Kingpin's Foxglove (The Tarkhanov Empire Book 1)

by Bree Porter

  “Babushka, shoo,” I said to the cat.

  Babushka looked at me like I had grown a third head.

  Elena laughed, the sound awkward, but dazzling enough to brighten up the entire room. I grinned at her, enamoured.

  “I thought you were king around here?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately, Babushka acknowledges no authority but her own.”

  Another glimmer of amusement flashed over Elena’s face. “Then we have more in common than I originally thought.”

  I laughed lowly. “I guess you do.”

  “I still prefer the dogs.” This was directed more at Babushka.

  The cat hissed at Elena.

  “Ah, ah, enough of that.” I waved a hand at Babushka. She didn’t look pleased but followed my silent command, disappearing into the shadows of the bookshelves.

  Elena smiled slightly. “So maybe she does follow your command.” She cut her eyes to me. “That doesn’t change how I feel.”

  “Aren’t you lucky I find your disrespect so alluring?” I mused. My finger caught her hair again.

  “What happens to those whose disrespect you don’t find alluring?” She already knew the answer, but the teasing in her tone conveyed she wanted another one.

  I smiled, happy to oblige. “They don’t get to join me in the banya.”

  Delight flashed over her face. “Is that so? Are you turning many people away from the banya then?” Her tone was teasing but I caught the bite to her words.

  Perhaps I wasn’t the only one feeling so possessive.

  “I am very picky about whom I let into my territory,” I mused. “Only one has been successful so far.”

  Elena’s lips tilted upwards. “And you expect me to believe that? I bet the ladies are lining up at the door for the Russian Gentleman.”

  I traced a finger down her arm. She watched it, shivering slightly. “As I said, lyubimaya, I am very picky about who I share the banya with.”

  “Then your chosen one must be quite the woman.”

  My smile grew. “Indeed, she is.”

  Elena tried to hide her smile, but the shine to her eyes could not be disguised. “I’ve allowed you into my territory as well.”

  “Your territory?”

  “The library,” she explained. “My sanctum sanctorum.”

  “Is that so?” I leaned closer to her, breathing her in. Her eyes flickered down to my lips before glancing back up to my eyes. “Your territory is unfortunately in my house. Part of it, actually.”

  Elena shrugged. “The governor of New York claims ownership over your territory, even though what is his is a part of yours.”

  “I claim the governor as my territory, too,” I mused.

  She laughed. “He might disagree with that statement.”

  “Not too loudly.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Her eyes danced up to my forehead. A strand of hair had come undone in my sleep and flew over my head. I went to run my fingers through it, when her fingers reached up and caught it. “You have longer hair than I originally thought.”

  Combed back, it did often look slighter shorter than it was.

  “You still win the longest hair competition,” I told her. Elena’s hair reached her lower back.

  “I wasn’t worried,” she replied. Elena swept up her hair and looped it around my neck like a noose.

  I smiled, gripping it one hand. “You could kill me with this hair.”

  “Isn’t that your signature move?”

  A surprised laugh tore from me. “Indeed. Perhaps I should grow my hair as long as yours and choke my enemies with it.”

  Her eyes gleamed. “I think ties are easier to maintain.”

  “I fear you’re right.”

  Elena released her hair and it came falling down, a wave of mahogany-colored silk. She peeked up at me, peering at me through dark lashes.

  My cock hardened immediately.

  Elena spotted it and her eyebrows rose slightly. “Aren’t you tired?”

  “For you, never.”

  Her cheeks dimpled at my answer. She gently placed a hand on my thigh, dangerously close to my less intelligent head.

  “Since you were so welcoming to your territory,” she murmured, “it’s only fair I welcome you into mine.”

  Fire seemed to thunder through me, tightening and hardening my body.

  My smile grew darker. “That sounds like the right thing to do.”

  Elena tossed her hair over her shoulder, deeming it in the way, before unbuttoning my pants. I helped her lower them, running my fingers through her hair.

  So many times, I had pictured this scenario, Elena on her knees, her hands and tongue worshipping me. The setting had changed each time: bedroom, office, stables, the banya.

  The real thing was so much better.

  “You look proud of yourself,” she noted. Her hot breath blew onto my cock, only igniting me further.

  “Do I?” I leaned against the back of the couch, tilting my head so I could see her. I ran my hand over her head, cupping the back of it. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Wickedness gleamed in her eyes. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

  “I guess we—”

  Elena took me in her mouth, lips and teeth and tongue. Pleasure rocked through me as she bobbed her head up and down, working me in long slow strokes.

  My head tipped back on its own accord. “Lyubimaya.”

  I felt her smile around me.

  Her hands fondled my balls, her thumb rubbing in slow circles. Every now and then, her fingers would press into the side of my cock, intensifying the touch and feel of her tongue.

  She seemed content to play, to tease. The graze of her teeth caused a growl low in my chest.

  “Play nice,” I warned.

  “You didn’t,” she murmured around my cock.

  I twisted my fingers through her hair, trying to gain back some control, but it was too late. Elena had won this game, had me at her command and a servant in her territory. When she pressed her tongue into the slit of my tip, pleasure roared through me and Elena’s game came to an end.

  But when she looked up at me, lips glistening and eyes wide, I almost came again.

  This woman has me in the palm of her hands, I thought, releasing my grip on her hair.

  Elena smiled and wiped her mouth. Cum dripped onto the couch.

  “What a welcoming gift,” I murmured. “I hope no other guests receive such a gift.”

  She shrugged, a challenge in her expression.

  I could play one more game.

  I reached forward in a burst of strength, pulling her to me. She was flushed against me, the feel of her breasts almost distracting me. Trapped in my grip, all Elena could do was glare, not happy to be yanked around.

  I pressed my teeth to her ear, breathing her in. “No one else in this world will ever get a blowjob from you, Elena.” No euphemisms, no teasing. “I will slaughter them and make you watch on your knees.”

  All she said was, “Ditto.”

  We stayed there until the first rays of sunlight shaded the horizon in pinks and purples. She dozed in my arms, her mind settling for once. I couldn’t find sleep, the throbbing of my head returning without Elena to distract me.

  Elena twisted in my arms as it grew brighter, blinking blearily up at me. “You look pale.” Even tired, her voice held its natural factual tone.

  I rubbed my nose into her head. “It’s nothing,” I murmured.

  “We have to go to breakfast soon,” she said.

  She was right. I could hear the household waking up all around us, from Anton’s giggling to the smell of pancakes. We even heard a loud crash, followed by Danika yelling she was okay.

  But neither of us moved.

  Artyom began yelling that breakfast was ready.

  Elena was the first to draw away. She took our conjoined warmth with her. I watched as she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

  “Let’s go eat,” I rose to my feet, straightening my
trousers.

  A wave of dizziness washed over me, momentarily blurring my vision.

  “Kon?” Elena’s voice seeped through. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine—”

  Darkness took a sudden hold on me.

  The last thing I remember was the floor rising to greet me.

  25

  Elena Falcone

  My grip on the bed tightened.

  “Konstantin would want us to stay calm,” Artyom was saying behind me.

  “FUCK CALM!” Roman hollered. “Kostya is dying and you expect me to be fucking calm?”

  “We can’t know anything until the doctor gets here,” Roksana soothed.

  “You’re not fucking blind, Roks. You can see what I see.”

  Artyom growled. “Watch how you speak to her.”

  Roman let out a frustrated noise. He may be showing anger, but everyone knew it was hurt that was driving his words.

  “The doctor is pulling in now,” came Dmitri’s cold voice. He had been quiet, sitting in the shadows.

  “I’ll go greet him,” Danika whispered. I heard the soft pat of her feet as she left. In the hallway, I heard a thump, indicating she had hit something, but I didn’t go investigate. Roman muttered, “I got it.” And left.

  From the corner of my eye, I spotted Tatiana moving closer. She peered at the bed with concern.

  Don’t look at him, I wanted to snap. Don’t get anywhere near him.

  Before me, stretched out on his bed, Konstantin slept. His cheeks were pallid, forehead sweaty, his pulse too slow. Every now and then he would let out a stuttering breath, before falling back into deep unconsciousness.

  Poisoned.

  It was my gut instinct, my first reaction, so I had known it was the correct one.

  Konstantin had been poisoned.

  When Tatiana got too close, I moved from my post at the end of the bed and neared his pillows. A bowl filled with water and a towel had been left out to try and fight Konstantin’s fever. I rinsed the towel, gently wiping at his face, before laying it over his forehead.

  “Leave him, Elena,” Dmitri said coldly.

  I turned to him slowly. “I beg your pardon?”

  He jerked his chin sharply. “You’re not a part of this family. This does not concern you.”

  “Dima,” Tatiana called softly.

  “Where was this attitude when your wife was under my care?” I hissed. “Mind your fucking business.”

  Dmitri stepped forward but it was Artyom—Artyom—who grabbed his arm and warned, “Don’t. Kostya would kill you.” Artyom nodded to me. “And Elena has every right to be here.”

  Dmitri backed down but didn’t tear his watchful stare away from me.

  The door opened, and in came the doctor. Roman was hot on his heels, protective even around trusted associates. Behind him, sullen and sunken, Danika followed. She didn’t say anything, just blended into the shadows with Dmitri. He didn’t object when she rested her head against his arm.

  The doctor gestured for me to step away, allowing him room to administer Konstantin.

  We all watched closely as he tested blood pressure, heart rate and temperature. The further he did his tests the deeper the doctor’s frown got.

  A lump began to form in my throat.

  “What’s wrong?” Artyom asked.

  The doctor thinned his lips. “I need to draw blood to be certain.”

  “Can’t you just tell by looking at him?” Roman demanded.

  “No, Mr Malakhov, I cannot,” the doctor said simply. “However, I can have the results back within the day.”

  “Hour,” Artyom said softly. “Results back within the hour.”

  The doctor blinked. “That is simply not possible...”

  “You had better make it possible,” he warned. “I’m sure the lining of your pockets might make the process move faster.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The doctor took Konstantin’s blood and quickly left. He recommended we elevate Konstantin on pillows, something that would stop him choking on his own vomit should his body try and fight the sickness itself.

  Dmitri looked like he was going to stab the doctor for suggesting his Pakhan might die such a mundane and gross death.

  I stayed by Konstantin’s side as the hours wore on. Roksana brought me a chair and some tea, not saying much but the kindness of her actions speaking loudly.

  I wrapped myself up in a blanket and curled up, an unconsciously protective stance. Looking at Konstantin like this...it hurt. It made everything inside of me hurt. My cells and bones ached with something akin to terror, my chin shook with an almost grief-like emotion.

  Konstantin had never looked so...vulnerable. If anybody wanted to hurt him right now, they could. The very thought made my muscles tense.

  I didn’t sleep. I didn’t even close my eyes. Rationally, I knew Roman and other byki were standing by the door and beneath the windows, armed to the teeth and ready to strike at anything they deemed a threat.

  But some primal part of my psyche had taken over. Sleep, it had been decided, was an unnecessary to survival at this point in time.

  The door clicked open after a few hours. I leaped to my feet, but it was Dmitri who stepped into the room. “It is just me, Elena.”

  I didn’t sit back down.

  Dmitri didn’t look offended and instead took a few more steps into the room. “I brought you some reading material.” He held up his hands, revealing a stack of old novels I hadn’t noticed.

  “Why?”

  “So, you don’t fall asleep,” he said icily. “Do you want them or not?”

  I jerked my chin instead of saying yes.

  Dmitri placed the novels down on the bed, allowing me to inspect them further. They were old and worn, with intricate designs detailing the covers and spines. Cyrillic words dotted the front.

  “This aren’t from the library.”

  “No,” he said. “They’re from my own private collection.”

  Only a few were in English. Their titles read Father Frost, Vasilisa the Beautiful and The Golden Slipper.

  “They’re fairy tales,” I said.

  “Old Russian ones by Alexander Afanasyev.” Dmitri’s American accent dropped as he pronounced the author’s name.

  I held up the ones in Russian. “I can’t read Russian.”

  “Now it is a better time than any to learn.”

  My eyes narrowed. “And why do I need to learn?”

  Something sparked in his blue eyes. Nothing malicious...more amused. Well, as amused as this human icicle could ever be. “You know why, Elena.”

  I had no answer to that.

  When Dmitri left—with a warning to take care of his beloved novels—I settled back down in my chair and cracked Father Frost open. The interior had little images next to the words, beautiful artwork of snow-covered forests and peasant women adorned in jewels.

  It was a miserable tale, a warning to women to be kind and polite, or else risk being frozen to death. I found the story interesting and it kept me and my nerves company as time wore on without word from the doctor.

  Konstantin remained still. Every now he would flinch or his expression would warp, but then it would smooth back down into sleep.

  His color grew fainter as time wore on, his pulse slowing.

  I recognised death, especially when instrumented by poison. His symptoms were not unfamiliar to me. In fact, I began to check them off as time wore on; slow pulse, grey-tinted skin, shivering.

  The list did allow me a hold on my sanity. Especially since I could feel myself tethering onto the edge of craziness, ready to snap at any moment.

  He’s going to be fine, I told myself, but the comfort fell flat in my mind. When you didn’t believe yourself, something was seriously wrong.

  When the doctor rang with his results, the entire household filed into the room. Scattered around on the floor and surfaces, it was Artyom who stood in the center and held the phone up, speaker as loud as it
could go.

  “We just got his bloods back,” the doctor sounded solemn. “There are high traces of glycoside, which is a poison found in oleander and—”

  “Foxglove,” I breathed. I could see my father’s toppling onto the ground, clutching his heart. I could see the hole in Thaddeo’s head, the emptiness in his eyes. “Glycoside is found in foxglove.”

  Artyom’s dark eyes snapped to me. “What is the cure?”

  “Digoxin-Fab,” I answered.

  The doctor confirmed my answer. “The amount in his blood is…highly concerning. In fact, it is a fatal amount. Even if he was given the cure…”

  Hot bands wrapped around my heart, squeezing it painfully. Something like a sob or a scream was crawling up my throat.

  The word karma wrestled its way into my brain.

  Voices continued all around me.

  “Where can we get some of this shit?” Roman demanded. “The hospital?”

  “The hospital will have the resources to make the cure,” the doctor ventured. “But it takes time to manufacture. And they won’t just hand over digoxin-Fab without—”

  Roman growled. “They will give us whatever we ask for. We fucking own the hospital.”

  “It could raise questions,” Artyom said rationally. Panic had yet to take a hold of him—or maybe it had and he was just better than the rest of us at hiding it. “The last thing we need is our enemies knowing Kostya is sick. We need to find who did this and kill them.”

  “We can deal with that after!” Roman hollered. “I can’t even believe this is a fucking discussion.”

  “Artyom is right.” This icy statement came from Dmitri. “I want Kostya healthy again, but once one person outside of this family knows, our enemies know.”

  Roman made a disbelieving noise.

  “They’re right, Ro.” Danika’s voice came from the floor. She had brought her knees up to her chin, making herself look as small as possible. “There are protocols Kostya put in place for situations like this.” She wiped at her eyes with a sleeve.

  “Fuck protocol,” Roman snapped. “I don’t care about Kostya’s back up plans or who inherits after him–fuck, I don’t even care who did this. He is sick, he needs a cure. Let’s fucking find it.”

  “Once word gets out that Kostya is sick, that the Bratva is vulnerable, the entire organization will be in danger. We can’t even start investigating how this happened, who got to him here in our sanctum, without drawing attention to the situation,” Artyom said calmly. “I’m not happy either, Roman, but I won’t risk Kostya’s empire because you are unable to rationalize.”