by Bree Porter
“Lyubimaya?” he prompted.
I pressed my hand to his, feeling the rough skin beneath mine. The words crossroad and satisfaction beamed up at me.
“The key.”
Konstantin’s body stilled. “The key,” he repeated.
“I know where it is.”
“And where is that?”
I hesitated.
The last time I had gotten involved with this key, I had ended bruised and marred. Thaddeo’s furious expression was still visible in my mind’s eye, like it was a physical photo held out in front of me.
“I can be patient a little bit longer,” Konstantin murmured. “But not forever.”
I looked down at his shoulder. Through the suit I couldn’t see the list of names, but I knew they were there. Permanently there.
“It’s in him,” I breathed.
His brow furrowed. “In him, lyubimaya? What do you mean?”
I met his eyes. “The key is in Thaddeo.”
Visions flashed past of the blood, the peel of skin.
“How do you know that?” he asked, squeezing my hips gently.
I grimaced. “Who do you think put it in him?”
They had not buried Thaddeo’s body very deep. It had been a job of a bratok so the authorities didn’t find it. He had been buried in an unmarked grave, no funeral or wake to mourn his absence.
It was what he deserved.
Night had fallen, thickening the shadows of the woods. Light came from the huge lamps Konstantin’s men had brought to illuminate the burial site. Loose dirt was kicked away, and then his men went to work with shovels.
Konstantin and I stood on the edge of the site, avoiding the spray of dirt. His hand rested on my back, his jaw tense.
“It unlocks a safe in the bank,” I said. Cold air brushed against my skin, the wintry kiss to it reminding me November had come and December was on her way.
“We know, thank you.” Konstantin turned his head down to me. The light only brightened half of his face, causing his features to warp and darken, but no darkness could hide the hunger in his eyes when he looked down at me.
I felt a shiver ripple through me but kept my voice level, “I’ll need to a borrow a knife. To get the key out.”
“Where in his body is it located?”
“You’ll see.”
He leaned closer to me. My heart skipped a beat. “Have you ever been in the safe?”
I tried to keep my expression clear as the memories flashed past. The pain began to throb in my arm, like Thaddeo’s ghostly hand was still gripping it. “Once,” I murmured. “I’ve been once.”
Konstantin’s eyes searched my face, catching something. He opened his mouth to say something when one of his men yelled out, “Found him!”
We both turned to see a pair of bratok roughly yanking Thaddeo’s body out of the hole and onto the ground. The bugs and deterioration had begun to eat away at him, wrinkling his flesh and skin, but you could see his face, make out his features.
“Where do you want him?”
It took me a second to realize the men were talking to me.
“There is fine.” I turned to Konstantin. “May I...”
Konstantin passed me a blade, the razor catching in the lamp’s light. It was heavy in my grip, but not unfamiliar.
Thaddeo had been very specific about where he had wanted the key to be kept. He had even gone so far as to circle the place in blue pen, so I knew exactly where to insert it. I remembered the feel of the flesh splitting beneath the blade, the rush of blood.
I wondered if cutting a dead body would be much different.
As I crouched down beside him, Konstantin joined me. His features were set in hard lines, a contrast to his usual bemused expression.
I searched with my fingers along Thaddeo’s arm, surprised at how cold his body now was. It felt almost like rubber. Then in the middle of his thigh, beneath the clothes he had been buried in and skin, I felt the shape of the key.
“Have you found it?” Konstantin’s voice was oddly tight.
I looked up. His brows were drawn low, his lip pressed into a thin line. His eyes weren’t on me but rather on my hand pressing into Thaddeo’s leg.
“I have.” I looked back down.
Carefully, I slit the fabric of his pants, giving myself space to work. I pinched the key between two fingers, then brought down the blade. The skin cut easily under the pressure, splitting like pages of a book. No blood spilled out, only a little machine.
The size of my thumb, the machine’s purpose was to generate and spit out a random number each nine minutes. It copied the safe, which also generated a random number every nine minutes. Without the code from the ‘key’, the vault was impenetrable.
I held it up to Konstantin, ignoring the strange bodily fluids that coated it. “There is your key, Konstantin.”
Konstantin brought out a handkerchief, which I assumed was for the key, until he passed it to me and took the key. He didn’t blink at the grime covering it.
“God, he had that in him?” That came from Roman. “That’s fucking disgusting.”
I watched as Konstantin held the key up to the light, his eyes sparkling. “Smart,” he noted. “I didn’t know Thaddeo had it in him.”
“He didn’t. It was my idea.”
Konstantin turned his head to me. A smile gracefully overtook his face, but I caught the vicious bite beneath it. “That makes much more sense. Thaddeo was an idiot, but my Elena is far from one.”
23
Konstantin Tarkhanov
The bank manager greeted us by the door, having seen our car pull into the parking lot. He stood in the doorway of one of the oldest and most prestigious banks in New York, with colossal architecture and an exclusive clientele.
The bank manager dabbed his forehead fretfully as he took us in.
“Mr Tarkhanov, I wasn’t aware you had an appointment...not that you need...”
I smiled at his nervousness. “No matter. I’m here for an entirely different reason.”
When I told him to take us to the Falcone vault, the bank manager hesitated. I could see the flash of fear in his eyes, remnants of what Thaddeo had left behind, but then he remembered I was the new king. He had more of a problem with Elena joining me.
“Mr Falcone gave strict instructions that Mrs Falcone is not allowed to enter the vault,” he said. His eyes pinned to Elena almost accusatorily.
She glared back.
I felt my teeth flash. “Elena is welcomed to enter the vault anytime she chooses,” I said, my voice was soft but my tone firm. “Or does the grip of a dead man still keep a hold you?”
The bank manager shifted on his feet. I could see his primal instincts fighting with his brain. He wanted to obey me—why shouldn’t he?
Thaddeo may be dead, my expression said. But I am very much alive. And I have no qualms about reuniting you with your old boss.
His fear of me won out and he gestured for us to go ahead. “Of course, sir. This way.”
The vault was located miles beneath the ground, shrouded in concrete and security. For decades, since the first Falcone had stepped off Ellis Island, they had been slowly gathering information and secrets about the world around them. Like idiots, they had congregated all that information in the same place.
Their reasoning had most likely been that no one would ever get their hands on the number generator, but my Elena had proven that theory wrong.
I turned to assess the woman in question.
She hadn’t looked nervous since we arrived, but I knew the bank manager’s dislike towards her had been the reason she had kept her walls up. Beneath her withdrawn but sharp expression, I could spot the flicker of uncertainty.
Of fear.
My dreams were often filled with imaginings of killing Thaddeo again. I had viewed him as a petty but stupid mobster who would prove to be easy prey, therefore I had killed him efficiently. But if I had known all the marks he had left on Elena’s psyche…oh, his dea
th would’ve been lengthy and bloody.
It would never have been spoken about, only whispered.
Regretting the past was a waste of energy, even if picturing Thaddeo screaming and howling did always lift my mood.
Elena turned her head to me, irritation flashing over her features. “What are you looking at, Konstantin?”
I felt a smile grow up my face. “You, of course.”
She sniffed.
I leaned in close to her ear, resting my palm on her lower back. Beneath my grip, I felt a shudder rattle through her. My smile only grew wider.
“In specifics,” I murmured softly, “I am looking at you and remembering our time together in the banya earlier.”
Her nostrils flared.
The feel of Elena was still prominent in my mind. The noises, and scent, and wetness, were constants in my brain. It had been enjoyable, everything I had thought it would be—besides Artyom’s irritating but understandable interruption.
The picture of her leaning back, neck tipped, bare breasts visible and nipples puckered, scored my mind. No other woman, no other sex, had been as pleasurable or memorable as eating Elena’s pussy out in the banya.
But it had been but a taste…quite literally. There was still so much more to discover, to own and devour. Noises I had yet to elicit and reactions I had still to draw.
Patience, I told myself, trying to cool the heating in my blood, the hardening of my cock. You have plenty of time to enjoy Elena.
We reached the vault after several minutes of stairs, secured doors, and elevators. My bodyguards were growing more and more antsy as I went through more unfamiliar terrain. However, the only threat was the bank manager—and in some ways, Elena.
But I wouldn’t let any of my men lay their hands on her.
“Here we are,” he muttered, gesturing forward.
Before us was a huge steel door, a bright keyboard to the left. It looked three bricks dense, safe and secure. In the middle of the door, an emblem was visible. An eagle in flight with a snake between its claws, with the Falcone family motto beneath. Nulli prœda—A prey to no one.
Except to me.
My smile grew wider and I tapped the emblem, “This can be changed?”
“Yes, sir.” The bank manager glanced nervously at the door but didn’t comment anything else.
I fished the ”key” out of my pocket. A few clicks revealed a set of numbers. Elena advised me that they would change every 9 minutes, in accordance with the vault’s lock.
I typed in the PIN. Within seconds, there was a loud heaving noise, like the door had lifted its weight, and the pad glowed green.
It had been so easy—too easy. Interrogating had led us nowhere, stalking and spying had not gotten us any closer.
But Elena… She had gotten us into the vault in a single day.
My bodyguards hovered as I spun the rotary valve, and the door released.
Inside was just as chaotic and fulfilling as I had expected. Boxes upon boxes, files upon files, digital audios and video recordings. Decades of surveillance and scouting had allowed the Falcones to fill this vault with all the information they knew. This vault was priceless, and not only because of all the blackmail.
Family jewels—stolen—were kept locked up tight but accessible. I could see the shine to them through their glass cases, easily guessing their no doubt monstrous value.
Elena followed me in, eyes searching the place wildly. I knew she wasn’t seeing what I was, but instead her eyes were peering into the past.
“Elena,” I called. Her eyes moved to mine, clarity filling them. “You don’t have to come into the vault if you do not want.”
It was meant to be a polite offer, but she curled up her lip. “I’m fine.”
I hadn’t expected any other reaction.
I bowed my head, hiding my smile.
Roman whistled loudly as he entered the vault and looked mighty pleased with himself. “You see this, Boss? This info would let us take anything we wanted.”
“Anything you wanted?” Elena repeated.
“I have told you before, Roman, and will say so once more, we are not usurping any other families.”
My byki shrugged. “Yeah, but we could.”
“Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should,” Elena told him. “The manpower and wealth needed to take over another organization’s territory takes time to cultivate.”
Roman snapped his glare to her. “What do you know about manpower and wealth, little widow?”
“Roman,” I warned. Elena could stand up for herself, but the nickname little widow made my molars grind.
Elena wasn’t so easily commanded. “If you can figure it out, Roman, I’m sure I can.”
He poked his tongue at her; she poked her tongue out at him.
I shook my head, almost endeared by their sibling like bickering, before turning back to the vault. The amount of information was nearly overwhelming. It would take time to dig through, time that I did not have.
I opened the box closest to me, pulling out the first loose piece of paper. It was dated over 20 years ago, a transcript from the Corsican Union versus Chicago Outfit war. A discussion between the late Don of Chicago and Charles Pelletier, the French mobster who had tried to ruin Chicago and failed. Both were discussing peace, but even the inked words conveyed the threats in their tones.
Another box was dedicated to the Lombardis. I flicked through a pile of images, surprised to see the funeral of Vitale’s first daughter photographed. Photographing the wake of a child felt unethical—unacceptable.
It seemed the organizations in the States had begun to forget how cherished children were and should be. Not only were they our heirs and future, but proof that innocence still lived in this dark world of ours.
To my surprise, I also found Thaddeo’s medical records. We had found heart medication in his home, but the medical records explained more about his condition. It had shown up overnight a few months ago—Olezka had told me the moment it had.
Elena’s scent washed over me, and she peered around my arm. Her neck peeked out from her sweater.
My blood heated at the sight of it, my dick no smarter than it had been in my youth. I wanted to score the unblemished skin, mark her. I could already feel the taunt skin breaking and swelling beneath my teeth, already hear the echo of her cries in my ears.
The papers crunched as my grip tightened.
Elena’s eyes flicked up to me. She caught my expression, a loose breath escaping between her lips. I saw her glance back over my shoulder, spotting Roman and the rest of my byki.
I dropped the medical records and leaned closer to her, enclosing us in our own private circle. “Why don’t you like being in here?”
She snapped her eyes to me, nostrils flaring. “Maybe I’m claustrophobic.”
“If you were, I would have carried you out of here ages ago,” I murmured. “The real reason, lyubimaya?”
Her features hardened as she internally fought with herself. Some part of her wanted to confide in me, but another part also wanted to keep her privacy. Eventually, she replied, “I don’t like it in here.” The finality of her tone indicated she was done talking about it.
I relented, letting her believe she had won this battle. Elena’s discomfort in this vault was not for such a simple reason. I knew it had something to do with the reason she kept cupping her bicep, like she was applying pressure to a wound.
“Roman,” I called, “ring Rifat. Tell him we got him an early birthday present.”
A soft knock on the door interrupted me from my work.
“Come in,” I called.
I wasn’t surprised when Tatiana slipped in, breakfast tray in hand. Artyom and Dmitri both had hard knocks, whereas neither Danika nor Roman bothered to knock. Roksana avoided my office when Artyom wasn’t with her, like she was avoiding the beacon of the Bratva.
Tatiana looked sprite and healthy, her stomach swollen and hair glossy. When she smiled, she lo
oked like her old self.
“Kostya, I brought you some tea.” She lifted the tray in her hands, two steaming teas resting on it. “Am I interrupting?”
“Tanya,” I returned the affectionate nickname. “You’re not interrupting anything. Please sit down.”
“Are you sure? You look busy.” She gestured to the stacks of papers I had been sorting through.
Rifat had gifted them to me from the Falcone vault, a collection of drug transfers. It had revealed little about the Falcones I hadn’t already known but had let me know that the Lombardis and Falcones got their drugs from the same suppliers.
“It is nothing we don’t already know.”
Tatiana laid the tray down on the corner of the desk, before placing a cup in front of me and sitting down with the second tea between her hands. The herby scent of the tea wafted over me.
She ran her fingers through her hair before taking a sip of her tea. “I...I came to thank you. I know the lengths you went to help me—both you and Elena.”
I shook my head and took a sip of tea. “Tanya, you are my family. You don’t have to thank me for helping you.”
She smiled and leaned back in her chair. “Do you remember when we met?”
The question caught me off guard, but I smiled in nostalgia. “Of course.”
Tatiana had been the secretary for the Bratva’s legit business front, but her brilliance with numbers and strategy had been wasted. When I had invited her into the shadier sides of business, she hadn’t hesitated.
We had both been so young, so eager to prove ourselves. In the early days, it had just been Tatiana, Artyom and I. A filthy but ambitious trio who had enough bloodthirstiness and intelligence in our blood to build our own empire.
“Remember how young we were?” Tatiana repeated my thoughts. “We thought we were on top of the world.”
“And now we are.”
She smiled warmly. “And now we are.” She traced the details of the chair. “Some of us are married, or parents. Not those dirty kids running around the streets of Moscow anymore.”
“We’re much cleaner now,” I mused.
“Do you ever miss it?” Tatiana wondered. “That freedom, that...energy?”
I leaned back in my chair, assessing her. “No. I look back at those times with fondness but no longing. Do you, Tanya?”