Kingpin's Foxglove (The Tarkhanov Empire Book 1)

by Bree Porter

  But no glass hit.

  I looked up.

  Konstantin stood tall over us. I couldn’t see his face, but he was looking at Tatiana and her new friends, so I doubted it he was grinning and laughing.

  Two men had joined Tatiana. Their guns were pointing at Anton and me.

  “Don’t move, Kostya. Or else Elena wears bullets,” Tatiana said. She wrapped a rope around her arm, then stepped up onto the window ledge. Blood continued to soak her shirt, even if her adrenaline numbed the pain.

  Dmitri made to step forward, but Konstantin grabbed his arm. “Do not,” he growled.

  Tatiana’s eyes met mine. “Prendi una decisione, Elena. O loro o tu?” Make your decision, Elena. Them or you?

  And then she was gone.

  Konstantin went for the men with the guns, but they moved too fast. Gunshots went off, but instead of pointing them at Anton and me, they had shoved the barrels into their ears.

  Both fell like bags of sand, brains leaking from the holes in their head.

  31

  Elena Falcone

  I said goodbye to Roman and Danika first. Both had fallen asleep in the hallway outside the library, Danika resting her head on Roman’s shoulder. Curled up, they made a striking pair.

  I kissed them both on the forehead and left them to their dreams.

  “Elena?” Roman woke, eyes bleary and voice groggy. “You okay, sister?”

  “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” I left without another word.

  Next was Roksana and Artyom. Artyom was poring over papers, his hand absentmindedly rubbing Roksana’s thigh. Roksana laid gracefully beside him, elegant even in her sleep.

  His coal-black eyes tracked me as I pressed a kiss to Roksana’s head.

  “I expected this,” he said, rational tone never wavering. “Couldn’t you have proven me wrong?”

  I didn’t say respond. “Take care, Artyom.”

  “You too, Elena.”

  I left him to his work.

  Tucked upstairs, in the midst of mourning his wife, daughter and son’s innocence, I found Dmitri. He sat beside a sleeping Anton. Both of their expressions were warped with grief.

  I presented his books. “Thank you. Koschei the Deathless was my favorite.”

  Dmitri said nothing as I crouched down next to Anton, stroked his hair once, twice, before murmuring soft words that resembled a prayer.

  As I went to leave, Dmitri said, “You learned Russian for a reason. Do not forget why.”

  I stopped by the door. My fingers dug into the wood. “Take care of your son, Dmitri.”

  My final stop would be the hardest. The most stubborn obstacle to overcome.

  Konstantin stood by his desk, First Aid kit opened beside him. He was carefully cleaning out his wounds.

  I had meant to keep my distance, stay by the exit, but my feet had a mind of their own. His embrace called to me, the phantom feeling of his arm banding around me already warming my heart. When I was close enough to touch him, I stopped.

  “I thought your blood would be black,” I said, an attempt to distract myself from needing him so much.

  He smiled before he looked up. “My blood is as red as any man’s.” When he took me in, his smile dropped. Quietly, he asked, “Why do you have a bag with you, lyubimaya?”

  Clutched in my hand was a backpack I stolen from Danika’s room. I had filled it with books, clothes and cash. None of which were mine, but things I couldn’t bear to part with.

  I had already planned out my speech, practiced my lines in the mirror like an ambitious actress. Hopefully, my performance was convincing enough.

  “This was the deal, Konstantin,” I said. “I heal Tatiana and you give me my freedom.”

  His nostrils flared. “And that is what you truly want?”

  No. No. No. “Yes.”

  Konstantin stared at me, eyes searching my expression. I knew what he was looking for, and I refused to show it.

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  I tucked them behind my back, hiding my words. “My decision is made, Konstantin. I want my freedom.”

  He rose, dropping the antiseptic. “Do you need an official invitation, Elena? Will that keep you from leaving?” He gestured with his arm, like he was presenting his kingdom to me. “Marry me—or become my advisor. Become both, my wife and Sovietnik. Or do neither. The choice is yours.”

  Tears began to well in the back of my eyes. But I refused to reveal the misery that stormed within me. “I don’t want any of those things. I want to leave.”

  “No.” Konstantin growled. “Something has frightened you. Understandable, the revelations these past few days have been...devastating, to say the least. But running will not fix that, Elena.”

  I shook my head, fighting back the sob that was threatening to escape me. “I want to be free, Konstantin. I don’t want this life.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “This life is your life, Elena. This is...this is our life.”

  “No,” I breathed. “This life is yours.”

  “Would you like me to come with you?” he asked.

  Something like a laugh rose out of me.

  Konstantin didn’t laugh. “I’m not joking, Elena.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” I said, refusing to let the implications of his words settle in my brain. “I’m going. Alone. I’m going to go to college and study botany. I’m going to worry about rent and loud neighbors, not gang wars and mob bosses.”

  His expression tightened. “Choose which college you want to go, and I will pay for it, Elena,” he said. “But stay here with your family. Stay here with me.”

  “I can’t.”

  Konstantin’s eyes darkened. “And why not?”

  I forced the words out of my mouth, like I was dragging them into existence with a hook. “Because I don’t love you, Konstantin.”

  He stilled.

  Deep in my chest, my heart began to break.

  “That is not true,” he said quietly.

  I brought my shoulders up, forcing more bravo than I felt. “Yes, it is.” I said.

  He was quiet for a moment.

  I wondered if his heart was ripping to shreds in his chest just like mine was.

  “I see,” Konstantin said eventually, voice distant. “And you are certain of this?”

  I nodded, all my words escaping me.

  Konstantin picked back up the antiseptic, resuming his task with forced casualness. “Well, then, there is nothing left to be said, is there?”

  There wasn’t, but I hovered for a few seconds.

  This was everything I had wanted my entire life. To be free, to be out.

  But if it was everything I had ever wanted, then why did it hurt so fucking much?

  “Take care, Konstantin.”

  His hands paused but he only nodded in response.

  I left silently.

  My entire chest was caving in, my throat was clogged. I felt like crying and screaming and howling. I felt like stabbing Tatiana in the chest, and then doing the same to Konstantin for making me feel such a way.

  If being selfless felt like this, why were people so obsessed with being anti-selfish?

  This agony... This agony stemmed from loving more than myself.

  For the first time in my life, I had protected someone other than myself. I had destroyed my own happiness to keep air in my family’s lungs.

  And though it felt like my insides were being torn to shreds, I knew I would do it over and over again if it meant keeping them safe.

  When I reached the edge of the property, I noticed I had a tail.

  “Shoo, Babushka.” I waved at the cat.

  She continued to stand behind me. When I took a few steps forward, she also took a few steps forwards.

  And even when I stepped off the estate, Babushka continued to follow me. It wasn’t until I reached the bus stop that I tried to scare her off.

  Babushka watched my efforts with irritation.

  “I�
��m going away, Babushka,” I tried to plead, my reality settling in. “You can’t come with me. No one can.”

  She continued to stay with me.

  “I’m serious, Babushka. Shoo!”

  If Babushka had eyebrows, she would’ve risen them. Instead she continued to lick her paw and watch me with faint disinterest, like she was annoyed the bus was running late.

  When the bus formed in the distance, I kneeled. Babushka pushed herself against me, purring happily.

  I wrapped my arms around her and she offered no resistance. The fat tabby went happily into my arms, resting her head against my chest and vibrating.

  I buried my face into her fur and let a tear slide out.

  But now was not the time to cry.

  When the bus driver asked how many tickets, I almost said three.

  One for me, one for Babushka...and one for the baby.

  32

  Konstantin Tarkhanov

  I stood in the darkness, watching her figure become smaller and smaller as she left the property.

  “Boss?” Olezka had summoned my calls.

  “I want your best men on her detail,” I said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  When my torpedo left, I was by myself again but not alone. The beast living inside of me was more than enough company.

  Tatiana was Titus. Anton had indirectly killed his sister. Dmitri was broken with grief.

  My family had been split down the middle, the love and loyalty that bounded us being tested under suspicion and anguish.

  And now Elena had left me.

  The woman I had been in love with since I had read her paper on botany had seen what I had to offer and declined. She had left her family, left the people who had grown to love her.

  She left me.

  Deep in my soul, a decision had been made. My empire had been threatened, my family had been broken. The woman I loved had broken my heart.

  Someone would suffer for these crimes. Everybody would suffer for these crimes.

  I stepped away from the window, smiling faintly.

  I had come to the States to be a king of New York and that was what I intended to do.

  No matter what the personal cost.

  Let the mask fall, let my inner beast take control. I was Konstantin Tarkhanov, son of the Tarkhanov Empire and Pakhan of Staten Island. My reign would be long, unforgettable, glorious.

  And bloody.

  Epilogue

  Elena Falcone

  3 years later…

  My boss peered over my shoulder. “Good work, Elena.”

  I nodded in thanks, itching to have him leave. Dr Melrose wasn’t the worst boss in the world; he was just nosey. He liked to know everything that was happening in the pharmacy, from the customers to the staff. Sadly, I fell into the staff category, so I couldn’t tell him to fuck off without risking my job.

  “I see you applied to leave early today,” he noted.

  It had already been approved. Dr Vielle wasn’t nearly as nosey as her colleague and didn’t care what we did as long as we didn’t cause her any trouble.

  “I am.”

  Dr Melrose leaned against the counter. “Any trouble at home?”

  “No. Just have an appointment.” I gestured to where he was leaning. “Excuse me.” He moved long enough for me to grab a handful of flyers.

  Dr Melrose opened his mouth again, but I yelled, “Hart!”

  A second later, an old frail woman came bustling to the counter. She smiled in greeting, gesturing to the medications like she was trying to prove she was their right owner.

  I passed her prescriptions, telling her about our sales and wishing her a good day.

  The pharmacy wasn’t busy today—one reason why Dr Vielle had given me permission to leave early, but it also meant I didn’t have an easy getaway from Dr Melrose. It would take at least thirty minutes of intrusive questions before he grew bored and moved onto the next unsuspecting person.

  “If there are problems at home, my wife and I are always happy to help…”

  I’m sure you are, I wanted to hiss, but kept my retort behind my teeth.

  Dr Melrose didn’t take the hint. “It must be hard doing it all on your own. My wife and I have plenty of time…”

  “I’m fine,” I said shortly, my irritation getting the better of me. A glance at the clock revealed it was three minutes until I was allowed to leave.

  I glanced at Dr Melrose, who didn’t look like he was going anywhere and decided I would risk my other boss’s wrath. I could lie and say the clock was moving fast, or just tell her that Melrose was on my last nerve. Dr Vielle would probably understand.

  With a hurried goodbye to Melrose, I slipped into the break room. I shrugged off my work vest before grabbing my handbag, clocking out and hightailing out of the pharmacy.

  Christmas decorations detailed the streets, from tinsel-wrapped poles to cardboard Santas waving from windows. A thin layer of snow had graced the town, transforming the roads into icy lakes instead of winter wonderland.

  My poor excuse for a car—4,000 dollars cash from Craigslist—was freezing on the inside. The heater didn’t work, but I rubbed my hands together at every stop, trying to form some semblance of warmth.

  We lived outside of town, at the edge of a dirt road, within the wild woods. The small, humble cottage had originally been the home of the groundskeeper when the town had a few more wealthy inhabitants, but overtime had been turned into a small house available for rent.

  Potted plants dotted every available surface, even lining the stairs up to the porch. The walls and windows were covered in shriveled vines, winter causing my beautiful flowers to wilt. A well-worn path led up to the house, little footprints in the dirt.

  I slammed the car door close, excited to get into the warm house, when something caught my eye.

  Among the surrounding trees, I could make the shape of a vehicle. There were a few other cottages dotted over the land, with their own driveways. But none were on the left, or so close to my own.

  I took a step forward, my heart racing as the snow crunched beneath my foot.

  Someone could’ve gotten lost, I told myself. Or maybe it’s a delivery for the more rural inhabitants.

  My hand itched to dial the authorities, or the local sheriff. Someone with enough status that the vehicle might be frightened enough to leave.

  But if it was who I thought it was, then some small-time sheriff wasn’t going to intimidate them.

  The door slammed. “Mama!”

  I turned to see my toddler bolting down the stairs, not holding onto the railing, but instead taking his chances. He landed with an oomph but was not deterred and continued his running towards me.

  “Sorry, Miss Strindberg!” The babysitter called from the porch, huffing from trying to catch her charge. “He’s too fast.”

  My son collided into my legs, gripping them tight. “Mama’s home!”

  I smoothed down his blonde hair. “Yes, I am. Now inside. You don’t even have a coat on.”

  He shook his head.

  I peeled his arms off me and crouched in front of him. “Nikolai, you’ll catch your death if you stay out here.”

  My son sent me a goofy grin. I knew he understand what I meant, but it was getting him to care that was the real challenge.

  “Come on,” I coaxed, rising back to my feet. “I’m going inside. Do you want to be out here all by yourself?”

  That convinced him. Nikolai darted ahead, nearly sweeping his babysitter off her legs. She followed him back inside, urging him to brush snow off his feet before he trekked it all through the house.

  I checked the woods again but found no vehicle.

  Paranoia had been my closest companion these few years, but I knew it wasn’t rooted in folly. If I felt unsettled, there was a good reason for it.

  Inside was lovely and warm, even if it was a mess. Neither Nikolai nor I were tidy people, so the house could get nuclear before I decided to clean it. His toys and my books litt
ered the space, as well as shoes and scarves, empty cups and cat hair. Chaotic, but home.

  Nikolai pulled himself onto the couch, fishing out a stick. From the ice still clinging to it, he must’ve picked it up on a walk.

  My mind flashed back to the vehicle. Had they seen Nikolai?

  “Mama, look!” He held up his stick.

  “Very cool.” I gave him a little clap.

  The babysitter, a sweet girl who was on her college break and visiting home, was anxious to leave. She hadn’t given me many details about why she couldn’t babysit Nikolai all night, but from the flush of her cheeks, I suspected a boy was involved.

  I watched her leave, unable to see the vehicle, but unable to stop myself from making sure she left safely.

  “Did you have fun today?” I asked my son once his babysitter had left.

  Nikolai nodded, eyes bright. He went into a tirade of tales about going on a walk, playing cars and making cookies. His little words fumbled over each other, but his speech was good and clear.

  He had turned two the past August, seeming to grow up overnight. I still remembered him as an infant, so small and reliant on me. Even as a baby, he had been restless, but as his motor skills developed, so did my ability to keep him safe and on the ground.

  The number of falls he had already in his short life was infinite.

  “And then…” His eyes wandered off as he tried to finish the end of his story. “And then…then Baba ate cookie.”

  “Babushka ate some cookie, did she? Did she enjoy it?”

  Nikolai shook his head, “Nooo.”

  Like she heard her name, the fat tabby leapt from the top of the cabinets and onto the kitchen bench. She hadn’t changed in the past 3 years. She was still the same fluffy Siberian with a bad attitude.

  However, she did like Nikolai. If not for my son, Babushka would’ve left me years ago.

  “Baba!”

  Babushka trotted over to him, purring deeply.

  “Careful,” I warned him. “We pet Baba gently.”

  “Gently,” he mouthed as he stroked her fur with his little hand. “Gently, Baba.”