by Bree Porter
I smiled at the two of them, my blonde boy and mean-ass cat. The days and nights had been lonely, mournful, but I had always been able to wake up to these two, always been able to come home to them.
Even when I was pregnant with Nikolai and still fragile with a broken heart, it was Babushka who carried me through my days. She slept beside me, ate beside me. When I was slow and grieving, she had nestled herself in my arms or kept watch as I slept.
But Babushka wasn’t the one who reminded me of my…Nikolai was a spitting image of his father; other than my green eyes he had inherited. If not for his eyes or personality, I would’ve chalked him up to be a clone. They shared the same blonde hair, warm pale skin and nose.
And sometimes he would smile, or doing something and I would be struck paralyzed. The Tarkhanov genetics were strong, and they were prevalent in my son.
“Mama,” Nikolai’s little voice called me from my thoughts—as it so often did. “I’m hungry.”
“Oh? Well, I had better feed you then.”
His cheeks dimpled as he grinned.
After running around after a toddler for the afternoon and night, I was looking forward to settling down onto the couch with a book and wine. Nikolai hated bedtime. He hated the idea that I was doing something without him, that he was being excluded, so he got up seven more times—under the guise of toilet, glass of water, needed Teddy—before finally falling asleep.
By the seventh time, I sat beside his bed, rubbing his back. Babushka was asleep at the end of his bed, most likely used to his constant movement.
Nikolai yawned, fighting to stay awake.
“Go to sleep, baby,” I murmured.
“Mama,” he said tiredly. “Not…tired…”
I smiled. “Oh, yeah?” I laid my head next to his, tucking his teddy into his Peter Pan-patterned blanket. “I’m tired so I’m going to sleep.”
He patted my cheek. “Go to sleep, Mama,” he copied my words.
It was hard not to break my trick by opening my eyes and smiling. Eventually, Nikolai’s breathing slowed and little snores began to pore out from him.
My bones cracked as I rose to my feet, my body having never fully recovered from pregnancy and childbirth, and I quietly left the room. As I went, I switched off lights and kicked things out of the way, clearing a path.
I cracked my back as I entered the kitchen. God, I was tired. The last few nights, sleep had been elusive, especially as I grew anxious for Christmas. It was never fun explaining to your child why the other kids in his playgroup had so many more toys than him under the tree.
There was a new documentary on botany I had recorded…
There was a vase of flowers on my table.
For a second, I didn’t even notice the new piece of decoration. It sat in the center of the small wooden dining table I had gotten from a garage sale, now covered with Nikolai’s scrawls and food leftovers.
A clear vase, with a beautiful vibrant bouquet of foxglove. The flowers were strangely ripe for a plant not in season, the lilac petals a startling warning of the poison they contained.
I did not put that there.
Nikolai and his babysitter couldn’t have picked it while I was at work. The flower didn’t grow anywhere near us—it definitely would not have survived the snow and cold December. And no one at work or Nikolai’s playground would’ve sent them to me as a gift.
My hand rose to my mouth, holding back the scream that threatened to explode.
My brain refused to believe it, trying to offer compromises and explanations. It’s impossible, I tried to reason with myself. They couldn’t have found us.
I took a step closer, my breathing growing heavier.
My eyes caught the vase. I had suspected it was little pebbles that housed the flower stems, but it wasn’t.
Instead, piles of teeth, white and cream and yellow, filled up the vase.
Vomit rose up in me hard and fast.
“What the fuck.” was all I could say.
They had found us.
She had found us.
My survival instincts took over. I barely even remembered running to my room until I was pulling out the backpack I kept stashed under my bed, filled with cash and clothes. A gun rested between the bedframe and mattress.
I grabbed it and shoved it into the back of my jeans.
I needed to ring work. I needed to fill up the car.
People would notice us missing. Where they under her thumb? Would they rat me out? Who could I trust?
No one, I knew. I trust nobody but myself. I am the only person who can keep Nikolai safe.
My son was right where I had left him, face peaceful and innocent. No darkness threatened his nightmares or days. I had kept that all at bay, refusing to let anything but light and love touch my baby.
I stroked his hair, trying to pull him from sleep. "Baby, you need to wake up..."
He shifted, face scrunching as consciousness took over.
“Nikolai, wake up, honey…”
Nikolai blinked up at me with sleepy green eyes. "Mama?"
"Yes, it's me, Mama. Come on now." I scooped him up. He was sweaty and flushed against my chest, his little arms around my neck. I picked up his blanket and adjusted it over him. "It’s okay, darling.”
Nikolai lifted his little blonde head, confused. "Mama, it's bedtime."
"I know, baby. We're just going to go for a little drive." I picked up his teddy. Babushka's tail began to sway in annoyance. "Come on, Baba."
"Baba's coming?"
I heaved a backpack over my shoulder, then scooped up Babushka in my spare arm. I stumbled out of the room, trying not to hit Nikolai's head. The house was dark, and I didn't dare turn on any spare light.
I went out the back, not bothering to lock up. We weren't coming back.
"Mama, it's cold."
"Shh, shh." I soothed, opening up the car door and crouching in. Babushka scratched out of my arms, jumping into the passenger seat. I buckled Nikolai in his car seat, covering him with his blanket. "Go back to bed. Look, here's Teddy."
Nikolai's little arm came around his plush bear. He looked like he was trying to fight sleep, but his little eyelids weren't letting him.
I smoothed down his hair, feeling tears well.
This is not the time to cry, I cursed myself, wiping at my eyes.
It was time to run.
To be continued…
Coming Next…
Empress of Poisons
Book 2 in The Tarkhanov Empire
What is a Pakhan without an empress?
Three years have passed since the end of Kingpin's Foxglove. Elena Falcone left her new family and the man she loves, destroying her own heart in the process...the only thing she has left is the blonde-haired, green-eyed boy who calls her 'mama'.
When her son's life is jeopardized, Elena finds her way back into Konstantin's arms and is forced back into the world she once craved to be free from...
Since the betrayal that left his family tearing at the seams, Konstantin Tarkhanov has been fiercely ensuring his rule over Staten Island, taking down anyone who dare oppose him. In the midst of his growing darkness, a light returns in the shape of the woman who broke his heart...and the child they share.
However, Elena and Konstantin's reunion is darkened by the shadows of their enemies. Tensions are growing in New York City; families are ending and blood soaks the sidewalks...Will the Tarkhanov Bratva rise to glory or will this empire fall before it even begins?
Coming January 22nd!
Pre-order here.
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I have to thank my readers. Without your support, this journey would have ended shortly after it began. Your edits, reviews and general excitement mean everything to me, and I can’t wait to see what you think of Kingpin’s Foxglove.
I have to thank my amazing editor, Sheri, at Light Hand Proofreading. I know I hand you a manuscript riddled with enough errors that you doubt if I actually passed hig
h school, but your support and patience mean more than I could ever convey. I also have to thank you for wearing two hats. If it hadn’t been for your kindness and help when everything was going to shit, I probably would’ve run off into the bush and lived as a sasquatch.
To Harim, AKA the greatest BETA reader in the world. Always kind and supportive, but while delivering the criticism I crave. Without, this book would make very little sense – well, less than it does.
To Laura, my graphic design angel! Thank you so much for all your gorgeous art and for being the absolute best. I also have to thank you for being an incredible BETA reader, without you this story would not be what it is. See you at Ikea in the meatball aisle (in Russia?)
To V Domino, author extraordinaire and Konstantin’s biggest fan. Thank you for your kindness when I first entered the community–and thank you for reading through the first draft of this book. It couldn’t have been easy.
To JM Stoneback, my author bestie to the very end.
To my Street Team, thank you for all your incredible kindness and support. Reading your comments and hearing your excitement brings me so much joy – thank you for everything you ladies do!
To Bree Porter’s Bookclub, I adore each and every one of you. I live for your edits, theories and general excitement for my work. My favorite part of the day is logging onto FB and hanging out with you guys.
To Val, Mary and Julie at Books and Moods PR. Thank you for the amazing cover and for being so helpful! You saved me in a time of need, and I cannot wait to work with you ladies again!
To Mum and Dad. Thank you for your support and understanding. If you hadn’t allowed me the freedom to explore my passion, I wouldn’t be where I am or who I am today.
To my sisters. Stop taking my stuff!
To Alison Cole, thank you for your behind-the-scenes support. It makes my day every time!
And last but not least, to Imogen. I have no more words to give but this one’s for you.
About The Author
Bree Porter came screaming into the world on Valentine’s Day, so she never had any choice but to be addicted to romance. Now she spends her day swooning over mafia romance and sexy capos, while conveniently ignoring her university assignment deadlines.
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