seeing Konstantin nearly naked and dripping with—

  GET IT TOGETHER!

  “Konstantin!”

  He lifted his head, eyes gleaming. “Elena.” He didn’t look surprised to see me. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Roman and Artyom also lifted their heads. Like their boss, they wore towels only, revealing their tattoos and muscled chests. Roksana and Danika were both very lucky women.

  I kept my attention on Konstantin. “I had a breakthrough in Tatiana’s...illness.” I swallowed, the hot hair drying my throat.

  Yeah, I mocked myself, it’s the hot air making you thirsty.

  “You said if there were any developments to come right away,” I added.

  “So I did.” Konstantin rose to his feet, his entire muscled golden form on perfect display. My lips parted. “This way, Elena. Let’s speak privately.”

  Privately.

  Bad idea.

  You came here to speak to him privately, Elena, I snapped at myself. Stop acting like a horny teenage boy and pull it together.

  “I can just wait outside...”

  “This cannot wait.” Konstantin pressed a hand to my back. His presence overwhelmed me, his smell pressing down—

  It’s just the humidity, I reasoned with myself.

  “It will only take a moment,” I said as Konstantin led me away from the baths. “You’ll be able to return to your testosterone bath time in a second.”

  He smiled.

  Konstantin escorted me to a separate room, with a private bath. Not nearly as hot or crowded as the public area, but still warm and misty. The sound of fountains rushed past, mixed with the soothing Russian music played throughout the bathhouse.

  Off the quiet bath, steam rose.

  Some part of me wanted to dive in, to feel the warm water against my exposed skin. It would be so relaxing, such a break from my constant stress and fears.

  “Elena,” Konstantin toed the water, looking back at me. “Your breakthrough?”

  “I—” The words died in my throat.

  Realization hit me suddenly. In this moment, I had to tell Konstantin what I knew. What I had discovered.

  It would break his heart.

  “Tatiana…” I tried to pull the words out of me. Just say it, Elena, I told myself. Just say it and let it be done. Don’t drag it out. “Tatiana…”

  Concern took over his face. “Is she okay?” He took his foot out of the pool and prowled towards me. His chest rippled as he moved. “Elena, is Tatiana okay?”

  I swallowed.

  “I told you. Anything you need is at your service,” he said. “There is nothing we won’t do to help Tatiana.”

  I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “I—” I turned my head to the pool, drinking in the water like it might offer some relaxation.

  His words rung through my head, the worry in them so distinguishable.

  Anything you need is at your service. There is nothing we won’t do to help Tatiana.

  Noise came out of my mouth before I could stop it. “I found the cure,” I said. “I…found the cure. I just need some ingredients…”

  Konstantin’s smiled widened, and he kissed me on either cheek. Heat darted through me at the contact. “Brilliant, Elena. You did what our best doctors could not.”

  “I… She’s not completely better yet,” I murmured, flustered by his reaction. “I need a few more things.”

  The word coward was ringing through my head on repeat, like a bell swinging from a sleigh. Coward, coward, coward.

  “Write a list and give it to Feodor. He will get you anything you need.”

  I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself. I must’ve looked tensed because Konstantin asked, “Why don’t you join me for a dip? The banya is to help relax, to socialize.”

  I tightened my arms over my chest. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

  He smiled. “One does not wear swimsuit into the bath, Elena.”

  My entire body tensed. “Then I’m not getting in.”

  “Scared, Elena?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of a bath? I’m not a child.”

  Konstantin looked nothing but amused. He gestured behind me. “There are robes in the closet over there.”

  I shifted on my feet, weighing the decisions in my mind. Turning around and leaving would be so easy.

  But the look in Konstantin’s expression, the dare in his smile...

  I beelined for the robes, ducking into a small alcove to undress in privacy. The plush fabric of the robe felt nice against my overly sensitive skin and being out my jeans and sweater allowed my body to cool down. I scooped my hair off my neck and pinned it up, cooling me down even further.

  When I stepped back into the main room, Konstantin had abandoned his towel by the side of the bath. He stood tall in the water, back to me, the still water allowing me to take in the curve of his ass, the length of his legs. If he turned around...

  “I don’t like swimming,” I said.

  Konstantin turned around. I forced myself to keep my eyes above his shoulders.

  “It’s not very deep,” he assured me. “You won’t drown. And if you do, I’ll save you.”

  “Via mouth to mouth, I’m sure.” I dropped myself down beside the bath, holding up the robe so it didn’t get wet as I dunked my legs in. The toasty water felt uncomfortable against my skin, but after a few seconds, I felt my muscles begin to unclench and relax.

  Konstantin walked over, causing ripples to spread throughout the water. The steam caused strands of his hair to curl slightly, making him look younger somehow.

  “Not a fan of the banya?” he inquired.

  “It’s fine,” I said dismissively.

  Konstantin was close enough now that if I reached out with my foot, I would touch him.

  I didn’t move.

  “There are different times for women and men,” he said. “You might be more comfortable during the women-only time.”

  “I think I’ll be more comfortable alone in my bathroom at home.”

  Konstantin’s eyes brightened. “Home.” He didn’t pose it as a question.

  I met his eyes. “Home,” I confirmed.

  His eyes danced over my skin. Despite the modest robe, I could feel his attention on my upper neck and exposed legs.

  “It will be a shame when you leave,” he said. “Danika’s grown quite fond of you, as have the others. Babushka, included.”

  I snorted. “Babushka hates me.”

  “I may have exaggerated,” Konstantin laughed. “But I only did it to convince you to stay a little while longer.”

  I didn’t respond. A decision was forming in my mind, fue
led by the warm water and humidity and Konstantin’s nakedness.

  He cocked his head to the side, eyes brightening as he saw the darkening of my expression, the hunger I allowed to show.

  “I’m ready to test my hypothesis.”

  He went so still the water stopped rippling. “Is that so?”

  I met his gaze head on. “Yes.”

  Konstantin drew closer, his hands resting on either side of my thighs. I could feel them lightly pressing against my flesh, teasing and inevitable.

  “What equipment do you suppose I should use for our experiment?” he purred. His eyes had grown so dark, so heavy, that the tawny brown was now closer to the color of hickory.

  I swallowed against my dry throat. “Whatever you have on hand.”

  His grin grew wider, teeth flashing dangerously.

  Very slowly, Konstantin reached forward and pushed my knees apart. Air brushed against me immediately, bringing with it a tickling sensation between my thighs.

  His rough hands rested on each knee, not moving just yet.

  “Now, lyubimaya,” he murmured, “there a few rules to an experiment, aren’t there? Would you care to tell me what they are?”

  I wasn’t sure if I could speak, or think, but the answer came to me. “Controlled variables.” I sounded breathless, like I had just run a marathon.

  “Controlled variables,” he repeated, his accent rolling over the words. “What are they?”

  “I didn’t realize this was a quiz.” I tried to sound sarcastic, but my tone sounded too husky and hoarse.

  Konstantin understood anyway. “Not a quiz, an experiment.” His fingers dug deeper in my knees, the sensation going straight down to the apex of my thighs. He smiled at my reaction and prompted, “Controlled variables?”

  “They…make sure the experiment is valid…” I swallowed air.

  “And what are our controlled variables?”

  “The controlled variables…” My mind tumbled over the situation, but kept getting caught on the sense of Konstantin’s fingers pressing into my flesh, his chest on display, his hair sticking to his forehead— “Temperature…it is a constant.”

  “We have that covered. What else?”