by Bree Porter
She shrugged. “Sometimes.” Her voice softened. “But not for the reasons you think.”
The wistfulness in her expression and tenderness to her tone made me ask, “Tanya, is everything okay?”
Tatiana smiled at me, but it felt forced. “Of course. I’m sorry. Lately, I’ve just been feeling my mortality.”
“You don’t need to anymore,” I assured her. “Elena has miraculously cured you.”
“It is miraculous,” she agreed. “She said the tonic would be like putting pressure to a wound until she made the cure for the real illness, but I feel fantastic. The sickness is gone.”
“I am beyond relieved to hear that.” And I was. Even if meant Elena could very possibly leave me.
“If it is not too much trouble...” I sent her a look that implied nothing was too much trouble; She laughed. “Can I please be checked by a doctor? Just for Dmitri’s—and Elena’s—peace of mind.”
“Of course you can. I will have one here before the end of the day.”
Tatiana smiled, but her lips suddenly fell, and she peered down at her stomach. “Oh, Nikola, what a big kick.” She grinned up at me, pure delight radiating from her every pore. “I think she’s saying hello to her Uncle Kostya.”
“I say hello back,” I murmured.
I was excited to have another baby in the house. Anton brought much needed life and vitality to this family, reminding us of innocence in our darkest moments. Another child could only be another blessing.
Until my niece became a teenager. Then war rules may apply—especially in regard to teenage boys.
I took another sip of tea.
“Did you find anything interesting in the vault?” she asked.
“A few things, but Rifat will find much more than I could ever,” I replied. “It is funny how much the Falcones spied on their allies.”
Tatiana huffed. “That’s mafia loyalty for you. Everybody’s friends until it’s time to be enemies.”
That made me laugh softly. “Indeed.”
Suddenly, my phone buzzed to life. Natasha’s ID popped up, a picture of her as a child dressed up as a dragonfly.
Tatiana peered over the table. “I’ll go now.” She knew Natasha’s contempt for her.
“Thank you for the tea.”
When she closed the door softly behind her, I answered Natasha.
“Uncle Kostya?” she asked. I could hear the sounds of Moscow behind her, the honking of cars and rushing of wind. It sounded like she was on the move through the streets, most likely up to no good.
“Natasha, where are you?”
“Just going for a walk.” The cheekiness in her tone implied she was doing a little bit more. “I just called you quickly to give you some—WATCH OUT, ASSHOLE! —good news.”
“Can it not wait until you’re off the road?” I asked.
Natasha breathed heavily, muttering something about stupid drivers, before answering, “No, no. It’s important,” she assured me. “I did some digging into the woman I told you about. The toothless one.”
“I recall.”
“And I rang Nanny Anya. She said that it was the woman’s husband who killed her. He was a bit of a psycho—if you couldn’t tell.” I could hear the automated voice of the train station echoing on her end.
“Natasha, are you on the train?”
She laughed. “You sound like a snob.”
“I am,” I agreed. “But I also understand you’re much too vulnerable to be on the train by yourself. Your father let you out?”
“My byki is with me.” Natasha must have sat down because her breathing began to calm. “Anyway, anyway. Nanny Anya said the husband wanted a son, but the woman only gave him a daughter. So he killed her. Just ripped her teeth right out and left her to bleed to her death. Isn’t that sick?”
“Where did this happen?”
“Saratov,” she answered.
“And where is he now?”
She let out a curling laugh. “Long gone, Uncle Kostya. I’m sure karma had her way with him.”
One could only hope.
“Did the woman have any relatives to speak of? Someone who might seek retribution?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. But her name was Nikolina Feodorovna—maiden name was Smirnovna. I couldn’t find out the husband’s name…” Natasha fell quiet in thought.
“Nikolina?” I repeated. “Small world.”
“Why do you say that?”
I caught sight of movement outside my window. In the gardens, I could make out Elena moving towards the forest. Her hair caught the wind, wild and unbound as usual. She was carrying a book. I wasn’t surprised when I saw her vanish up into a tree, disappearing behind the branches and leaves.
“No reason,” I said, not really listening. My attention was trained on where Elena had just been, trying to catch another glimpse of her. “Thank you, Natasha. Leave it now.”
She sighed. “I’m not a baby, Uncle Kostya.”
“I know that,” I agreed. “But Titus is very dangerous. He is someone who has no qualms about going after women, or children.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” Natasha retorted. “He’s secretly killing women. I’ll be scared when he’s beating armies of gangsters in hand-to-hand combat.”
I shook my head. “No, you will be wary now. Don’t let your arrogance get you killed.”
“You’re right,” she sighed. “Death by arrogance is such a man’s way to go out. I’ll save my death for something more lady-like.”
Laughing at her joke would break the warning I was trying to convey, but I couldn’t help letting a small smile grow up my face. “As you should.” I turned away from the window, seriousness growing in me. “Before you go, put your byki on the phone.”
“Uncle Kostya,” she whined. “Don’t be embarrassing.”
“Do it now or I’ll ring your father.”
Natasha huffed, but I heard the shuffling of the phone being passed. A few things were said, before a masculine voice answered, “Yes, sir?”
I recognized the voice. “Pyotr Plotnikov. When did you get assigned to my niece’s detail?”
“Two months ago, sir,” he answered quickly. Pyotr was a loyal man, arguably too loyal. He lacked the courage to challenge and defend decisions, meaning he would never rise in the ranks of the Bratva. He was also not someone I would’ve chosen to protect my niece.
“I see.” I traced the details of my desk absentmindedly. “I suggest if you want to stay on her detail, you avoid public transport.”
“She insisted—”
“Is Natasha your boss?”
He hesitated, then, “No, no, sir. She’s not.”
“No, she is not,” I agreed. “Get off at the closest station and I will contact someone to pick you up. If anything happens to my niece, you will be held personally responsible.”
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”
“Good.”
Pyotr was quiet at the finalization in my tone. Confused, he asked, “Do you want me to put Natasha back on…?”
“Yes.”
He quickly put my niece back on the phone. Natasha was already irritated. “You’re sending someone to pick us up?”
I put the phone on speaker as I texted an old loyal mobster. I still had a few contacts in Russia. Just in case my brother got too power hungry, or secretive.
“Indeed, I am,” I said.
Natasha sighed but didn’t argue.
We said our goodbyes, her promising to get off the train. I trusted her—to an extent. But I still made sure my contact sent me a picture of Natasha and Pyotr in the back seat, safe and sound.
24
Konstantin Tarkhanov
Sleep evaded me for hours.
I ended up giving up before 3am, and went to do some work. My head had a low throb and my stomach felt oddly tight. I silently prayed that I wasn’t coming down with something. The last time someone had gotten sick, the entire household had fallen ill within the same week. We had nearly
run the ibuprofen industry out of business.
As I made my way to my office, I passed the library. Light spilled out from beneath the doors. Either Elena had left the lights on or she was still cataloguing the books with a frenzy.
It had been a few days since the doctor came and cleared Tatiana. He called her recovery miraculous and spoke to Elena for a few hours about her work. Elena had seemed uncomfortable and tense the entire time, not reacting warmly to his praise. When he had said she should work in the medical field, she had glared at him until he had left.
A strange limbo had settled over the house. I had yet to offer Elena her freedom, and she had still to ask for it.
Tatiana was cured—yet Elena did not leave.
Did she want to stay? I couldn’t help but wondering. Or had the reality of being entirely on her own for the first time in her life finally settled in?
I doubted the second reason. Out of everyone in this world, Elena was most likely to thrive on the outside. She had the intelligence to work in the mundane world of academics. She had already proven she was more than capable of writing journal articles and completing research.
I stepped into the library quietly. At first glance, I didn’t spot her. But when I neared the array of couches, I spotted her form. Elena was tucked under a small blanket, which barely kept her warm, and fast asleep. By her head, Babushka also slept, her furry form hiding Elena’s face.
There were a few opened books left lying around. I moved them to the side so nobody would trip.
I approached Elena, trying not to wake up, when she let out a sudden cry.
I had never heard her make such a noise, even when she was attacked or saw her husband die. It was a piercing noise of terror.
“Elena,” I said, softly, crouching down beside her.
Her face scrunched up in horror, her mind trapped in a nightmare. She let out another sob, her entire body shaking as she did. Her hand came up, gripping her upper arm.
“Elena,” I rested my hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. “Lyubimaya, it’s a nightmare.”
Even Babushka had awoken. She leaped from the couch but did not scuttle away. Her beady eyes surveyed Elena.
When Elena let out another sob, I shook her harder. I didn’t want to startle her out of sleep, but there seemed to be no other way.
“Elena,” I said sharply.
Her eyes flew open, blurry as she took in her surroundings. Confusion flashed over her face as she spotted me, but with a few blinks, she seemed to wake up more. Her body relaxed and her features smoothed.
She rubbed her eyes. “Kon?”
I ran a soothing hand down her hair. “You were having a nightmare. You’re okay.”
“Mmm?” Elena blinked a few more times. I could almost see the moment her mind started working again, the moment the gears began to churn. She sat up suddenly, peering at me. The blanket slipped down, exposing her pajama singlet.
And hard nipples.
“Why are you here?” she asked sharply.
I rose my eyebrows. “I saw the light and came to investigate. I found you crying and shaking.” I searched her expression. The remnants of the nightmare still clung to her face, paling her cheeks. “What frightened you so much?”
Elena didn’t move from my grip, but she said stubbornly, “Nothing.”
“Then why are you clutching your arm?”
She dropped her hand suddenly, like it had burned her. Her eyes darted to her upper arm, pain sparking in them, before she snapped her green eyes back to me. “I had a bad dream,” she answered with slightly more honesty this time. “It’s nothing.”
“I disagree that it is nothing. You were crying.”
“Then why aren’t my cheeks wet?”
I almost smiled. “Not with tears, just crying out. Like a little bird.”
That made her roll her eyes. “I’m sure I was,” she said sarcastically. “Babushka would’ve clawed me if I was.”
We both turned to eye the tabby. She was licking her paw, looking relaxed. At our attention, her tail began to sway side to side in irritation.
“Bloody cat,” Elena muttered.
“You two were curled up,” I informed her. “It was very adorable.”
She sniffed. “She was probably judging my size so she could eat me. Like snakes do.” Elena shot Babushka a look as if to warn her from taking a bite.
“I don’t think so,” I swallowed down my laugh. “Babushka is much more of a hunter than a cuddler.”
“Like yourself?”
My cheeks stretched as I smiled. “You know I am very good at both.”
Elena’s cheeks pinkened but she didn’t acknowledge the sudden embarrassment. “Whatever you say.”
“Don’t think you’ve succeeded in distracting me, lyubimaya,” I said. My hand caught a strand of her hair, wrapping it like a ribbon around my finger. She didn’t pull away. “What were you dreaming about?”
Elena’s brows furrowed. “Why do I have to say?”
My eyes dropped to her hands. The word dishonest had been traced over multiple times.
Reluctantly, I dropped her hair. She watched curiously as I folded up my sleeve, revealing my extensive tattoos, tales and memories of my life. I grabbed her hand and pressed it to the image of an axe.
“When I was seven, I was very arrogant.”
“So, nothing has changed?”
I waved away her comment with a smile. “My brother decided he’d had enough of my pride. He stole an axe from the shed and came at me with it, through the house and gardens, he hunted me like a Christmas pig.”
Elena’s eyes narrowed. “Where were your parents?”
“Reigning their empire, trying to kill each other. Whatever they were doing, they were busy. So my safety was entirely up to me. If I confronted my brother, he would hurt me with the axe. If I slowed down, he would be able to catch me. But I could not run forever.”
Her eyes were bright with interest, egging me to go on.
“I figured I only had to stay hidden until he grew tired. So I did. For four days, I waited beneath beds and tucked myself in closets. I slept in periods of minutes, never truly resting, always anticipating. My brother grew angrier and angrier as time wore on. He tore the house apart, destroying my mother’s garden. Yet still I remained hidden.”
“Did he find you?”
I smiled. “On the fifth day, he grew tired. He stopped in the living room, dropped his axe and rested. And for that split second, he was vulnerable, stupid.” My teeth flashed as I recounted the end of the story. “So, in that moment, I snuck up on him, stole his axe and wiped at his ankles. It took weeks to heal.”
Her eyes gleamed. “And what did you learn?”
“That there is a perfect time to strike. I do not guess; I do not hesitate. I wait, I plan. And when the moment is perfect…” I leaned closer to her, noses almost touching. “I strike.”
Something dark sparked in her expression. “I can be patient, too.”
“I have no doubt you can be.” I released my hand from hers, but she kept her fingers pressed to the tattoo. “I have told you a secret. Now, you must tell me one.”
Elena’s expression was tight, but to my surprise she relented. After all, she did value a good deal. “A few months after we married, I heard about the vault. I overheard a meeting between the men, where I heard that the vault was kept in the bank. I had suspected and was not surprised…but I hadn’t known what was in it, exactly. Thaddeo had never said.”
I stayed quiet, listening, even if the mention of her previous marriage made me want to roar.
“A man came to the house. He said he was a part of the famiglia. He even had the tattoo to prove it. I declined and told him to wait until Thaddeo got home.” She swallowed. “The man did not accept that answer. He was much larger than I and easily overpowered me.”
I pressed my hands to her shoulders, steadying her as the memories grew darker and darker. The touch wasn’t only for Elena, however. If I didn’t f
eel her warm presence beneath my hands, calming me, I might’ve gone ballistic. Overpowered me…
“In those days, Thaddeo kept the key in his desk…Hidden, but there. The man knew where it was and found it. He also decided that I was the best person to take him to the vault. The man pressed a gun to my head and took me to the bank.”
A strange coldness had settled over her. She recounted the traumatic experience like she was checking off a list.
“I was a Falcone, so the bank could not deny me wanting to see my family vault. Before we entered the vault, the Falcone men came out of nowhere…including Thaddeo.” She reached up and pressed her hand to her bicep, pain flashing over her face. “He was furious with me. He broke my humerus out of rage.” There was a dare in her eyes as she took me in. “That is what I was having a nightmare about.”
I lightly caressed her upper arm. She shuddered.
Rage uncurled within me, threatening to take over. Red tugged on the edge of my vision. It would be so easy to step into the fury, let it overtake my control and enact vengeance on those who had wronged my Elena.
Those who had dared to lay their hands on what was mine.
Elena reached out and pressed her hand to mine, holding it in place. Her touch was soft, a contrast to my battle-scarred skin.
Through the rush of my anger, I managed to form the words, “He deserved to die worse than he did.”
“Yes,” she said. “He did deserve to die, didn’t he?”
She almost sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
I rose from the ground and settled beside her on the couch. I could feel her knees pressing into my back. Elena tried to adjust her position, but ended up exchanging her knees for her thighs, flushing them up against me.
Our faces were close enough that I could lean forward and kiss her, taste her against my tongue. The smell of her swirled all around me.
I dropped both my hands, pressing them to her waist. The thin singlet did nothing to stop the feel of her skin. I felt her breathing quickening.
Elena tipped her neck to the side, peering at me. “We might scandalize Babushka,” she murmured. The wickedness in her eyes told me she didn’t mind.