Kingpin’s Foxglove

Book 1 in The Tarkhanov Empire.

Bree Porter.

For Imogen,
who taught me why we have middle names.
I know now.
Please stop telling me.

Copyright © 2020 Bree Porter All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons,
living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form
or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express
written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by Val at Books and Moods.

Edited by Sheri at Light Hand Proofreading.
 Table of Contents
Kingpin’s Foxglove
Character List
Part One -
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
Part Two -
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Part Three -
27
28
29
30
31
32
Epilogue
Coming Next…
Acknowledgements
About The Author
 Character List
Elena Falcone – 23. La Cosa Nostra daughter, wife of Thaddeo Falcone.
Konstantin Tarkhanov – 30. Pakhan (boss) of the Tarkhanov Bratva.
Roman Malakhov – 24. Byki (bodyguard) to Konstantin.
Danika Baltacha – 22. Interrogator in the Bratva.
Artyom Fattakhov – 29. Obshchak (security) in the Bratva, husband to Roksana.
Roksana Fattakhov – 25. Wife of Artyom Fattakhov.
Dmitri Gribkov – 29. Krysha (enforcer) in the Bratva, husband to Tatiana and father to Anton.
Tatiana Gribkov – 27. Wife of Dmitri Gribkov, mother of Anton Gribkov.
Anton Gribkov – 2. Son to Dmitri and Tatiana Gribkov.
Olezka – 32. Torpedo (assassin) in the Bratva.
For Pinterest boards and face casts, go here.
 Part One -
Apples, Bullets and Teeth

“All things are poison and nothing is without poison; only the dose makes a thing not a poison.”

– Paracelsus
 Prologue

Konstantin Tarkhanov
15 years old

I passed the toy spider to my niece. Her grabby fingers latched onto it, waving it happily in the air.
“Kostya,” barked my eldest brother.
I lifted my head, raising my eyebrows at my brother. He gave me a warning look, his way of telling
me to pay attention and stop doting on his daughter.
Usually, I would have been paying attention. Coming home from school and being invited into a
meeting before my backpack hit the ground was a common occurrence—one I even anticipated.
However, this meeting was not holding my interest; mainly because it involved old, unimaginative
men discussing the future of Moscow.
The only saving grace that kept me from falling asleep was Natasha, my niece. The two-year-old
was sitting in one of the chairs, surrounded by her toys. For a child, she was unnaturally quiet. Very
unlike the other children in our family who required constant care and attention.
It was her reserved nature that her unstable mother said was why she had tried to drown her at a
few weeks old, but it was also the reason Father took her to every meeting. Sometimes he even
pretended Natasha was in charge, letting her order the men around.
Father had never been so indulgent with his own children.
Even now, my father, the Pakhan of the Tarkhanov Bratva, sent my brother and I a cold look from
the head of the table for talking, but patted Natasha’s head affectionately. She smiled around her
pacifier.
I drew my attention back to the meeting.
“The Camorra has erupted into a civil war. This is our time to move into Campania—”
Someone interrupted, his voice harsh. “What use would we have for leftover Camorra territory?
Do you know how to farm grapes, Viktor?”
Shouts erupted.
I almost wished I was back at school.
When you’re Pakhan, you won’t let your meetings fall into such chaos.
The thought came to me quietly and unbidden. I wasn’t next in line to be king—I wasn’t even
second or third in line. If I wanted to rule this Bratva, I would have to slaughter my way through half
of the hierarchy and my father’s men. Then who would be left to rule over?
If I expressed such an idea, my father would cut my throat from ear to ear.
If Father didn’t, my brothers would happily.
Like a litter of pups, my brothers and I had been stepping on each other to push ourselves up since
day one. Every move we made against each other had an agenda, a power play attached to it. It was
very different in comparison to my relationship with Artyom, and our brotherly camaraderie.
I peered down at Natasha once again. She had grabbed a plush toy snake, squeezing its head in her
chubby hands.
When the yells rose to vicious shouts, Natasha peered at me for reassurance. I smiled at her. She
goofily smiled back.
“We need more investments in the oil industry,” Feodor Rodzyanko reasoned. “That is where the
money is.”
“Bah! Listen to you all. We need to invest, to build relationships. You sound like politicians!”
sniped else someone. “We are Bratva, not oligarchs.”
The arguing grew more intense until my father pounded on the table, the sound resonating to the
back of the room.
“Silence!” he barked. “We will not debase ourselves by acting like the government. For decades,
we have survived like this and we will continue to do so for many more to come.”
You’re wrong, Father, I thought. Those who do not adapt to change get swept away by the
currents of time.
And I planned on remaining for centuries.
After my time was done on this earth, there would be no memory of me that didn’t recall my
majesty. My sons, and grandsons, and great grandsons would carry my power in their blood and
souls, granting me immortality.
My brothers nodded in unison. Though Father could’ve said the sky was yellow and they would’ve
agreed.
Even his more liberal men concurred with my father’s final say on the topic. There was no room
for second-guessing or challenging. Once Father had made his decision, there was nothing anyone
could say or do to change it—even if it was a terrible choice.
I knew not to say anything. I knew to keep my mouth shut but my lips still parted, and I said, “The
old ways are not working. We need to be smarter.”
Silence.
Even Natasha stopped sucking on her pacifier.
All the men looked at me, jaws slacked and mustaches twitching. Two of my brothers smirked
faintly at me, already enjoying the verbal beating I was about to receive for speaking out of turn.
Father’s expression darkened. It was the same expression he got before he raised his arm above his
head and brought it down onto my brothers’ or my flesh.
“What was that, Kostya?” he asked harshly.
He was giving me a second chance, a chance to surrender in front of his men. Over the table,
Feodor tried to catch my eye. Back down, he was imploring.
I met my father’s stare. “We cannot continue to behave like we did in our golden era. The Soviet
Union is gone—we must adapt to this new era or risk losing everything.”
Someone muttered a prayer to God under their breath.
Father’s expression did not change. “Is that so, Kostya? Do you have a lot of experience with
running a crime organization?” He spread his hands mockingly. “Had I known my fifteen-year-old son
was such an expert, I would’ve paid more attention to you.”
A few of the men forced laughs. My eldest brother looked like he was going to grab Natasha and
bolt. She was the only one who looked remotely calm—in fact, the toddler looked like she was
currently relieving herself into her diaper.
“I did not mean any disrespect, Father,” I countered, unable to back down, to shove down the
natural urge to be the mightiest in the room. “But what we are doing right now is not working. We are
losing territory and money. Clearly, something needs to change.”
 Father worked his jaw, eyeing me up with the same look a lion gave a gazelle before it tore its
throat out. “If you ever grow some balls and kill your brothers, maybe one day you will get to make
decisions like this.” He bared his teeth slightly. “Until then, Kostya, shut up about what you do not
understand.”
This wasn’t getting anywhere. Some part of me wanted to keep pushing, keep arguing my point. But
all I wanted to say had been already said and they had chosen not to listen; what happened afterwards
was on them.
If you ever grow some balls and kill your brothers... The words echoed through my head as I ran
my eyes over my siblings. There would be no point to killing them all, where one fell another would
pop up in his place.
Still...it was an alluring idea. They might be related to me by blood, but there was no love lost
between us. Killing them would be easy—much easier than killing Artyom. Artyom and I had been
brothers since his family moved to Moscow from Kyzyl.
I bowed my head slightly to my father, a silent wave of my white flag.
All my brothers grinned at my surrender.
Soon the meeting dwindled to an end. I stood up, fully intending to go and roam the streets with
Artyom, causing trouble and playing with low-level drug dealers like cats with mice, when Father
gestured to me.
I sat back down.
Some men spared me smug looks whereas others looked pitying. My brothers shot me curious
looks as they left, indicating they didn’t know why Father had pulled me aside. Interesting.
Only Natasha waved to me as she left, almost like she suspected this was the last time she would
see me and was saying goodbye.
Father didn’t say anything as the door clicked shut, only leaned back in his chair and assessed me. I
took after Mother in my appearance, gaining her fair hair and light brown eyes. A fact that had always
irked Father and pleased Mother, but Mother liked anything she had that her husband did not.
Whereas my brothers and I may have fought tooth and nail for attention and favoritism, Mother and
Father were in a competition of their own. One that led to their children being played as pawns over
the chess game that we called life.
“Kostya,” Father started. “Pour your father a drink, would you?”
I could see the power-play clearly, but played along. I fetched him a tumbler of his beloved vodka
[S2]and set it in front of him.
Father loosened his green tie and took a sip. “Ah, perfect.” He watched me over the top of his
glass. “I’ve decided you have learned all you can in school.”
“Mother insists I graduate.”
He rolled his eyes. “You are a Vor, a Tarkhanov, not some academic. You have no need for further
education. You can read and write, can’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And your mother was so insistent.” Father barked a laugh. “Stupid woman. Never get married,
Kostya.”
I nodded, feigning agreement.
Father opened up a case of cigars and lit one up. The smoke floated towards the ceiling, the aroma
familiar and repelling.
“Viktor has expressed he needs some help in his territory. None of the young men want to spend
their youth in the Ural Mountains.” Father smiled coldly at me.
 No one wanted to go to Viktor’s territory, or any part of Siberia. I heard the words mundane and
boring used to describe it. The opposite of the vibrant and exciting Moscow.
There was also the issue of Viktor. Cruel, vindictive and rooted in his traditional ways, Viktor was
agonizing to listen to for more than five minutes. Being stuck in rural Russia with him would send
anyone insane.
“I think it would be a good fit for you, Kostya,” he said. “You’ve become too...idealist. I don’t
think it’s completely your fault. I should have pulled you out of school earlier.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide my first instinct, which was to punch him in the face.
Such a violent response would lead nowhere, though it would bring me some satisfaction. I could
almost hear Artyom voicing his annoyance at my reasoning.
“What do you think?” Father asked, unable to hide his delight at his punishment for me.
I think you should hide your emotions better, Father, I thought.
“Who will tend to Mother?” I inquired. “Or get money from our street associates?”
Father waved a careless hand. “One of your brothers will handle all that.”
I would like to see them try. Handling Mother was a skill, and I had enough of a reputation through
my school and streets that the dealers wouldn’t be happy with a change. None of my brothers had
enough tact to deal with either of the issues I had raised–especially Mother. She would manipulate
them easily.
“I’m not going to the Ural Mountains,” I said calmly.
“And why is that?” Father asked. “Do you think you’re in a position to disobey a direct order from
your Pakhan?”
I shook my head. “No. I have dedicated a lot of time and effort into the streets. I’m not going to lose
that because you feel challenged.”
His eyes flashed and I knew I had gone too far. Father smothered out his cigar. “Your little friends
will obey whoever I tell them to obey. They may work with you, but they work for me.”
“And Mother? Do you really believe one of my brothers can outwit her?”
“Your arrogance is impressive for your age and stature, Konstantin. That I will give you. But at the
end of the day, you are still a child, barely a man. You have been a Vor for not even two years, a blip
of time compared to my decades.”
“You’re right,” I ventured. “Yet how will I become more experienced if I am stuck cleaning up cow
shit in Siberia?”
“Men like you come and go, Kostya. But it is men like me who stay, who survive.”
I smiled faintly. “I can assure you, Father, you don’t know any men like me.”
Father rose to his feet, his posture tightening. The curling of his fist told me what was going to
happen before his arm swung out.
I leaned my head back just in time. His arm flew past, but he recovered quickly and made another
lunge for me. The table stopped me from moving and his knuckles crashed into my windpipe, air
leaving my lungs in an instant.
“You’re an arrogant child,” Father said darkly.
I hadn’t been a child for a long time by normal definition. Biologically, yes. But I spent my nights
navigating the world of illegal narcotics and my days listening in on Bratva meetings. There was no
time for dealing with pretty girls and maths homework.
I breathed deeply, steadying my head. “At least I am not going to lose my kingdom due to my
stubbornness.”
This time when Father came at me, I was prepared. I caught his wrist and swung it back, using the
seconds of his unbalance to take on the offensive. My fist caught the bottom of his chin, forcing his
head back.
Father caught himself on the table, sending me a furious look. “I’m going to kill you,” he promised.
“That’ll teach you fucking children from growing too big for your boots—”
He made a move to shove me back, but I danced out of his range. My freedom lasted seconds
before Father managed to get a hold of my school blazer, and dragged me closer to him. I rammed my
fist into his gut, earning a grunt in response.
I went for him again, but Father side-stepped out the way, and I caught his tie instead. It was
already loosened and came away easily.
Father charged again, ramming his fist into my cheek. Pain bloomed over the right side of my face,
causing a future bruise–or broken jaw.
I fell back at the collision, my right eye seeing black briefly as the impact resonated through my
body.
“Do you think you can go up against me, boy?” Father snarled. “I will make a meal out of your
bones.”
I reared back as his next blow came. He missed me by a hair’s breadth, allowing me seconds to
duck under his arm and aim for the vulnerable flesh. He grunted as my fist connected with his ribs.
“You!”
I went for his other side, barely missing his attempts to grab me. Some of his fingers caught my hair
and pulled but the pain wasn’t enough to distract me from jabbing my fist into his throat.
Father fell back into the table, the legs splintering beneath his weight. He went down with it. I went
with him, intent on doing more harm. We hit the ground with a crash, my fingers wrapped around his
throat.
“GET OFF HIM!” A hand grabbed the back of my sweater and yanked me back. The smell of
vodka and cigars indicated it was Viktor. “You filthy boy! That is your Pakhan!”
Father got to his feet. He spotted Viktor holding me back and made a swipe for me, ever the
opportunist.
No honor, I thought as his fist collided with my stomach.
I gasped for air, unable to hide my body’s natural instinct to breathe—even if it made me look like
a gasping fish in Viktor’s grip.
Father grabbed my chin, holding me still. His fingers dug so tight I knew they would either bruise
or snap my jaw in half. “Did you think you could beat me, boy? You may be ambitious, but you are
still no match for me!”
I swung my head forward, our foreheads clunking against each other. My ears rang as I pulled back,
filtering the sound of Father cursing me out.
Viktor wrenched me back, briefly taking me off my balance.
“Tell Viktor to release me and I’ll show you an equal opponent,” I sneered. My anger was getting a
hold of me, igniting my blood and need to destroy this pathetic man in front of me. I was the strongest
in this room and everyone needed to know it—especially the man I called Father. “Scared of a fair
fight?”
“You have my temper,” Father replied, his words even, despite the furious expression taking a hold
of his face. “Get a hold of it, boy, or it will kill you.”
“I doubt it.”
Father came for me again.
I turned in Viktor’s grip, and my father went colliding into his Brigadier. Viktor shouted as we fell
back, his grip on me loosening ever so slightly.
I tore myself out, my sweater ripping behind me. In my hand, I still had the tie…
The idea came to me like a jolt of lightning, infecting my thoughts and veins.
I went for my father, aiming for his knees. Two hard kicks to the bone caused him to grunt and fall.
Viktor tried to intervene—with one clean swipe, I knocked Viktor back, the old man falling against
the wall with a crash, then falling still.
The tie was silky in my hands, worth more than the room we stood in. It was the color of emeralds,
with little flecks of faint gold in the pattern.
Father tried to shove me away as I neared, but he was on the ground, incapacitated against all
attacks. I came up behind him and wrapped the tie around his neck, almost as if I meant to tie it for
him and complete his suit.
My knuckles turned white as I pulled the silk tighter, while his neck muscles strained against the
silk.
Father reached for the tie, trying to tug it back, gulping and gasping for air as his circulation was
cut off.
My muscles contracted as I pulled tighter and tighter.
His lips turned blue, his eyes popped out, his throat choked for air.
Then his fingers stopped, falling to the ground in surrender.
I felt his body die before I saw it. The coil of his muscles relaxed, his weight falling off his knees
and to the ground, unable to resist gravity.
I loosened my grip on the tie, allowing it to slide around his neck easily.
Father hit the ground with a thump.
Behind me, I heard Viktor struggling to his feet, preparing to attack me for killing his Pakhan, but
his attack never came.
I turned to see Feodor Rodzyanko holding him back, assessing the damage I had wrought with a
cool expression.
“Excuse me, Feodor,” I said calmly.
Feodor had known me since I was an infant and guessed my next move immediately. “This is not
the time to kill your brothers,” he said, holding back Viktor, who was struggling in his arms. “You are
not ready to gain control yet.”
The adrenaline thundering through my veins demanded to be fed. My fingers itched to wrap
themselves around my brothers’ throats, to punish them for all the disgusting but mundane sins they
had committed against me.
“Perhaps,” I said, the words too tame to convey the animalistic urges low in my gut. “But neither
are they.”
Feodor implored me with his eyes. He was trying to tell me something but the rushing of blood in
my ears, the pounding of my heart, made it difficult for me to concentrate long enough to understand.
“You are not an idiot. You will never be accepted as Pakhan here. You are too young, too idealistic.
This is not your kingdom.”
“This is not about that,” I said.
“Everything you do is about your future, Konstantin. You were born with more ambition than God.”
Feodor managed to knock Viktor out, the old brigadier falling into unconsciousness and the floor.
“Do not risk that all over your temper, that temper you keep so under control. Wait, be patient and
plan.”
I looked down at my father. “They will kill me for killing him,” I said plainly. “Perhaps I intend to
defend myself.”
“Then run.”
I snapped my head up to Feodor. “I will not run from anyone. Ever.”
“Then what is your next move? Be killed?” Feodor asked. “You will become the Pakhan I have
waited my entire life to serve. I will not jeopardize that by letting you do such a thing.”
I felt myself calming down. Calculating thoughts and rational ideas were becoming easy to
understand and believe.
“Perhaps you are right.” I slid the tie in between my hands, feeling the silk soothe my anger.
Feodor searched my face. “What will you do next?”
Finally, a smile grew up my face. For years, I had planned my exit, letting my hungry brothers fight
over the scraps of our parents fallen empire like the ravenous unimaginative beasts they were. All the
while, I’d grow smarter, and richer, and powerful.
I pictured Natasha in my mind, seeing the future she had in front of her. No, I had no desire to take
the motherland, a temporary investment. It was not—had never been—my fate.
I didn’t want the memories of the once great Bratva, the golden age of Mother Russia, to drive my
snow-filled days. I had other ambitions, other desires.
Let them drown in their nostalgia, I thought. Because while they do that, while Natasha grows, I
will build my empire.
I would build an empire that would never fall, would never be scoffed at or forgotten. One that my
future son would be afraid to rule—so afraid he would never dare choke me to death with a necktie.
I wrapped the silk around my neck, knotting it perfectly. Against my ripped sweater and rumpled
uniform, it looked almost comical.
“It is time to build our empire.” I stepped over my father’s fallen body. “Let us begin.”
 1
Elena Falcone

I dreamed of my father again.

He was lying before me, mouth agape and eyes wide. The color of death stained his face, smoky
gray veins visible beneath his skin. Crawling from between his lips, twisting around his tongue and
teeth, were stretches of vines, prickly and leafy. Out of his nose, out of his ears, his eyes. Growing
from somewhere I couldn’t see.
His chest began to rapidly heave, vulgar in his still death. Ribs cracked, skin tore, the buttons of his
shirt ripped open, and stretching higher and higher was a blooming flower, blood dripping down its
petals and leaves.
I reached out, grasped the stem, and plucked it from his chest, as easily as taking one from the dirt.
There were no thorns pricking me, no floral scent as I lifted it to my nose.
Of course, there isn’t, I thought, looking down at my dead father. This is a dream.
I woke up.
I registered the dip of the mattress, then the heavy blanket and soft pillow beneath my head. The
rise and fall of Thaddeo’s chest, his snores. The soft light spilling from in between the curtains.
I rubbed my eyes, irritated.
Another bad sleep, I thought. Another bad dream—well, bad memory.
I didn’t even have to glance at the calendar to know what the tally was. I had been keeping score
meticulously, even though it was not a number I would ever forget.
334 days since I had last slept through the night.
What a coincidence, I thought, that’s how long I had been married. Even my inner voice was
dripping with sarcasm.
Even in sleep, Thaddeo was grating on my nerves. The movement of his chest, the sound of his
snores, the way his mouth was parted, with drool sliding down onto the pillow—
We’ve woken up bitchy today, haven’t we? I asked myself as I rubbed my eyes, like that wasn’t
how I woke up every morning.
I turned my head, glancing at the clock. Five o’clock in the morning.
I wasn’t falling back asleep—that ship had sailed. Once my mind was awake and moving, settling
back down into rest was near impossible, especially with the graphic image of my father’s dead body
still visible in my mind’s eye.
I slipped out of bed, not worried about waking up Thaddeo, and began my morning routine.
As usual, Thaddeo’s house was quiet. Most of the Falcones kept to their respective establishments,
not spending time at each other’s houses unless it was absolutely necessary. Even family events were
celebrated at restaurants and parks, instead of backyards and dining rooms.
It was different from how I had grown up...somehow colder.
My books were stacked up by the back door in the kitchen, leaning against a pot of foxglove–where
I had left them. Worn and torn, some covered in dirt and dust. I grabbed the one at the top, barely
glancing at the title.
Yesterday’s newspaper was tossed carelessly on the counter. When Thaddeo had finished reading
it, I had swiped it from the table, unable to help my curiosity. Usually, the global political platform
didn’t interest me—after all, we may live on the same Earth, but we were in two very different
worlds.
However, on the front page, the title had read: EITHNE MCDERMOTT, WIFE TO ALLEGED
MOBSTER, FOUND MURDERED.
I had never met anyone from the McDermott family, but her death had caught my interest. Who had
murdered her? Was it her alleged mobster husband or someone else? Why?
I didn’t know why I had resonated so much with this woman, cared so much about her passing.
Perhaps I felt some sort of phantom sisterhood with her, with us both being wives to alleged
mobsters. Maybe it was because I often felt surprised every morning when I woke up, slightly
relieved, and yet disappointed, that Thaddeo hadn’t killed me in my sleep.
I left the newspaper where it was. I would mull over the image of Eithne McDermott later.
The crisp morning air went straight to my bones as I stepped outside, causing goose bumps to rise
up and down my arms.
October had washed over New York, bringing with it beautiful red and orange flora and the
Halloween spirit. I didn’t mind the chill, the bite in the air; I always found it cleared my head.
I kept moving into the garden, breathing deeply. Like all things Thaddeo owned, the garden was
perfect, with flawlessly shaped flowers, clean pathways and gleaming statues. Despite the obvious
care, it was plain, traditional. I didn’t mind—as long as it was quiet.
Out here it was silent, empty of distractions and irritating noises. No heavy breathing, no snoring.
No one but me.
I dug my toes into the wet grass, my eyelids fluttering closed. An icy breeze slid along my skin, the
scent of morning dew filling my nose, birds chirping in the distance.
Ever since I was a child, I had been separating myself from people, sounds, stimulants, to gain
some peace and quiet—though I used to do it up in trees. In the past year, I had been doing it more and
more, especially as my ability to sleep was beginning to deteriorate.
Early morning was my favorite time of the day—when the world was quiet. The sun was rising but
the pace of our lives hadn’t started up yet. Everything seemed softer, mellower. No harsh midday sun
or oily afternoon burn. Just foggy silence.
A twig snapped.
The sound cut through my revelry.
I twisted my head towards it, eyes open and alert.
Around Thaddeo’s property was a thin band of trees, a small forest of sorts. It offered another form
of security—well, it would, if Thaddeo bothered to take full advantage of it. I had suggested cameras
or soldati in the branches once or twice, but my husband had laughed the idea off.
I couldn’t make out anything among the shadows of the trunks, but the hair on the back of my neck
had begun to stand up.
I clenched my book hard in my hands, a makeshift weapon if need be.
Slowly, I stepped back. No other sound came from the woods, no shift in the shadows. Yet still...
I took another step back.
Another twig snapped.
Suddenly, a shadow formed from in between the trees. Before I could even comprehend who it was
—what it was—a loud roaring noise came from behind me.
 I spun to see multiple black vehicles pulling up to the house, ripping up the lawn and destroying the
immaculate flowers. Even a fence went down in the hustle.
Men jumped out from the cars, guns at the ready, faces hidden. Shouts were thrown around, not in
English, not in Italian—
We were being raided. Either by the government or a fellow syndicate. Whoever, they were here to
attack, and I was a good target.
I stepped back, ready to run, trying to figure out the best route.
Something pressed into my head, cold against my skull.
I knew immediately. A gun.
You didn’t grow up in La Cosa Nostra and not know how it felt to have the butt of a gun pressed
against your head.
For a moment, I thought it was Thaddeo. My husband had finally grown some balls and decided to
kill me. I was almost proud.
But then, a heavily accented voice said, “We do not wish to harm you. Behave and you will live.”
The voice was Russian, and not unkind.
The sound of boots approaching came from my left, and a huge man walked into my view. Buzzcut,
brown eyes, hard-lined face, with an expression that almost resembled an angry pit bull. Tattoos
stained his upper cheek, pledging his allegiance to his organization.
“Elena Falcone?” he asked, with a lighter accent than the man behind me.
I nodded. The gun did not move.
“Take her to the van.”
Icicles began to form in my blood.
I was not stupid. Clearly, these Russians were here to pose a threat to Thaddeo, to the Falcones. To
me. Though, as a woman, my involvement in the mafia never warranted enough attention to make me a
threat, I was still property of the Falcones and subjected to punishments meant for them.
I swallowed.
There was no way I was being punished for Thaddeo’s actions—whatever the hell they may have
been.
“Thaddeo is upstairs,” I said, catching their attention. “If you bother with me, he will get away.”
Amusement flashed across the pit bull’s face. He gave me a savage smile, the curl of his lips more
of a sneer.
“Van. Now.”
The man behind me dropped the gun from my head but snatched both my wrists, pinning them
painfully behind my back. My book dropped to the ground with a thump.
As soon as I realized I was imprisoned beneath his grip, my brain flooded with plans.
One, go willingly, and be killed or worse by these Russian gangsters.
Two, manage to get away and go on the run—until they caught me and killed me.
Three, fight back. Probably get killed.
If I went willingly, I might as well be throwing up the white flag. It felt equivalent to just spreading
my arms and telling them to have their way with me. I had done that once before; I wasn’t doing it
again.
There was no way I was going to escape, and, if I did, I would have seconds—seconds—to dart to
the trees. I knew the pathways through the property better than they would; my knowledge of the land
was my only advantage.
The last option meant certain death, as well as confronting my lack of strength. I was a tall woman,
but my physical prowess allowed me to open jars at best. I might have my neck snapped, but it would
be due to my actions—no one else’s.
I picked the second option.
“Let me go!” I slid one arm out in a sudden burst of strength, whipping it backwards. My nails
scraped the pit bull’s face, and he pulled back, swearing in Russian.
Pit Bull struck, grabbing my hand and pulling it back behind me. He leaned in close to my face,
teeth showing. “Listen you, you little bitch, we’re doing you a huge fucking favor—”
“That’s enough, Roman,” a cool voice called, floating in the wind.
Like a switch had been flicked, the pit bull stepped back, nodding his head in respect. The hands
that held me released, and I stumbled forward, unable to stop the momentum I had built.
I didn’t hesitate. I immediately went for the trees, only managing two steps before a rough hand
gripped my upper arm and yanked me back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Roman, the pit bull, sneered.
“Mrs Falcone, you have to promise not to run, or else Roman will keep hold of you,” said that
commanding yet diplomatic voice again.
I looked up at the pit bull, who was looking at me like he was hoping I would choose to run. I
hissed right back at him, baring my own teeth.
“Is that a no?” the voice prompted.
“Fine,” I snapped. “I won’t run.”
If I played along, they might let me live.
Roman released me.
I turned and felt my stomach drop to my knees.
Standing before me was... Konstantin Tarkhanov.
My first thought was that I was definitely going to die today.
My second thought was, Oh, shit, it’s Konstantin Tarkhanov.
Konstantin was better known as The Russian Gentleman, or the man who’d killed his father with
his own necktie. His pretty face and charismatic smile were adored by the media, and even my
childhood friend, Sophia, had seemed quite taken with him.
All I knew about him was, in the past few years he had come to the United States from Russia and
become increasingly popular with already established Bratvas, earning support from all over the
States. And I only knew this because Thaddeo had let it slip—and Sophia had confirmed it.
In my mind, I had written him off as just another mafioso playing politician. Another handsome but
violent man that held the same views of women as the other men in my world did, therefore, making
him of no interest to myself.
But in person...
Konstantin Tarkhanov was a beautiful creature. Physically, his blonde hair was swept back,
without a hair out of place, paired with inquisitive brown eyes and a strong bone structure. You could
see the Russian in his features, from the shape of his cheekbones to the curve of his chin. Beneath his
faultless suit (with a tie and vest worth more than my car), I could see the hints of tattoos: ink that
pledged his allegiance to his Bratva and to Russia.
Though his appearance was breathtaking, there was more...
He commanded himself with such strength and allure that everyone could not help themselves but
look at him, couldn’t help but watch for his next move or listen for the next words out of his mouth. A
king, I thought. He holds himself like a king.
I had seen Thaddeo attempt to carry himself with a demeanor that commanded respect for years
lived, clucking over his attempts like I could do any better. But Konstantin... Konstantin made him
look like a little page boy whose balls hadn’t dropped yet.
Konstantin didn’t need to try and carry himself like a king—he was king.
Yet I could tell that beneath his charismatic and beautiful exterior, a monster lurked.
It made my skin crawl.
Konstantin Tarkhanov smiled at me like we were old pals, instead of, well, enemies.
“Mrs Falcone,” he said, his tone nothing but polite and courteous, “you must forgive Roman. He
forgets himself.”
I didn’t respond. The words building up in my throat weren’t ones that would leave with me and
my life still intact.
“If you follow Dmitri, you will be escorted back to Chicago. Safe and sound.”
Chicago.
No.
My entire body tightened. “I’m not going to Chicago.”
His eyebrows rose. “At the request of your family, and out of respect for my own allegiance to the
Outfit, it would be unwise for you to stay in New York, and suffer the same fates as your fellow
Falcones.”
There was no way I was going back to that city. If I ever went back to Chicago, it was going to be
in a body bag.
Or an urn.
Whatever Thaddeo chose—probably the cheaper option of the two.
“I’m not—”
Commotion erupted from the house. Moments later, two large men stepped out, carrying a furious
Thaddeo between them. Still in his pajamas, he looked pitifully weak compared to Konstantin, but
even if he was dressed in the world’s finest suit and tie, Thaddeo would never be able to exude the
Bratva boss’s natural power.
“Thaddeo,” Konstantin greeted, his attention shifting away from me. That didn’t mean I was free to
run; the pit bull he called Roman still watched me. “It has been too long.”
Thaddeo spat at him. “Go to hell, you Russian bastard.”
Konstantin pursed his lips at Thaddeo’s actions. “Is that how you want to die, Don Falcone? Saliva
dripping from your lips?” He straightened his cuffs. “How the mighty Falcones have fallen.”
“You will never be welcomed at the table,” Thaddeo heaved, a last clawing attempt to get under
Konstantin’s skin. “You and your filthy kind cannot take this territory. It has belonged to La Cosa
Nostra for decades.”
“We already have,” said Konstantin. He slipped his hand to the back of his trousers, pulling out a
gun. It sparkled in the growing morning light, vulgar against the colorful flowers and mowed lawns.
My stomach tightened.
Thaddeo paled at the gun but did not beg. His gaze slid to me. I watched as he noticed my
unharmed stature, how I was surrounded by Russian men.
His nostrils flared. “You traitorous puttana!”
At least I’m not a dead puttana, I thought.
“That’s enough of that,” Konstantin said, voice hard. He cocked the gun. “Where is the key,
Thaddeo?”
Key to what?
Thaddeo bared his teeth. “I’m never going to tell, you filthy bastard. Vaffanculo!”
 I briefly glanced at Konstantin, scanning his face for any signs he understood Thaddeo’s Italian
curses. Though, I amended, from Thaddeo’s tone, I’m sure he could put it together.
“You are already a dead man, Thaddeo,” Konstantin remarked. “However, what I do to you before
sending you to Hell could very well be up to you.”
“Mangia merde e morte!” Thaddeo sneered.
Konstantin looked slightly disappointed with Thaddeo. “Very well.” He passed the gun in between
his hands. Calmly, he pointed it at Thaddeo’s head.
I expected some final words, one last attempt to draw information from him but the gunshot echoed
through the morning, silencing the baby birds and breeze.
Thaddeo slumped to the ground, hole in forehead.
Despite the act being so atrocious, Konstantin had dealt with it cleanly and civilly.
A shame, I thought, if it had been me, I would’ve slowly taken Thaddeo apart until I could roll up
his skin and sort his bones into piles.
Konstantin tucked the gun back into his holster, smoothing his blazer over it. He turned to go.
One of the men asked him something in Russian.
“No,” Konstantin said in reply. “There is nothing important left in there.” He looked over his
shoulder to me, gesturing forward with a hand. “Come now, Mrs Falcone. Your flight to Chicago
awaits.”
“I’m not going back to Chicago,” I replied. “I’m staying here.”
“If you stay here, you will be arrested,” he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, sirens started
in the distance. “Ah, they’re early.” His eyes met mine, eyebrow arching gracefully. “What will it be?
Us or them?”
I stepped forward.
 2
Elena Falcone

Squeezed between two Russian gangsters, I sat facing Konstantin Tarkhanov. Even in the back seat of
the car, being driven around like a child, Konstantin carried himself with an untouchable arrogance. It
felt incorrect to say that anyone else in this vehicle was in charge, driver included.
If the driver wanted to take us off the side of the road, it would be at Konstantin’s command.
Konstantin cast his light brown eyes up to mine, amusement sparking in them. He had been flipping
through the newspaper for the long drive, casual and unbothered, like he hadn’t just committed a coup
d’état. Like gunpowder residue wasn’t staining his cuff links.
“Mrs Falcone?” he prompted. “Can I offer you anything? Water, vodka?”
I felt my features twist into a scowl before I could stop them. “I don’t want anything from you.”
He folded his newspaper in one smooth movement. “That’s not true, is it? You want me to allow
you to stay in New York.”
“It doesn’t have to be New York.” It just can’t be Chicago.
Konstantin smiled briefly but didn’t say anything else. I didn’t look away from him; only an idiot
would turn their back to a predator.
The Pakhan was content to watch me, too, it seemed. His eyes roamed over me, taking in the
tangled hair and wrinkled dressing gown. Compared to him, I looked half-wild. But the only reaction
he showed was a raise of his eyebrows when he took in my ink-stained hands.
For as long as I could remember, I had been writing on myself. It used to drive my mother insane
when she would spot words and drawings coating my arms and legs. Hours I spent in the bath, just
being scrubbed and scolded, but it never stopped me.
My mother didn’t understand what it was like to have thoughts overflowing. If I didn’t write them
down, I would forget them. Thaddeo hadn’t liked it either. He called it juvenile and a one-way ticket
to ink poisoning, but even the threat of getting sick hadn’t been able to stop me.
I expected Konstantin to say something. To have an opinion about it. Men had opinions about
everything, especially regarding women’s bodies, but he merely regarded me for a moment before
going back to his newspaper.
I was strangely disappointed he hadn’t said anything. I would’ve enjoying snapping at him a few
more times.
The crunch of the gravel signaled the car beginning to slow down. I twisted in my seat, trying to
avoid brushing against the gangsters. Through the tinted window, I could see the suburbs had thinned
to countryside.
A lump began to grow in my throat.
Rationally, I knew Konstantin wouldn’t dare to lay a hand on me. I knew my family back in
Chicago might not care for me—or I them—but the insult would not go unavenged. The Rocchettis
weren’t known for their ability to forgive, nor was my childhood friend, Sophia, who I was closer to
than anyone else in my family.
 Yet still, knowing this, my body tightened in anxiety. Something about being out in the country,
surrounded by the vicious Bratva, I would imagine was the reason behind the reaction.
In the midst of the forage, I spotted a bear-like creature. Huge, furry and snarling at the car.
I resisted the urge to snarl back at it.
I was about to turn back around to Konstantin, uncomfortable with having my back to him for too
long, when the trees opened up onto a huge lawn surrounding a manor. We drove through gleaming
gates and part way around a circular drive before slowing down and rolling to a stop.
“Mrs Falcone.” Konstantin held a hand out to me.
I didn’t touch it.
“Very well,” he said. “Boys.”
The two Russian gangsters, one on either side of me, grabbed a respective arm and hauled me out
of the car. I twisted in their grips, but their strength easily overpowered mine and they dropped me
easily onto the gravel like a sack of potatoes.
I scrambled to my feet just as Konstantin elegantly stepped out of the car, newspaper folded under
his arm.
“Are you alright?” he inquired, voice amused.
I didn’t brush the dirt off my dressing gown. “Fine,” I gritted out.
I looked around and felt surprise slither through me. For such a put-together man, his estate was…
unkempt. Ferns grew onto the driveway, branches hung over fences, flowers overtook their pots. It
was a grouping of green and wildness, the opposite of Thaddeo’s manicured, picture-perfect garden.
I would never admit it aloud, but it was actually very beautiful.
Of course, Konstantin has my dream garden, I thought bitterly. Konstantin was the sort of man
who had everything you dreamed of, but he had gained it effortlessly.
If the garden made me slightly jealous, then the house sent me straight into envy.
Built in the style of an old English home, the gray-bricked house loomed over the estate. Classic
windows allowed you to peer inside, paired with almost French detailing around the edges. Over the
bricks and past the balconies, vines of wisteria grew wildly, hiding most of the architecture beneath
their leaves.
I peered at Konstantin. I hated him and his perfect estate.
“This way, Mrs Falcone,” he gestured me forward. “One of my family members will keep you
company while you wait for the plane.”
“Just drop me off at the nearest bus stop,” I replied.
A flicker of amusement passed over his face. “Don’t make this harder for yourself.” He offered the
advice like we were old friends, despite it being a sugar-coated threat.
I wasn’t a child, about to stick my heels into the gravel and throw a tantrum. But the reality of my
situation was beginning to dawn on me.
I was going back to Chicago.
And my only hope at not being sent back there stood in the form of a Russian Pakhan who had just
killed my husband.
Relenting, I followed Konstantin into his home. Behind me, I saw his men jumping out of cars and
moving weapons into another part of the house. A few followed us inside, including Roman the pit
bull, his lips pulled back, showing his teeth.
Inside was beautiful, if not a little spare. The interior favored a very classical French mixed with
Russian feel. From the chandelier to the warm wooden floors and detailed white walls, the European
influence was obvious. However, barely any furniture was around, most of it covered in white sheets.
 They had just moved in from the looks of it.
“Is that her?” said a feminine voice.
I turned to see a woman around my age dancing down the stairs. Before I could even respond, the
woman landed awkwardly on a step, instantly crashing down into the handrail, hair and legs flying.
“Stop tripping over, woman!” snapped Roman. He stomped angrily over to the fallen girl. Before
he could make a move to help her, she scrambled to her feet, snapping him a foul look.
I resisted the urge to smile.
“Oh, piss off, Roman.” The woman turned to me and made it safely down the rest of the staircase.
“You must be Elena! Hi!” She wrapped her arms around me.
I didn’t know what to do so I just stood awkwardly in her embrace.
“Danika,” Konstantin said, “show Mrs Falcone to the bathroom to tidy herself up, would you?”
That was a backhanded comment if I had ever heard one.
“Of course, Kostya.” Danika pulled back, holding my shoulders and scanning my face. Her reduced
movement allowed me to take in her face. Softer features, with sweet brown eyes, a button nose and
cupid bow lips. There was no animosity in her expression, only welcoming friendliness. “I’m Danika.
It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I blinked. What had this woman heard about me? I couldn’t imagine it would be anything flattering.
Danika latched onto my wrist, tugging me forward. “Let’s go and get you freshened up. I might even
have a change of clothes. Then you won’t have to sit on a plane in dirty pajamas.”
I pulled back on her grip slightly, turning to Konstantin.
Konstantin spared me a glance, eyebrows raised as if to say you should take her up on her offer.
I gripped the bottom of my dressing gown, shaking it. Dirt fell to the ground.
I sent him a mocking smile before turning to Danika. She was looking down at the mess I had made
like she was convincing herself it was real.
“A change of clothes would be nice,” I said.
Danika looked back up at me, blinking rapidly. “Oh, yes, of course.” Her warmth returned, smile
widening. “Follow me…”
We left the collection of men in the foyer. I resisted the urge to turn back and watch Konstantin. I
wanted to figure out what was going on his head, behind that pleasant façade. Could he be convinced
to not send me to Chicago? Or was it time I faced the wolves?
If he forces you onto a plane, it is not the end of the world, Elena, I told myself. You will have
time in Chicago to escape and make a run for it. Or perhaps if I was patient, I could somehow
manage to get away…
But then what? I had never held a job, never been on my own. I did have a small secret income…
but those profits wouldn’t be enough to survive.
My mind was churning with possibilities, but it was Danika’s soft voice that pulled me out of my
brain. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
We had reached the top of the landing, revealing more classical style architecture and minimalist
décor. Danika hadn’t let go of my wrist; perhaps she was my first obstacle if I decided to make a run
for it.
I considered her words. I’m sorry about your husband.
“Don’t be,” I said. “I’m not.”
Danika nodded in understanding but didn’t press.
As we went to turn down a hallway, I peered back over my shoulder. The Russian gangsters had
grouped together, talking animatedly.
 Konstantin stood with them, relaxed and confident. He was listening to something Roman the pit
bull was saying, expression distant. Blonde hair caught the soft morning light as he nodded his head.
Authoritative.
The word sat in my mind, itching to be let out. I almost asked Danika for a pen.
Like he could feel my calculating attention on him, Konstantin lifted his head upwards.
I turned away before our eyes could meet.
Danika didn’t say anything, but her brown eyes searched my expression for something. When she
finished her search, she gripped my wrist harder. “This way. Let’s hope I don’t get lost. I’m always
getting lost in here.”
We did get lost.
About three turns and two hallways later, Danika stopped in an empty room. The thick layer of dust
on everything made us both sneeze.
She put her hands on her hips. “Where are we…We went down the left wing and then—Oh,
Babushka!”
I turned, expecting to see an old woman step into the room, but instead a huge brown tabby cat with
beady green eyes came into the room, bushy tail swaying irritably behind her.
The cat’s attention went straight to me, not looking at all pleased with my presence. She hissed at
me.
Danika clasped her hands together. “If Babushka is here, we’re near Tati’s room. That means the
guest rooms are…oh, I have no idea. Let’s go and ask Tatiana.”
“How long have you been living here?” I asked, unable to wonder if Danika was just learning the
space or was truly this inept at directions.
“Oh, not long.” She leaned down to pet Babushka as we passed the cat. Babushka moved her head
out the way, giving Danika a foul look for even daring to try and touch her. That was a reaction I
understood. “About a week.”
A week? “Where were you beforehand?”
“Here and there. Kostya separated us to keep us safe. I was with Roksana in—” She caught herself
suddenly, giving me an uncertain look.
I tried to look nonthreatening, but I doubted my oddly shaped features allowed my expression to
convey that.
Danika recovered quickly. “You don’t want to hear all that.” She stopped suddenly at a pair of
double doors, one slightly cracked open. “Oh, we’re here.”
Babushka had followed us, stalking us through the hallways. Now, she leaped onto a hallway table,
her tail swinging over the edge, and eyed me.
“She’s like that with everyone,” Danika assured me, like I was worried.
“Babushka is queen around here,” came a soft voice from inside the room.
Danika pushed the door open gently. “You’re awake, Tati?” She poked her head into the room
before glancing back at me. “Just stay here for a sec. I’m going to ask Tati for directions—in my own
home!”
She entered the room, pushing the door open. Danika had told me to stay put, but she hadn’t said I
couldn’t peer into the room.
Unable to help my curiosity, I pushed closer, taking in the space. Unlike the rest of the house, this
room was filled with furniture, but not stylish couches and tables. Instead, hospital machines lined up,
beeping softly.
In the middle of the room and machines, a large bed sat, with a thin figure tucked beneath the
covers. A pale woman peered back at me, dark patches beneath her grey-blue eyes and oily hair
hanging limply around her. Despite her obvious illness, the woman held her chin high as she took me
in.
“You must be Elena Falcone,” the woman said, voice weak but clear.
Danika nodded, coming up to the woman. She smoothed the blanket, despite its being already
seamless. “Yes, this is Elena. I’m just trying to help her find the guest room so she can change and
rest. But I can’t find it…”
“My toddler has a better lay of the land than you, Danika,” mused the sick woman.
“I know,” Danika agreed with a laugh. “I bet even Elena has a better idea than me.” She peered at
me and smiled. “That’s okay. I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.”
“Me too,” the woman said kindly.
Danika popped up. “Oh, how rude! Elena, meet Tatiana Gribkov.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Tatiana said to me, her eyelids drooping slightly. She reached out with a
delicate hand and rubbed her stomach. It was then I noticed the slight swelling to it. She’s pregnant, I
realized. “I hope the boys haven’t been cruel to you.”
“They killed her husband,” Danika pointed out.
“There are worse things in the world,” was the other woman’s reply. She turned her head to the
side suddenly, coughing loudly.
“Oh, Tati, let me get you some water.” Danika scurried to the corner of the room, finding a pitcher
and glass. She hadn’t even taken a step before the glass slipped out of the grip, shattering against the
ground. “Oh, shit!”
I stepped into the room. Tatiana was still coughing. “Let me do it.”
Danika looked at me gratefully.
I ignored the look, silently pouring some water in a second glass and hovering by Tatiana with it.
As I got closer, the rising smell of disinfectant and medicine became nearly overwhelming.
Tatiana’s coughing smoothed and she gratefully took the water from me. As her fingers wrapped
around the glass, I caught sight of her fingernails.
Near the beds, the nail had darkened into a cloudy gray color.
“What’s the matter with you?” The words came out harsher than I had intended, making me sound
like some rude child on the playground. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant.” Tatiana took a sip of water. “They’re not really sure. They just know the
treatment is keeping both the baby and I alive.” She flickered her eyes around the room, past the
machines. “Well, keeping us both surviving.”
Danika shifted on her feet, eyes wide with concern. “You’re doing really well today,” she said. “I
bet the new medication is working.”
“Me too.” Tatiana didn’t sound as convinced. “Thank you for the water, Elena.”
I stepped back, eyeing her nails, and muttered something polite. My brain was having trouble
forming words when all its attention was on her nails. I took in her appearance, cataloguing the other
familiar symptoms.
“Come on, Elena,” Danika said. “I think your plane leaves soon and I would feel terrible if you
were stuck in those dirty clothes.”
As we left, Tatiana lay back on the pillows, eyes fluttering close. I doubted she felt as good as she
had led Danika to believe.
By a stroke of luck, Danika located the guest room. Her excitement and pride were infectious—and
almost made me laugh along with her.
 “I’m so terrible with directions,” she said as she walked into the bathroom. She stopped by the
doorway, leaning against the frame. “You won’t say anything, right? I don’t mind Kostya knowing…
but I wouldn’t be able to stand Roman’s gloating. Every time I fuck up, he sees it as a personal
achievement.”
I didn’t like Roman, so I agreed. “Of course. Fuck that guy.”
Danika’s smile took up most of her face. “Fuck that guy,” she said with a nod.
As soon as I began to run the shower, there was a knock at the door. Danika seemed very
apologetic as she told me it was time for my flight. I didn’t bother changing, even at her insistence. If I
was going to be forced back to Chicago, I was showing up covered in dirt and fury.
“I’m so sorry,” Danika said. “If we hadn’t gotten lost, you would’ve had time to shower and change
and maybe even nap—”
“It’s fine, Danika,” I said.
At the door, a familiar face waited. Great, I thought, taking in the half-feral gangster before me, the
pit bull has come to piss me off.
Roman grinned nastily at me. “You ready to go back to Chicago, Elena?”
“I want to speak to Konstantin.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening. The boss has much more important things to do than speak with a
bitchy widow.”
I glared at him. “Tell your boss I know what’s wrong with Tatiana.”
Danika peered around my shoulder. “You do?”
Roman’s eyes flared, but he said to Danika, “You let her see Tatiana? Dmitri’s going to fucking kill
you.”
“I doubt it,” I said, coolly. “Take me to Konstantin or let Tatiana die. It’s up to you, Pit Bull.”
Roman worked his jaw, his accusatory glare still on Danika. Like her standing behind me meant she
supported my actions. Danika, herself, was peering up at me with uncertainty.
“Roman, if she even has a clue…” she began.
“She doesn’t,” he retorted. “She’s just trying to avoid going back to Chicago. La Cosa Nostra
wives don’t know anything about anything.”
I nearly rolled my eyes at his dismissal, his arrogance. I doubted Roman was very educated, either.
“Is that really a chance you’re willing to take?” I asked him.
Roman snapped his teeth at me. “Fuck, fine, whatever. Let’s go.” He grabbed my upper arm,
dragging me down the hallway.
I tugged at his grip, but it was a lot harder than Danika’s delicate hands.
“Let go of me, you animal!”
Roman pushed me forward, straight through two open doors. I stumbled, trying to find my footing.
When I did, I found myself looking straight into Konstantin Tarkhanov’s pale brown eyes, both filled
with amusement.
“Mrs Falcone,” he greeted. “I thought Danika took you to get cleaned up.”
I straightened, throwing him a glare. “I’m not going back to Chicago.”
“Yes, you are,” muttered a voice behind me.
I turned, taking in the study as I did (plain, classical, dusty) and spotted Roman standing by the
doorway with another man. The second man had inky black hair, paired with snow-white skin and
watery blue eyes. Looking at him felt like holding shards of glass.
I glared at him and snapped my head back to Konstantin. “I know what’s wrong with Tatiana.”
The amusement in Konstantin’s eyes died, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.
 A hand grabbed my shoulder roughly, yanking me back. The man with black hair was glaring down
at me, his cheekbones sharp enough to slice through my skin. “How fucking dare you!”
“I take it you’re Dmitri,” I muttered. “Now, let go of me.”
He didn’t budge.
“Let her go, Dmitri,” came Konstantin’s hard voice.
Instantly, the Russian brute let go.
I rubbed my shoulder, trying not to show how hard he had gripped me. I turned back to Konstantin.
There was no point trying to plead my case to Dmitri—Konstantin was king around here. Even in
regards to Dmitri’s sick wife.
“I’m not lying,” I said, hating that I even had to say that. Lying wasn’t my natural disposition. It
used to get me in a lot of trouble: always saying what I was thinking. I remember my mother grabbing
my tongue once and threatening to cut it off I didn’t stop moving it. “I know what is wrong with
Tatiana.”
Konstantin linked his fingers together, leaning back in his chair. “What is the matter with Tatiana?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
Dmitri hissed beside me. “How dare you—”
“Enough, Dmitri.” Konstantin commanded. To me, he said, “Why is that so, Mrs Falcone?”
I swallowed, my throat dry. Perhaps I should’ve had some water when I was with Tatiana as well.
“If I am not returned to Chicago and I’m promised freedom, then I will cure Tatiana.”
He raised a single dark blonde eyebrow. “Is that so?”
I lifted my jaw. “Yes.”
Konstantin surveyed me.
“You’re not really considering this, Kostya?” Dmitri said, sounding like he couldn’t believe it.
Konstantin held up a hand and Dmitri fell silent. “I am inclined to take you up on your offer. But I
want to negotiate the conditions.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, the word pittance glaring up at me. “I bet you do.”
A whisper of a smile passed over his face. “You will diagnose and cure Tatiana. Any resources
you need will be provided for you. If you cure Tatiana, then I will support your relocation and gift
you…your freedom, shall we say.”
I nodded. Freedom, freedom, freedom. The word bounced around my head. “I agree to those
terms.”
“There is also the issue of the Outfit and your family,” Konstantin said. “I won’t have our
community thinking I kidnapped you. That would give most of them the ammunition they need to
declare me their enemy. I expect you to keep in contact with your family and join me in public, like
anyone else in my household.”
Konstantin wouldn’t risk his reputation, especially so soon after taking over Staten Island. Keeping
the Falcone widow would make the other Italian families upset, maybe even some of the non-Italian
families. If I was treated and acted like a guest, they wouldn’t have enough reason to go up against
Konstantin.
For all the mafia world’s guts and glory, they were politicians. Noted, guns were more preferred
than speeches, but a gangster taught in both violence and bureaucracy would climb the ladder a lot
higher than a gangster who only knew how to kill.
“One more thing,” he said. “I will not have you roaming all over Staten Island. You will live here
at the estate while you help Tatiana.”
Nobody in the room liked that idea.
 Dmitri stepped forward, eyes electric. “My son lives here. She is the wife of the enemy.”
“A dead enemy,” Konstantin corrected. “I imagine Elena will be no threat to your son.” His eyes
went to me. “She wants her freedom too much to do anything so irrational.”
He was right. I would change diapers and bath all of Dmitri’s sons if it meant I was a step closer to
my freedom, a step further away from Chicago.
I wasn’t happy with the idea of staying with Konstantin and his little family. I didn’t want to be
around Konstantin any more than I had to.
But this was my chance.
I could see my freedom—and it was in the palm of a violent Russian gentleman. One wrong move
and he could crush my ambitions into crumbs.
I nodded. “I agree to your terms.”
Konstantin smiled, but there no warmth like there was in Danika’s smile. There wasn’t any hatred
like in Roman’s, either. Instead, it seemed practiced, taught. But it looked much better than my smile,
which was more reminiscent of a grimace. “Good luck finding your antidote, Mrs Falcone. May you
succeed, for both your sake and Tatiana’s.”
He didn’t say what would happen to me if I failed. Even picturing it was enough to make me feel
sick.
Now, I just had to figure out what the fuck was wrong with Tatiana.
 3
Konstantin Tarkhanov

Artyom stayed quiet until I placed down the phone.

“What did The Godless say?” he asked.
“He has given his blessing for me to keep her.” I didn’t expand on the rest of the conversation.
Artyom had been there the first time when I asked a similar thing of the Outfit.
Artyom rubbed his forehead. “Are you even certain she can cure Tatiana? The last thing Dmitri and
Anton need is false hope.”
I glanced down at my desk, tracing the stack of papers before me. My men had sent it curious looks
throughout the years but none of had ever asked about it. I could see Roman fighting the urge
sometimes, amusingly so.
“You don’t believe she can?” I asked.
“None of us are as we first seem,” he said, “but she has no formal education, no medical degree. I
doubt her family even allowed her to watch hospital dramas growing up.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” At his expression, I said, “Relax,
Artyom. I have no intention to stop our own search for treatment.”
Though the search had been more fruitless than successful these past few weeks. Overnight, it
seemed, Tatiana had fallen ill. Rapidly, she had grown sicker and sicker, now bedridden most days
and unable to stay awake for more than a few hours. We had brought in the best physicians money
could buy, flying them in from far and wide, and none had an explanation for all her symptoms.
Dmitri was growing insane as time wore on. Sometimes going days without sleep—only sleeping
once Roman knocked him unconscious with a clock to the head.
The door banged open before Artyom could add anything else, Roman striding in with a bottle of
vodka. Even after years of my trying to teach him better manners, Roman refused to knock before he
entered rooms. He only knocked on Roksana’s door, which had started after he had walked in on
Artyom and his wife, and nearly found himself brutally killed.
“We’re celebrating.” He held up the vodka. “We finally killed those fucking Falcones and took our
territory.”
A smile played on my lips. “It’s a bit early to celebrate. The other families have not reached out.”
“They’re probably running scared.” Roman flashed his teeth. “We should take their territories,
too.”
“No,” I said. We’d had this conversation before. Roman’s lust for blood clouded his rationality
often. “No single family can rule New York City.”
“We’ll see.” Roman pulled out shot glasses, pouring the vodka. We clinked our glasses, Roman’s
voice booming, “Chtoby stoly lomalis ot izobiliya, a krovati ot lyubvi!”
Artyom rolled his eyes but we both drank, the liquor running down my throat. A fine bottle from
one of my more exclusive businesses, and one Roman would easily finish.
Roman fell into a spare chair, resting his legs on my desk and pressing the bottle of vodka to his
chest like a pillow. “So, what do you think of the Falcone girl? Is she everything you dreamed of?”
“Only you dream of women, Roman,” came a cold voice. Dmitri stepped into the study, closing the
door behind him, icy blue eyes sharpened with his mood.
Artyom grinned into his shot glass; Roman rolled his eyes.
“The Chicago Outfit gave their blessing,” I said to all three of them.
“So that’s dealt with.” Dmitri leaned against the desk, collecting my empty shot glass and pouring
himself a drink.
Artyom shook his head. “Nothing’s ever dealt with. They may change their minds tomorrow.”
“Especially if that woman of his gets in his ear,” Roman added. He pulled out a cigarette.
“Don’t smoke in the house,” Dmitri said. “Tatiana is upstairs.”
Roman looked flabbergasted. “You’re not serious, man? I just spent the morning fighting soldati
and dealing with Danika. I need a smoke.”
Dmitri did not back down. “Go outside–”
“No smoking inside, Roman. If you’re so stressed, have another drink,” I told him calmly. “Now,
let’s talk business.”
With that single sentence, the three men focused. No more arguing, no more camaraderie. When it
came down to business, there were no games. All of them were violent in their own ways—I
wouldn’t bother with them if they weren’t.
Artyom Fattakhov was the highest-ranking member in the room, one of my Two Spies. In charge of
security and intelligence, he was more commonly known as Obshchak. We had grown up together
under the harsh leadership of our fathers, become Vory together, and we would most likely go to the
grave together.
Dmitri Gribkov and Roman Malakhov were part of my elite group, both with their own respective
roles. Dmitri was my krysha, an enforcer in every sense of the word. Whereas Roman was a byki, my
bodyguard. For all his feralness, he took his job extremely seriously, his loyalty unparalleled.
My torpedo was missing. Olezka was busy on Staten Island but would be returning soon.
With the Falcones finally being dealt with, the time for the Tarkhanov Bratva to populate Staten
Island had come. Over the next few months, my men and their families would arrive, cementing our
organization and territory.
It had taken nearly a year to prepare to take down the Falcones. Not for lack of power. No, my men
could easily take out every single Falcone mafiosi five times over. But being physically able to
overpower someone did not mean you had won.
Few of my kind failed to consider the other types of strength in the world.
The Falcones had.
It had been easy digging my fingers into Staten Island, through investments and relationships.
Boring, almost. If I had decided to take down the Lombardis, there would’ve been more of a fight,
more of a challenge. But the prize at the end wouldn’t have been nearly as sweet.
“Why are you smiling, Boss?” Dmitri asked.
“Because of our success.” I turned to Artyom. “Has Feodor contacted you yet?”
Artyom bowed his head, trying to hide his irritation. My Obshchak and Sovietnik weren’t the best
of friends but they both pushed aside their difference in personalities to do their jobs. I wouldn’t
allow anything else. They were both too useful.
“He has. The horses are in transit. They will be here by—” The shrill ring of Artyom’s phone cut
him off. Quietly, he excused himself, frowning faintly at the name on the screen. Most likely a spy of
his calling.
 Dmitri watched Artyom’s retreating back as he left the study. “He doesn’t like that girl being here.”
He turned to me. “I don’t either.”
I raised an eyebrow at his tone.
“Watch yourself, Dima,” Roman warned.
His jaw sharpened but he bowed his head in apology. “I meant no disrespect, boss. But my wife
and son are here, and so are two other women. They can’t protect themselves if Falcone’s widow
brings trouble to our doorstep.”
“I understand your worries, Dmitri,” I told him. “But she stays.” I assessed my krysha. Dark bags
beneath his eyes stained his pale cheeks. “Go and get some rest. The rest of the day will be about
waiting; you don’t need to be awake for that.”
Dmitri didn’t relent. “You’re not worried about her spying on us? You really think her desire to be
free will beat monetary gain? Or the satisfaction of seeing the man who killed her husband die?”
His questions came from worry and protectiveness, driven by exhaustion and strategy. That was
why I didn’t react to his tone. In private, I was happy to debate and argue with my men, our
brotherhood too strong from years of clawing for power to ever be threatened by a few rude
comments.
After all, I didn’t value them for their passive obedience—what good was a warrior with no teeth?
Perhaps if Thaddeo had believed the same mantra, he would still have his territory and life.
And his wife.
“I’m not worried,” was my reply. “She will do anything to stay away from Chicago and gain her
freedom.”
“How do you know that?” Dmitri asked.
Even Roman lifted his head at the question, eyes thirsty for answers.
I didn’t bother looking down at the papers in front of me. I could summon most of it by memory, the
hard copy no longer needed. Academic papers were known for being non-biased documents, but if
you read between the lines, you could peel away at the author. Solve them like an equation.
That had always been half of the fun of learning. Unraveling the author like a ball of yawn, finding
out what made them tick, despite their best efforts to remain anonymous and push forward their ideas.
Those who didn’t want to be found were always the most satisfying to catch.
How did I know that Elena would not be a threat to my household, to my family? How did I know
she wouldn’t spy on us and send all our secrets to Chicago? I had no doubt that if the Queen of
Chicago asked her childhood friend for some information, Elena would happily oblige her.
I leaned back in my chair, smiling slightly. “You’re going to have to trust me.” At the twitch of
Dmitri’s jaw, I leaned forward once more, catching his attention and saying seriously, “I won’t let any
harm come to your wife and son.”
He bowed his head in response, looking slightly more relieved but not a lot.
Roman swung on his chair, leaning on the leg. When he was younger, he had fallen and split his
head open dozens of times, but not as often as he had matured. “Danika likes her,” he said. “But Dani
likes everyone.”
“She doesn’t like you,” Dmitri sniped.
Before he could snap back, the study door clicked and Artyom walked in, his expression grim. His
knuckles were turning white with how hard he was gripping his phone.
I suspected what this was about before he said anything.
“Another woman has been killed.”
Roman leapt to his feet, chair clattering to the floor behind him. Dmitri swore in Russian, tone
harsh and cold. I stayed seated, unmoved, but I felt my features twist.
Deep inside me, barbaric anger began to boil.
I asked, “Who?”
Artyom stepped forward, releasing his phone and pushing it to the middle of the desk. The photo of
a pretty woman with a pearl necklace and dark eyes filled the screen.
“Mallory Nicollier. Daughter of a high-ranking member in the Corsican Union.”
“Which Union?” Roman asked.
Artyom nodded. “Lefebvre’s gang. They stretch from Winnipeg to Grand Forks.”
A considerably strong Corsican Union, who usually kept to themselves, as long as their investments
weren’t threatened. They didn’t have a desirable location, so they were able to avoid conflict more
than the rest of us.
“How?” I asked, the harshness of my tone causing my men’s backs to straighten.
“She was shot and died due to blood loss.”
“And post-mortem?”
Artyom didn’t look affected but I caught Roman scowling in disgust, already guessing the answer
before Artyom said it. “All her teeth were removed.”
My bodyguard reacted immediately, cussing in Russian. “Those fucking bastards!” he roared.
“Calm down,” I told him. Roman fell quiet but remained tense. “How has Lefebvre reacted?”
“Not at all. His men have been quiet.”
“That’s not nothing,” I noted, glancing out the window. I could see the wild ivy along the bottom of
the window. If I left it for a few more years, the plant might cover the entire window, a natural
curtain. “Lefebvre could have chosen to make accusations or attack his neighbors. Instead he has gone
silent. Why?”
The question went unanswered.
“Any connections to the other women?” I asked.
Artyom shook his head. “Not at first glance, except they were all related to someone in the mafia.”
“They’re all missing their teeth,” Roman muttered. “That’s a pretty good connection.”
Dmitri curled his lip up at Roman, but I cut in before he could give some freezing retort.
“We have three women—that we know of. All killed in the past three months, all with connections
to the mafia and all had their teeth removed post-mortem.”
The first women had been Letizia Zetticci, who was married to a capo in the Lombardi family. Her
death had been interesting to say the least; it was very rare women’s bodies were altered after death.
In our world, cutting out the tongue or eyes post-mortem sent messages, but women were never
targeted.
Letizia Zetticci’s official cause of death had been poisoning, but it wasn’t how she was killed that
interested us. It had been the removal of her teeth.
Then, about a week ago, Eithne McDermott had been found dead, killed with a blow to the back of
her head. That alone might not have caught our attention if it wasn’t for the removal of her teeth. She
had been found in her living room, toothless.
And now Mallory Nicollier. A third victim with identical post-mortem trauma.
“Whoever is doing this is the sickest of fucks,” Roman said. “Targeting women…” He spat in
disgust.
I agreed. Women were not usually the aim of violence in our world. They were much more likely to
be hurt by their families and husbands. But unspoken rules stopped them from being targeted by enemy
organizations.
 What had changed?
“I still think it is their families,” Dmitri said. “Letizia Zetticci was married to a sick fuck, and
Eithne and Mallory’s husbands took inspiration from him.”
“Mallory wasn’t married.” Artyom replied.
Dmitri shrugged. “Her father then. Those women being hurt by their husbands and fathers is far
more likely than a rampant serial killer on the loose targeting mob wives and taking out their teeth.”
I did see the merit to Dmitri’s point. It was an outlandish idea that there was a person—or group of
people—going around targeting these women, women who had no obvious connection to each other.
Who would have enough animosity with three separate families, all located in different parts of North
America, to hurt these women?
“The removal of the teeth is a ploy to distract people from something else,” Dmitri added.
“When has anyone ever tried to hide the fact that they’re a killer in this world?” Artyom asked
reasonably. “Most gangsters wear it like a badge of honor.”
I considered their points, my own gut telling me to watch this situation. “Let’s keep an eye on it. I
am interested in how Lefebvre reacts.”
Both the Lombardis and McDermotts had made a big show of their anger, threatening their
neighbors and the government. I was curious to see how Lefebvre reacted. If he kept quiet, perhaps
Mallory had been another sad casualty of domestic violence. But if he showed the same anger as the
other two families…perhaps we had a much larger issue at hand.
The phone on my desk began to ring at that very moment.
My first congratulations, I thought, or my first declaration of war.
The room was quiet as I picked up the phone. “Konstantin Tarkhanov.”
“Konstantin,” came a familiar voice on the other end of the line. “I believe congratulations are in
order.”
I smiled.
Mitsuzo Ishida was the head of the Ishida Yakuza, their territory located in New Jersey. The Ishidas
had ruled in New York for decades, an old and respected family. His recognition of me as the new
king of Staten Island did not mean nothing.
Before lunchtime, two more bosses called. Chen Qiang, boss of the Chen Triad, located in Queens.
As well as Thomas Ó Fiaich Sr, boss of the Ó Fiaich Mob, located in Brooklyn. My new neighbors, I
supposed.
The only boss who did not call me with congratulations was Vitale Lombardi. I wasn’t surprised;
the Lombardis were devoted to tradition. And tradition dictated that overthrowing La Cosa Nostra
and replacing them with the Bratva was unacceptable.
Despite Vitale’s silence, my men celebrated. Three kings of New York had called to welcome me
into their fold, welcomed the Bratva to the table.
No longer would my men be looked down on or written off as brainless mobsters. No longer did I
swear allegiance to my family back in Russia or survive temporarily in different places.
It was time to build my empire, to fulfil my ambitions.
I only hoped she decided to join me.
 4
Konstantin Tarkhanov

The stables stretched over the acreage, separated from the house by miles of trees. It would be a
lengthy hike from the estate to the stables, making it much easier to drive to and from. Roman had
instantly vetoed the idea of walking.
Surrounding the stables were an enclosed and outside arena, as well as stretches of fresh green
paddocks, ripe for grazing. Hundreds of thousands of dollars had been plugged into the creation of
this horse haven. Even the haybarn had cost a pretty penny.
In the midday sun, my horses adapted to their new environment. Basil had already begun to graze.
The dark bay was relaxed in his new environment, more concerned with his stomach than his
surroundings. My other two racehorses did not share his sentiments.
Odessa was standing with me by the fence, seeking food in my hands and pockets. The silver
dapple liked attention more than the other two and hated having her day disturbed outside her strict
schedule.
But she wasn’t as bad as Hilarion. Hilarion galloped around his paddock, ears pinned back. Every
now and then he would stop abruptly to inspect something—an unknown plant, a strange fence—
before rearing in fury and going back to his erratic movements.
“Do you think they’re ready to go into their stables?” Roman asked as he scratched Odessa’s nose.
“Basil and Odessa should be fine. Hilarion, no. I don’t trust him not to destroy the place and
himself in the process.”
Like he knew we were talking about him, Hilarion snapped his head to us. His chestnut coat
gleamed in the sunlight as he moved.
“Dmitri thinks you should put him down,” Roman noted.
“If I start putting down everyone here with a foul-temper, there would be nobody left,” I mused,
giving Odessa a handful of oats. She gobbled them up.
Roman grinned. “It would just be you and Artyom.” He cringed. “God, imagine how fucking boring
that’d be.”
I laughed under my breath. “Indeed.”
At the end of the property, a car began its drive up to the stables. Immediately, Roman was alert,
grabbing his gun and standing protectively in front of me. Two of my men that were playing cards by
the fence abandoned their game of durak and approached the car, hands poised on their weapons.
The car rolled to a stop and Olezka jumped out in one smooth movement, smiling in greeting. “Last
one, Boss. I found him hiding out by Bayonne Bridge. He was trying to escape into Ishida’s territory.”
None of my men relaxed at the familiar face.
I gestured with my fingers. “Bring him out.”
Olezka opened the boot, yanking out his catch. The man landed on the gravel, hands and feet tied.
The duct tape over his mouth muffled his furious cries.
He was one of Thaddeo’s cousins, a high-ranking member in the family. He had managed to flee
before my men had raided his house. Usually, Olezka didn’t bring his catches home—alive—but I
requested he did this once.
Staten Island may now be completely under my control, but the Falcones had been here for decades
and their roots would take some time to pull out.
“Mr Falcone,” I mused, assessing the pitiful mobster before me. “I hope your journey was
comfortable.”
He looked up at me with furious eyes and said something beneath the tape.
I stroked Odessa’s nose. She whinnied happily at the attention.
“Let me introduce myself.” I held a hand to my heart. “Konstantin Tarkhanov. The new king of
Staten Island.”
Thaddeo’s cousin yelled something else but the tape didn’t allow for any clarity.
I gestured to Olezka. My torpedo leaned down and gently removed the tape from the man’s face. I
bet if I checked the ties, they would be smooth, comfortable knots. Despite being an assassin, Olezka
wasn’t naturally cruel and vindictive.
As soon as the tape came away, Mr Falcone began yelling. “You stupid Russian!”
“Watch your mouth,” Roman spat, gun in palm.
“Olezka,” I said.
Olezka put the tape back over his mouth, reducing his angry yells to muffles once again.
I crouched down, surveying him. Falcones were never very interesting. They followed the same
rules and traditions as all the other Italian families. This runner was no different, except my respect
for him was minuscule. Only a coward would abandon their family to save their own backside.
“Enough,” I told him. “I find my patience growing thinner by the minute.”
Something in my tone registered with the primal part of his brain. The man quietened.
None of my men let up at his sudden obedience. I doubted they would until I was safely back in my
estate and this Falcone cousin was buried six feet under.
“Where did Thaddeo keep the key?”
His eyes widened.
I pulled off the tape, the ripping sound echoing through the acreage.
He began speaking immediately. “I don’t know anything about a key—”
“Yes, you do,” I told him. “Where is it?”
“Thaddeo never said—”
I gestured to Roman over my shoulder. Like a whip, Roman stepped forward, swinging his gun
over his shoulder and straight into the man’s kneecap.
I covered the tape back over his mouth to hide his howl and turned to Olezka, instructing, “Kill him
and do as you wish with the body.”
Through his pain, Mr Falcone heard my orders and began objecting.
I rose to my feet, sparing him a glance. “Tell us where the key is and I might spare your life.”
Olezka removed the tape once more, only revealing the man stuttering out in pain and his lack of
knowledge.
I turned on my heel, my men moving with me.
“Wait, wait!” the man cried.
I kept my back to him but turned my head to the side, catching sight of him sniveling on the gravel
like a worm.
“The key—Thaddeo mentioned it once… He…” The man coughed. “He said something about it
when the landscaping was…Something about burying it…”
 Roman rolled his eyes and looked to me. “Convenient. It’s hidden below ground in Thaddeo’s huge
fucking garden.” To the man, he said, “Couldn’t be any more specific, huh, pizdobol?”
I didn’t bother turning around. This man wasn’t going to tell us anything. “Olezka,” I commanded
quietly.
The gun went off.
I straightened my cuffs and fished out my phone. Feodor answered on the first ring.
“Boss, how’s New York treating you?” came his deep raspy voice. “Better yet, how’s Falcone’s
widow treating you?” His leering tone made the real meaning behind his words clear.
I didn’t entertain his good humor. “Send a group to Falcone’s manor and tell them to tear apart the
garden.”
“Any specific part?”
“The entire thing.” The garden had looked like it had been freshly planted so I doubted it would be
hard to strip away. “I want this key found before the other mob bosses decide they want it.”
Feodor grunted in agreement. “Yes, Boss. Consider it done.”
“Has Rifat contacted you yet?” My derzhatel obschaka, also known as my accountant, had the
tendency to disappear into his brain for days, surviving off naps and coffee. For a bookkeeper, he was
oddly eccentric. A small part of me wondered what he would make of Elena—or what Elena would
make of him.
“No. Should I send over some boys to check on him?”
“I’ll send Danika in a few days. He doesn’t like anyone else.” I glanced into the distance, the
horizon broken up by spots of trees. “Did you hear about the third woman?”
“I did,” Feodor replied, voice darkening. Usually, Feodor was the epitome of jolliness, but
violence against the weaker sex had always upset him. “Your krysha believes it is an inside job.”
I stepped away from the car as Olezka drove away, dead Falcone in the boot. Odessa buried her
nose in my pockets, looking for carrots.
To Feodor, I said, “I am interested in hearing what you believe.”
I had been born and raised in this world, had understood the customs and violence for thirty years.
But Feodor was double my age, the things he had seen and experienced shaped his view. His opinions
often challenged the opinions of my younger men, his old age wisdom allowing for more clarity in
situations.
Artyom might dislike him, but Feodor was imperative to making sure we didn’t fall victim to our
idealistic youth.
When I had killed my father at fifteen, it had been Feodor who had reasoned with me and brought
me back down to Earth. I had felt invincible, ready to kill my brothers and take the crown. But Feodor
had advised against it.
Wait, he had said, be patient and plan.
I had.
Feodor spoke up after a few seconds, breaking up my reverie. “The idea of some lunatic going
around and targeting these women is insane…it is more likely these are domestic disputes.”
“If not?”
He sighed. “Then we have a very real problem on our hands.”
We said our goodbyes and I turned back to Roman. My bodyguard watched our surroundings
carefully, his eyes scraping over the woods like he could see the dogs stalking in the shadows.
“You sending Dani to check on Rifat?” he asked casually.
I decided to humor myself. “I’ll send Dmitri with her tomorrow.”
 Predictably, Roman’s eyes hardened. “Dmitri? Really? Isn’t he a walking corpse at the moment?”
“I’m hoping Danika will be able to convince him to sleep. You know how persuasive she can be.”
Roman grunted. “I’ll take her. Poor bastard is going through enough. The last thing he needs is to
listen to Dani’s chatter.”
“If you insist,” I relented, trying not to laugh.
Odessa swung her head over the fence, trying to gain my attention. I brushed down her mane with
my fingers.
“Do you think he was telling the truth about the key?” Roman asked.
“I believe he thinks he is telling the truth,” I noted. “We won’t know for sure until we’ve searched
Thaddeo’s property.”
Roman regarded me, picking up something in my tone. “Do you think his widow knows where it
is?”
“Not consciously.”
“Fuck, Kon!” He rubbed his face. “Is that why you agreed to her curing Tatiana? You’re trying to
find out what she knows?”
“Everything I do usually has one or more agenda, Roman.” I stepped back from Odessa and waved
the stable hand over. “Finding that key is imperative to establishing ourselves on Staten Island. And if
someone else finds it before us…”
Roman grimaced. “We may as well kiss all your hard work goodbye.”
“Exactly.” I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Day one has been successful, but we must
plan for the upcoming days.”
“Especially for Tatiana and Dmitri.”
I closed my eyes briefly at the mention of our sickening family member. “Especially for them.”
Roman didn’t like to linger on dark topics, particularly ones concerning his family. For all his
anger and nasty retorts, Roman did care for Dmitri and Tatiana and was handling Tatiana’s sickness as
well as he could. So, I wasn’t surprised when Roman brought up the topic of the next horse race.
“Artyom mentioned you’re considering inviting Ishida to the race?”
I smiled slightly at Roman, “You and Artyom are no better than two old ladies.” At his scowl, I
laughed and said, “It will be a good chance for Ishida and me to talk. Rumor has it he was never a fan
of the Falcones.”
“Was anyone?”
“Vitale Lombardi.”
“Has he still not congratulated you?” Roman demanded.
I turned away from Odessa as the stable hand led her to her pen, cajoling her with treats and pats.
As she left, Hilarion started towards us, anger in his eyes. Before he collided into the fence between
their paddocks, he dug his hooves into the grass and came to a sudden stop, breathing hard. He got the
reaction he wanted; the stable hand startled and dropped a carrot in shock.
Before Odessa could swipe it, Hilarion stuck his head through the fence and grabbed it. He pulled
up, looking awfully pleased with himself.
“Hilarion,” I commanded quietly.
He paused at the sound of my voice.
The stable hand muttered something under his breath about how the stallion should be put down but
fell quiet as he noticed me listening. His cheeks went red as he realized he had just insulted my
champion in front of me.
I assessed Hilarion. Even in his youth, he had been the most rambunctious colt in the paddock. His
owner had been so sick of him that he had gladly sold him to me, warning me to double the strength of
my fences and watch him with the other horses.
Half-demon, his owner had told me the day I’d showed interest in the chestnut foal. That horse is
half-fucking-demon.
Perhaps Hilarion did carry some demon in his blood. But even the cretins of Hell had to serve a
master.
I rose a hand to the horse and Hilarion watched me closely.
“Enough now,” I told him.
Hilarion tossed his head, displeased, but obeyed my command. I didn’t believe he could
understand English, or even Russian. But he was intuitive enough to know the shift in my tone, the
warning timbre to my voice.
It had been my tone that had been instrumental in training him. Even today, in his adulthood,
Hilarion listened to no one but me. Whenever I introduced him to a new rider, I had to be there or risk
Hilarion going ballistic.
Only once before had his trainer tried to adapt him to a new jockey without me. It had ended in two
broken noses and three sprained arms, but Hilarion had walked away just fine.
“He’s more trouble than he’s worth,” Roman pointed out.
“Funny,” I mused. “Many told me the same about you.”
 5
Elena Falcone

When the sun rose the next day, I was already awake.
I pressed myself up against the window’s cold panes, searching the garden for movement. Some
part of me ached to escape the bedroom and venture outside. I needed to feel the dirt beneath my feet,
calm down my senses and brain after a stressful and restless night’s sleep.
But I didn’t dare try. If I was caught, I could find myself in danger—or worse, small talk. [S3]
The guest room was nice, but I hadn’t realized how much I had left behind until I had been tossing
and turning in the sheets. Not only was it weird not falling asleep to the sound of Thaddeo’s snores,
but the absence of my books and clothes had made me feel awkward and out of place.
I was so itching to leave the room that I could almost burst from my skin.
I wanted to read or write something or just take off into the woods, letting the earth take me into its
arms.
The word agitated came to mind, bouncing around my brain.
Then in the underbrush, between the trunks of the trees, was another slither of movement. I caught
sight of a huge hairy behind before the creature disappeared into the greenery.
It had to be a dog of some kind, though the size indicated it was a wolf or bear. Whatever lurked in
the woods had had my attention all night. When I couldn’t sleep, I had sat by the window, trying to be
as close to the garden as possible, and spotted a few furry beasts stalking in the shadows.
As the sun had risen, the creatures had grown less active, meaning my chances of seeing exactly
what was lurking in the shadows was reduced by the minute. If one just stepped into the golden
morning light, then I would be able to see what I had been watching for hours…
A knock at the door caused me to startle.
“Elena,” came the familiar voice of Danika. “Would you like some breakfast?”
My stomach gurgled.
I had barely touched the food Danika had brought me the night before. However, if I saw the meal
prepared in front of me, I would eat it. My body needed it.
Couldn’t very well find the cure on an empty stomach, could I?
I opened the door for Danika. By her feet, so large she nearly came up to Danika’s knees, was
Babushka. She assessed me coolly, her bushy tail swaying behind her.
“She’s been at your door all night,” laughed Danika. “I’m surprised she didn’t murder you.”
It was said in good humor, but the words made me tense. “You and I both.”
Danika caught my reaction and her face softened. “Oh, Elena, I’m so sorry. I know it’s only been
twenty-four hours.” She patted my arm comfortingly.
She was referring to the death of my husband, but that wasn’t why I reacted.
Konstantin is not going to lay a hand on you, I told myself rationally. The reaction from Chicago
would be too severe. Plus, he needs you to cure Tatiana.
“I’m not upset. Just jumpy,” I told her.
 “I can’t say I blame you. I remember my first night alone with these men. To be fair, I was a bit
younger than you, but still it was pretty tense…” She trailed off, her eyes blurring slightly as she
disappeared into her mind.
I knew a post-traumatic stress episode when I saw one and lightly pressed her arm, so not to startle
her. “What’s for breakfast? Danika?”
Danika blinked, coming back to Earth. “Oh, sorry…” Despite being pale, she gave me a bright grin.
A part of me wondered how much the smiles and jokes hid the trauma in her mind.
But I wouldn’t poke and prod. She was owed her privacy, just as I was owed my own.
I also had enough problems on my plate. I didn’t need to take on anyone else’s.
“Breakfast?” I repeated.
Danika nodded and began to lead the way, the Siberian Cat shadowing us. We only got lost a few
times, but the detours allowed me to take in more of the house, though the lack of furniture made it
difficult to catalogue where we were exactly.
It was the smell of bacon and eggs that ended up helping Danika find the kitchen.
I was expecting breakfast to only consist of Danika and me. Instead, when we reached the kitchen,
voices and the clattering of plates poured out. Danika didn’t look bothered as she pushed open the
classical French doors and declared, “We’re here! I hope you didn’t eat all the croissants, Roman.”
“I stopped him,” someone answered.
Danika pulled me into the room.
I noticed Konstantin first. He was sitting at the end of a small table, leaning back in his chair and
looking strangely relaxed. His blonde hair was brushed neatly back, his suit immaculate, and his
wristwatch gleaming mockingly in the morning light. A true gentleman, I thought.
Konstantin caught my eyes and smiled slowly.
I turned away, taking in the other members of the kitchen. I recognized Dmitri with his pale skin and
icy blue eyes, as well as Roman with his tattooed cheeks and dog-like expression. The two unfamiliar
faces were a man and woman sitting beside Konstantin at the table.
The woman gracefully rose from where she was sitting, with long hair that was a shade away from
white and delicate features. She smiled politely at me. The man remained in his seat, his dark eyes
watching me from where he sat. Like Konstantin, he was also dressed in a suit.
“Did you have a good sleep, Mrs Falcone?” Konstantin inquired.
“Fine,” I gritted out. “The cat didn’t kill me.”
I looked to his face to see a glint of humor bloom in his expression. “Always an upside.” He
gestured a hand around the room. “You know Dmitri and Roman already, but I don’t believe you have
met Artyom and Roksana Fattakhov. Artyom, Roksana, meet Elena Falcone.”
Roksana stepped forward like she was going to shake my hand, but she didn’t offer it. “It is lovely
to meet you. Are you hungry?”
“I am,” I said.
Danika dragged me to the table. Over her shoulder, I spotted Roman sending me a harsh look. I
returned it with one of my own.
I ended up being tucked in between Roksana and Danika, close enough to feel the weight of
Konstantin’s stare on me. Some part of me wished I was still upstairs in my bedroom, hungry, but
alone. Now I felt like I had stepped into some warped family breakfast.
To my utter surprise, Roman and Dmitri brought the food to the table. I felt my jaw slacken as I
watched them place the piles of pancakes and bacon into the middle of the table.
“It’s Roman and Dmitri’s turn to cook,” Danika told me, “so get excited for your future food
poisoning.”
“That was one time!” Roman shot back.
She ignored him and gave me a meaningful look.
“One time too many, I say,” I said to agree with her.
Danika brightened. “Exactly, Elena! My thoughts exactly.” She peered around my head, giving
Roman a mocking glare. “Did you hear what Elena said, Roman?”
Roman muttered something in Russian under his breath.
“Let us not fight,” Roksana interrupted, her voice floating above everyone’s. “Poor Elena doesn’t
need to hear all the bickering.”
I didn’t mind. A part of me found it interesting listening to them argue, especially Danika and
Roman. If I was nosy, I might’ve asked Danika about it. But my husband was barely cold, so I wasn’t
in any position to get into someone else’s love life. Listening to them argue was satisfying enough.
I stayed quiet as they chatted about their plans for the day, a blend of American and Russian
accents. There was a strange domesticity to hearing them discuss the groceries and the paint they had
to buy for the living room. Someone mentioned the plumber coming out at three, so someone had to be
here to receive him.
Of course, they spoke of all the domestic issues of the house. In my mind, I had built them up as
mobster machines who only spoke of drug deals and racketeering.
“What time does Anton’s day finish?” Roksana asked at one point.
Dmitri glanced at the clock. “In three hours. I’m grabbing him.”
Anton, I guessed, was Dmitri’s son. I hadn’t seen much signs that there was a child running around
the place, but I hadn’t been here very long. Perhaps he was an abnormally clean toddler.
I went to reach for a second slice of toast, but Dmitri’s cold voice snapped, “That’s not for you.”
“Dmitri,” Artyom warned.
I looked to Dmitri, his electric blue eyes glaring down at me. Keeping eye contact, I picked up the
piece of bread and dropped it onto my plate.
Someone swore under their breath.
The cold fury that overtook his face made the room feel cooler. His lips parted, preparing to
deliver a shattering insult, then—
“Mrs Falcone is our guest, Dima.” It was Konstantin’s voice commanding the table. Even the scrap
of forks and sounds of chewing paused beneath his words.
Like a switch had been flicked, Dmitri’s lips pressed together, and he leaned back in his chair,
retreating.
I buttered my toast but didn’t take my eyes off the masculine icicle.
The rest of breakfast continued without another hitch.
As it dwindled to an end, people began to leave. Roksana floated away, saying something about
Tatiana, with Dmitri and Artyom following with the intention of going to work. Even Danika bounced
to her feet, tripping in the process.
She squeezed my shoulder as she left, glancing at Konstantin and Roman warily.
“Go tend to your duties, Danika,” Konstantin said kindly.
To my surprise, Danika shot me an apologetic look as she left. Why did she care that she had
thrown me to the wolves? We barely knew each other.
I narrowed my eyes at Konstantin. He was dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin, his eyes
trained on me.
“Since you are staying here indefinitely, it is only appropriate I give you a tour,” Konstantin said,
rising to his feet. Roman stood too.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I demanded. Being alone with Konstantin and his dog of a
bodyguard wasn’t high on my list of things I wanted to do.
“Of course,” he said. “But I would be remiss to let you wander around cluelessly. I would hate for
you to get lost and miss out on lunch.”
“It’s a big house, Konstantin,” I replied. “Not the minotaur’s labyrinth.”
Roman turned away; I could’ve sworn he was choking on a laugh.
Konstantin did laugh. “Indeed. Come now, Mrs Falcone.”
Konstantin went to the kitchen first, fetching something that I couldn’t make out, before gesturing to
the classical doors that led to the gardens.
“You can leave us, Roman,” Konstantin said as he held the door open for me. The crisp morning air
tickled my cheeks. “Mrs Falcone wishes me no harm. Do you?”
“You’ll know when I do,” I sniped, stepping outside.
Roman didn’t want to leave, and I heard him exchange a few words with his boss. Konstantin must
have won because he joined me outside without his pit bull. His palm remained closed.
“What are you holding?” I asked.
His eyes gleamed. “Curious?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”
Konstantin’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Your disrespect is almost admirable, Mrs Falcone. Did your
husband enjoy it?”
No. The first few months of our marriage had been a lesson in me biting my tongue. I had grown up
with my aunts pinching my cheeks when I said something sarcastic, but it was easier to control myself
around someone whom I didn’t live side by side with. I had woken up, eaten and lived beside
Thaddeo.
A few sarcastic slip-ups were expected—and very quickly led to punishments.
Phantom pain tightened around my arm, the sensation of his grip still prominent in my memories.
It’s all in your head, I told myself harshly. Get over it.
The pain did not fade.
“No?” Konstantin answered his own question. “Thaddeo must have been more patient than I
thought.” His head turned to me, his eyes too knowing. “Or not.”
“You could ask him if he wasn’t dead.” I gestured to the unruly garden, the overgrown flowers and
wild roots. The paths were merely loose stones dotting through open spaces between the plants, not
shaped or carved through. “Why are we out here?”
“For your own safety, you need to be acquainted with the dogs.” Konstantin led me through the
garden, towards the cluster of trees. As he neared, the underbrush shifted, and a huge furry head
poked out.
I stepped closer, my curiosity overtaking my survival instincts. “They’re not bears or wolves at
all.”
Konstantin opened his palm, revealing a collection of bone-shaped dog treats. “Hold out your
hand.”
I did and he dropped the treats into it.
“Don’t let them steal them from you. If they suspect you are a doormat, they will not hesitate to take
advantage of you.” He cast his eyes to the woods. “You need to make sure they know you’re the alpha,
and a friend.”
“I’m sure they already know who their alpha is,” I muttered.
 Konstantin smiled but didn’t say anything. Instead, he brought his fingers up to his lips and whistled
loudly.
The furry head stepped out from the bush and—
I stepped back. “It’s bloody huge.”
No wonder I had suspected they were bears or wolves. Before me stood the largest dog I had ever
seen. I was tall, but the dog easily surpassed my hip, his nose high enough to reach my neck if he so
pleased. He had near-black fur, with the exception of lighter brown patches around his nose and
paws.
“They’re bear-killers,” Konstantin said. “Or more commonly known as Caucasian Shepherd
Dogs.”
The huge dog stepped closer to me, his dark eyes trained on the treats in my hand. I gripped them
tighter on instinct. If he went for them, he could probably take my whole arm with him.
Konstantin stood beside me, his presence momentarily distracting me from the dog. “They guard the
estate and its inhabitants. They will guard you too—if you prove yourself.”
“And by prove myself, you mean feed them some chicken-flavored candies?”
“Beef flavor. They don’t care much for chicken.”
I cut him a look. He looked strangely comfortable in this garden, despite being dressed in a
thousand-dollar suit with shoes cleaner and more expensive than anything I had ever gotten near.
Konstantin felt my stare and looked down at me.
I suddenly realized how much taller than I he was.
I had always been taller than most people I met. I had stopped growing at 5’10, much to my
family’s chagrin. My height, which I got from the men in the family, had made me able to
subconsciously (or consciously) patronize those shorter than me. And if there was one thing men in
my family hated, it was being patronized; after all, they couldn’t have any competition.
“Why do you have such a strange look on your face?” he inquired. His eyes darted down to the
words along my arms and hands, like they might provide a clue to what was happening inside my
head.
“None of your business,” I said.
Konstantin’s eyebrows rose. I doubted anyone had used a tone like that on him in a long while—or
ever. “Oh, is that so?” He turned to the dog. “You are welcomed to your secrets, Mrs Falcone. Even if
your manners are atrocious.”
No one had ever allowed me to have my secrets. I had them, nursed them and watered them, but it
was another piece of me my family and husband were expected to have ownership over.
“Elena,” I said before any other thought could form in my mind.
“Elena?” he repeated, his accent caressing the syllables so intimately that I almost forgot the rest of
my sentence.
I pulled myself together, straightening my back and meeting his eyes head on. “I would prefer to be
called Elena. I hated being a Falcone and I hate being called Mrs Falcone.”
“Of course…Elena.” The way he said my name made me regret my decision. He made it sound as
if we were friends, when we certainly were not.
Being so close to him, looking up at him—I didn’t like it.
To try and dampen the strange quickening of my heart, I changed the subject and asked, “Do I hold
my hand out?”
“He is not an alpaca,” said Konstantin. “Throw him a treat or else the others will miss out.”
As he said the words, the shadows of the woods shifted and out stepped more dogs. They bunched
together like a pack of wolves, dark eyes trained on Konstantin and me. Some even came up to their
master for a scratch and lick, but the alluring smell of their treats meant their attention came back to
me pretty quickly.
One dog buried his nose in my stomach, the wet smell of him causing me to scrunch up my face.
“Tell them to back off, Elena,” Konstantin reminded me.
“I got it.” I gently shoved at the giant’s face. “Down, down.”
That command made him step back slightly but not enough to give me any real personal space.
I took one treat and threw it to one of the dogs furthest away. They clustered around the lucky one,
but he swallowed the treat before they could get to it, tail wagging so fast it scraped some of the
bushes beneath it into new positions.
Eventually, they learned if they backed off, they were more likely to receive a treat.
It wasn’t actually that bad.
In fact, the dogs were kind of cute, despite their terrifying size. They were covered in fluff, making
them look like huge teddy bears, except for the sharp teeth that peeked out every now and then, ruining
the illusion.
I had heard some people mention how they found feeding ducks or fish to be relaxing. For someone
who never relaxed, feeding these dogs had been actually quite...pleasant.
Though I wasn’t about to reveal that to anyone, especially the Russian Pakhan.
“I’m impressed,” Konstantin said when my palm was empty. “You didn’t feed any of them twice.
Even I get confused about who is who at times—some of the markings are identical.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not.” He gestured back towards the house. “Let me give you the official tour, now that the
dogs have accepted you into the fold.”
“And if they hadn’t?”
“Then I wouldn’t have bothered,” he replied, stepping forward. “What is the point of showing a
few bones around?”
 6
Elena Falcone

If being a Bratva boss didn’t pan out, Konstantin could have a very promising future as a tour guide.
He led me around the house, through the elegant but bare rooms, pointing out the history and best
escapes routes. He made it clear which areas of the house I wasn’t welcomed in without permission;
specific bedrooms, hallways, offices.
I would have died from boredom if my survival instincts hadn’t been on alert.
Even walking around his own house, relaxed and safe, Konstantin made the hair on the back of my
neck stand up. Something about him seemed dangerous, seemed switched on. Like a snake lying out in
the sun, still and calm, but with his venomous fangs always at the ready.
How exhausting, I thought.
“And here concludes our tour,” he said, slowing down in front of two doors. “I saved the best for
last.”
“Another bare room? I’m shocked.”
Konstantin smiled slightly but didn’t respond. He pushed open the doors, revealing the room to me.
It must have been a ballroom once or even a formal dining room, but now bookshelves lined the
walls, illuminated by the glass roof. However, only a few of the bookshelves held books, with most
of the library being piled up in small mountains.
Excitement bloomed inside of me.
Growing up, the library had been one of my favorite places. I used to roam the shelves, searching
for any piece of loose knowledge or fact I might be able to absorb and keep forever. My mother used
to scold me when I would walk out with a pile of books in my arms.
Put some back, Elena, I can still hear her reprimanding. You won’t read them all.
I stepped forward, taking in the closest pile of books. Russian titles mixed in with English greeted
me, some familiar, some strange. Most of them were fairy tales but a few academic texts were filtered
through.
A loud thump caught my attention.
Coming down from a high shelf, Babushka landed on a tower of books. She sat down on it, her tail
waving irritably as she took me in.
“Ah, Tsaritsa Babushka,” greeted Konstantin. “I was wondering where you had gotten off to.”
She kept her gaze pinned to me.
I ignored her. I had enough problems without adding temperamental cat to the list.
“What do you think of my library, Elena?” asked the Pakhan from behind me.
His question reminded me that my back was to him and I spun around to face him. “It’s not a library
yet,” I told him. “It’s a collection of dust.”
Konstantin’s brown eyes gleamed. “My thoughts exactly. Perhaps you can sort through them, as
compensation for living in my home rent free.”
“You said I had to live here,” I sniped.
 “I did.”
“Also, you can’t change the conditions of our agreement after we’ve agreed to it. That’s not how
contracts work.”
This made him laugh. “I can do whatever I want, Elena. This is my house, my territory, and you are
a guest.”
I suddenly realized—stupidly and belatedly—that Konstantin had no reason to hold up his end of
the deal. Why would he? He commanded all of Staten Island and its inhabitants now. What was a
penniless widow to him?
I needed to make a move with Tatiana, prove my worth and gain some footing. Right now, I felt like
a naïve little girl, begging this Russian boss to take mercy on my tender soul.
Which was not the case at all. I wouldn’t allow it to be the case.
I had been at someone’s mercy before, and it hadn’t ended well for them.
Both times.
“I need to examine Tatiana,” I said. “You’ve wasted enough of my time.”
His eyebrows rose. “If you think learning the lay of your new residence is a waste of time, perhaps
you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
I clenched my jaw but bit my tongue.
“No response?” For a second, I thought he looked disappointed. His expression smoothed quickly,
making me think it was a trick of my imagination. “Very well. This way.”
Konstantin led me through familiar hallways to Tatiana’s room. When he reached it, he turned to me
and said, “I would be remiss if I didn’t ask, but did your late husband ever mention a key of some
kind?”
I kept my expression clear. “A key?”
“Indeed.” His eyes scanned my expression.
“No,” I forced out. My fingers bit into my palms. “Unless you mean the front door key. Then yes.”
Konstantin didn’t believe me. Sure, he kept his expression perfectly smooth and polite, but the
flicker in his eyes told me he knew I was lying.
In my mind, an image of that fucking key formed. That thing had gotten me into more trouble than it
was worth—and it intended to get me into a little more.
I cleared my mind of the picture, as though Konstantin had suddenly become telepathic.
“Well, if you recall anything, let me know.”
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Why do you care about some key?”
I couldn’t read his expression. “That key is very important, Elena. I would hate for it to fall into the
hands of someone with less than noble intentions.”
“Then we should pray you don’t get your hands on it, right?”
He laughed softly, dangerously. “The tools of men are not inherently evil; it is how they are used.”
My brain shuttered for a few seconds as it absorbed his words, added definitions and
understanding to them.
The tools of men are not inherently evil…
There was no way. It was out of the question. How could he possibly know that? It was
impossible.
It is how they are used…
Word to word. Identical. Like he was reading it right off the page.
“Something wrong, Elena?” Konstantin asked, his voice cutting through my growing confusion.
It’s just a coincidence, I told myself. How could he possibly know?
 “No, nothing is wrong.” I straightened my shoulders.
Konstantin smiled slightly and gestured to the door. “Tatiana is expecting you. If you need anything,
just ask. There is no expense too high for Tatiana’s health.”
With that, Konstantin left, striding down the hallway like the doors and windows were bowing to
him. If they had been animated, perhaps they would’ve.
“Tatiana,” I said as I knocked softly on the door, peeking my head in. “It’s Elena.”
Tatiana was in the same position as yesterday, leaning against her headboard and surrounded by
beeping machines. Though frail and exhausted, there was a bright smile on her face.
“Elena, have you met my son?”
I looked down to her side. Lying on his back, legs kicked up, was a child, [S4]two years old. He
was a spitting image of Dmitri, though I could see hints of Tatiana in his features. He was wearing a
shirt with a superhero on it and smiled goofily at me as I entered.
“’Ello, Lena,” he greeted, his speech toppling over my name’s pronunciation.
“Hello, Anton.” I stepped into the room. The overwhelming smell of cleaning products flushed
over me. It made me think of the hospital.
“Elena is going to help mama,” Tatiana told him, smoothing down his inky black hair.
“And baby sister?”
“And baby sister,” Tatiana confirmed. She beckoned me forward, her eyes remained bright. “I hope
Kostya didn’t anger you too much. Having a conversation with Konstantin is like playing a game of
chess.”
That was perhaps the truest statement I had ever heard. I snorted in agreement. “Nothing I can’t
handle.”
She smiled and scratched Anton’s belly. He laughed in protest, wiggling over the bed and carefully
plopping to the ground. He let out a loud “Oopsie!” as he fell to the ground.
“Are you okay, darling?” Tatiana asked.
He used the side of the bed to help him to his feet. “Yep, yep.” With chubby fingers, he shoved back
at his hair, but it came forward again seconds later, blocking his eyes.
Tatiana laughed, the sound brightening up the room. “Silly boy, look at you!”
“I can come back later,” I ventured. I wasn’t very sentimental but something about breaking up this
moment between this sick mother and her son seemed too mean–even for me.
She looked at me like she had forgotten I was in the room. “Oh, no, it’s okay. You’re here now.”
I scanned the room, my attention catching a folder at the end of the bed.
“My medical records,” Tatiana answered before I asked. “I thought they might be helpful.”
They would. It would save me having to play doctor.
“Can I have a look at your nails?”
She held out her hand and I came to sit beside her on the bed. Anton, not to be left out, climbed
back on and crawled over to us.
Tatiana’s nails were the same as they had been the day before. The beds a cloudy grey color.
Discoloring was often a symptom of poisoning, whether the tongue, lips or nails.
“When did you…” I glanced at Anton. Should he be hearing this?
“He’s fine,” Tatiana said. “I fell sick a couple of months ago, quite rapidly. It felt like it happened
overnight.”
“What were your first symptoms?”
“I felt like I had a cold at first,” she explained. “I was pregnant, so I chalked it up to first trimester
illness. But then…I got worse.”
 I double-checked her lips and tongue, both still a flushed pink color. If not for her nails, Tatiana
didn’t show any other signs of poisoning. But my gut instinct had been poison and gut instincts were
usually correct.
“I know this might sound stupid, but did you try any new foods? Or eat anything you didn’t see
prepared?”
Tatiana shook her head. “Usually, we go out to restaurants. But we have been lying low since
coming to New York. I’ve been eating exclusively home-cooked meals since February.”
I chewed my bottom lip. “Have you been eating a lot of red meat?”
Her brows furrowed. “What?”
“Well, gray nails are a symptom of zinc poisoning.” I gave her hand back. “A small amount is good
for you, but too much can be dangerous.”
“Konstantin would never feed us anything but the best,” she replied. “And I tested negative for zinc
poisoning.”
Anton had grown bored with us and buried his face into Tatiana’s swollen belly, muttering
something about his baby sister.
I wasn’t sure what was wrong with Tatiana. If she had been poisoned with arsenic or something
just as common, the symptoms would be a lot more obvious. From rashes, diarrhea and hyper
pigmentation.
Maybe it was silver poisoning? But why would a wealthy woman in the States be exposed to large
amounts of silver, and only have gray nails to show?
“What are your other symptoms?” I asked.
“Exhaustion, coughing, joint aches…” Tatiana trailed off. “Though, the doctors can never decide
what is a symptom of pregnancy or my illness.”
Treating her would be difficult. Pregnant woman couldn’t have certain medicines or else they
risked the life of their baby.
“And the baby?” I asked. “It’s growing normally?”
“She’s a bit small,” Tatiana said. “Anton was a lot bigger at this stage, but she is growing steadily.”
Her eyes suddenly grew wide and Anton lifted his head up in delight, “Mama, she kicked!”
Tatiana grabbed my hand. “Do you want to feel?” She didn’t wait for my answer and pressed my
palm to her swollen stomach.
Within seconds, I felt a sharp pressure against my hand. Like someone had given me a little punch.
The word flourishing skidded through my brain.
“Oh,” I yanked my hand out of Tatiana’s grip. “She seems fine.”
“Dmitri and I are calling her Nikola,” she said affectionately, rubbing her round stomach. “It’ll be
so nice to have a girl.”
“Sister Nika,” cooed Anton, pressing his face into Tatiana’s stomach once again. “Nika, Nika!”
Deep in my gut, I felt a pit begin to form.
Tatiana meant something to the people around her. People loved her and needed her.
If she died…
I leaped to my feet, the movement so startling Tatiana, and Anton jumped. “I’m going to go and read
your file. Just, uh, let me know if anything changes.”
Her warm eyes assessed me, seeing something I didn’t want to show. “Thank you for helping me.”
Trying to help, I wanted to correct. Trying, because I have no fucking clue what is wrong with
you and I don’t want to be the reason your son is an orphan. Or left alone with Dmitri.
Instead, I grabbed the file, said an empty goodbye, and quickly left. Anton’s jubilant voice
followed me out.
In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, breathing deeply.
What had I gotten myself into? What was I doing?
I had never been the most caring person alive, never been the one to give up the last piece of cake
or stand up for old ladies on the bus. But that sick woman…
I could feel the walls caving in, the floor rising, the roof pressing down—
“Elena?”
I sucked in a sharp breath, turning my head. Danika stood at the end of the hallway, her bright pink
sweater making her hard to miss.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. My mind cleared and I noticed how hard I was gripping Tatiana’s medical files. I
loosened my grip. “Fine.”
She glanced at Tatiana’s door, hearing Anton and his mother inside. Her expression softened in
understanding. “I know it’s hard.”
“What’s hard?” I hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, especially since Danika was apparently my only
ally—in the loosest sense of the term. But I really didn’t want to discuss it. “Were you looking for
me?”
Danika nodded. “Konstantin wants to brief us on the third murder. He’s waiting for us in his
office.”
“Third murder?” I stepped away from the wall. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know?” Her eyes searched my expression. “Thaddeo really never said anything?”
I shook my head.
“Strange…” Her cheeks suddenly pinkened. “Sorry, I know he’s dead. It’s not okay to speak badly
of the dead.” Danika patted my arm. “Let’s go, yeah? I’ll catch you up.”
My mind flashed back to the newspaper I had left on the kitchen counter. It felt like a lifetime ago,
despite it being only yesterday. “Does it have something to do with Eithne McDermott?”
“The second victim,” Danika confirmed. We began to walk towards the study, Danika outlining all I
needed to know. “Three women have been murdered over the past couple of months. First was Letizia
Zetticci—she was poisoned. Then Eithne McDermott. I think she was hit in the back of her head.
Kostya’s going to tell us about the third, a woman named...well, Roman called her Melanie but I think
he was trying to trick me.”
I frowned. “So? Women die all the time, Danika. Why does your Pakhan care about these ones?”
We reached Konstantin’s study. Danika pressed on the door, giving me a strange look. “Didn’t I
mention? All the women had their teeth removed post-mortem.” With that she stepped into the study,
me hot on her heels.
“What do you mean all their teeth were removed?” I demanded.
“She means,” came Konstantin’s purring voice, “that all three women’s bodies were found
toothless.”
Sitting at his desk, Konstantin was leaning back in his chair, that fucking cat Babushka comfortable
on his lap. Leaning on the wall behind him, Roman stood in the shadows, top lip curled up. The other
person in the study was Roksana, her head of white-blonde hair visible over the top of a chair.
“Take a seat, ladies.” Konstantin waved a hand, the other stroking Babushka. “Danika, you have
updated Elena?”
Danika blinked at Konstantin like something had surprised her. “Yes, I updated Elena.” Her gaze
moved to me in question but she didn’t say anything.
 Roksana peered over the chair she was sitting on, her gray eyes taking me in. She sent me a slight
smile, like she wasn’t sure what to make of me being here.
“A third woman has been found dead,” Konstantin said, getting right down to business. “Mallory
Nicollier, daughter of Claude Nicollier. Her father is part of Lefebvre’s Union.”
“You said Melanie,” Danika directed this accusation to Roman.
His sneer disappeared for a second to grin at Danika. “Did I? Whoops.”
Konstantin didn’t entertain their bickering. “The Union hasn’t reacted yet, but I want you to be on
your guard. You included, Elena.”
I scanned his expression, realization settling into my gut. “You think someone is going around
killing these women and removing their teeth?”
“I thought you said they were inside jobs.” This came from Roksana. She sounded a lot more
worried than I.
“Perhaps they are,” Konstantin said. “But until we know that for certain, we’re not taking any
chances. Artyom will tell you, Roksana, but you will be required to take Mikhail with you to the
ballet.”
Roksana didn’t look pleased with her Pakhan’s command but nodded. “Of course, sir.”
“I will make sure he wears a suit,” Konstantin assured her.
She forced a smile but no one in the study was convinced.
Roksana’s dislike towards this ‘Mikhail’ or the act of having a bodyguard interested me. Women
who grew up in the mafia were used to having more protection, since it was believed they couldn’t
defend themselves against an enemy if the situation arose. Roksana didn’t seem like she was one to
break the mold—though, I didn’t really know her. So, who was I to say?
“Has the Union responded?” Danika asked.
I glanced at her. Her expression remained bright and friendly, but her eyes had hardened into a look
of calculation.
You have underestimated her, Elena, I told myself.
“No. They continue to stay quiet,” Konstantin answered, not shielding any information.
Danika tucked her legs under her. “Strange,” she muttered. “Though Lefebvre has never been one to
react quickly.”
How did she know that? From overhearing snippets of conversations throughout the years, I knew
that Lefebvre was the leader of a Corsican Union located around North Dakota and Minnesota. I
didn’t know any of his character traits. I had never been privy to those.
Why was Danika?
“Indeed,” Konstantin agreed. His light brown eyes focused on me. “Did your husband mention
anything?”
“No. I only knew Eithne McDermott was dead because of the newspaper.” I picked at Tatiana’s
medical files in my lap. “Thaddeo never shared much about his work with me.”
Roman huffed. “I told you that.”
I wasn’t sure who he was addressing until Konstantin nodded, “You did.”
Obviously, they had been discussing me behind closed doors. I was, technically, a security threat.
But still knowing they had been deciphering how much knowledge I had on the Falcone organization
annoyed me. I felt like telling them I knew a lot more than they thought but kept my mouth shut.
“Is that all?” I asked. “I have things to do.”
Roman stepped forward, ready to say something, but Konstantin held up a hand. Immediately, his
pit bull returned to his post.
I gave him a poisonous smile.
Roman bared his teeth in response.
“You’re all excused. Danika, if I might have a word…”
As I left, I looked down at the medical files and thought, what the fuck am I meant to do now?
 7
Konstantin Tarkhanov

Deep cavernous holes disrupted the once picture-perfect garden of the Falcone property. My men
spread the land, shovels in hand dripping with sweat as time wore on.
“We’re running out of places to search,” I said.
Beside me, Feodor Rodzyanko nodded. “Falcone might have been smarter than we think.” He
laughed as soon as the words left his mouth. “Ha! I doubt it. We haven’t checked the land beneath the
greenhouse yet.”
“That greenhouse has stood for many decades. We would be able to tell if Thaddeo had disrupted
it.” I scanned the holes, as though amongst the dirt and roots I might be able to spot the treasure I
sought.
“Have you asked his pretty widow yet?” Feodor asked. “Women like to listen in on conversations.
I’m sure she knows something.”
Thaddeo’s pretty widow did know something. In fact, Elena’s reaction when I had mentioned it to
her had shown me not only that she knew of the key but had seen it. Her lie had been subtle, barely
noticeable if you hadn’t been searching for it, but behind her dark green eyes there had been a flicker
of familiarity... A flicker of fear.
“She does,” I said.
He snapped his head to me. “Well?” he prompted. “Does she know where it is?”
“Elena denied knowing anything about it.” I looked to the Falcone manor, where Elena had lived
for nearly a year. Was there proof she had made a home there? Or was it just as cold and perfect as
the garden?
“Did you get your little interrogator to ask her?”
I smiled at his description of Danika. Little Interrogator was one of the more patronizing names
the older men had given her over the years. It bothered Roman a lot more than it bothered Dani; she
always laughed at the title.
To Feodor’s credit, it was quite accurate. Danika wasn’t very tall, and she was one of the best
interrogators in the world.
The only person who had ever been immune to her charms and intelligence had been Roman.
Perhaps it had been growing up on the streets that had made him harder to break than the average soul,
or maybe his attitude meant Danika never wanted to get close enough to actually try and dissect
information from him.
Whatever the reason, the two often found themselves on opposing sides. Fighting like little children
on the playground.
“Danika,” I said, “has barely started interrogating Elena. So far, she has deciphered the marriage
and Elena’s relationship with the Falcones. Anything else will take time. Elena’s not very
forthcoming.”
“Women love chatting,” Feodor said. “I’m sure she’ll start sharing soon enough.”
 Disregarding his stereotypical views on women, Feodor did have a point. Danika had never failed
once, and with time, it was guaranteed Elena would end up sharing a piece of information that would
be vital.
“We shall see,” I replied.
A strange part of me hoped she didn’t succumb to Danika, that she kept her secrets locked up tight.
Despite that not benefitting me or my Bratva at all.
Feodor narrowed his eyes at me. He had known me when I was a child and had known me as a
mob boss even longer. “Artyom mentioned Thaddeo’s widow is living at the house.”
“Elena insists she knows what is wrong with Tatiana and can cure her.” I glanced at Feodor. “Is
there something you want to say?”
He wasted no time. “Now more than ever, you need to assert yourself as a powerful figure and one
willing to play nice with the other organizations. Parading around the widow of your enemy is not…”
I laughed. “Since when did you become quite the publicist?” At his expression, I said, “Elena is my
guest. She has the blessing of the Rocchettis and me to stay in New York. There is no reason to be
worried, Feodor.”
“The Rocchettis…did the Chicago Don give permission?”
There was only one permission Feodor was referring to.
“Boss!” Yelled a voice before I could answer.
Immediately, Feodor and I both turned, hoping for good news.
Instead, one of my men pointed down at a hole, his expression tight. “We hit a pipe.”
Water was filling the hole in question, muddy and opaque. If the key was there, it was beneath
meters of disgusting water and days away from being useful to me.
“We need to find this key, Kostya—”
“I’m aware.” I cut Feodor off and gestured to the men. “Do what you can. But we are not leaving
this property until we find the key.”
I worked my jaw. I should have kept more Falcones alive. Overthrowing the family would have
been harder but there would’ve been more people who knew where this key was.
You do have one Falcone left, said a small voice in the back of my head. An image of Elena came
to mind, her long straight brown hair framing her sharp but wild features. Even in my mind, her eyes
were narrowed with irritation and her lips parted as she said something sarcastic.
I turned on my heel and headed towards the manor, waving away my men who tried to accompany
me. Roman would shit a brick when he found out I had entered our enemies house alone, but all our
enemies were dead, or those who weren’t soon would be.
As I had expected, Falcone’s taste bordered on mundane to ugly. The layout wasn’t complicated—a
design flaw on his behalf—and I easily found his office. Whereas the rest of the house had been plain,
Thaddeo’s office held the most intrigue and interest.
This obviously had been where he spent most of his time, despite the allure of Elena outside and
upstairs.
Stupid man, I thought, scanning the room. But one man’s loss is another man’s treasure.
My men had already torn through the Falcone manor, going through all the documents and safes.
There was nothing left to be read or seen.
Thaddeo had lived on the earth for thirty years and failed to leave any real mark. It had taken
barely an hour to learn all we could from him, memorize his legacy and then throw it away with his
flesh and bones.
But nothing about that key had been found.
 A second look in his office proved useless, with the only notable objects being his phone and a
bottle of heart medication. The phone had been scoured, but there was nothing on there we hadn’t
already known.
I found myself walking around the house. I liked running my hands along Thaddeo’s walls and
striding over his floors in my shoes.
This was all mine now—I didn’t want any of it.
Many of my men, Roman especially, were itching to burn it down. The last final act against our
enemies. But I liked keeping it here, liked showing everyone that I’d intruded Thaddeo’s place of rest
and shot him in the head.
He hadn’t been safe, and neither were they.
Loud violent acts were not always the way to go. Sometimes quiet, haunting reminders served a
king better.
As I went to leave, I walked through the kitchen. To my surprise, this was the first place I found any
sign that Elena had lived here. In a pile next to the back door, leading out to the garden, was a worn
tower of books and a flowerpot filled with a vibrant lilac flower.
I picked up the book at the top of the pile, tossing it in between my hands. It was worn and old,
dedicated to someone else in old faded calligraphy.
Behind me, the door suddenly burst open and Feodor came storming in, his booming voice entering
the room before he did. Anger and disgust gripped his features.
“Kostya, another woman has been found.”
I didn’t turn around. “Who?” I asked darkly.
“Annabella Benéitez.”
I turned slowly to take in Feodor’s expression. It resembled how I felt. “Eleazar’s granddaughter.”
Feodor nodded. “She was found outside her school. How she died hasn’t been confirmed, but her
body was found without teeth.”
I placed the book back onto the pile, precise and slow. “Eleazar?”
“Nothing yet.”
I ground my molars. Deep inside me, stirring like a cobra to a flute, visceral rage began to grow.
“I see,” I said quietly.
My Sovietnik shifted on his feet, his usually bright expression dampened. “What are we going to
do, Boss?”
My eyes caught sight of a newspaper on the kitchen counter. Eithne McDermott’s picture stained the
front page.
“What we have done every time we have been under attack,” I replied. “Go to war.”

Before the day was up, Eleazar Benéitez, drug lord of the Benéitez Cartel, had made his move.
If you hadn’t been watching for it, you might not have noticed. But as the hours after his
granddaughter’s death wore on, it became clear.
Benéitez protected the women. Any female related or associated with the Cartel was taken under
his protection, moved to high-security homes, or found themselves followed by bodyguards at all
times.
Eleazar believed we were under attack—why else would he take such measures?
“They’re speeding up,” Dmitri observed as we were discussing the death in my study. My men and
the women spread around the room, and even Babushka had shown her face. The only person missing
was Elena. “Something has frightened them.”
“Or maybe they feel more confident,” Roman argued, sitting on the floor and leaning against a
bookshelf. “They have successfully killed four women without leaving any evidence. I’d be feeling
pretty fucking confident, too.”
“Eleazar’s reaction is interesting.” This came from Artyom. He sat in a chair, Roksana on his lap,
her white hair framing his shoulders.
Everyone looked to Danika. Curled up on a chair, balancing on her ankles, Danika wore a
calculating expression. “These are precautionary actions he is taking, but I think it would be bold to
assume he knows nothing. How quickly he acted…That is the timeline of a man who knows something
more than the rest of us.”
I agreed with Danika. Benéitez was no fool—you didn’t rule a Cartel for over six decades being an
idiot.
Feodor spoke up, leaning against the back of Danika’s chair. “Benéitez is known for his high
security. There is a good chance one of his men or cameras caught something.”
“Or maybe even a child at the school,” Olezka said, sounding sad about the fact.
I nodded, processing the information and coming to a conclusion.
“Keep an eye on the Lombardis, McDermotts and Lefebvres. There is no doubt they are watching
Benéitez too, and I’m curious to see how they respond.”
With that final statement, my family began to disperse. Danika stretched out her legs. “Do you want
me to tell Elena?”
“It is none of her business,” Dmitri said sharply. He was in a particularly sour mood after Tatiana
had expressed that she liked Elena to her husband; Dmitri saw that as a personal attack. “She is here
to help my wife, not advise us on mafia issues.”
Roman nodded in agreement. Even Roksana looked like she agreed—though I’m sure her reasons
differed from the men.
I ignored them and said to Danika, “I will tell Elena.”
“Have you gotten anything out of her yet?” Roman asked, looking up at Danika from the floor.
Neither of them knew how to use furniture properly.
Danika shook her head, glancing briefly at me. “No, not yet. She is...”
“A bitch?” Roman said.
“Roman,” I warned.
He took in my expression and quickly muttered a sorry.
“I was going to say aloof,” Danika interrupted. “She’s just a little harder than everyone else, with
the limitations. I’ll crack her, don’t worry.”
We discussed a few more pressing issues before the meeting was dismissed. Artyom briefed us on
the security for the horserace in a few days, while Feodor updated us all on how the lab was
progressing and when the next shipment would be ready.
After the meeting, I sought out Elena. She wasn’t in her room or with Tatiana; instead I found her in
the library.
Elena kneeled on the floor, books fanned out in front of her that she looked to be sorting out. Her
curtain of brown hair fell forward, hiding her face from view.
She stretched forward to grab a book out of reach, giving me a nice view of her backside. From her
sweet peach-shaped ass to her long, blemish-free neck, Elena was the definition of temptation. She
was a tall, lithe woman; close enough to my height that I would be able to kiss her while entering her.
Her hollows and curves had been the main characters of all my dreams for the past year.
 “Elena,” I said.
Her snapped her head up, her green eyes landing on me.
Since the moment I had first laid eyes on her, she had always reminded me of a nymph from a
childhood fable. Beautiful, ethereal, otherworldly. Paired with her strange but pretty features, Elena
had been the source of many fantasies, proving to be just as out of reach as a mythical forest fairy.
When she had been feeding the dogs, she’d looked so at ease in the garden, more comfortable
around plants and animals than humans. I had seen that same reaction the morning we had killed
Thaddeo, when she’d been standing in the garden alone, unburdened and calm.
Before me, wrapped up in the shape of a beautiful woman, was the first mystery I had never been
able to solve. It didn’t matter how much I knew about her past or her actions, Elena was difficult to
read, to decipher. For all her honesty, she was an enigma.
There were not a lot of people in this world I couldn’t figure out. If any.
It made Elena fascinating, alluring.
Seductive.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
I smiled at the arrogance of her question. “This is my house, is it not?”
“It is,” Elena relented. “But I’m sure you have better things to do than hang out in a dusty library.”
I crouched down, leveling our eyes. She blinked in surprise. “I’m sure you have better things to do
as well. You visited Tatiana.”
Not a question—nothing happened in this house I wasn’t aware of.
Elena’s face tightened. “I did. But I needed more information, and since this library is too
disorganized to be used, I have to sort it out.”
“Can I be of assistance?”
That made her glare at me. I resisted the urge to smile. “What does a Pakhan know about
cataloguing books?”
“What does a widow?”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “More than you.” Then she added, “And I’m not just a widow.”
“What else are you then?”
For a split second, I thought she might tell me. Might reveal one of her secrets—a secret I had but
wouldn’t treasure until she told me herself. But Elena caught herself quickly and just glared at me.
“Now, I’m annoyed.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re also Tatiana’s savior.”
Elena scowled but amazingly didn’t respond. She bit her tongue out of fear of retribution. An action
that made my blood boil. What did Thaddeo do? I wanted to ask her. What was your punishment for
speaking out of turn?
Did I kill him too quickly?
“Are you just here to annoy me?” she asked. “Or do you have an actual purpose for interrupting
me?”
I almost laughed at her tone, but the somber nature of the topic stopped me. There was no use
mincing words, so I said, “Another girl has been killed and had her teeth removed post-mortem.”
Elena’s eyes grew wide. “Who?”
“Annabella Benéitez. Eleazar Benéitez’s granddaughter.”
Realization took a hold of her expression quickly. “She’s a child.”
“Indeed. Eleven years old, to be exact.” I straightened my cuffs. “She was found outside her
school.”
 “How has Benéitez responded?” Elena had an almost daring look in her eyes, like she thought I
wouldn’t tell her.
This was not La Cosa Nostra. I had no quarrel telling the women the ins and outs of business. After
all, how could we expect them to protect themselves from enemies if they didn’t know who those
enemies were?
“Within hours after her death, Benéitez sent all the women associated with the Cartel into high-
security protection. Wives, daughters, mothers—all of them have disappeared from the public eye.”
Elena’s mind moved behind her eyes, calculating theories and answers. I couldn’t see what she
was thinking, the conclusion she was coming to.
I glanced down at her arms, spotting new words against the faded ink. In scrawling handwriting I
could make out some words. Authoritative, flourishing.
Her expression hardened. “Is that all?”
“No.” I rose to my feet. She looked up at me, lips parting as I reached my full height. Looking down
on her like this, her on her knees, sent my brain straight into the gutter. I could picture her with
swollen lips, her warm tongue wrapped around my cock, her delicate hands rubbing up and down…
Elena’s nostrils flared as she took in my expression, the dark glint in my eye. A blush graced her
cheeks.
My smile grew. “Warm, Elena?”
“Go taunt someone else.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” I placed a hand to my chest. “You’re my guest.”
Her scowl deepened. Elena didn’t enjoy being played with. Which was a shame, since she made
such an interesting adversary.
Unwilling to let our game end so soon, I said, “In a few days, one of Roksana’s beloved ballets is
on. You will need to borrow a formal dress from her.”
Elena thinned her lips. “The ballet?”
“Per the terms of our agreement, Elena, you are expected to join me on a few public outings. I
won’t have our neighbor believing I’ve kidnapped you.”
I could see her battling to retort, torn between knowing she had agreed to the contract verse her
natural instinct to snap back at me.
“Fine,” Elena sniped. “But I’m not staying awake the entire time.”
“Not a fan of the arts?”
“No,” she said coldly. “I’m not.”
I wasn’t surprised. Elena didn’t seem like she valued history and creation over cold hard facts and
science. “Roksana will make every effort to change your mind, I’m sure.”
Elena didn’t look convinced.
“Keep me updated on your progress regarding Tatiana,” I said, stepping away.
She made a noise of agreement low in her throat.
“Elena,” I said, tone hard enough that she looked up at me. “Tatiana is very important to this family.
Her recovery is very serious to us.”
Understanding flashed over Elena’s face. “I know.” Her voice was soft. “I know that.”
“Any resources you need, just ask.”
Elena glanced out the window then back to me. “Actually, I do need something.”
I tilted my head to the side, urging her to go on.
“I need a lab.”
I smiled. “Then you shall have one.”
 8
Konstantin Tarkhanov

Greenridge Orchards had been one of the first pieces of land I’d bought outside of the metropolis
when ensuring my reign over Staten Island. Apple trees stretched over the ten acres, their leaves a
mix of browns and oranges. The branches and trunks were so thick that it made it difficult to see far
ahead, offering a sense of privacy to what we kept hidden amongst the orchard.
Elena eyed her surroundings as I gestured for her to walk ahead. She was wearing a second-hand
jumper from Tatiana, the worn quality of the green fabric barely keeping her warm. To her credit,
Elena didn’t look bothered by the October chill.
“I didn’t realize you invested in agriculture,” she said snidely.
“Food is very lucrative, Elena.”
Instead of replying, she rolled her eyes.
We walked side by side through gaps in the trees, Roman prowling behind at a distance.
“Greenridge Orchards was one of my first investments here,” I told her.
She glanced to me, unsure. “Oh?” Then, “Why?”
“Agriculture offers a certain anonymity to all those involved.”
“And mob bosses love anonymity,” Elena muttered.
I raised my eyebrows at her. “As do you.”
Her expression wavered, and she assessed me, as if she was trying to understand the meaning
behind my words. I wondered if she would pick it up, or if I would be granted a few more weeks of
my pride.
“It is easy to move through shell corporations in agriculture,” I told her, distracting her from her
thoughts. “As long as it looks legit and the food is good, the government is happy to look the other
way. Especially if it promises them money.”
“Greedy idiots,” she said.
“Their avarice does make my job easier,” I acknowledged, “but who am I to judge?”
Elena snorted in agreement.
We walked a bit further through the trees, leaves crunching beneath our footfalls.
“Did Thaddeo know?” Elena asked.
I bit down on my molars when she said his name, the syllables rolling off her tongue with
familiarity, but replied, “I doubt it.”
Elena looked like she agreed. “Thaddeo did have the habit of ignoring things that he didn’t want to
deal with.”
“You included?”
She glared at me. “Trust me, if anyone was ignoring anyone in my marriage, it was me ignoring
him.”
I didn’t fully believe that, but I allowed Elena her dignity. There was probably some truth to her
statement. Elena wasn’t one to embellish.
 “For your sanity, I imagine.”
For a second, I almost thought she would smile. Her eyes brightened like emeralds, and her soft
lips curved ever so slightly. But the amusement was there and gone in moments.
“You seem very interested in my marriage,” Elena accused.
More than she knew. “It is not every day one has the opportunity to pick the brain of his enemy’s
widow.”
Her face twisted. “If you’re searching for secrets, you’d have a better chance speaking to his
family.” She eyed me. “If you haven’t killed them all already.”
I inclined my chin. “You are the last Falcone.”
Elena stared at me for a second, expression unreadable, before shrugging and continuing forward.
I felt my smile grow. “Not very empathetic, are we, Elena?”
She waved me off. “I have empathy.” She said it the same way one might say they had a new car or
a good hairdresser. Like it was something to tick off a list and then move on with life.
The ability to be apathetic was imperative to building an empire, to ruling the Bratva and
navigating our bloodthirsty world. However, the ability to have empathy was also very important. If
you didn’t care for your people or your power, then what drove you?
I was tempted to ask Elena what drove her. The reason she got out of bed. Was it the fear of
returning to Chicago, or something greater?
Before I could inquire, we reached our destination. The trees parted, revealing a long, modern
building. Guards and their dogs roamed around the perimeter, straightening to attention as soon as
they saw me.
“At ease,” I said, waving a hand at them. They returned to their positions.
Elena had paused, eyeing the building. She sniffed once, twice, before understanding reached her
eyes. “A drug lab.”
“Our[S5] developmental facility.” I gestured her forward. “You said you needed a lab, didn’t
you?”
“Not to manufacture cocaine, Konstantin,” she muttered but joined me in heading towards the
building.
We passed through the security system, a pair bullet-proof doors that needed proof of identity to get
past. Elena stuck close to me, her scent of myrrh and cinnamon tickling my nose. She scanned the
hallways with curious eyes.
I leaned down to her ear, breath tickling her cheek. “Impressed?”
Elena jumped, spinning to give me a fierce glare. “It’s a drug lab,” she hissed. “I was more
impressed with the orchard.”
“The orchard is hard to compete with, but perhaps this will change your mind.” I pushed open the
last door, stepping into the main room.
Long and new, the inner workings of the lab stretched out before us. Tables illuminated by blue
lights lined up and down the room, all dedicated to a specific job. In a separate room to the side, huge
pots boiled, workers in hazmat suits supervising. From creation to packaging to money counting, the
lifespan and distribution of the merchandise began here.
A few heads popped up as we entered, expressions behind masks and goggles widening in shock as
they registered their boss.
I pressed hand to Elena’s back, urging her forward.
Elena stepped out of my grip and beelined for the closest table, her eyes roaming over the beakers
and test tubes with an interest I had never seen her wear before.
 The lady working at the station looked at me shyly, before glancing nervously at Elena. Filippa
Kozlov, I recalled, Olezka’s younger cousin.
Elena reached out and pointed to a flask. “That’s too hot.”
In a moment of realization, Filippa quickly turned down the Bunsen burner, her cheeks turning as
red as the flames. “Thank you,” she said.
Elena’s eyes continued to search the table greedily, seeing more than I did. She gestured to the
chemicals Filippa was working with, “Do you mind…”
“Elena,” I said, holding up a pair of protective goggles. “It would be a shame if you damaged those
pretty eyes of yours.”
She snatched the goggles from my grip, those very same eyes pointed at me in a glare. Hurrying,
Elena pulled the goggles over her head, catching her hair in the process.
“Ow—crap—”
She tried to yank her hair out, but the action only made it worse.
“May I?”
Elena thinned her lips, holding the goggles awkwardly over her head. She must have been in a lot
of pain from having her hair pulled because she relented, nodding sharply.
I stood behind her, gently untangling her silky brown hair from the clip.
“You can pull it,” she told me, voice tight. “I’ve got enough of it.”
“There is no need for that.” With one last soft tug, the hair came away, knotted but free.
I reached around her, positioning the goggles and buckling them securely.
Her breath caught.
My fingers didn’t move from her hair.
In front of me like this, shorter but still tall enough that I could grab her hips easily, I could push
into her in one smooth movement, fuck her against this table, until all she knew how to say was my
name.
“Thank you,” Elena muttered, her hand hovering over the back of her head. A second later, she
stepped away, turning her attention back to Filippa.
Filippa only watched in fascination as Elena took over, her hands moving over the equipment
expertly. Within moments, she had saved the chemical from destruction.
“I didn’t know you were a scientist, Elena,” I mused.
Elena didn’t pick up the lie, sending me a glare. Behind the goggles, her eyes looked comically
large. “You have to have a degree to be a scientist, Konstantin,” she said coldly.
“Perhaps you can get one when you’re finally free.”
“What else am I going to do? I won’t have to waste my time being nice to mob bosses anymore.”
My eyebrows rose. “You think you’re nice, Elena?”
She sent me a venomous look, “If you knew how mean I could be, then you wouldn’t be asking
something so stupid.”
I smirked. “How mean can you be?”
Elena went to retort but fell strangely quiet. Uncertainty flashed over her face.
Filippa looked rapidly between the two of us.
Recovering quickly, Elena turned her cheek to me, her way of telling me to fuck off without
actually saying the words. Too bad for her I didn’t have plans to be anywhere else—well, anywhere
nearly as fun.
“Let’s leave Miss Kozlov to her work,” I said. Filippa’s cheeks went pink.
Elena thinned her lips but didn’t argue. She was too eager to delve further into the lab.
 We left Filippa—the woman thanking Elena quietly for her help—and walked further into the room.
Elena ran her eyes over the lab, her brow furrowing as she took in the bricks of merchandise.
“This lab produces heroin,” I answered before she could ask.
“I know,” Elena said. “I could smell the poppy seeds.”
We reached the end of the room, which also happened to be the quietest area. A spare desk rested
against the wall, half-forgotten items sprawled across it. But still close enough to the sink and gas
points to be useful.
“You haven’t told me why you need a lab in the first place,” I said as she inspected the equipment.
Without looking up, Elena replied, “I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
I doubted that was her reasoning. “While I appreciate your concern, I’m not an idiot. I understand
the severity of Tatiana’s condition.”
Elena placed down the beaker she had been holding. “If I told you, then what would your incentive
be to keep me in New York?”
“I think it would surprise you.”
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “I’m not saying.”
She would tell me eventually; there was no use scaring her. The fear of going back to Chicago was
too much.
“Very well. As long as you keep me updated,” I said. “And don’t cheat me out of merchandise.”
Elena snorted. “Trust me, I have no interest in that shit.”
“Not a recreational drug user? One of Thaddeo’s rules or your own?”
“People who do that crap are insane—and clearly don’t know what’s in it,” Elena sniped.
“Ah, perhaps you’re right,” I mused. “But how else would they relax or feel energetic? How else
would they forget their rent due the next day, their broken hearts, their useless yearning to do
something important?”
Elena’s mouth grew taut.
“Maybe you have more in common with them than you think.”
“Maybe both of us do,” she sniped, green eyes latching onto me. “Or is sharing characteristics with
the common folk beneath you?”
I felt my own irritation stir ever so slightly. Did she truly think I was one of them? Anything less
than a king? “What do you know about the common folk, Elena?”
“More than you.”
“That I sincerely doubt.” I smiled at her. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you just how much more I know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t waste your breath. I don’t want to hear it.”
“We’ll see.” The arrogance in my tone made her tense. “Until then, enjoy your lab. My original
offer remains; if you need anything, let me know.”
Elena turned back to the setup. Very quietly, so quietly I almost thought I had imagined it, she
murmured, “Thank you.”
It seemed science was the way to Elena’s affections. I filed that thought away, said goodbye to the
staff, and left the lab. Roman had already spoken to the guards on site and told them to keep an eye on
her. Keep her safe and away from any knowledge that could compromise my operation.
Roman was uncharacteristically silent as we walked through the orchard.
“Say it, Roman,” I said over the crisp October breeze.
“I have nothing to say.”
I laughed. “I have known you since you were a young man. You have something to say.”
Roman stepped up beside me, expression hard. “She distracts you, Kostya.”
 My smile froze on my face. “Is that so?”
“You have never taken a woman to the lab, or on tours. And you have certainly never let one speak
to you the way Elena does.”
My byki came from a place of concern, of protection. But his worry was misplaced.
“Elena is not another woman,” I told him coolly. “I know you are trying to look out for me, but this
does not concern you.”
“You don’t even really know her,” Roman insisted.
“I know,” I said. “It’s fascinating.”

Two days later, Tatiana felt strong enough to join us for breakfast.
Dmitri hovered by her side as she slowly walked down the stairs—she’d warned him if he tried to
help her, she would kick him in the balls—and made her way to the dining room. Like usual, Anton
danced around her ankles, overjoyed his mother had left her room.
Even Babushka decided to join us, leaping onto the top of the fridge and watching us all carefully.
My family took their seats around the table, with Elena tucked in between Roksana and Danika.
The women thought they were protecting Elena from the cruel attention of the men.
Elena had relaxed only slightly in the past few days. She spent most of her day at the lab or with
Tatiana, and most of her nights sorting through the library. Distant and reserved—still unsolved by
Danika.
“Uncle Kostya,” Anton called as he clambered onto a chair. He refused to sit in a highchair; Anton
liked copying his father and uncles.
“Anton,” I greeted.
Anton stood up, steadying himself on the table for support. Artyom wrapped an arm around the
back of his chair, ready to catch the toddler if he fell. Chances were, he would.
“Sit on your bottom, Anton,” called Tatiana. Dmitri was filling her plate with bright fresh fruits,
favoring strawberries, Tatiana’s favorite.
Anton smiled cheekily at his mother but did not sit. Instead, he reached out and picked up a piece of
melon, shoving it into his face. Juices ran down and stained his pajamas.
“Anton, you’re making a mess,” I told him, passing him a napkin. He looked at me with wide eyes.
“How about you do as your mother says and sit?”
Immediately, Anton plopped onto his bottom, his little head peeking over the top of the table. He
looked to me for praise.
“Very good.”
From the other end of the table, Tatiana sighed, but the smile on her face stopped us from believing
she was actually mad.
“I made your favorite, Tatiana,” Danika said, passing a plate of purple pancakes down the table.
Dmitri took it from her. “They were having a sale on blueberries and Artyom and I went a little
overboard.”
“They bought 5 kilos worth of berries, Tat,” Roksana laughed.
“It was a good deal,” Artyom interrupted. “We saved 45 dollars, dorogaya.”
“Oh, they’re practically paying for themselves,” she teased.
Artyom set his jaw but a slither of a smile peeked through.
Roman laughed. “Where are you keeping them all?”
“The outdoor fridge,” Artyom answered.
“The booze fridge?” Roman demanded, nearly leaping over the table to swipe at my Obshchak.
“You can’t put fruit in there—you’re taking space from things we actually need.”
Danika butted in, “Ridiculous amounts of alcohol?”
“Exactly.” Roman pointed a fork at her. “Including your own.”
“I have a fridge in my room,” she said.
His jaw dropped and he turned to me, “Dani’s allowed a fridge in her room but I’m not?”
“Because of the incident, Roman,” I reminded him.
“That was one time!”
“Incident?” came Elena’s voice. She peered at both Roman and I with curiosity. “What happened?”
Voices clashed together as everyone tried to tell the story, with Roman trying to change exaggerated
facts at the top of his lungs. I held up a hand and they fell quiet, though there was still some mutterings
and quiet snipes at Roman.
“Roman,” I said to Elena, “decided he was sick of sharing food. He kept all his meals in his own
personal fridge; however, he didn’t take very good care of it and it broke down. Roman didn’t figure
out it had broken down until a few days later.”
Elena cringed, imaging what happened. “I bet it stunk.”
“Oh, God, did it stink,” Danika whined.
“The entire house smelled like fish for a week,” Artyom agreed.
Roman leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “If you greedy animals hadn’t kept stealing my
food, I wouldn’t have kept it in my room.”
I smiled and said to Elena, “This was before we had community meals. Now all food stays
downstairs.”
Anton blabbered something that sounded like Elena’s name. “Lena, Lena,” he cooed.
She turned, and he stretched out a sticky hand, a blueberry in the center.
“Oh,” she said as she took it from him, trying very hard not to get any mess on her hands, “thank
you, Anton.”
He grinned.
Tatiana smiled, leaning forward. “Very good job sharing, Anton. You share better than your daddy.”
Dmitri huffed but didn’t deny the accusation.
Conversation resumed, though politics and mafia business were avoided. It was an unspoken rule
at breakfast not to discuss our organization, and instead talk about domestic issues. I knew they
preferred having a few minutes a day where they could pretend we were a normal family.
Tatiana pulled Elena into a conversation. “That tonic you gave me has worked wonders,” she said
softly. “I feel a lot better.”
Elena didn’t preen at the praise. “I’m glad,” she said.
I wasn’t aware Elena had administered Tatiana anything. From Dmitri’s cold expression, neither
had he.
“Elena,” I called.
She turned to me, face tightening into annoyance. “Konstantin,” she returned.
“I expect an update on your progress.”
A muscle in Elena’s jaw twitched at the very thought of sharing her findings, but she inclined her
head in surrender.
 9
Elena Falcone

It was Roman who found me in the library. “Boss wants to speak to you,” he said. “About Tatiana.”
I sighed and stepped away from the bookshelf I had slowly been filling. All morning I had been
practicing what I was going to say. Drafting and editing my speech like Konstantin was a judge I had
to impress. In some ways he was—if he wasn’t impressed, my ass was being sent back to Chicago.
Roman looked around the library in interest.
“This is called a library,” I told him.
He shot me a glare. “I know that.” His eyes scraped over the books, forehead puckering in
frustration.
I assessed him. “Do you know how to read?”
“Of course, I can read,” Roman snarled. “Come on, let’s go. I don’t have all day.”
I followed him out of the room and through the hallways. Instead of going to Konstantin’s study,
Roman continued to walk further into the house—into the areas I was not allowed to go unless
invited.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To the dungeons.” He threw me a nasty smile. “So I can kill you in peace.”
I shot him a venomous smile back. “You wouldn’t dare. Konstantin and Danika would be angry
with you.”
Roman’s eyes flared. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?”
“You’re lucky you’re here to help Tatiana,” he muttered, “or else that mouth of yours would have
killed you a long time ago.”
I rolled my eyes. “My mouth and I both survived La Cosa Nostra and the Falcones. I’m sure I’d be
fine.”
Roman’s smile could have been a sneer, all teeth and nastiness. “If you really believe your dead
little husband’s wrath is anything compared to Konstantin Tarkhanov’s, then you’re an idiot.”
Pain erupted from my upper arm, awoken from memories and nostalgia.
It’s not real, I told myself.
Thaddeo’s angry eyes flashed through my mind’s eyes, his hand reaching forward, his furious voice
resonating through my skull—
“You good?” Roman suddenly asked.
I yanked myself back to the present, sending the bodyguard a glare. “I just don’t have time for your
bullshit. Are we almost there?”
His amber-brown eyes searched my expression. I shoved down the memories, and the terror, and
met his gaze dead on. Roman sent me a rough smirk but didn’t say anything else.
We stopped in front of a pair of classical wooden double-doors. Soft voices came from inside.
“Boss,” Roman pounded on the door. “I’ve got your little sciencer.”
 “Scientist, idiota,” I corrected. “The proper word is scientist.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he snapped back.
The door opened and an unfamiliar man stood before us. Older, with thick gray hair, and a
measuring tape around his neck.
“Morning, Boris,” Roman greeted.
Boris narrowed his eyes at him. “Still dressing like an animal, I see.”
I snorted.
“Ladies shouldn’t snort,” Boris told me.
This time, Roman snorted.
“I can hear you all bickering,” came the laconic but firm voice of Konstantin from inside the room.
Boris stepped to the side, gesturing me forward. When Roman tried to squeeze past, the tailor held
up a hand, “I won’t have you breaking all my stuff.”
“One time,” Roman bitched, but made no effort to push past Boris.
I slipped past.
My first impression was white and neat. Sharing the same classical Russian and French design as
the rest of the house, before me was a large bedroom. Clean, tidy, with the messiest part of the room
being the paper-covered desk.
On the other end of the room, a huge canopy bed rested against the back wall, lit by the sun shining
through the tulle ivory curtains. A suit was laid on the crisp blanket, a green tie bright against the
white sheets.
“Elena.”
I turned my head, spotting Konstantin’s tall form immediately.
My brain shuttered for a second, trying to grasp what my eyes were seeing.
Konstantin stood before a mirror, dark slacks low on his hips and tie resting loosely over his
shoulders. His blonde hair was oddly messy, a few long strands falling over his forehead, and he
wasn’t wearing any shoes.
But his lack of footwear wasn’t why I had paused.
Konstantin wasn’t wearing a shirt. The expanse of his tattooed chest greeted me, the cords of his
muscles hard and visible. Strong biceps, ripped abs, v dipping into his trousers.
My mouth dried up.
Inked over his skin was incredible art. Pictures that told stories and shared memories. I could see
his Bratva tattoo, as well as images of birds and skulls and justice scales, joined by the Kremlin and
lengthy Cyrillic quotes.
Magnificent.
I stepped closer, unable to resist my curiosity. My eyes latched onto his upper arm, where a list of
names was visible. In small font, I could make out Natalia, Artyom, Roman, Olezka, Tatiana, Danika,
Dmitri, Roksana and Anton. His family.
Who the fuck was Natalia?
“Elena?”
Heat rose up my neck and cheeks, and I snapped my head up to meet his eyes. Konstantin’s entire
face was lit in amusement.
“You’re staring,” he drawled.
I willed my cheeks to stop flaming and sent him a glare.
Boris knelt down beside Konstantin, holding out his measuring tape, pins between his teeth. He
said something I couldn’t make out.
 “I’m sure Elena is impressed by my new trousers,” observed Konstantin. “Do you want a pair,
Elena?”
I finally found my voice. “I prefer to wear my pants with shirts.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could suck them back in.
Really, brain? I demanded. Out of everything you could have said you focused onto the fact that
he isn’t wearing a shirt?
Konstantin grinned. “I hope I’m not bothering your delicate sensibilities.” His tone was polite but
mocking, as Konstantin’s tone usually was when he spoke to me.
“I’m not bothered.”
Even Boris shot me a look at that statement.
I straightened, holding back my shoulders. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, about Tatiana.” Konstantin looked down to Boris. “Looser.” Then he turned back to me, his
amusement vanishing. “What did you give her?”
“A home remedy I made in the lab.”
“That’s not an answer,” he told me.
“It is safe for pregnant women,” I told him. “But it is not a cure.”
Konstantin’s eyes hardened. “You haven’t cured her yet.”
“Uh, the cure is in the making...” Hell, the diagnosis was still in the making. “The tonic I gave
Tatiana was to slow down the...” Poison. “Illness. Like putting pressure to a wound.”
His jaw tightened but he bowed his head. “I see.”
Tatiana’s name on his arm seemed to glare at me.
I opened my mouth to try and offer some reassurance, but no words came out. What could I say that
would possibly make the situation better? Tatiana was very sick, and I had no idea what was wrong
with her. I had no fucking clue how to help her.
“The lab has benefitted you, then?”
In more ways than one. “Yes. It’s been very helpful.”
The hours I’d spent in the lab had made me the happiest I had been in a long time. Surrounded by
science and familiarity, my brain had been stimulated and challenged, sorting through hypotheses and
chemicals. It made me long for high school science or even my childhood garden, where I had made
plenty of concoctions.
I had even been sleeping slightly better the past two nights, my brain exhausted and easier to soothe
into unconsciousness after a long day of research.
I didn’t mention any of this to Konstantin. I doubted he cared anyway.
Konstantin ran his hands through his hair—the first time I had ever seen him do something so casual
—and nodded to me. “Have you spoken to your family yet?”
I inwardly cringed. “No. Not yet.”
“Make sure you do,” he said. “You are free to use the phone in my office.”
Who would I even ring? The last thing I wanted to do was speak to anyone with the surname
Agostino. My childhood friends, Sophia and Beatrice, were both busy with their children and lives.
But who else was there to call? I had no other ties to Chicago, no other people I cared about.
“I’ll do that,” I muttered.
Konstantin said something to Boris in Russian and the tailor adjusted some pins.
While he was distracted, I searched his room once again. I don’t know what I was looking for, but
whatever it was, I didn’t find it.
Then under the bed, in the shadows, I spotted a familiar pair of beady green eyes.
 Fuck off, I mouthed to Babushka.
“Babushka does not react well to threats,” cautioned Konstantin.
Hearing her name, the fat tabby cat stretched and slinked out from under the bed. She made her way
to Konstantin.
“For something so big, she sneaks very well,” I noted. Babushka leaped past Boris, giving him a
hiss as she did, and rubbed herself against Konstantin’s legs. Boris threw his hands up in the air.
“Ah, no, you don’t.” Konstantin scooped her up with one hand and gently moved her to the side. To
me, he said, “She is very good at sneaking when she wants to be.”
The cat perched herself on the desk, licking her paws.
“Where did you get her?”
“Back in Moscow,” he said. “She tried to kill one of the dogs.”
I thought about the huge bear killers outside. “Was she successful?”
“Not quite. She allowed Roksana to clean out her cuts and has been with us ever since. Danika
believes she is our patron saint.”
I huffed. “And Tatiana believes she is queen.”
Konstantin laughed. The sound bounced off the walls, bright and charming.
I crossed my arms over my chest, my heart strangely speeding up. “Do you need anything more
from me?”
“No, that is all.” His eyes danced over me, catching onto the scrawls on my forearms and hands.
I tried to tuck them further into my chest. “Are you trying to read my words?” I demanded.
“How else would I know what’s going on in your head?”
Mortification flushed through me and I took a hurried step back, almost backing into the wall.
Konstantin watched me with an intense expression.
“Don’t hit—”
“I’m not going to hit the wall,” I snapped, turning on my heel. “I have things to do. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Elena,” he called after me.
Stupid fucking man! I thought as I stormed down the hallway. How dare he try and step into my
brain? Try and understand what I’m thinking? What fucking business is it of his anyway–
“Oh, shit!”
I ran straight into someone, both of us falling to the side. I caught myself before hitting the ground,
but the other person fell with a splat, telling me who it was before I even registered her.
“Danika?” I looked down. “Are you okay?”
She picked herself up quickly, rubbing her forehead. “God, your head is hard, Elena. I think I
dented my skull.”
I bit back a smile. “Your skull is fine.”
Danika rubbed it a few more times for good measure, before eyeing me critically. “You’re really
red. Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
Her eyes darted behind me, noting the hallway I was coming from. Realization took a hold of her
face. “Ohhh.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Danika feigned innocence. “Nothing.”
“I don’t butt into your relationship with Roman; I would like the same consideration.”
Her expression froze. “You can be a bit of a bitch sometimes, Elena.”
I could. It was unfair to be cruel to Danika, after all that she had been very welcoming to me. But I
wasn’t stupid; Danika wasn’t kind to me out of the goodness of her heart.
She shrugged. “But can’t we all? I’m going to go and see Rifat Denisyuk. Do you want to come?”
“Rifat Denisyuk?”
“Konstantin’s bookkeeper. Derzhatel obschaka.” At my doubtful expression, Danika insisted,
“He’s very eccentric. He lives in the old gardening shed on the edge of the estate.”
That caught my attention. Going outside was the remedy I needed to cure my flushed cheeks and
racing heart. “Lead the way.”

Rifat Denisyuk lived in a rundown shed among the overgrown trees and shrubs. The manor could
still be seen over the tops of the trees, but it was isolated out here, quiet.
I breathed easier.
Until a voice rang out, “WHO GOES THERE!”
“It’s me, Rifat,” called Danika. “And I brought Elena Falcone with me.”
The chipped front door rattled, and an old man poked his head out, his long gray beard the first
thing I focused on. It dripped to the ground, catching dirt and leaves. “Danika Baltacha…and Elena
Falcone. Ladies of the manor.” He disappeared back inside and the sound of locks clicking sounded
throughout the woods.
Danika seemed unconcerned as she neared.
The door swung open, nearly flinging off its hinges, and a short old wrinkly man stood in the
doorway. He reminded me of an elusive wizard from a fairy tale, but instead of creating spells and
fighting off dragons, this wizard kept the books of a Pakhan.
“I told Tyoma I was not to be disturbed,” Rifat grumbled.
It took me a second to understand Tyoma was a nickname for Artyom.
“I’m just here to check on you,” Danika cooed, the sweetness of her tone making her words very
easy to believe. “And I bought Elena to meet you.”
Rifat took me in, craning his head back. “You’re very tall.”
“You’re very short,” I replied.
A laugh rattled in his chest and he stepped aside. “Come in, then. Before you catch yourselves a
cold.”
Rifat’s shed was…manic. Piles of books and papers littered the space, the air so thick with dust
you could barely see your hand out in front of you. There was also the distinct but foul smell of
something that had gone off.
Danika scrunched up her nose.
“A rat has died somewhere in here,” Rifat answered before we could ask. “And I can’t seem to
find him…”
“He most likely died from contamination,” I muttered.
Danika lifted up a piece of paper and Rifat barked out a warning. “Don’t touch anything!
Everything is exactly where it is supposed to be.”
“How can you work in a place so messy?” Danika asked.
“Not all of us can work anytime we please, Danika,” Rifat retorted. “Some of us need materials.
Elena understands.”
My eyebrows rose. “I do?”
“Sure, you do. Isn’t it your job to cure Mrs Gribkov?” he asked. “You can’t very well do that with
nothing but your charm, can you?”
“I guess not.” I glanced at Danika. “You need a lot of charm in your job, do you?”
 Rifat snorted and muttered something, while Danika just laughed. There was a flicker of
nervousness behind her eyes, but it disappeared so quickly I could have imagined it.
Danika gestured to Rifat. “Elena and I won’t keep you from your work. I just wanted to make sure
you were alright.”
“Fine,” he huffed. “I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”
I glanced around the room, past the half-eaten meals and moldy corners. “Clearly not,” I remarked.
“Clearly not,” Rifat mocked. Then he glanced at me, lips thinning. “No offense, Mrs Falcone.”
“I’m not offended.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he mumbled.
Danika interrupted before I could ask what he meant. “You should come by the house for breakfast
soon. We worry about you out here all by yourself.”
“I’ll consider it,” he said, but looked secretly pleased that he was wanted. “But only if Dmitri
bakes those pastries again.”
Dmitri baked pastries? I couldn’t fathom that human-shaped icicle doing anything so domestic.
“I’ll pass the order along,” Danika confirmed. “Can I get you anything while I’m here? Tea,
dinner…?”
“Garbage bag?” I added.
She threw me a smile.
Rifat pointed a knobbly finger my way. He opened his mouth, gearing up to retort, before his
expression suddenly closed.
“Take your silver-tongue friend away before I get myself into trouble,” he told Danika.
Danika wasted no time, grabbing my arm and pulling me back outside. The breeze had picked up,
chilly air fluttering over my skin and through my hair.
“I knew he would like you,” was the first thing Danika said.
I laughed. “That was Rifat liking somebody?”
“Very much so,” she said. “He might even let you dig into his brain if he likes you enough. He might
not seem like it, but he is very intelligent. He might even be able to help you with Tatiana’s illness—
or you could help him.”
“Maybe,” I agreed.
Danika affectionately patted my arm. “You’re settling in okay, right?”
“This is not summer camp, Danika.”
“I know that. But...I remember what it was like being new and having to try and find my place
within the family.”
My spine straightened. “My place here doesn’t matter,” I reminded her. “I’m leaving as soon as
Tatiana is healthy again.”
“Of course, you are,” Danika did not sound convinced in the slightest. “How about everything else?
I couldn’t imagine losing my husband and then having to deal with Roman on a daily basis.”
I scanned her expression. “It hasn’t been easy.”
“I bet if you didn’t know what the matter with Tatiana was, Kostya still would set you free.” Her
brown eyes lit on me. “But you would have to offer him something really good, you know? Something
he doesn’t already have.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded. “Yes. But Kostya already has everything...”
“Except that key he so desperately wants.”
Danika turned her head to me, the brightness in her expression dimming slightly.
 “I know you’re trying to squeeze me for information,” I told her. “I don’t mind, but don’t lie to me.”
“Sometimes lying is the only defense we have left,” was all she said. “You know something about
that, I imagine.”
She was right. Which was why I said, “I don’t know where the key is. Don’t waste your energy
with me.”
Danika smiled. “I don’t mind but don’t lie to me,” she repeated my earlier words.
I found myself returning her smile.
“I’ll tell Kostya you’re unbreakable,” she mused. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it—”
One second Danika was there, the next she wasn’t. With a crash, she tripped and hit the ground, her
ankle having gotten caught in a rogue root.
I didn’t offer her help; Danika got up by herself.
“Are you okay?” I asked because it seemed polite to.
Danika brushed the dirt off her palms and laughed, the sound brighter than the sun shining in the sky.
“It’s not a day unless I take a spill.” She rose to her feet, shaking it off. “What was I saying?”
“You were going to tell Konstantin I’m unbreakable,” I said with the same amount of conviction I
had in the statement.
She laughed, “Oh, yes.”
“Will that stop you from trying to steal my secrets from me?” I asked.
Danika’s eyes sparkled. “Of course not. They don’t call me the Little Interrogator because I’m so
quick to give up.”
We reached the manor’s gardens, house and responsibilities in sight.
“You’re welcome to them,” I told her. “I don’t want them anymore.”
 10
Elena Falcone

The echoing sound of choking resonated through my brain.

Before me, my father crouched on the ground, hand up to his heart. His knuckles still bruised from
his latest attack. He was gasping something.
Heart attack, I though he was trying to say, I’m having a heart attack.
Mother was yelling to get help, her cries loud and shrill.
Father couldn’t breathe; he was struggling for air. His body was doing everything it could to keep
him alive, to keep him surviving.
From his lips, vines began to spill. Bright purple and pink flowers sprouted from the stems, lighting
up the dim dining room. The colors were seductive and alluring, a bright poisonous warning to all
those who dared to near.
Out his ears, out his eyes. Father began to stretch and warp, the flowers overtaking his flesh and
bones, killing him slowly.
Mother was still screaming.
I reached out, unable to resist the pull, and grasped one—

Consciousness came to me like a slap in the face.

I sat up in my bed, breathing hard. It took me a second to grasp where I was.
Konstantin’s estate, I told myself.
My legs were twisted in the sheets, my hair knotted from rolling over my pillows. A thin layer of
sweat soaked me.
I rubbed my face, breathing hard.
It was just a bad dream, I told myself, ignoring the memories that threatened my every waking
moment. It’s over now.
When I turned to check the time, I groaned out loud.
Four a.m.
Not as bad as it could’ve been, but after being able to sleep in until around six the past two days,
waking up this early felt like a kick in the face.
I collapsed back onto the pillow, but it was too late. My brain had come to life, moving a thousand
miles an hour. Words and theories bombarded me. Check Tatiana for thallium poisoning, sort out
library, avoid Konstantin and his bedroom eyes—
I felt like I was going to tear out of my skin, my bones and flesh inconveniences and obstacles to
me relaxing.
Restlessness was not a new emotion to me, but usually I had a remedy.
I turned my head towards the window. No light peeked through; no sounds echoed. But my heart
pulsed a little faster at the thought of feeling the fresh air on my skin, digging my toes in the dirt. Being
alone, being relaxed.
 What if I got caught?
You’re not doing anything wrong, I told myself. The dogs know who you are, so do the guards.
There was something inherently vulnerable at being caught trying to relax but my reasoning had
won out.
I slipped out of bed, wrapping the blanket around me, and headed downstairs. The house was quiet
and still, the only sounds coming from the theater room.
I peeked through the door as I passed.
Dmitri and Anton were watching cartoons; well, Anton was watching them. Perched on his father’s
lap, he was very interested in the bright colorful characters on the screen. His father had his head
tipped back and was snoring softly.
I kept moving, leaving Anton to his show.
The back door was locked but the key was on a hook behind the curtain. Konstantin had made a
point to show it to me when he had given me a tour.
As soon as I stepped outside, I calmed.
The crisp air running along my exposed skin and flushed cheeks brought my heart rate down within
seconds. Mixed with the lack of stimulants and soft lull of the breeze rustling through the trees, I
almost fell asleep on the spot.
I made my way farther into the overgrown garden, leaping over exposed roots and unkempt
branches. Fall signaled the reddening of leaves, causing some plants to look like a collection of
flames and jewels.
I found a quiet spot, manor still in sight, but otherwise hidden from all. With a deep sigh, I lay
down on the ground, ignoring the threat of dirtying the blanket.
My thoughts and breathing slowed, allowing me to sort through them.
Tatiana had received the tonic I’d made her really well. Well enough that I was certain she was
exaggerating a little, pushing herself to make it seem she was better than she was. Her frustration at
not being able to play with her son or be with her husband must’ve been tough.
It wasn’t a cure—I still had no idea what was wrong with her, what poison she had injected or
snorted or absorbed. Instead it was more like an antihistamine on steroids. It slowed down the
movement of the poison, how fast her body absorbed it.
Tatiana being pregnant had reduced the ingredients I could use.
On top of Tatiana, there was also Konstantin.
He’s just playing with you, Elena, I told myself. You’re the new, shiny mouse and he’s the bored
cat.
I was right. Konstantin had no interest in me outside of what I could offer Tatiana, of what I could
offer him. He had killed my husband in front of me and wanted the Falcone’s key. I was nothing but a
means to an end, an unexpected source of secrets.
But my body’s reaction...
I rubbed my face, feeling my muscles tense once again.
My body was overreacting, betraying me in the worst way imaginable. Never before had my
cheeks flushed, my heart raced, my mouth watered—
It’s fear, I tried to reason. You’re scared of him. Nothing more.
Even my inner consciousness sounded doubtful.
Willing myself to think about something else, my thoughts somehow ended up on the dead women.
Annabella Benéitez was a child and had been a casualty in the world of the mafia. It made me
oddly angry, even if I was certain justice would be served. Children were off limits, and whoever
was doing this needed to watch their fucking back.
Letizia Zetticci, Eithne McDermott, Mallory Nicollier and now Annabella Benéitez.
All killed differently but all had their teeth removed after their deaths.
I had enough on my plate, but the mystery had my attention. Who would have been able to get to all
these different places and near all these women within the same few months? All four of the women
would’ve had guards, people protecting them. They wouldn’t have let just anyone get close to them.
Maybe it was domestic issues made to look like an outsider, I thought. But on four separate
occasions?
And a child?
And if that was so, then why had Eleazar Benéitez reacted the way he had?
I wasn’t going to worry about that. Justice would be served and I had other things to concern
myself with. I had a pregnant woman to cure or risk being sent back into the embrace of my family.
I must have fallen asleep because the warm rays of the sun peeking over the top of the trees caused
me to open my eyes.
My stomach gurgled, warning me that it was almost breakfast time. I cringed at the thought of being
stuck in the same room as Konstantin and his family.
Their familiarity with each other made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. All the nicknames
and inside jokes, the efforts they made to accommodate each other.
Most breakfasts I sat in silence between Roksana and Danika, only speaking to ask for something
or jab at Roman.
I twisted my head to the side, making out the manor’s roof over the top of the bushes.
Everyone would be waking up now, preparing for their day.
To my right, a branch snapped, and I turned my head. One of the dogs had seen me and come to
investigate, their huge snout sniffing the ground around me.
I leaned on my elbow, reaching out my palm. The dog licked it before disappearing back into the
underbrush.
The dog had the right idea.
I abandoned my blanket, not bothered by the early morning chill any longer, despite being dressed
in my pajamas.
Over the past few days, I had gotten a better lay of the land. I could navigate around the estate
easily now, from the front gate to Rifat’s little cottage. If you paid attention, you could spot the worn
unofficial paths through the trees and plants.
I ran my hands along the tree trunks as I delved deeper into the wood. A few of the dogs poked
their heads out of bushes to check me out before going back to their jobs.
Birds chirped in the distance, leaves rustled in the breeze. Beneath my feet, dirt and twigs crunched
softly. Every now and then I heard one of the dogs, but mostly it was quiet.
I had every intention of turning back around, then I came to the fence around the edge of the
property. [S6]Strange, I thought but couldn’t bear to turn around. There’s a gate but no fence.
The thought made me laugh to myself.
The sun had risen higher, pinkening the sky. Clouds had begun to form, their gray color telling me
how the weather was going to be for the day.
I didn’t mind rain, I only hoped I didn’t get caught in it.
In between the trees, I could make out open space, indicating the end of the woods. I hurried,
intrigued by the idea of finding the edge of the property. Would the fence be climbable?
Knowing Konstantin, probably not. There was probably a flock of fierce cats that stopped you from
climbing over it–and electric wire.
The path between the trees opened up and…
Rolling green paddocks greeted me. White fences outlined the area, all leading back to a luxurious
looking stable. Next to the stable was an indoor factory-type building, with an arena stationed next to
it. Must be the indoor arena, I thought, impressed.
In the paddock closest to me, a gray horse with white patches over its rump grazed. When I stepped
closer to the fence, the horse lifted its head and instantly came to check me out.
I didn’t go to touch it. Only an idiot would touch an animal they weren’t familiar with.
The horse tossed their head over the fence, reaching out with their nose, most likely looking for
something to eat.
“I don’t have anything to give you,” I said, holding up my hands. “See? Nothing.”
The horse didn’t step back, pressing their head into my stomach.
They didn’t seem vicious...
Slowly, I scratched the horse’s forehead, running my fingers over the fringe and mane.
“You’re not so bad,” I said.
The horse pricked their ears like they agreed with me.
“I wonder what your name is,” I mused.
“Kuksha of Odessa.”
Both the horse and I startled.
Konstantin laughed. “But we just call her Odessa.”
He had come up from the paddock, standing a few feet away from the horse and me. Konstantin
wore a green polo tucked into his cream jodhpurs with a pair of shining brown boots. He held a crop
in loosely in one hand.
“Trying to escape, Elena?” he inquired.
“No. I went for a walk.”
His eyebrows rose. “A long walk. Did you enjoy it?”
“I did until you showed up,” I retorted.
Konstantin’s smile grew. “How about you come and meet the other horses?”
I couldn’t resist and pulled myself over the fence. Konstantin offered his hand, but I pushed it away,
jumping down onto the grass. The morning dew hitting my ankles made me realize I was still in my
pajamas.
Compared to Konstantin in his preppy horse-riding outfit, I looked terrible.
“All good?” Konstantin asked as I rose to my feet.
“Fine.”
His eyes roamed over my bare legs and arms. The attention caused goosebumps to rise all over my
skin. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Not when I keep moving.”
Odessa followed us as we headed down the paddock. She kept pushing her nose into my back and
neck.
“She wants attention,” Konstantin told me the third time she did it. “Don’t you, Odessa?” He patted
her neck.
“I didn’t know you had horses,” I said, giving Odessa a scratch on the nose.
“You never asked.”
I cut him a look. “Do you race them? Or are they for making glue?”
Konstantin smiled, amusement making his eyes sparkle. “Racing. Though Odessa’s racing days are
over, aren’t they, girl?”
Odessa tossed her head like she was agreeing.
We reached the end of the paddock, and Konstantin held the gate open for me. When Odessa tried
to follow me, he gently pushed her back, promising hay and pellets if she did as she was told.
A loud banging noise brought my attention away from Odessa and to the stables. Inside, someone
swore loudly in Russian, before there was another bang.
“Hilarion,” Konstantin growled, striding in the direction of the noise.
I followed, jogging to keep up.
The stables were incredibly flash, with mason rock patterns building the walls and dark wooden
panels separating the horses. In the middle of the stable, a huge apricot-colored horse had broken free
of his lead and was prancing around the place, head up and ears pinned back.
“Hilarion,” Konstantin called.
Instantly, the horse stopped and turned his attention to his owner. Quick as a whip, he flung himself
at Konstantin.
Konstantin shoved me to the side.
Hilarion came to a halt in front of him, hooves digging into the floor.
Konstantin growled something in Russian, the timbre of his tone low and threatening. Not the voice
of someone you wanted to cross.
The horse agreed and stopped where he stood.
Konstantin grabbed his halter, holding him in place and turned to me. “Did he scare you?”
“Most rational people are scared of half ton horses coming towards them, Konstantin,” I snapped.
Hilarion turned his head towards me, nostrils flaring. His ears pinned back as he took me in.
“Behave,” Konstantin warned. “Hilarion is our stallion, and only current racehorse. He has the
temperament of a teenage boy.”
I didn’t take my eyes off the horse. “I prefer Odessa,” I said simply.
Hilarion threw his head back but Konstantin kept a hold on him.
“Many do,” he mused, giving Hilarion an affectionate pat on the nose. I wouldn’t have put my
fingers so close to the stallion’s teeth. “Come and meet Basil.”
Basil turned out to be a relaxed, hefty gelding that practically fell asleep under my scratches and
pats. Even when Hilarion neighed, Basil did not bother opening up his eyes.
“Our better-behaved horse,” Konstantin said. “I’ve never seen Basil stressed or panicked.”
“He looks high,” I laughed as Basil rolled his eyes back.
Konstantin turned his head to me at the sound. A small smile grew up his face. “Do you have much
experience with horses?”
“Other than carnival pony rides, no.”
“I can teach you to ride if you’d like.”
The word yes tried to crawl its way out of my throat, but I held it down. “No, thank you. I won’t be
here for much longer.”
“Is that so?” Konstantin inquired. He gestured to my hand, spying the new ink. I resisted the urge to
tuck my hand into my chest. “Magnificent,” he read. “What does that pertain to?”
“None of your business.”
His eyes gleamed. “So, it has something to do with me.”
“Has anybody ever told you you’re the most arrogant man alive?” I demanded.
“A few,” Konstantin noted. “None interesting enough to remember.”
I rolled my eyes to keep myself from laughing. “Touché.”
 Annoyed at being ignored, Hilarion let out a thunderous neigh. Seconds later, Odessa responded
from outside, sounding just as pissed.
“You have a lot of pets,” I remarked. “Horses…dogs. Roman.”
“I enjoy animals,” Konstantin said. “They’re easier to train than humans.”
“Of course you like them based on their trainability,” I muttered. “What do you do with your
rebellious pets?”
His blonde eyebrows rose. “I haven’t come across a rebellious pet yet,” he said. “Only humans
behave in such a way.”
I continued to scratch Basil’s nose, the act comforting for the both of us.
“If we don’t leave in a few minutes, we’ll miss breakfast,” Konstantin said after moments of
silence.
“I’m not hungry.” As soon as the words left my mouth, my stomach let out a gurgle.
Konstantin laughed softly. “No?”
“Fine.” I dropped my hands from Basil, who had fallen asleep.
Once Konstantin had let Hilarion out into the field, he led me to his car, insisting I didn’t walk all
the way back to the manor without shoes on.
“You never did say why you were out here,” Konstantin said as I slipped into the back seat. One of
his men took the driver’s seat, cigar hanging out the window.
“I wanted to go on a walk.”
Konstantin nodded. “Of course.”
He didn’t broach the subject again but how easily he let it drop didn’t fool me into thinking he was
satisfied with my answer.
 11
Konstantin Tarkhanov

Neutral territory is a difficult thing to find.

After hours of going back and forth, all five Bosses of New York decided Governors Island was
the best place to meet. Though the island was technically in Ó Fiaich territory, it was accessible via
water—all the bosses would be able to escape if they needed to.
No enclosed space could be agreed upon, leaving the meeting to take place outdoors.
My fellow mob bosses and I lined up, overlooking the East River. Our men loitered behind us, not
getting too close but watching all possible threats like hawks. Roman and Artyom had both
accompanied me.
When the sun reached its highest peak, it was Mitsuzo Ishida who said, “Thank you for agreeing to
meet, gentlemen.”
Mitsuzo Ishida was the Oyabun of the New Jersey Yakuza. Since immigrating to the States in the
mid-20th century, Ishida had reigned over New Jersey fiercely but fairly. Despite a few power plays
throughout the decades, his grip on power had never wavered. Ishida had seen bosses come and go,
seen territories rise and fall. He would see many more.
“This meetin’ is long overdue,” said Thomas Sr Ó Fiaich. Boss of the Brooklyn Irish Mob, Thomas
Sr had recently taken his uncle’s mantel. But quickly he had proved himself to be just as fierce and
bloodthirsty as his predecessor, ensuring the Ó Fiaich’s would own Brooklyn for a few more
decades.
It was Chen Qiang who said, “I agree. Long overdue.”
Qiang was the Shan Chu of the Chen Triad, his territory stretching over Queens and up as far as
Hempstead. Qiang had built his society from the ground up, along with his wife, Chen Suyin. Together
the two had brought stability and trading to New York.
“However, it is very rare we gain a new member,” mused Mitsuzo. He nodded his head to me in
respect. “Welcome, Konstantin.”
I smiled slightly. “It is my pleasure.”
It was Vitale Lombardi who snorted. We turned to look at the Don of the Lombardi La Cosa Nostra,
his family ruling over Manhattan and the Bronx. He loitered away from the group, expression harsh
and cruel.
Vitale had made his disdain of my position quite clear. Whereas all the other bosses had rung me to
offer congratulations, Vitale had stayed pointedly silent.
Old and traditional, Vitale did not like to sway from the norm. His vision of the mafia was still
rooted in the Golden Age, before the RICO laws, unable to shift into the modern era.
It would be his downfall.
“The Bratva cannot hold any territory in New York,” Vitale said. “They are uneducated brutes,
nothing more.”
My smile was low and cold. “Interesting. I regard La Cosa Nostra the same way.”
 Vitale cut his dark eyes to me. “You will pay for killing Thaddeo,” he snapped. “You and all your
filthy—”
“Fight in your own time, Vitale,” Qiang said tiredly. “We are here to discuss the heartless killings.”
I rose my eyebrows at Vitale. I would not forget his threats, but I had no interest in quarreling with
such a useless figure.
I doubted Vitale would have his territory for much longer. The time for traditionalism was slowly
dying.
“I know,” Vitale said, darkly. “One of those deaths belonged to my famiglia.”
Letizia Zetticci. Murdered through poison.
“I assume you have inducted an investigation into the death,” Mitsuzo said.
Vitale scowled at the Oyabun. “Of course. Letizia was not a combative woman—her death was a
surprise.”
Meaning there had been no reason for her husband to kill her.
“I imagine the same could be said about the other victims,” I noted. “Including eleven-year old
Annabella.”
Expressions darkened and lips thinned. The death of a child was not something our world
accepted. We may be cruel and heartless, bloodthirsty and warmongering, but children were off
limits. Anyone who would go after one was not a popular man.
“Eleazar’s reaction is...interesting to say the least,” Mitsuzo noted.
“I agree,” Thomas Sr said. He lit a cigar, the scent blowing away into the wind. “He knows
somethin’ we don’t.”
“Eleazar does have a history of being overprotective,” Vitale said. “Remember how he acted when
Don Piero was shot?”
“He wasn’t seen in public for a few months afterwards,” Qiang confirmed. “Yes, Eleazar can be
overly cautious. But he is not an idiot.”
I cast my eyes over the river, watching the ferries and ships float past. “He either saw something or
recognizes something about the crime.”
“Indeed.” Thomas Sr took another long drag of his cigar. This time a hint of cloves blew my way.
“I don’t remember anythin’ like this before. Not in Ireland or the States. What about you lot?”
None of us had ever experienced something like this back in our motherlands, or even heard of
such a thing.
These murders were unprecedented.
In a world built on tradition and duty, finding a new and unique thing was a rarity, types of violence
included.
“Despite the lack of information, we can all agree that the women associated with our
organizations are being targeted. By random apparently. All are found without teeth,” Qiang said.
Mitsuzo nodded. “I haven’t seen anything like this before, but I have been around long enough to
know people who remove teeth are never the sanest individuals.”
We all agreed with that statement.
In the distance, a horn sounded, echoing over the river.
“Somebody is doing this,” Vitale emphasized. “Be it mafia or government or some other entity, but
we are under attack. Killing our women is a direct attack on our honor.”
And proving their lack of ability to protect them. Though men had less expectations in their job as
husbands than their female counterparts as wives, they were expected to protect and provide. If they
failed to do one of those, they never looked very good to outsiders.
 Including enemy syndicates. After all, if the women could be attacked, how hard would it be to take
out the men?
When the meeting came an end, a long conversation where each word was like moving a chess
piece over the board, the sun had begun to set. For hours, we tried to prove we were the ones to fear,
the most bloodthirsty out of us all.
Don’t test me, neighbor, our eyes warned our fellow bosses. I am the snake in the grass, the king
of the hill. I may not be the current threat, but I am a threat all the same.
I respected Mitsuzo, Thomas Sr and Qiang. However, I found Vitale arrogant and stupid. His
insistence on the Golden Age values reminded me of my family back in Russia, and how those ideas
had worked for them.
It won’t be long, I thought as I listened to him try and assert dominance, until someone younger
and smarter comes along to take his crown.
Two years ago, it had been me with that ambition in mind. But the Lombardi territory didn’t have
what I wanted.
It didn’t have a green-eyed woman with a silver tongue and more secrets than she knew.
As I went to leave, Mitsuzo pulled me aside. We walked together to our respective boats, both of
our men near and giving us privacy.
“The Rocchettis may have backed up your claim to Staten Island,” he said, “but you will have many
more adversaries until that territory is truly yours.”
I smiled. “They can try.”
His dark eyes gleamed, recognizing the carnal protectiveness and ambition in my expression.
“Indeed, they will.” He tilted his head. “Say...you are unmarried. If you want to cement your power,
marry a girl from a powerful family. I have two beautiful daughters—you are welcome to either.”
“That is a very kind offer, sir,” I didn’t want to offend him, but I also didn’t want him to think he
was in a position to pimp me out. “But I must decline.”
“Of course.” Mitsuzo smiled lightly. “I look forward to being neighbors, Konstantin.”
“As do I.”
We shook hands, both of us tightening our grip ever so slightly in dominance, before going our
separate ways.
As the boat traveled back towards Staten Island, I looked out across the horizon. Tall sparkling
buildings caught in the fading light, giants that loomed over us all.
“All the other bosses think someone is behind the killings. A third party, if you will,” I said.
“You believe them?” Artyom asked. Not disbelieving, just unsure.
I nodded slowly. “I do.” I cast my eyes towards home, towards my territory, towards her. “For
now.”
 12
Elena Falcone

Danika swung the door open before I knocked, her eyes bright and her smile wide. “Oh, Elena!” She
caught my wrist and dragged me into the room. “I didn’t think you were going to come.”
“I need a dress,” I said. Originally, when Danika had invited me to get ready with Roksana, joined
by herself and Tatiana, I had declined. But sitting in front of the mirror, alone, and in unfamiliar
territory, had made me reconsider Danika’s offer.
Both Roksana and Tatiana were already in the room. Roksana was doing her hair by the vanity,
whereas Tatiana lay on the bed, propped up my pillows, but looking flushed and healthier.
“Elena.” Tatiana was the first to notice me. “Come and try on some of the dresses I bought you.”
“You would look so pretty in the green one,” Danika told me. She crawled over the bed and sat
beside Tatiana, cross-legged. “Come on, give us a show.”
“Leave her be,” Roksana called.
“It’s okay,” I said, nearing the dresses hung over the bathroom door. Most were protected by
garment bags, so I unzipped them all and picked out the ones I liked best.
Tatiana chuckled suddenly, caressing her stomach. “Nikola is kicking. She always gets so excited
when Elena’s here.”
“Nikola knows Elena is helping her mama,” laughed Danika. She held a hand to Tatiana’s stomach,
both of them quiet as they waited for the next kick. Seconds later, they both laughed again. “I can’t
wait to have another baby in the house.”
“Me too,” Roksana piped up. “And a little girl! It’ll be nice not being so outnumbered.”
Tatiana smiled widely. “I know, I know. Dmitri thinks she’s going to be a daddy’s girl, but I’m not
so convinced.”
Danika ended up being right about the green dress. The emerald color of the fabric complimented
my eyes and earthy-brown hair. It gave my willowy form definition, adding some curves and lines to
my waist and breasts.
“You look gorgeous,” Danika admired from the bed when I stepped out of the bathroom.
I adjusted the strap over my shoulder and surveyed myself in the long mirror. “Mmm.”
“Give us a smile,” laughed Dani.
I sent her my best toothy grimace and her laughter danced around the room.
“Your smile is terrible, but you have gorgeous teeth,” Tatiana observed.
“You’re both so mean,” Roksana said from the vanity. To me, she said, “You look beautiful.”
I hid my smile, continuing to assess my reflection. “Perhaps I’ll get some attention.” I ran my
fingers through my hair, momentarily distracting myself from the fact that nobody laughed.
I glanced at each of the women. I had just lost my husband; I could see why my little joke could’ve
sounded terrible.
I opened my mouth to offer some kind of justification but Roksana said, “Don’t make jokes like that
around Konstantin.”
 “Why not?” I asked, my temper sharpening in my stomach.
“Konstantin is a very territorial man,” Tatiana muttered. “Just enjoy yourself tonight. Don’t worry
about anyone else.”
Questions bubbled up my throat, but I held them in. Some part of me didn’t want the answer to my
questions, to know the meaning behind their words.
Just cure Tatiana and leave, I told myself. That’s all you have to do. And then you’re free.
Free.
“When I went to the ballet for the first time, Roman told me to bring a coloring book to entertain
myself,” Danika said, changing the subject.
“I don’t know where I would find a coloring book,” I said.
Roksana huffed. “She’s just being a pain, Elena.” Then added, “Nobody in this family values art,
except for Kostya, of course.”
“They both know all the dances and techniques,” Danika told me. “You’re going to want to ditch
yourself into the crowd.”
Tatiana giggled. “You could borrow one of Anton’s coloring books, Elena.”
“The ballet is beautiful,” Roksana told me. “Ignore these two.” But she threw affectionate smiles
their way.
When it was time to leave, I opened the door to Artyom leaning against the wall. He looked stern,
but the moment he spotted Roksana behind me, his entire face lit up.
“Ah, you look beautiful, dorogaya.”
Artyom didn’t even glance at me as he stretched his arms out for his wife, causing me to press
myself into the doorway so Roksana could greet him.
“Thank you, husband,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling into his mouth.
Together, they made quite the pair. Roksana’s white blonde hair contrasted Artyom’s inky black,
her short skinny form fit into his tall muscled arms.
The intimacy and familiarity of their marriage was never something I had shared with Thaddeo. We
had been more likely to hold guns to each other’s hearts than embrace each other.
The kisses, the sex, the touches, had all been purposeful and with a clear agenda in mind. Thaddeo
was affectionate in public because it made our marriage look strong, he had sex with me because he
needed an heir.
I regarded the affection in our marriage like a check list. Hug, check. Kiss, check. Lay on your back
and spread your legs, check.
No emotion, no love, no partnership. Just expectations and duty, just rules and agendas.
I didn’t mind being alone—in fact, I preferred it. I had since I was a child, which had led to my
family calling me aloof and antisocial most of my life.
But if I preferred it so much, then why was my stomach cramping at the sight of Artyom and
Roksana? Why did my fingers curl into fists?
“I’ll meet you downstairs, Roksana,” I said, sweeping up my skirts.
Roksana made a noise of agreement but was too enthralled with her husband and his sweet
compliments to notice me leaving.
I glanced at them one more time at them as I reached the end of the hallway, before tearing my eyes
away.
You don’t need a partner, I told myself, trying to soothe the snarling green beast low in my
stomach. You just need to cure Tatiana and gain your freedom.
“Elena,” called a familiar voice.
 I looked down the staircase, eyes going straight to Konstantin. He stood tall in the foyer, looking
resplendent in his suit and his hair combed nearly back. His light brown eyes were latched onto me,
darkening as he took me in.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply, like it was a fact and not a compliment.
I refused to acknowledge the blush rising up my cheeks. “I borrowed Tatiana’s dress.”
Konstantin’s eyes dragged over me. “It’s not the dress.”
“Roksana is coming.” I pulled up my skirt and carefully made my way down the stairs.
He laughed softly. “I saw Artyom heading up there. It may be a minute before she joins us.”
As I reached the last steps, Konstantin held out his hand. His palm and fingers were rough, scarred
from his life as a mafioso—or a Vor, as Danika had told me.
For a second, I almost reached out and took it.
Almost.
I side-stepped his outstretched hand. “I can get down the stairs, Konstantin.”
“I know you can,” he acknowledged. “But I was always taught to aid a lady in dangerous heels.
Especially ones as beautiful as yourself.”
“You only help beautiful women? Ground breaking.”
Konstantin actually laughed. “Aren’t all women beautiful, Elena?”
I wasn’t falling for that one. I sent him a glare, causing him to chuckle again. The sound echoed
through the foyer, bouncing off the chandelier and wooden floors.
His eyes fell down to my hands and his brows knitted together. “You’ve hidden your thoughts.”
I had. I had scrubbed them with soap until they faded, then patted foundation onto the words that
wouldn’t disappear. My hands hadn’t looked so clean in years.
I hated it.
“I doubted the prestigious ballet would let me in with ink all over my hands,” I said.
“You are with me,” he said. “You could come in with a bird’s nest on your head and they would
have to let you in.”
“Bird included?”
He smirked softly. “We would have to be reasonable, of course.”
“Boring.” I tilted my head to the side. “Which coincidentally is the same word Danika used to
describe the ballet.”
“The ballet is anything but boring,” Konstantin said. “It requires strength and beauty working
together in tandem to create a story.” Our eyes met, the intensity of his expression drawing me in. “It
is an art form built on pain and self-discipline. Not many sports today can say the same.”
“Relate to ballerinas, do you?”
Konstantin smiled privately. “Since I am no longer privy to your thoughts, you’re not welcome to
mine.”
I almost tucked my hands into the folds of my dress before remembering the words were no longer
there. He couldn’t read what was happening in my mind. “Like you’ve ever told me what you’re
thinking.”
“I have.” His eyes didn’t move from my face. “Whether you believed me or not is up for debate.”
Curiosity gripped me. “What thoughts have you told me?”
“It hardly seems fair for me to spill all my secrets while you keep your privacy.”
I pursed my lips. “I’m sure your secrets are boring anyway.”
Konstantin’s smile was nothing but predatory as he said, “I can assure you, Elena, they are anything
but.”
 The way he said my name told me exactly what kind of secrets he had.
I told my feet to step back, my heart to stop racing, but my body didn’t listen. I was rooted in place,
trapped beneath Konstantin’s intense regard.
“Don’t you have any other women to taunt, Konstantin?” I tried to sound threatening but instead I
just sounded desperate.
“Of course. But none are nearly as fun as you,” he laughed. “Or funny.”
“Funny?” The word ripped out of me. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me funny in my life.”
One his eyebrows arched upwards. “No?”
“I’m more likely to be called a bitch,” I muttered, “or puttana.” A particularly favorite nickname
of Thaddeo’s.
There was a flicker of darkness in Konstantin’s expression. “Recently?”
“Not to my face,” I said. “But can you honestly say Roman hasn’t said worse behind my back?”
“I’m sure you’ve been saying just as devastating things about him.”
I laughed, the sound surprising and abrupt. “Nothing he doesn’t deserve.”
Konstantin didn’t respond. Instead he stared at me, like his eyes were peeling away at the makeup
and skin and peering into my brain.
No one had ever looked like at me like that before.
Like they were…enamored.
I lifted a hand to my face, self-consciously.
“When you laugh, the sun rises in your eyes,” Konstantin said.
The world dropped from beneath my feet.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I felt angry and embarrassed and flushed all at the same
time, a cocktail of emotions that only this man could ever draw out of me.
Konstantin reached out and took a strand of my hair, running it through his fingers.
When I didn’t resist, he delicately traced my collarbone. His touch sent electricity shooting through
my veins.
Blood rushed through my ears; my heart pounded in my chest. Air became difficult to breathe;
thoughts were hard to form.
If I ever complained about being overstimulated before, then I had no idea.
The look in Konstantin’s eyes, the pressure of his finger, his towering presence. Altogether…it was
too much.
I tore myself away, seeking distance and clarity. I wasn’t some stupid girl, falling for the seductive
mobster boss.
I knew exactly what those hands were capable of.
Konstantin peered at me, dropping those very same hands slowly. “I know you feel it too, Elena.”
His tone was low.
“No, I don’t,” I sounded puffed. “You’re just an arrogant bastard.”
“Oh, definitely. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” Konstantin replied. “You’re not a married
woman any longer, nor are you under the watchful gaze of your family. Why deny yourself pleasure?”
Anger managed to clear my mind out of the lusty fog. “Pleasure? What is it about men and their
belief they’re so good at giving pleasure?” I cut him a smile. “Trust me, if you ever heard a woman
describing your abilities, she wouldn’t be so kind with her description.”
His eyes gleamed. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“I am,” I hissed. “Sex isn’t nearly as good as men make it out to be.”
Sex with Thaddeo had been three minutes of me thinking about books I wanted to read and plants I
wanted to grow. Boring, painful and never as good as pop culture made it out to be.
Konstantin’s smile was low and dark. “You’re a scientist. Why don’t you test your hypothesis?”
I opened my mouth to retort but was cut off.
“Sorry!” Roksana came jogging down the stairs, her pale skin bright red. Loose curls spilled from
chignon. “We better get going or else we’re going to be late.” She stopped and looked between
Konstantin and me. Her expression froze. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No. Let’s go,” I said.
Konstantin nodded and gestured a hand forward, beckoning us to lead the way. All the way to the
car I felt Konstantin’s stare on my back.
Now I knew how the rabbit felt when it spotted a pair of fox eyes in the shadows.

The Staten Island Opera and Ballet House was a grand piece of architecture, with colossal Latin
architecture and beautiful paintings staining the roof. Gold traced the ornate ceilings and archways,
like someone had delicately outlined the structure.
The moment we arrived a staffer led us to a private box. It looked over the entire stage and
symphony, the prime location. The red velvet seats were cushiony, and we were offered champagne
and a board of cheeses seconds after we sat down.
Roksana’s excitement was obvious. She opened the program between the two of us, discussing the
principle dancers and the different acts. It was a ballet she had seen many times before but had never
lost her love for.
The way she talked about the music and story was with enough familiarity and understanding that I
asked, “Did you used to be a ballerina?”
Roksana tensed and I had my answer immediately. “Uh…when I was very young.” She folded up
the program. “I’m a much better spectator. Aren’t I, Kostya?”
On Roksana’s other side, Konstantin answered, “A brilliant spectator. One of the best.”
She smiled, pleased. “Konstantin’s a big flirt.” Her eyes danced to me. She looked like she was
about to add something, but the theater darkened, bringing the murmurs of a crowd to a stop.
The curtain rose and beautiful dancers flowed onto the stage. Their costumes sparkled as they
turned and leaped, the physical difficulty of their movements made to look easy and rhythmical.
Yet throughout the ballet, consistent past the heartbreaking solos and fast-paced corps de ballet
dance, I felt Konstantin nearby.
Physically, we were separated by Roksana—who was too enthralled with the dance to notice
anything else—but his presence was cemented in my brain. Whenever he lifted his hands to clap or
shifted in his seat, my attention immediately snapped to him.
His words were on repeat in my mind.
You’re a scientist. Why don’t you test your hypothesis?
When I turned my head to look at him, he was already looking at me.
 13
Elena Falcone

After the rush of the finale, Roksana and I ducked to the bathroom. Women hurried past in their
clouds of perfume, laughter and high voices ringing throughout the powder rooms and hallways.
I didn’t mind. I just needed to be away from the Pakhan.
Roksana and I joined the end of the line. Roksana’s bodyguard, Mikhail, hovered near the end of
the hallway, expression fierce but very aware he was not permitted into the ladies’ bathroom. He even
got chastised by the older women for being in the vicinity of the toilets.
“Did you love it?” Roksana asked.
“It was nice.” I didn’t remember most of it. It was irritating how the audience was supposed to put
the pieces together, join the stories and timelines themselves. Science didn’t expect you to do all that.
“I thought the costumes were cool.”
Roksana laughed. “I appreciate the effort.”
I forced a smile, surprised at myself for softening my true feelings to stop Roksana from feeling
upset.
You did just sit through two hours of classical music, I told myself. Your brain is fried.
It could be that, or perhaps it was because I could see Roksana’s love for the ballet, the yearning in
her eyes as she looked at the ballerinas.
I understood that feeling in some ways. My love for science had always been out of arm’s reach,
taken from me because of the traditional rules of my family. No encouragement, no college.
Until…
I pushed him out of my mind, not willing to go there just yet.
“At least you didn’t leave halfway through,” she mused. “When I convinced Roman to go with me
once, he didn’t even make it to the second scene before getting up and leaving.”
“Roman doesn’t seem like the ballet type.”
Roksana laughed. “No. No, he’s not. Not even lovely Danika enjoys the ballet. But she does
pretend to, which is very kind of her.”
We moved up in the line, squished together as the hallway grew more crowded with women
needing to relieve themselves.
“At least I have Konstantin to go with me.”
I grimaced at his name. “At least.”
Roksana searched my expression. “I know this is definitely not my place and, well, we’re
strangers, but can I ask what is going on with you and Konstantin?”
I didn’t respond. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; it was more the fact that I didn’t know how to put
what was going on with Konstantin and I into words.
“If his advances are unrequited, I can warn him to back off.”
I met her eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“I remember what it was like to be the main focus of one of these men. It can be…intense.” Her
cheeks pinkened. “Their attention can be…all consuming.”
It was my turn to search her expression. “Is that what happened with you and Artyom?”
“Yes and no.” Roksana quietened her voice, letting the loud chatter of the hallway offer us more
privacy. “I am not like you, or the other women. I did not grow up in the mafia. I chose Artyom and
the life he leads.”
I couldn’t stop my shocked reaction. “You chose this? All I want to do is leave.”
Her expression softened. “I did. I chose Artyom, the man I loved, and this life is part of him. You
cannot pick and choose what parts of people you love.”
“Were you a ballerina before?” The words came out before I could stop them, fueled by curiosity
and my remaining shock.
Roksana paused, before answering quietly, “Yes. Yes, I was.”
“And now you’re not.” The finality of my statement cemented what I had previously believed.
Women could not flourish in this world; our goals were not obtainable. We were either wives or
dead.
Instead of answering, Roksana took my wrist and pulled me out of the toilet line. I followed as she
ducked into a private alcove. She lifted her leg onto the wall and pulled up her dress.
“Are you okay?”
Then I caught sight of Roksana’s knee. Where unblemished skin should’ve been, Roksana’s knee
was a collection of white and pink scarring. Even the kneecap looked to be awkward, dented almost.
The brutality of it made my lips part.
“No. I am no longer a ballerina,” she murmured, dropping the skirt. “But not for the reasons you
think.”
Questions bubbled up. I wanted to know everything, wanted to know what had happened and how
she dealt with it. But mostly I just wanted to know if it still hurt.
My pain didn’t leave me—did hers?
“What happened?” I asked.
Roksana’s expression tightened but she went on to say, “My father got into debt. A lot of debt.
When the loan shark came for his money and my father could not pay…” She blinked rapidly. “My
father broke too easily, so they turned their attention to his young daughter.”
Roksana fell silent.
“Why did you show me?” I asked.
Roksana shrugged. “I love my family. I love my family more than anything in this world.” She
smiled sadly at me. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you’re curing Tatiana because you
have a deal with Konstantin. That’s fine. But do not judge what you do not understand.”
“I understand the world of the mafia.”
“You do not know the world of the Bratva. Or Konstantin Tarkhanov.” Roksana’s expression
implored me. “He is…he is a good man. A violent one, but a good one.”
“I don’t care.”
“I said something similar once,” she noted. “But, you are not me and I am not you.”
I inclined my head in agreement.
Silence settled over us, not uncomfortable but pensive.
When I finally asked the question sitting in my mind, long moments had passed. “The loan sharks?”
“Killed.”
“Good,” I affirmed.
Roksana smiled briefly, like she was remembering something fondly. “Artyom strung them up by
their heels and fed them their toes.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “That’s when I accepted his
offer.”
I snorted. “Reasonable.”
She threw me a grin and we stepped out of the alcove. Down the hallway, the chatter had died
down and I imagined if we went back to the bathroom, it would be nearly deserted.
I turned to Roksana. “Where is Mikhail?”
Roksana’s head flew to the side, hitting the wall with a loud thump. A large hand grasped her hair.
She let out a cry of shock and pain so piercing it shocked my system.
“Let go!”
A huge man with beady eyes stepped out from behind Roksana, dropping her to the ground like a
rag doll.
Terror and anger erupted in me like a volcano.
“Fuck off!”
The man grabbed my throat, holding it easily with one hand. I scratched at his wrist, digging my
nails in so hard I felt his blood pool.
“Bitch!” He shoved me into the wall, the impact momentarily darkening my vision.
The second of disorientation allowed the man to apply more pressure onto my neck, pinning me to
the wall. My lungs constricted as they fought for air.
Something swung over the man’s head, hitting him. He released me, stumbling back and swearing
furiously.
Roksana had grabbed a decorative vase and was holding onto it like it was a weapon of mass
destruction.
The man lunged at Roksana, knocking the vase away like it was nothing but a fly and shoving her to
the ground. She hit the floor, but instantly began scrambling away, ankles getting caught in her dress.
When he went for her again, I lunged. I dug my fingers into his eyes, pressing down with everything
I had.
His eyeballs felt both hard and squishy as my fingers sliced into them.
A gun cocked. “Let him go or I’ll shoot Mrs Fattakhov.”
I lifted my head to see a new man standing over Roksana, gun pointed straight at her skull.
I didn’t even think about it. I released the man and stumbled back, my fingers coated with blood.
The man cried out in pain, covering his face.
“You did some real damage, didn’t you, Mrs Falcone?” noted the newcomer. “A shame. Vik was
one of our best bulls. No matter.” In a sliver of a second, he lifted the silenced weapon and shot Vik,
before quickly pointing the gun back at Roksana.
Vik fell like a bag of rocks, bloody eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Roksana gagged.
I eyed the newcomer. He was dressed in all black, clean-shaven with bright blue eyes. He looked
to be in his mid-forties with copper hair and tattoos patterning his exposed skin.
Mafioso. Vor. Soldier.
Whatever the fuck they were called.
“Who are you?” I spat.
“Haven’t you been keeping up with the news?” he asked. “From what I hear, you’re a very
intelligent woman.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Where did you hear that?”
“A little birdy told me,” he said. He pressed the butt of the gun further into Roksana’s head. She
closed her eyes briefly, regulating her breathing. “They also mentioned you had quite beautiful teeth.”
Roksana’s eyes tightened. She knew who had attacked us.
I knew who, too.
The same person who had been killing women associated with the mafia for the past few weeks.
“I know about you, too,” I said quietly. “The child-killer.”
“Ah, you’re referring to little Annabella?” His eyes gleamed. “She didn’t stop screaming. Papa,
Mama, Abuelito. It was so fucking annoying.”
“She was a child,” Roksana piped up. She tilted her eyes upwards. “She had no part in any feud or
vendetta. She was innocent.”
“Nobody is innocent, Mrs Fattakhov,” the man snapped. His grip on the gun tightened.
At the end of the hallway, a shadow moved. So subtle and familiar that I knew it could only be one
person.
I spoke up, “You’re not going to kill the both of us. They’ll find you before you remove all the
teeth.”
He laughed. “Don’t underestimate your adversaries, Elena. I think you’ll find they’re just as smart
as yourself. If not smarter.”
“I think I’m smarter than you.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you do—”
Konstantin pressed a gun to his head. In the next second, he grabbed the man’s wrist and yanked it,
allowing Roksana seconds of safety to scramble out of the firing line. She immediately came to my
side, gripping my arm fiercely.
The man dropped the gun, shock in his eyes. “You’re not meant to be here.”
“Clearly,” Konstantin purred. There was nothing flirtatious or charming in his voice. It was the
tone of a creature who was very dangerous, who was playing with his prey before he devoured it.
The man tried to swipe for Konstantin, but he was too slow. I could only watch as Konstantin
expectedly grabbed his wrist and threw him into the wall. The man tried to recover but Konstantin
punched him in the throat with the same movement as a snake striking its prey.
As he gasped for air, Konstantin righted his cuffs. “Who are you working for?” he asked quietly,
but we all heard.
The man clawed at the wall to steady himself. “I’m not telling you shit!”
Konstantin drove his elbow into the man’s stomach, sending him doubling over and onto his knees.
He crouched down, balancing his gun on his thigh. “This is only a sliver of the pain I can give
you,” he hissed, the first sign of the monster beneath beginning to take control. “There are ladies
present so I must play nice, but make no mistake, you will talk, and you won’t stop talking.”
The man looked up, eyes and nose running from the pain. “Act—so—powerful—now.” He gasped.
“But—Titus—is…coming for you.”
“Titus.” Konstantin said the name thoughtfully. “A Roman Emperor of the Flavian Dynasty. I don’t
recall him killing innocent women, however.”
“Titus will kill you…” The man gasped. “All of you will bow.”
“Your Titus wants world domination. Not the most interesting of goals,” Konstantin replied. “And
where is your Titus?”
He shook his head, still struggling to breather. “Will…never…say…”
“Oh, I think you will.”
The man tilted his head, meeting my gaze. He smiled slowly. “Watch your back, Falcone. Titus has
you right where—”
 With the back of the gun, Konstantin jabbed the man in his pressure point. Instantly he collapsed, no
longer so cocky and threatening.
Konstantin rose to his full height, regarding the man with disinterest, like he was an inconsequential
bug he needed to swat.
“Elena, Roksana.” Konstantin looked at us over his shoulder.
“We’re fine,” I said.
Roksana nodded in agreement, unable to speak.
Konstantin scanned us both for his own confirmation. His eyes passed over Vik, with his bloody
eyes. “Mikhail is dead,” he said.
“Oh,” Roksana choked. “Oh my God…” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Artyom. I need Artyom.”
“He is on his way,” Konstantin said, softening his voice for Roksana. His eyes came to me, holding
my gaze. He looked like he was going to say something, but Russian shouts erupted from down the
hallway.
Seconds later, Artyom and Roman came thundering down the hall.
Artyom didn’t look at his Pakhan or the slumped bodies. He went straight for Roksana, pushing me
out of the way to get to her. Russian words tumbled together but I knew he was asking if she was
okay. Roksana tearily nodded.
“This is what happens when you leave the house without me,” Roman said, stomping down the hall.
He took in the bodies. “Shit, shit.” Then to my surprise, he asked, “You good, Elena?”
I blinked. “Fine.”
“There’s blood on your fingers,” he pointed out.
“It’s not hers,” Konstantin said. He jerked his chin to Vik. “It’s his.”
Roman didn’t flinch at the eyeless man. Instead he looked…impressed.
Konstantin pointed down at the other one. “Give him to Dmitri and Olezka. I want to know
everything that man knows. Everything he has seen and done his entire life; I want to know.”
“Yes, Pakhan.” Roman eyed Konstantin with a flash of concern but didn’t say anything as he went
about his job.
Artyom held Roksana to his chest, “Who the fuck is he?”
“He works for our woman-killer,” Konstantin remarked. “A man he refers to as Titus.”
“Titus?” Artyom glanced down at the body. “There is no boss called Titus in the United States, or
any other part of the world.”
“I’m aware,” Konstantin replied. He tucked his gun back into his holster, before smoothing down
his blazer. “Artyom, I want all the woman sent into protective custody. Those who are unable to stay
locked down due to work will be provided bodyguards.”
Artyom straightened. “Yes, sir. Consider it done.”
Konstantin met my eyes again, the light-brown color dark and cold. “Enough lying in wait,” he
said. “Now, we hunt.”
 Part Two -
Elena’s Kingpin

“Snake’s poison is life to the snake; it is in relation to man that it means death.”

– Rumi.
 14
Konstantin Tarkhanov

Hilarion won by half a second.

“And the winner is...Hilarion Troitsky of Tarkhanov Stables!”
The crowd erupted into cheers of celebration or cries of aggravation. I heard the patter of feet as
people made it to their bookies, desperate to know how much they had won. Hilarion had been one of
the favorites so the sum couldn’t have been steep.
In the VIP area, decorated with whites and silvers, owners and patrons loitered. The outcome of
the race had been in my favor—and not in theirs. Mitsuzo Ishida had joined me for the first half of the
race, but had to leave to handle urgent business.
“When are you considering studding Hilarion?” someone asked me. It was usually the first
question.
I gave my usual answer, “When he meets a girl he likes.”
The women tittered in response, the men chuckled, but their greedy eyes didn’t waver. A colt or
filly from Hilarion would be a valuable thing to own.
That’s why I had no intention of giving one up.
My men and I began to leave, to join Hilarion and his jockey, when Dmitri said, “Good luck to
anyone who wants a foal from Hilarion. It would be the worst behaved horse in history.”
Only Dmitri joined me at the races out of enjoyment. Artyom claimed it was ridiculous, without
reason. Roman hated having to wear a tie, something required of him to enter the VIP area. Sometimes
the ladies joined us—both Roksana and Danika enjoying wearing ridiculous hats—but not today.
Not now.
I took a sip of my champagne. “Perhaps the mare’s genes will give the foal a better temperament.”
Dmitri snorted. “Sure.”
We shared a laugh.
Well dressed women in fancy hats and men with brightly colored ascots filled the way to the
stables. As we passed, their heads turned, either in admiration or understanding. Those who knew
who I was turned away quickly, not wanting their faces to be etched into my mind.
Too late.
“This is how people used to look at me in Moscow,” I told Dmitri. “I’ve missed it.”
“Tatiana mentioned.” Dmitri’s blue eyes scanned the crowds. “She said it makes you feel
powerful.”
I accessed him from the corner of my eye. “And do you?”
When he looked at me, all I could see was the young man with icy blue eye and skin the color of
snow who showed up on my doorstep and declared his loyalty. I have served many Pakhans, he had
said, but you will be the last.
“I will feel better when we have the dirt we need on all these people.” He looked back the way we
had come, towards the investors and elite. “We need to find that key.”
 “I’m aware,” I said coolly.
Dmitri bowed his head in respect. “Has Elena mentioned anything else?”
I hadn’t brought up the key since the first time we spoke about the subject. It had been a tender
subject to her, one she had claimed not to have any knowledge about.
“Not yet,” I said. “She’s not ready to say anything yet.”
“But she knows?”
“She knows more than she thinks,” I confirmed. “What, however… Well, isn’t that the million-
dollar question.”
Dmitri worked his jaw, stopping himself from saying something.
“Say it, Dmitri. I’m sure it’s nothing Roman hasn’t already said.”
He pressed his lips together. “Tatiana told me that Roksana told Elena about how…about what
happened to her.”
Animalistic anger crawled up my stomach at the mention of Roksana’s past. Once the most talented
ballerina in Moscow…and then not. Because of her father’s failure to protect and provide for her.
He had gotten what he’d deserved. As did those who’d hurt Roksana.
Artyom had made sure of it.
“It is Roksana’s decision whom she shares her past with,” I said.
Dmitri couldn’t hide his cold anger, his icy protectiveness. “The women are growing attached to
her. Danika adores her, Roksana shared her past with her and Tatiana is convinced Nikola knows
when Elena is in the room. Fuck, even Anton calls her Auntie Lena.”
I had heard Anton call Elena that. He had been playing with his trucks on the kitchen floor and
greeted her as she joined the family for breakfast with a joyful, “Auntie Lena!” Tatiana hadn’t reacted,
or seemed that surprised, but Dmitri had almost choked on his coffee.
“Are you worried about Anton when she leaves?” I asked.
Dmitri shook his head. “When she leaves, I’ll be worried about you.”
I turned my head to him, expression appraising. “Is that so? Save your worries, brother. They are
misplaced.”
“My loyalty is to you first,” he ventured. “If she is a threat, even for a second—”
I cut him off. “If you want to keep breathing, don’t finish that sentence.”
Low in my gut, I could feel my anger stirring from its slumber. Under wraps and kept locked up
tight…until it was needed.
“Sorry,” Dmitri said resignedly.
I inclined my head in warning as we reached our private stables.
Hilarion’s trainer led the stallion around a yard to calm him down. After a race, Hilarion was
rowdy and full of adrenaline. He needed to be cooled down and then fed, or else he would go crazy
when they laid the wreath over his neck.
“Hilarion,” I greeted.
My horse tossed his head towards me, forcing the trainer to lead him over, with the jockey still
astride.
“He was slow around the far turn,” the jockey told me. “But his sprint on the last stretch…I nearly
took off into the wind.”
If Roman was here, he would’ve made a short joke.
I rubbed Hilarion’s nose. “Good boy.”
His nostrils flared in agreement.
The buzzing my phone made me check my pocket and when I saw the familiar contact name, I
stepped away from the prying ears of the jockey and gestured Dmitri to follow me.
“Olezka,” I greeted.
“Hi, Boss. Did Hilarion win?”
“He did.”
Olezka made a half-hearted cheering noise. There was only one reason my torpedo was calling and
it wasn’t to discuss horse racing.
“The man?” I asked.
Dmitri’s eyes darkened. He had spent the night with the man who had attacked Elena and Roksana
but failed to pull anything out of him.
“Nothing.” Olezka grunted. Both my men took their failures personally. “Artyom found out his name
is Edward Ainsworth. But he’s not convinced that’s his real one.”
“Sounds like something out of those books my wife reads,” Dmitri muttered.
I nodded. “What has he said?”
“Nothing much, Boss,” Olezka said. “He just screams.”
I looked out over the field. Hilarion had calmed down ever so slightly, giving his jockey a bit of
grief. A few stable hands went to help.
“Leave him for a few hours,” I instructed. “It’s time he and I have a little chat.”

The overgrown monastery still looked harrowing, despite not being used for centuries. Once used
to defend the island from the sea, the Fort was now a hangout for local kids and tourists, but every
now and then, it was quiet and unwatched.
That was when it became a playground for me.
Night settled over the Fort, the pitch dark only broken up by city lights and torches. Shadows
stretched and shuddered as my men and I moved along the property, drawing to and fro. The crickets’
music was the only sound accompanying our footfalls.
Dark. Silent. Perfect.
On the third floor, tied to a chair, was Edward Ainsworth. He had been set up beside the
windowless archways that looked down onto the ground, a silent threat that, with a flick of a hand, he
could plummet to his death. Cuts and bruises broke up his once clear skin, proof all of my men had
tried to break his silence.
My men stepped back into the shadows as I entered the room, their eyes growing brighter as the
promise for violence became a reality. Respectful nods were inclined in my direction, but no one
dared to speak.
“Mr Ainsworth,” I said softly.
He snapped his head to me, eyes probing my form in the darkness. Blood dripped down his lips–no
doubt the work of Dmitri. Pulling and cutting tongues was a personal favorite torture technique of his.
“Y—You bastard—” he stuttered.
I stepped into the dim light, hands in pockets. There was no need to be threatening. I didn’t need to
come into the room with guns blazing and a knife between my teeth. Sometimes the lack of weapons
was more chilling than the presence of them.
“May I call you Edward?” I asked.
Ainsworth breathed heavily, more blood dripping from his mouth. “I’m not—” He gasped. “Going
to tell you. Shit.”
I smiled slowly. “Oh? Is that so?” I neared Ainsworth. Fear flickered briefly in his eyes as I
prowled closer.
 “Tell me about your Titus.”
Devotion lit up in Ainsworth’s eyes. “Titus will kill you all.”
“How does he intend to do that?”
Ainsworth smiled like he knew something I didn’t. “A man who cannot protect his woman is no
man at all.”
My eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me Titus is an advocate for women’s rights. If he is, he seems to be
going about it the wrong way,” I noted.
“You don’t even know…” Ainsworth’s eyes were bright, his smirk arrogant. “Count your fucking
days, Tarkhanov…Titus is coming for you.”
“Is that so?” I asked. “Then why doesn’t he show his face?”
Ainsworth coughed up more blood, the sticky substance staining the concrete. It missed my loafers
by an inch. Lucky.
I repeated my question.
Ainsworth wiped his bloody mouth on his shoulder, shuddering a breath. “Has…already…” He
sucked in air.
I cocked a brow. “Your Titus mustn’t have been very memorable then. I never forget a face.”
Ainsworth heaved another breath.
“What does he want with the women?” I asked. “And their teeth?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t…tell…me…anything.”
“Ah, but you must know something,” I said. “You were sent to kill two women…with your eyeless
Vik.”
He didn’t say anything.
With a flick of my wrist, I broke his nose. The bone broke easily beneath my grip, like a canary’s
bone.
Ainsworth shouted out in pain, bowing over. More blood sprinkled the concrete, blood that would
have to be cleaned up. We couldn’t risk some teenagers stumbling in and finding it.
“Why two?” I wondered. “That is not the pattern you have shown.”
He didn’t respond.
“Unless…you weren’t expecting one of the women to be there.”
Ainsworth’s eyes flickered.
My smile grew. “Ah, that’s it, isn’t? So, which one were you after?” I swung the chair on its legs,
causing panic to flare in his eyes.
“No, no!”
“Which. One?” I repeated.
Ainsworth regulated his breathing, trying desperately to gain some control back. There was no use
—all the power belonged to me. And nobody was able to take it away from me.
Not in this lifetime, and certainly not by some nameless soldier.
Ainsworth’s swollen eyes creased as he forced a smile. “Titus knows your face, Tarkhanov…and
your little Elena’s.”
Brutish rage fueled me as I grabbed the back of his chair and held him over the side. Instantly, he
began squirming and shrieking, the threat of falling make him a little less brave.
I leaned close to his ear, not relenting my grip on him. “Enough games,” I hissed. “Where is Titus?”
“I’ll never tell you—”
I tilted him further over the side, my muscles contracting at the strain. Ainsworth squealed, causing
a few of my men to chuckle in the shadows.
 “Where is Titus?”
“Not—”
I tilted him further over. The legs of the chair skidded on the concrete, threatening to slip over and
take Ainsworth with them. “Don’t be shy,” I coaxed. “You want to live, don’t you, Edward?”
He breathed rapidly, eyes glued to the ground. He nodded.
I lifted the chair up. “Tell me where Titus is and live to see another dawn. Or don’t and die.”
He didn’t respond.
“It’s your choice, Edward. Life…” I tilted the chair further over the ledge. “Or death.”
Edward shuddered another rattling breath. He peered at me, eyes bruised and blue. “I would die
for Titus.”
I smiled. “And you shall.”
His eyes widened as I flung the chair over the side. The sound of his bones crunching into the
ground echoed throughout the night, silencing the breeze and waves.
A bratok on the ground ran out to check. Seconds passed until he yelled, “Still got a pulse, boss.
Want me to finish him off?”
I smiled and gestured to the men. “Pick him up and take him to the podzemel'ye.”
“They’re gonna need a shovel,” Roman muttered as he came up behind me. “All good, Boss?”
I turned away from Edward’s crumbled but alive form. “All good.” I straightened my cuff links.
“Send Danika to tend to him. It’s time this man knows what it means to really break.”
Roman grinned viciously. “Consider it done, Boss.”
 15
Konstantin Tarkhanov

I spotted her willowy figure stretched out high on a thick branch, the tree’s branches offering a
semblance of privacy. At the roots, two dogs lay, glancing up at her every now and then—not
furiously, but in curiosity and concern. Most of the dogs had taken to Elena, especially since she was
the one who spent the most time outside.
Elena didn’t notice me as I approached. She leaned against the trunk, book in hand, and long dark
hair caught on the bark. She looked like she belonged in a book of fairy tales, the beautiful wood
nymph who lived amongst the trees and wild animals and led unsuspecting men to their deaths.
“Elena,” I called softly so as not to startle her.
She peered down at me, green eyes bright. “Why are you awake so early?”
I smiled. I usually got up before the sun. Most dawns I spent with the horses; however, the few
times I had gone to the study, I had been able to spot Elena in the grass below. She usually read or
dozed, looking relaxed and calm.
I hadn’t slept ye—still too charged up with adrenaline from interrogating Edward Ainsworth. I had
spent the morning in my study, scanning the garden every and now for Elena.
When I hadn’t been able to see her, I’d come looking for her.
“Concerned?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “More like wondering why you’re bothering me.”
“Ah, then, I’ll leave you to your book,” I mused. “I was just wondering why you’re up in a tree.
The dogs bothering you?”
“No,” Elena answered crisply. “I haven’t climbed a tree in years. I was curious.” She said it so
simply and factually that she implied I was the idiot for asking.
Elena was very talented at implying the person asking the questions was an idiot and the answer
was obvious. It drove Roman insane—I thought it was brilliant. It was a special skill to be able to
make those around you feel inferior using only the tone of your voice.
“Not a lot of tree climbing in your marriage?”
She shot me an annoyed look. “What do you think?”
I laughed. “Just don’t hurt yourself.”
“I won’t. I’m not stupid.” Elena tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You didn’t answer my
question.”
Her eyes held me to the spot. The color of mossy leaves after the spring rain hit, but with the same
viciousness as the eyes of a wolf.
“I am quite the early riser. Like yourself.”
She thinned her lips. “I’ve never seen you around the garden before at this hour.”
“I imagine it’s hard to see anyone when you’re dozing amongst the underbrush,” I told her.
Annoyance mixed with surprise crossed over her features. “You’re spying on me?”
“Of course not. But—” I pointed up towards the manor. “My study is right there. It is difficult to
miss you.”
Elena looked slightly embarrassed before she pulled her up chin, peering down at me as if I was a
bug that wouldn’t stop buzzing around her. Like I was something she needed to swat.
I wouldn’t mind being swatted by Elena. But only if I could swat back.
The thought caused me to smile slightly, the act only making her look angrier.
“Don’t you have anyone else to taunt, Konstantin?” she asked, but the usual fierceness behind the
question fell flat.
From the reddening of her cheeks and neck, I knew what thoughts had occupied her mind. That
conversation from the night of the ballet had been on my mind too, as had my taunt, my question.
You’re a scientist. Why don’t you test your hypothesis?
Inviting her to my bed… At the time, it had been an offer fueled by lust and that emerald colored
dress. I stood by it—I wanted Elena. I wanted Elena more than I had wanted anything in a long time.
Her refusal hadn’t been a surprise but the expression in her eyes afterwards had been.
It had confirmed a faint hope I’d held: Elena wanted me too.
The knowledge had done nothing good for my ego. Artyom had called me insufferable twice since I
realized.
But Elena wanted her freedom badly, and with Tatiana growing healthier by the minute, Elena was
closer than she had ever been before.
I wasn’t letting her go so easily.
I craved Elena’s body, craved it in a way that would terrify her. My dreams centered around her
wet, wanting sex, my teeth biting down into her flesh, her screams of pleasure echoing for hours.
But my desire for her body was nothing compared to how much I coveted her. Her mind, her
attention, her everything.
I wanted it all and I didn’t want to share. No more thoughts about Thaddeo, no longer Falcone as
her surname. Mine.
Careful, I remembeedr the Queen of Chicago had warned, after I’d asked the Rocchetti Don for
permission. Elena is not one to succumb. She can bite, too.
I was counting on it.
“So many,” I said. “Yet I keep coming back to you.”
She glared. “I take it Ainsworth hasn’t woken up yet.”
I had briefed all the women upon returning home from interrogating Edward Ainsworth. Roksana
was still shaken up about the attack, sucked back into the violent memories of her past. Elena had
made a few sarcastic comments before leaving.
But I had seen the flash of panic in her eyes, the memories. Identical to the look in Roksana’s eyes.
I hoped Thaddeo wasn’t growing too comfortable in Hell. Because when I arrived, I would spend
an eternity punishing him for hurting Elena.
“No, he hasn’t,” I answered honestly. Like always, there was a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “But
he belongs to Danika now.”
“That sounds terrifying,” she remarked.
I laughed softly. “It is.”
Elena broke our gaze, picking at her sweater. She wasn’t cleaning the leaves and dirt off it–instead
she was pulling at a loose piece of string. I was relieved to see her words had returned to her hands,
random thoughts that had overflowed from her brain throughout her day.
I caught only a few. Suspicion, unbalanced, enucleation.
“You gave me to Danika,” she accused.
 Danika had warned me that Elena had seen through her, understood what she was trying to do. I
wasn’t surprised; I had expected nothing less from her.
“You are the widow of the enemy.” The words were enough to irritate me.
“And that means I know all his secrets?” Her green eyes snapped back down to me. Some part of
her looked like she wanted to climb down from her niche and yell at me face to face, but she didn’t
move. Perhaps she preferred being taller for once. “Well?”
I shrugged. “Do you?”
“No. You know women in this world aren’t privy to their husband’s secrets.”
I didn’t bring up Danika—or Roksana and Tatiana. Instead, I asked, “Would you stay if they were?”
Elena’s entire body tensed. Her mind seemed to go a million miles an hour behind her eyes. I could
see her absorbing the question, calculating the answers and implications. She gripped her book so
hard her knuckles went white.
Her silence made me smile mockingly. “Ah, my empathetic girl, of course, you would.”
She scowled. “I’m not your anything, Konstantin.”
Not yet. “If you wish to stay after curing Tatiana, I could offer you a position. Not an interrogator
like Danika, but something else. How about our resident scientist? I’m sure Rifat would adore having
someone else with intellect around. I fear we bore him.”
Elena opened her mouth, then scowled and closed it again. Then she snapped, “I’m not staying.”
“It is up to you,” I replied. “What do you plan to do with your freedom?”
“Anything I want,” she said. “That’s what makes it so alluring. You can offer me all the jobs in the
world, but I am never going to serve a man ever again.”
“Who said anything about serving?”
Elena cut me a look. “Oh, please. Like I’ll be allowed to speak to you the way I do now if I work
for you. Sure, that’s going to stand.” She rolled her eyes like I was an idiot.
I cocked my eyebrow. Her fierce refusal didn’t hide the fact that for a second she had considered it.
I pressed a hand to the tree’s thick trunk. “Ah, but what are the hierarchies of man to a tree that has
stood for thousands of years?”
Elena sucked in a sharp breath, snapping her eyes down to me. I didn’t need to be telepathic to
know what she was thinking. Does he know? Surely not. How would he know? He couldn’t. What
does he know? Nothing.
In my own mind, my own questions were tumbling through. Will she figure it out? Or do I have a
little longer to enjoy my secret? My pride?
“Trees don’t have thoughts,” she said, the words heavy with confusion. “The hierarchies of man are
nothing to them.”
I smiled. “I thought you would say that.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Why, Konstantin?”
Before I could answer, a voice floated over the gardens, “Breakfast! Quick—before Roman steals
all the syrup!”

As soon as we entered the kitchen, Elena beelined for her usual spot, like she couldn’t bear to be in
my presence any longer. Her hands and feet were dirty from climbing trees, but nobody said anything.
Most mornings, Elena came into breakfast with some garden left on her, be it dirty feet or twigs
caught in her hair.
My attention moved from Elena as Tatiana swept into the room. Dmitri followed closely behind,
prepared to catch her if she needed it, but Tatiana didn’t. Her cheeks were flush, her eyes bright.
 Though she still didn’t look like her usual self, she did look healthy. Strong.
I kissed her cheek in greeting as we took our seats. “You look like you’re feeling better,” I said.
Tatiana nodded, smiling brightly. “I am, Kostya.”
Elena noticed her patient as well. “Have you been taking the dosage I prescribed?”
“Of course,” lilted Tatiana, her voice like music instead of croaky and phlegmy. She pressed an
affectionate hand to Elena’s head; Elena nearly snapped her neck trying to get out of it. “Thank you,”
she said softly.
“Don’t thank me,” Elena responded tightly.
The rest of the family came to sit down, including Anton, who took up position on Dmitri’s lap. His
mother feeling better meant his father was in a better mood—something Danika was convinced Anton
could sense.
I thought she might be onto something.
“Save some syrup for the rest of us, Roman,” Artyom scolded, taking the pitcher off him.
Roman scowled and tried to snatch the syrup back. “Start making more syrup if you all insist on
having some.”
“Just take less, Rom.” Danika pointed a fork at him. “If all of us drowned our waffles in syrup like
you, there’d be a national shortage.”
I caught Elena cracking a grin. The movement lit up her face, even her humor unable to hide from
her honest nature.
“Oh, ha ha,” Roman mocked. He tried to take the pitcher off Artyom again but my Obshchak
dodged easily and poured some onto his wife’s plate.
A loud thump caught our attention. Babushka pulled herself up onto the table, causing cries of
outrage. Her paw went straight into a plate of butter.
“Down, cat. This is the dining table,” Artyom warned, whereas Roksana tried a kinder approach,
“Oh no, darling, your food is over there…”
“Don’t look at my syrup, Babushka,” Roman threatened.
Anton cheered at the sight of Babushka, clapping his little hands together. “Baba! Baba!”
“No, no Baba,” Dmitri said. “She eats somewhere else.”
“Baba!” Anton shouted again.
Danika was closest and went to grab the cat, but Babushka was smarter. She leapt out of the way,
going straight over the plate of waffles.
Roman lunged out but Babushka knew him, too. She skidded across the table, taking down a glass
of orange juice. It spilled over the table, causing Roksana to shout and leap back, now soaked.
Artyom took it as a personal attack, reaching out to grab Babushka. He caught her fur, but the cat
moved too quickly for his hands.
I took a sip of my tea.
“A little help, Kostya,” Artyom hissed.
“If Babushka wants to eat at the table, she is more than welcome,” I laughed.
“Cats don’t eat at dining tables,” said Elena.
Artyom nodded in agreement.
When Babushka got near Tatiana, Tatiana reached out and caught the cat. Huge and furious in her
hands, Babushka instantly began to struggle, claws out.
“Sorry, Babushka!” Tatiana tried.
Babushka’s tail hit the pot of syrup, sending it pouring across the table. Tatiana gasped as Danika
cried out, allowing Babushka to slip out of her arms.
 Instead of hanging around to admire the damage she had done, the cat leapt to the ground and darted
out of the room.
I could’ve sworn she looked proud.
“The syrup,” Danika moaned. “Roman, you have to share now.”
“I’m doing no such thing.” He licked the pool of syrup on his plate, earning him exclaims of
disgust. “See? I licked it. It’s mine.”
Danika took her spoon to his plate, scooped up some syrup and stuck it directly in her mouth. She
gave him a ha ha look and sat back down in her seat, licking the spoon clean. “I’m not scared of your
cooties, Roman,” she threatened. “Pass around the syrup.”
“I don’t want it if he’s licked it,” Tatiana said.
Dmitri nodded. “God knows where that tongue’s been.”
Tatiana pressed hands to her son’s ears, giving her husband a warning look. He grinned—even
Dmitri’s shows of humor were frosty and cutting—and mouthed an apology to his wife. Anton peered
up at his mother, confused.
“Did Daddy say a bad word?” he asked.
“He did, my boy,” Tatiana fussed. “He has to say sorry now.”
Dmitri shot her a look but couldn’t help the smile that grew up his face. “My sincerest apologies.”
She smiled. “Mmm.”
Roman took a bite of his syrup-soaked waffle and made a show of enjoying it.
“There is some honey in the pantry,” Roksana said, rising to her feet.
“Roman can get it,” Artyom said gruffly.
Roman sighed but did as he was told.
As soon as he left, Danika grabbed his plate and held it out to us. “Anyone want any syrup?”
Everybody shook their heads.
“Suit yourselves.” She poured some onto her plate before returning Roman’s breakfast to his seat.
Roman returned with the honey and knew immediately. “Really, Dani? Next time, I’m spitting in it.”
“Adds nutrients,” she reasoned. “Doesn’t it, Elena?”
Elena snorted. She had opted not to have any of Roman’s saliva-covered syrup. “No. But it might
make you sick.”
“Why aren’t you on my team?” Danika whined, but her eyes were bright with humor. “If you’re on
Roman’s team now, I’m going to shoot you.” She finished her threat off by taking a bite of a
strawberry tart.
“Ugh, if I ever agree with Roman, I’ll shoot myself.”
Roman bared his teeth at Elena. She returned the gesture.
Artyom passed Elena the honey. “For agreeing cats don’t eat at dining tables,” he said at her
questioning look.
Roksana glanced between the two. Not with jealousy, but with curiosity. I found myself doing the
same thing.
Artyom wasn’t a huge fan of Elena—in fact, he saw her as a threat to his family and Pakhan. Him
offering her some honey wasn’t quite acceptance into his good graces, but it wasn’t nothing.
Perhaps Dmitri had been wrong when he said it was the women growing attached. Maybe more of
us were, too.
Breakfast continued without another attack from Babushka. Despite the bickering, there were no
more fights, except when Danika brought up the syrup for a second time. But Roman and Danika were
usually at each other’s throats. It would be a weird day if they weren’t.
 Artyom checked his phone as empty plates were stacked for washing, and his expression tightened.
I had known Artyom since we were infants; I knew his moods and emotions as well as I knew my
own.
I gestured my hand out for the phone and he passed it to me. Roksana tried to peer at the screen as
he did. Her face whitened as she read the words.
It was a message from one of his scouts.
Hell’s Henchmen Old Lady found dead this morning. Teeth removed post-mortem.
The phone creaked in my grip as my hand tightened around it.
“Everything okay?” It was Elena who asked.
I looked over to her, feeling my hand relax. She peered at me, brow furrowed. She looked
surprised at herself for asking.
“No,” I said. She blinked. “Meeting in my study in five. Artyom, with me, now. Dmitri, call Olezka
and Feodor.”
Anton waved to me as I strode out, “Bye bye, Uncle Kostya.”
Holding back my temper for a few seconds, I ruffled his hair in goodbye. Anton deserved a few
more years of innocence.
Even if innocence was impossible for anyone with the blood of the Tarkhanov Bratva in their
veins.
 16
Elena Falcone

This was wrong.

Morally, what I was about to do was incorrect. It was everything my Sunday School preacher had
warned me from doing. What every lesson about ethics given by my guardians and teachers had
cautioned against.
I stopped outside her door, breathing deeply.
It doesn’t make any sense, I told myself. You need to see if your theory is correct.
You need to know if you’re in danger.
I knocked softly.
“Come in, Elena,” Tatiana called. She sounded strong, healthy.
I took another deep breath and stepped into her room. She was leaning against the bed on the floor,
playing trains with Anton. Anton smiled up at me as I entered, holding out a blue train for me to
admire.
“Very nice,” I told him. “Is that your favorite?”
He nodded excitedly.
Tatiana caressed her rounding stomach and smiled at me. “Have you come to deliver some more
magic potion?”
I nodded and crouched down in front of her. “How are you feeling?”
“Amazing,” she said. “I felt strong enough to take Anton for a walk this morning. We went and
played on the swings, didn’t we, my darling?”
Anton nodded, talking rapidly about how exciting the sandpit and monkey bars had been.
I pulled the small tonic out of my pocket. Do not reveal anything, I instructed my face as I passed
it to Tatiana. “If you keep getting better this quick, we might be able to put you on a smaller dosage.”
“That would be nice,” she laughed. “I am getting sick of mixing it with tea. There is only so much
tea a girl can drink, you know?”
I nodded, forcing a smile of agreement. “I do.”
Tatiana didn’t inspect the tonic too closely. It looked identical to the other one.
“I have to go and sort out the library, but I’ll be back to check on you later,” I said.
Both the mother and son waved me goodbye, before going back to the game of trains. I hovered
outside the room, listening to the jubilant chatter, before leaving.
I wished I had confronted her, or not been so suspicious. Some part of me wished I had enough
courage to seek out the answer without tricks and deceptions.
I was too calculating to be brave.
It was a fact I had known about myself since I was a child.
I had learnt it about myself as I had watched my father collapse to the ground after drinking his
finest whiskey. As he had clutched his heart and struggled to live, I had realized at my core I wasn’t
valiant or fearless.
 Instead I was intelligent and calculating and heartless.
Too calculating to be brave, I mouthed to myself. There was no point being angry at myself—it
was those very attributes of mine that had kept me alive so long.
I yearned for the lab in that moment. I wanted to create something, act like an alchemist or botanist
or chemist. But…I was growing too close to the lab. I knew everyone there, what all the equipment
was. Even the time and fundamentals of the heroin deliveries.
I was growing too close. Much too close.
Don’t worry, Elena, I told myself. Once they find out what you’re doing to Tatiana, they won’t be
so happy to let you in.

When I reached the library, I spotted a form hunched over a desk near the back. Beneath the dusty
light, Roman sat, leaning on a hand and scowling at the open book in front of him. Babushka laid on
her back beside him, napping in a spot of sun.
He swore suddenly in Russian, the sound disrupting my usually quiet library.
“What are you doing?”
Roman snapped his head to me. His deep blue eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what you’re doing here,” I remarked. “I thought my question made that pretty
obvious.”
He bared his teeth. “This is my home.”
“The library or that table in particular?” Rationally, I knew Roman was dangerous—Konstantin
wouldn’t keep him so close if he wasn’t. But I couldn’t help but pluck and pick at his vulnerable flesh
and nerves.
In response, Roman rose to his feet, fists clenching and unclenching. “Piss off,” he snapped. “I
don’t have time for your bullshit.”
I moved closer to him, eyeing the book.
He covered the pages with a tattooed hand. But it was too late, I had taken in enough of the contents
to decipher what he was reading about.
“I didn’t know you were a sucker for bodice rippers, Roman,” I grinned. Oh, this was good. This
was too good.
“I’m not,” he growled, expression fierce in embarrassment and anger.
I couldn’t help my smirk. “Do you even know how to read it?”
“Don’t need to know how to,” Roman mocked. “I can actually get good sex. Unlike your ass.”
“I’m not the one reading bodice rippers,” I muttered, my temper rising with his comment. “And
how could you possibly know I’m not having good sex?”
He grinned. “So, you finally gave in to Kostya? Dmitri owes me 20 bucks.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I am not having sex with Konstantin.” I’m thinking about it.
Roman didn’t need to know that.
His eyebrows rose. “Then you ain’t having sex.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” He slumped back down into his chair, eyes bright with smugness. “No one would dare touch
you. Kostya would kill them.”
“Oh, please, give me a break,” I muttered. “How did my sex life come up? You’re the one reading
about it.” I leaned over, catching a sentence. “His pulsing member filled her—”
Roman slammed the book close.
I smirked. “I hope you’re not using that book as a guide for Danika.”
 “No!” His fast response made my eyebrows rise.
“God forbid you ever have to be on the witness stand, Roman. You’re a terrible liar.” I dropped
down into the chair in front of him. Babushka lifted her tail in greeting. “Did that book tell you to stop
being such a dick? She might like you more then.”
“Now you’re the expert? That’s rich.” He snorted. “You didn’t shed a tear when your husband was
killed.”
“I’m sure Danika won’t a shed a tear when you’re killed either.” I grinned nastily.
“You don’t know anything about Dani and I.”
I shrugged. “I know more than you think.”
This time he returned my nasty smile. “And I know more about Konstantin and you then you do.”
“Nothing I care about, I’m sure.”
He shrugged. “Guess you’ll never know.”
“Guess so,” I gritted out. “And I guess you’ll never know how to read. Unless you let me teach
you.”
As soon as the offer—albeit covered in insults—was out of my mouth, surprise stroked through me.
I hadn’t considered teaching Roman but apparently my subconscious had other ideas.
The word decent came to mind.
It wasn’t one I had thought of before.
Roman narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Rightfully so. I wasn’t even sure why I had offered. “Why
would you do that?”
“It’s an offer.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder uncaringly. “Take it or leave it.”
“You gonna teach me the right words?” he asked.
I frowned. “What?”
“The correct words,” he emphasized. “You won’t teach me that penis means hello or something?
I’ll kill you.”
“No, I’m not going to do that. I’m not an idiot,” I told him. “In fact, we won’t even talk about it.
The only time we can talk about it is in here.”
Roman narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want your good deeds spread around the halls?”
No, not at all. Mainly because I wasn’t a hundred percent sure it was a good deed. What did good
deeds feel like?
If they were this ambiguous, then how did anyone know if they were doing a good deed? Where
was that fulfilled feeling everyone talked about?
“No. So keep it to yourself.”
“As long as you do the same.” Roman pushed the bodice-ripper over to me. “Alright, so teach me,
oh great one.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’ll start with Anton’s books.”
He huffed but didn’t argue.
It wasn’t until I forced him to write out words on a piece of paper, only simple ones: walk, talk,
hello, goodbye, that he threw his pen and snapped. “Don’t you want to know why I can’t read?”
“I don’t really care.” Not true, I was actually quite curious. But a conversation with Danika could
clear that all up. I didn’t need to pester Roman for it.
Roman scanned my expression, searching for some sliver of mistruth. When he didn’t find it, he
remarked, “You really don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you?”
“Who would I care about?” The question sounded less sad in my head. Out loud, it almost sounded
like a plea hidden beneath a barbed retort.
 “Your husband,” he ventured.
A memory shattered through my mind like a wrecking ball. I could see Thaddeo’s furious eyes, feel
his grip, the screaming—
I shook my head, clearing my mind. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
Roman nodded. “Some people don’t deserve to be cared about,” he agreed, and turned back to his
words. Something about conversation had settled him somewhat and he picked up his pen, ready to
begin again. After a few seconds, he said, “Kostya cares about a lot of people. He said every good
king does.”
“I’m not a king so how does that apply to me?” I folded a children’s book out in front of Roman. It
was a colorful story about a dog trying to find his way home. Childish, hopeful, easy to read. “Start
from the top.”
He didn’t follow my instruction. Roman leaned back in his chair, watching me. “I was fifteen.”
I frowned. “That is not what the book says.”
He ignored me. “I was fifteen when Konstantin found me. Street kid. Orphaned. Raised in the
gutters of Moscow, if you will.”
I leaned back in my own chair. “Orphaned?”
“I think so. Or maybe my parents are still alive, running around smoking and snorting whatever they
can get their hands on. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they weren’t there,” Roman said. “It
was just me, my desire to live and my empty stomach.” Looking back, he seemed amused, but I
doubted that was how he felt at the time.
“Did Konstantin seek you out?”
He laughed roughly. “No, I tried to rob him.”
“Tried?” I tried to force down my amusement, but it was no use. “Did he try to kill you?”
“Nope.” Roman looked out the window, thoughtfully. “He spared my life. Even bought me some
food and a blanket.”
“Then how did you become his byki?”
He smiled, flashing teeth. “Well, after that, let’s just say I was a little protective of my benefactor.
When another kid tried to rob him, I smashed their arm into the ground. Konstantin hired me on the
spot. Said I had a natural talent for noticing threats and disposing of them.”
“Heartwarming,” I muttered.
“I would do anything for Kostya,” he said. “He is the Pakhan of the century. Shit, of the
millennium. He will lead the Bratva into a new age.”
I scowled. “You sound like you’re part of a cult.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe you are. It doesn’t matter. This is my life; this is your life. And in this life,
there are pakhans and there are byki. I am byki and Kostya is Pakhan.”
“Are those the only two positions?” I asked.
Roman’s eyes gleamed ferally. “No. No, they aren’t.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why?
Thinking of sending in your resume? I recommend robbing him instead.”
“Hilarious,” I bitched. “No. I’m just asking. Or is the only job a woman can have a wife.”
“You’ve met Danika, Roksana and Tatiana. I’ll let you decide that for yourself.” Roman rocked
back on the hindlegs of his chair. He scowled back at the words. “Reading sucks.”
“No, it doesn’t. You might even like it.” I tapped the bodice ripper he had been looking at earlier
that we had tossed to the side. Babushka had claimed it as a makeshift pillow. “I’m sure Konstantin
will let you buy all the erotica you want.”
Roman huffed. “He’s good like that.”
 That caused me to smile. I quickly tried to hide my reaction but Roman caught it. He mocked
shocked.
“The aloof and unfeeling Elena Falcone can smile?”
Instead of replying, my mind flashed back to Konstantin’s words.
When you laugh, the sun rises in your eyes.
I could still feel his finger tracing my collarbone, still smell his scent as he stood so close, still
hear the ringing timbre of his voice in my ears—
“What did he do?” Roman’s rough voice cut through the memory.
“Who?” It was a stupid question. We both knew who.
“The Pakhan,” he said. “I know that look in your eyes. You’ve got the look of a woman who’s been
seduced by Konstantin.”
I tensed. “I haven’t been seduced by Konstantin. And I certainly do not have the look of a woman
who has been.”
“Don’t sound so jealous,” Roman mused. “I’ve never seen him as interested in a woman as he is
with you.”
“Thanks,” I said coldly. I couldn’t help my brain going into a frenzy. Was Konstantin interested in
me? Was he thinking about me the same way I was about him?
Get a grip, I told myself. You’re not a teenage girl and Konstantin is not the boy next door. He is
a Russian Mob Boss for God’s sake!
“You should be proud.” He grinned widely. “So, what did he do to you? Shower you with
expensive jewels? Dine you on top of the Empire State building?”
“No.”
Delight flared in Roman’s eyes. “He wrote you a poem—or killed your childhood bully and made a
necklace out of his bones for you?”
“Are you sick in the head?” I demanded.
“Definitely but that’s a common trait around here,” he laughed. “He did none of that? Okay, okay.
Clearly my man is bringing the big guns…. let’s think…Did he hire out the entire theater and escort
you to a private show?”
“Nothing like that,” I gritted out.
Roman shook his head. “Then I’m flummoxed. What did he do to seduce you?”
“Nothing. Because I haven’t been seduced.” I smiled coldly. “Just like Danika.”
“Dani and I have our own stuff,” he scowled at me. “Years of history you don’t know about.”
“I know enough,” I retorted. “I know you’ve never made a move—and that you pretend to hate her.
Because that’s better than her not seeing you at all.”
Roman slammed the pen onto the table and shot to his feet. I knew I had hit the nail on the head.
“You think you—”
“Stop fighting.”
We both turned our heads towards the commanding tone. Konstantin had stepped into the library,
hands in pockets and looking relaxed. Even Babushka lifted her head to greet him.
“I could hear you two bickering from the end of the hallway,” he greeted. “Like siblings.”
Roman made an angry noise low in his throat.
While he had Konstantin’s attention, I slipped the paper Roman had been practicing on beneath the
stack of books.
“Roman was intruding on my library time,” I recounted.
“Ah, well, I’m afraid I must do the same thing, Elena,” Konstantin said. “The President of the
Hell’s Henchmen MC has requested a meeting.”
 17
Elena Falcone

Before my very eyes, I watched as Konstantin became the Pakhan of Staten Island. The Russian
Gentleman. The man who’d choked his father to death at the tender age of fifteen.
I could only stare as we stepped down onto the runway.
Konstantin always had some commanding way to himself, even in the casual mornings at family
breakfast. Even when he scooped his nephew up, throwing him over his shoulders like a monkey.
But here…that command he weaponized came out full force. He seemed to stand taller, look
scarier. Even his tie seemed to be glowing in warning: I killed my father, it seemed to say, imagine
what I’ll do to you.
Konstantin wasn’t the only one who seemed to shed away his civilization.
Artyom grew harsher, Roman grew meaner, Dmitri grew colder. They changed into the Russian
mobsters they were, the bloodthirsty Vory who tore apart the Falcone empire and rebuilt their own in
its void.
The sun had just begun to rise over the airport hangar, clearing the mist that blew over the runways.
A crisp breeze blew over us, ruffling hair and stimulating goosebumps.
“It will be a cold winter,” Artyom remarked. His voice cut through the silence.
“Indeed,” Konstantin agreed, his voice turning into white fog in the open air.
Roman scanned the area, eyes dark. “ETA is three minutes away.” He glanced back at the private
jet we had departed from. “Would you rather wait in the plane, Boss?”
Konstantin shook his head. “There is no danger, Roman.” He slipped his hands into his pockets.
“Not yet, anyway.”
Then, beyond the mist, a faint rumble began to form. It grew louder and louder as they drew nearer,
their engines echoing throughout the airport. The sound reminded me of the roar of a dinosaur, low
and threatening.
Konstantin’s men fanned out, some disappearing into the shadows, while others formed a wall
around their Pakhan. They rested their hands on their guns, prepared at a moment’s notice to protect
their king.
I buried myself further into my coat.
Konstantin caught the movement. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
He smiled slightly, breaking his terrifying mask for only a second, before turning forward once
again.
Then, through the fog, shapes began to form. Sleek, dark motorcycles rolled forward, their engines
so loud I couldn’t hear my thoughts. They parked themselves in what looked like a random order, but I
knew it was purposeful. Protect the king was a common mindset, it seemed.
Men dismounted their bikes. Their husky voices blended together, making it hard to pick out a
single sentence. All of them wore leather vests, decorated with emblems and words I didn’t know.
 A single man stepped out from the crowd. He had a long gray beard, paired with dark sunglasses
and an impressive beer gut. In small writing on his vest I could make out the word President.
“Tarkhanov,” the man greeted, his voice rough.
Konstantin bowed his head in greeting. “Hatchet.”
Hatchet slipped off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of inquisitive brown eyes. His skin might be
sun damaged, his beard and hair unruly, but intelligence was obvious in his expression.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
“You too.” Compared to Hatchet’s rough exterior, Konstantin looked just the more terrifying.
“Though it is under sad circumstances.”
Hatchet snorted in agreement. “Damn right.” He gestured to a few other men. “My VP, Jaguar, and
Road Captain, Mad Dog.”
Jaguar had shocking green eyes. They contrasted against his olive skin and inky black hair like
specks of electricity, whereas Mad Dog resembled his President, with the same worn features and
overgrown hair. They both nodded in greeting.
“Gentlemen,” Konstantin noted. He bowed his head towards Artyom. “My security advisor,
Artyom Fattakhov, and Ms Falcone.”
I wasn’t surprised he hadn’t introduced Dmitri and Roman. I was more surprised he had taken the
time to introduce me.
I tried to keep the shock off my face, but I couldn’t stop myself from turning to assess his
expression, to try and gather a single hint about what was working on in his brain. Had he done it to
unsettle the gang? Or to unsettle me?
Why had he said Ms Falcone instead of Mrs Falcone?
“Nice to meet you all,” Hatchet said. My attention moved from Konstantin to the biker. “Let’s talk
business.”
“As we came to do. Your woman?”
“Flowerpot.” He rubbed his mouth. “Or, well, Bethany Norden. She was my Treasurer’s wife.”
Behind him, a few of the men shifted on their feet. Uncomfortable.
“How did it happen?” Konstantin inquired. I was certain he already knew, he just wanted to hear it
again.
Hatchet didn’t look pleased as he said, “We found her in her kitchen, beaten to death. Her teeth
were removed…” His brow furrowed in a flash of fury. “Cowards probably snuck up on her.
Flowerpot wouldn’t have let anybody in the house; she wasn’t stupid.”
“Did anybody see anything strange?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Most of the club was on a ride. Annual Halloween drive. And none of
the other Old Ladies saw anything.”
Konstantin cast his eyes into the distance, expression almost thoughtful. “I see.”
“Heard you have some bastard,” Hatchet said. His eyes briefly darted to me. “Rumor is that some
of your women were attacked.”
“We do have a man by the name of Edward Ainsworth,” Konstantin said. “He is a low-level
player, however. He works for a man named Titus—does that name ring any bells?”
Hatchet shook his head. “None.” He turned to his men. “Anything?”
They all shook their heads, but the one he called Jaguar said, “It is the name of a Roman Emperor,
Prez.”
“So, most likely not his given name,” Hatchet agreed. He turned back to Konstantin. “Has Edward
said much?”
 “Other than devoted ravings for his master, no,” Konstantin said.
“It was just one man?”
Konstantin smiled faintly. “There was another. A man by the name of Viktor Eristov, Vik to his
friends.” He gestured to me. “However, Ms Falcone killed him.”
The biker’s assessed me again, trying to see the murderer in me. I glared back at them. I wasn’t
some bug to be inspected beneath a microscope.
“How’d you manage that?” Hatchet asked, almost warily. Like I was a second away from attacking
and killing him, also.
“I poked his eyes out.”
Konstantin’s teeth flash in delight as the bikers shifted once again. This time they weren’t
uncomfortable, but wary. Watchful.
Why Konstantin had invited me to this meeting was beginning to make a lot more sense.
Faint fury sparked low in my gut. How dare he bring me out here to hold me up like a wild pet?
Here is Ms Falcone, our resident enucleation expert. Watch out or she’ll take your eyes, too.
Maybe I’ll take yours, Konstantin. I drilled my eyes into the side of his head like I was sending
my threat telepathically.
His eyes slid to me briefly, brows rising ever so slightly, before he looked back to the biker
President. “Condolences for your loss, Hatchet,” he said.
“I don’t want your condolences, Tarkhanov,” retorted the biker. “I want revenge.”
This time, Konstantin did smile. There was nothing charming about it; it was pure animalistic
understanding. One alpha to another.
“And you shall have it,” he assured. “A gift from me to you.”
Hatchet grinned, teeth flashing through his beard like fangs of a wolf. “See, boys?” He looked back
to his men. “That’s a good fucking gift.”
Faint chuckles rang throughout the bikers.
“I’ll give you one, too, Tarkhanov,” Hatchet said. “We’ve heard rumors that an Italian kingpin in
Maine has set his sights on New York.”
Interest flashed in Konstantin’s eyes. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been looking for it.
“You seem to hear a lot of rumors, Hatchet,” he said.
“I ride with the wind, and she carries many secrets with her,” the President replied.
“So, it seems,” Konstantin remarked. He bowed his head to the biker, “Until next time.”
Konstantin didn’t turn his back to the bikers until they were out of sight, their engines roaring in the
growing dawn. We headed back to the plane when it grew silent.
Slowly, Konstantin’s men came back to us, standing protectively as Konstantin walked to the plane.
“After you,” he murmured.
As I ascended into the plane, I felt Konstantin behind me. His presence followed me up, his stare
burning into my backside. Shivers skidded down my neck and spine. I almost tripped on the stairs.
The word wanton formed in my mind.

The dim lamp illuminated the stacks of books in front of me, shadows dancing in the corners and
crevices. The only sounds were the whistles of the wind and rub of novel covers.
Alone. Quiet.
Just how I liked it.
For days now, I had been making my way through the library. I had categorized and logged until the
alphabet was constantly repeating in my mind. Sorted by genre and surnames, this library was slowly
becoming my greatest achievement. In my humble opinion, it could rival the Bodleian.
Soft footfalls caused me to turn my head to the side. “Danika?”
“Not Danika.” Konstantin stepped out from the bookshelves, shadows dancing over his features as
he prowled towards me.
I sat up straighter. “What are you doing here?”
He crouched down, his blazing eyes rooting me in place. “You’ve been avoiding me. Why.” It
wasn’t a question, more like a demand.
I looked back down to the books. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“Liar.”
The growl of his tone made me look back up. “I’ve been busy, Konstantin,” I said matter-of-factly.
“I’ve been trying to help Tatiana and sort out this library.”
His eyebrow rose. “Is that so? Tatiana is better; the library—” He gestured an arm around the
room. “Is almost complete.”
“Those tasks happened because I was avoiding you,” I mocked. “And Tatiana is not better.”
“Funny. I would’ve thought you’d have taken the first chance to declare Tatiana as healthy as a
horse and made a run for it.” He assessed me.
I didn’t like looking into his eyes. I was afraid he might see something I didn’t want him to.
“I don’t leave work unfinished.”
There was a flicker of knowing in his expression. “No, you do not,” he agreed. “Speaking of
Tatiana, Dmitri wants to know if she is better yet.”
Do not reveal anything. “I haven’t found the underlying cause for her illness.” Do not reveal
anything. “Her good health right now is temporary.” Do not reveal anything. “I’ll let both you and
Dmitri know when I find it out.”
Konstantin inclined his head but did not rise to leave. His eyes caught my hand suddenly, the depths
of them darkening hungrily. “Wanton,” he read.
I resisted the urge to hide my hand. It would only make me look guilty.
“It’s a word,” I snapped. “It is defined as being sexually unrestrained or having many casual
relationships. Of which I am neither.”
A grin stretched over his face. “Why did you write that word on yourself then?”
Because of you. The words grew up my throat, ready to burst out. But I couldn’t. There were too
many tangles and snares, too many consequences.
If he had you, he would never let you go, Elena, I warned myself. Men like Konstantin do not let
their women go.
I shifted my hair over my shoulder, lifting up my chin. “What business is it of yours? You’re not my
husband.”
Something shifted in his expression. “No, I’m not. You appear to be out of husbands these days.”
“Thanks to you,” I snapped.
“Your husband...” Konstantin’s attention grew more intense. “The key. We still haven’t found it. We
have torn apart the Falcone mansion, and still it remains hidden.”
“Not my problem.”
Konstantin leaned closer, capturing all my attention. The smell of him was overwhelming. “Oh,
Elena,” he caressed my name in his mouth, as intimate as a lover, “I think it will be.”
He has no idea, I thought to myself.
“Thaddeo didn’t tell me anything. Including where he kept his precious items.”
“You see, you keep saying that, Elena, but each time you do...” Konstantin’s finger reached out,
stroking my cheek ever so gently. “I see the lie in your eyes. The secrets.”
I swallowed. “There are no secrets in my eyes.”
A slow smile it up his face. There was nothing charming or friendly about it—it was the smile of a
cat who had caught a mouse by the tail. “And you pride yourself on honesty,” he murmured.
“And survival,” I retorted. “I pride myself on honesty and survival.”
“You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Key or no.” Konstantin’s finger dropped from my
cheek, catching strands of my hair before pulling away. “Is that why you won’t say? You fear for your
life.” Anger flashed over his face, warping his features momentarily.
Thaddeo’s eyes flashed in my mind, his hand reaching out and bruising my skin. The pain had been
like nothing I had ever felt before it. It had followed me day and night, to doctor appointments and the
chiropractor—
“Elena?” Konstantin’s voice disrupted the memories. His hand came up, cupping my cheek. I
couldn’t move away, couldn’t resist the comforting warmth. “No one will ever hurt you again.”
The soft fury to his voice reminded me who he was. He wasn’t some charming gentleman who
listened to my opinions and valued my intellect, who laughed at my sarcastic remarks. He was the
Pakhan of the Tarkhanov Bratva, the man who killed his father with his own necktie before he turned
sixteen.
I pulled back, his hand dropping. My heart cried out at the loss of contact, but I ignored it.
“I won’t say because I don’t know where your precious key is,” I snapped. “Bother someone else.”
His eyes scanned my face. “That key is more important than you know,” he warned. “If someone
gets their hands on it before us, they could cause a lot of danger.”
I met his eyes. “I don’t care.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “No. Of course you don’t.” His head cocked slightly to the side.
“You don’t care about a lot, do you, my Elena?”
I opened my mouth, ready to snap back at being his, when a soft little voice spoke out, “Auntie
Lena? Uncle Kostya?”
We both turned, startled, to see little Anton standing a few meters away from us. He was dressed
for bed, his hair ruffled and his teddy bear hanging limply from his hand. Sitting by his ankles,
annoyed and pissed, was Babushka.
“Anton,” Konstantin turned his attention to his nephew. “What are you doing awake?”
Anton rubbed his eyes. “Monsters,” he grumbled.
“Ah, of course,” Konstantin agreed. “Is your mama or daddy awake?”
He shook his head.
“How about we go back to sleep, yes?” Konstantin rose to his feet. He glanced at me to say this
conversation isn’t over.
Yes, it is, I glared back.
He gestured to his nephew. “Come on, Anton. I’ll tuck you in.”
Anton’s bright blue eyes peered at me. “Auntie Lena?”
“Auntie Lena is working,” Konstantin reasoned.
His chubby cheeks puckered in fury. “Auntie Lena, please.” He stretched out a little hand, wiggling
his fingers. “Story?”
I pursed my lips, ignoring Konstantin’s eyes on me. “Of course. One story.” It was the least I could
do for this little boy.
Anton stretched his arms up for Konstantin, who scooped him up easily. He laid his head on the
Pakhan’s chest, his dark hair contrasting like crow feathers against Konstantin’s white button down.
 I followed them out of the library, only to have Anton stretch out a hand.
“Do you want to hold Auntie Lena’s hand?” Konstantin shot me a look, eyebrows raised. Are you
really going to deny the sleepy toddler? he asked.
I shot him a glare. Of course not. “Here you go.” I held his hand gently. Anton’s grip tightened, not
willing to let me and the chance of his bedtime story slip away.
We moved throughout the halls, Anton dozing on Konstantin’s chest and holding my hand as I
trailed behind them. Even Babushka followed, keeping her watchful distance.
Anton’s room was one of the finished areas of the house. His small bed was in the shape of a race
car, and toys littered a tire-shaped mat. Green stars glowed on the ceiling, paired with the crescent-
moon nightlight beside his bed. How he could sleep with it being so bright was beyond me.
Konstantin laid Anton into bed, wrapping the blanket around him. “Give me Teddy—thank you.”
He tucked Anton’s teddy in beside him. “It is time to go to bed now, Anton.”
Anton nodded, smiling sleepily. Despite his exhaustion, he hadn’t forgotten I had promised a
bedtime story and turned his head to me expectantly. “Story?”
I grabbed one of his favorites and sat down beside the bed. The bed was too close to the ground to
sit on a chair.
Anton twisted his head to get a better view and I held up the book. Babushka leaped up onto a toy
box and surveyed the three of us with her beady eyes.
I looked at Konstantin. You can leave now.
He shook his head, smiling. No.
“Start, please, Auntie Lena,” Anton murmured.
“Of course.” I cleared my throat and flicked to the first page. Konstantin’s attention did nothing to
settle my nerves. “Once upon a time...”
Through the entire story, Konstantin remained. Perhaps he didn’t trust me alone with Anton or
maybe he just wanted to see me read about talking cars and bears. Whatever the reason, he leaned
against the back wall, eyes trained on me the entire time.
It wasn’t until Anton’s breathing deepened and he began to snore, that Konstantin murmured, “For
someone who doesn’t believe she is a caring person, you are very empathetic.”
I didn’t respond. Konstantin didn’t know everything about me and if he did, he would probably be
saying something very different.
Something more along the lines of selfish, calculating bitch.
 18
Konstantin Tarkhanov

Natasha’s face filled the screen, her eyes, identical to mine, already bright in amusement. She had
swept her blonde hair into buns on either side of her head and was still dressed in her school uniform.
Her hand was outstretched, with a huge tarantula resting in the cup of her palm.
“Meet Evgeni,” was the first thing she said.
I smiled. “After my father?”
“I know one hundred Evgenis,” she replied, “and not all of them are named after Dedulya.”
“Is this one?”
Natasha brought the spider up close to her face. “Yes, he is. He kind of looks like him, don’t you
think?”
“Hairy, eight eyes and legs?”
“Exactly,” she laughed.
I laughed as well. “Well, then in that case, they are a spitting image of each other.”
“Try not to kill this one,” she remarked, batting her eyes at me.
“I am thousands of miles away, Natasha. This Evgeni is safe.”
Natasha smiled and rested her chin on her fist, managing to get closer to the spider. No fear
flickered across her expression; my niece was a bug and reptile fanatic. The number of times my
brother had been required to remove poisonous snakes and spiders from her room was infinite.
“How is the Big Apple?” she inquired. “What is it the Americans say... Have your dreams been
made of?”
“Indeed. Staten Island belongs to the Tarkhanov Bratva now.”
Delight flared in her eyes. “I always knew you would succeed,” she said. “So did your brothers.
That’s why they’re so scared of you.”
“That’s why they’re scared of you, too.”
Natasha nodded, not surprised. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. “Papa has been rather
tense lately,” she said. “Something is happening. He won’t let Mama or I leave the house, not even to
go into the garden.”
“You have not been told?”
“Obviously.”
I rose my brows at her tone. Natasha may be queen one day, but right now she was still my niece
and would speak with respect.
Natasha twirled a curl around her finger. “May I please know?” Her tone had softened
considerably, polite instead of sarcastic.
“Of course.” I leaned back in my chair, glancing briefly out the window. The sun would rise soon,
bringing with it another day of intrigue and violence. And Elena. “Women associated with criminal
organizations are being killed. A La Cosa Nostra wife, an Irish Mob wife, a Corsican Union daughter,
a Cartel granddaughter and now a motorcycle club Old Lady.”
 Her doe-like eyes flickered, her young age showing momentarily. “Am I in danger?”
“No. Your father will keep you safe. So far, the threat is only in the States.”
“Oh. Are you sure?” Natasha’s forehead furrowed.
“Of course.” I scanned her features for any sign I should stop telling her. But my niece nodded for
me to go on. “Their teeth were removed post-mortem.”
Her nostrils flared. “Teeth? Oh, how disgusting.”
“Says the girl holding a tarantula.”
“Evgeni is not disgusting,” she sniffed.
“No, he just has eight eyes,” I replied.
Natasha frowned at the joke. She took her bugs very seriously, including all jokes made about them.
But she didn’t defend Evgeni’s honor. Instead, she asked, “Have any of the teeth been found?”
I blinked at her question. “Why do you ask?”
Natasha held up Evgeni, leveling their eyes together. His little [S7]legs rose but didn’t touch her.
“Removing teeth is not a mafia thing,” she noted. “But it is a psychopath thing. If you found some
teeth, perhaps it would then be a mafia thing.”
“What makes you say that?”
“A serial killer would keep the teeth as trophies. They wouldn’t lose any. The mafia would make a
public symbol of them,” Natasha said. “I think you have a serial killer on your hands.”
“As do I. And the other kings of New York.”
Natasha lowered Evgeni, her eyes wandering away in thought. Behind her, I could make out the
interior of her bedroom, including the large aquarium which housed her beloved python, Anna
Karenina. I had chosen the name for the snake; Natasha had never loved me more.
“Isn’t that what happened to that housekeeper?” Natasha asked.
I scoured my brain for any mention of a toothless housekeeper but came up with nothing. “What do
you mean?”
“I...” Her lips pressed together in thought. “It was over a decade ago now...even longer. I
remember coming home from school and my nanny was talking to her friend about it on the phone.
Some woman’s teeth were removed—I think she died from blood loss. Or pain.”
Nothing about that story rang a bell. But by then I would’ve been building up my small empire on
the streets of Moscow, not bothering myself with the gossip of nannies and deaths of unrelated
women.
Perhaps I should have.
“Do you remember anything else?”
“No. But I’ll give Nanny Anya a call.” Natasha linked her hands together, allowing Evgeni to cross
her fingers like a bridge. His orange and black striped legs stretched out as he traveled. “Maybe I
imagined it.”
I doubted it. “That would be very helpful if you did,” I said. “Any hint as to who is doing this
would be a welcomed gift.”
Natasha’s eyes darted to me. “You don’t know who is doing this?”
“No. We captured one of the attackers...a man by the name of Edward Ainsworth. He claims his
master, Titus, is behind all of the attacks and untouchable.”
“Nobody is untouchable. Especially for my uncle,” she replied. “What has Ainsworth said?”
“Nothing.” I felt my molars grit together but kept my expression smooth. My niece didn’t need to
see my blinding anger. “But Danika will get something out of him soon.”
Natasha stroked Evgeni’s back softly. “Auntie Danika can get anything out of anyone,” she said
with affection and knowing. “How did you get this Ainsworth? I doubt he just handed himself in.”
Anger stirred low in my gut as I remembered the night. How I had found Mikhail dead and known
immediately Elena was in danger. It had been many years since my temper had taken control of
me...but that night, I had come pretty close. I wondered what Elena would think of me once she met
the beast beneath my skin.
“No. He attacked Roksana and Elena at the ballet,” I said.
“That’s why you shouldn’t go to the ballet.” Her eyes darted to me in interest. “Elena, you say?”
“And Roksana.”
“I know lovely Roksana. The ballerina who cannot dance. But Elena...” Delight flared in her
expression. “You have never mentioned an Elena before. Not once. Is she new?”
“She is. She is helping cure Tatiana Gribkov.”
Saying Tatiana’s name immediately made Natasha roll her eyes. “I feel for this Elena already,” she
muttered.
“Tatiana is a good woman,” I said.
For whatever reason, Natasha had never taken to Tatiana. But to be fair, my niece was very
peculiar about who she chose to like and dislike.
Tatiana had always fallen into the dislike category, while the rest of my men had always been held
in high opinion by my niece. Artyom suspected it was because they protected me, served me. Whereas
Tatiana’s only true allegiance was to Dmitri.
“Don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to distract me,” Natasha said. “I want to hear more about
Elena. What sets her apart from the successful doctors you are no doubt paying handsomely to
help...ugh.”
“Tatiana is still unwell despite those doctors—well, she was unwell. She has made significant
improvements since Elena began treating her.”
Natasha ignored that. “Is she a doctor?”
“No, more of a scientist.”
“A scientist?” She laughed. “Did you pick her up on a college campus, Konstantin? Aren’t you too
old to be hanging around college kids?”
“Funny,” I remarked. “No. She is Thaddeo’s widow. We have a deal. If she heals Tatiana, she can
go free and live with my blessing.”
Natasha’s eyes danced. “And if she does not?”
“Then she does not.”
My niece let Evgeni crawl down onto the table, hidden from sight. Despite him being out of view,
the affectionate direction of her gaze allowed me to know where it was. “So, she is beautiful.”
“What makes you say that?”
She looked back up at me. “I’ve never heard you make such a merciful bargain before. Especially
in regard to someone you consider family.”
“You have not seen me for a long time. Perhaps I am now a merciful man.”
That made her laugh, the sound echoing through the microphone. “If you’re a merciful man, then I
am a merciful girl.”
We shared a Tarkhanov smile, an understanding.
I loved my chosen family, despite the lack of blood connecting us. Fighting side by side for
decades had built a bond between us that could never be severed.
But the connection I shared with my niece was unrivaled. It was the connection of two Tarkhanovs,
two descendants of a once powerful Bratva, and who, unlike our fathers, still had the ambition and
power of kings and queens in our souls.
The last two Tarkhanov rulers. Not pretenders or usurpers.
Since the day she had been born, I had known this. Had recognised the same majesty in her that I
saw in myself.
It would be a few more years before she was ready, but time moved continuously, and before I
knew it, my little niece who liked bugs and teasing her uncle would be the Empress of Russia.
Maybe then I would allow her to speak back to me.
“Indeed,” I said, responding to her earlier joke. “Speaking of the merciful, how is my brother?”
Natasha sighed. “Dumb and arrogant as ever, Uncle Kostya.” She stretched her back. “Sometimes I
wish you were my father. Then I wouldn’t get a headache every time I had a family dinner.”
“What has he done now?”
My niece told me about my brother’s new idea to take down an American oil tycoon. The tycoon in
question had disrespected my brother—he had shaken his hand over a doorway. Though merely a
cultural mistake, my brother had taken it as a personal insult and was now gunning for the tycoon’s
death.
However, my niece emphasized, the tycoon had three brothers; all who were set to inherit the
company if their brother died. Is my father going to go through half of the family and then suddenly
realize we had no allies wishing to sell us oil anymore? she had wondered. He is risking trade over
a mistake. Like an idiot.
“I can’t wait until he dies,” she finished off her story with. “Maybe I’ll kill every Tarkhanov to
avoid any inheriting.” A small smile grew up her lips. “Except you, of course, Uncle Kostya.”
I didn’t believe she wouldn’t kill me if she had the chance, but I pretended I did. “When you’re
ready, you will know,” I told her. “Until then, bide your time.”
“I am.” Natasha scooped up Evgeni again, holding up the spider to the camera. “Evgeni thinks I
should kill them all now and deal with the consequences later.”
“I’m sure the spider does.”
She sighed and dropped her hands, Evgeni disappearing from view. “Can I come and visit when it
is safe? I want to come and see your new territory.”
“You are always welcome,” I assured her. “As soon as I deem it safe.”
“As I deem it safe,” she repeated. “The kink in the fine print. Will you ever deem the world you
thrive in as safe?”
I didn’t respond.
Natasha smiled. “I will wait. Like a snake in the grass.” Her gaze dropping to her lap. “Like a
spider in a web.”
A knock on the study door caught my attention.
“Is that Uncle Artyom?” Natasha asked. “Let him in.”
“Come in,” I called out.
But it wasn’t Artyom who stepped into the study. Elena slid in, her hair swaying around her like a
curtain. Her usual aloof expression hardened when she noticed I was busy.
“I can come back later...” She went to leave but I called out.
“Nonsense. Elena come and meet my niece, Natalia.”
Natasha cooed out in delight and said in English, “I won’t bite.”
Interest sparked in Elena’s eyes and she slowly ventured over. Dirt stained her feet, which she
trekked over the carpet. I almost mentioned it, but as she came around to the camera, Natasha
exclaimed, “What are you talking about, Konstantin? Elena is, too, beautiful.”
 Elena glanced to me. “You said I wasn’t?”
“Never.” I turned to my niece and warned, “Do not play tricks.”
Natasha laughed and held up Evgeni. “Elena, do you like my pet?”
She leaned closer to the screen, her hair falling down to the desk. The silky strands caught the
growing morning light that slanted in through the windows.
“Mexican redknee tarantula,” Elena remarked. “Very beautiful.”
Natasha froze. I almost checked if the video call had glitched but then she said suddenly, “Yes, he
is.” She brought Evgeni closer to her chest, almost cuddling him. “Do you like bugs?”
“I prefer plants,” Elena said. “But I do appreciate a good bug.”
Natasha looked completely enamored with Elena. I understood the feeling. “What is your
favorite?”
“Monarch butterflies.” Elena didn’t even hesitate.
“Had that lined up, did you?” I mused.
She looked down at me. “They’re incredibly poisonous but do not look so.” She looked back to my
niece. “It’s an interesting dichotomy.”
“I own many monarchs,” Natasha said. “I shall name the next one born after you.”
Natasha hadn’t even named a creature after me. She had taken name suggestions, but I had never
been honored with a namesake.
Elena looked faintly amused by Natasha’s offer. “Thank you, Natalia.”
“Call me Natasha.” I was surprised my niece had invited a near stranger to refer to her by her
nickname.
Her eyes flickered between Elena and me. “Do you need my uncle? Do not let me interrupt.”
“I was sent by Danika.” Elena’s green eyes flashed down to me. “Something about Ainsworth.”
“The teeth remover?” Natasha asked. “Then you must go, Uncle Kostya. We will speak later, yes?”
“Of course.”
We said our goodbyes—Elena getting her own personal wave from Natasha and a promise she
would be sent a photo of her namesake.
“I like your niece,” Elena said the moment the screen turned black.
I smiled and looked over to her. Our eyes met. “She likes you, too.”
“How old is she?”
I didn’t answer Elena immediately. Her expression was bright in interest, the same look she got
when something had captivated her attention. From a sly comment Roman’s way to Danika to the huge
dogs in the garden, that look was reserved only for things she deemed interesting.
Interesting Elena was difficult but holding her attention was nearly impossible.
“Seventeen. Very young,” I said. “She is my oldest brother’s daughter.”
“Back in Moscow?”
I nodded, tilting my head down, bringing our faces closer together. The smell of her, myrrh and
cinnamon, settled deep in my lungs as I breathed deeply.
“The same family you left?” Elena asked, her voice tight. She didn’t break our gaze, didn’t step
away.
“I killed the patriarch,” I said. “That behavior doesn’t make you very popular.”
Something flickered in her eyes, something like understanding. “Why did you come to the
States...instead of taking Moscow?”
“Russia has never belonged to me. It has always belonged to Natasha.”
“She seems very young to be a Pakhan,” Elena said softly.
 “She will be, but she is not Pakhan yet,” I replied. “She is not ready.”
She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip in thought. Blood roared in my ears.
Elena was too close to ignore, too close to shove away the filthy images that flickered through my
brain. I could see her leaning back on the desk, head and neck tipped back, as I took her. Her cries of
pleasure resonated through my brain. Moans and noises that would only belong to me.
No other man had ever had them. Not even Thaddeo.
“Does your family want Natasha to be Pakhan?” Elena wondered, oblivious to what was
happening inside my mind.
“No,” I murmured, voice low and husky. “But they do not get a choice.”
She registered my expression. I expected her to turn away, to deny me again, but her lips parted,
letting out a breathy sigh.
“Elena,” I gritted out. “Don’t look at me like that if you do not intend to accept my offer.”
Her cheeks pinkened, but the stubborn set to her lips meant she was trying to ignore it, and
expected me to do the same. “I...” She swallowed. Her eyes danced down to her hands, darting to the
word wanton. “I’m not looking at you a certain way. This is just my face.”
I laughed softly. The noise made her nostrils flare. “If that was your constant expression, I
would’ve had to kill half of New York.”
“Haven’t you already?” she asked.
I reached out and caught a strand of her hair. It slid easily through my fingers. “Not even close.” I
leaned closer to her, breath tickling her ear. “Why did you come to my office?”
Elena suddenly realized why she was here and snapped her head away from me, severing our gaze
and the growing tension. “Danika wants to speak to you.” She lifted her chin up, trying to regain some
control. “She said something about being beneath the baths?”
“Where we are keeping Ainsworth.” I gestured for her to walk in front of me; an act of chivalry,
and an excuse for me to eye her backside. “Would you care to join me? Or is the attack still fresh in
your mind?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I want to see this bastard. I want to hear what he has to say.”
I felt a smirk grow on my face. “Does La Cosa Nostra encourage such bloodthirstiness in their
women?”
Her expression didn’t falter. “I think you would be surprised.”
I opened my mouth to respond when a head poked through the study door. “Oh, sorry to interrupt,”
Tatiana gushed, her eyes dancing between the two of us. Color had returned to her cheeks. “I was
wondering if I could come with you to see Ainsworth? Roksana doesn’t want to.”
Roksana hadn’t wanted to hear anything else about Ainsworth. The darkness of her past hadn’t
released its hold on her just yet. But I knew Roksana, and she would overcome this setback. For all
her delicacy, Roksana was the strongest of us all.
“You are always welcome, Tatiana.” I caught a flicker of uncertainty in Elena’s expression, but it
was gone in seconds. I gestured to the women. “Shall we?”
Elena sighed. “Let’s go and waste our time with this piece of shit.”
 19
Konstantin Tarkhanov

The steam and humidity from the banya above us caused the interrogation room to be sticky and too
warm for comfort.
This was on purpose. A comfortable prisoner was not one that would easily share his secrets.
We moved through the damp tunnels, the sound of our feet and breaths echoing. Every now and then
Tatiana would cry out as she spotted a rat, but nothing more was said beside soft words of comfort.
I knew it was because of me.
To see Edward Ainsworth, I couldn’t be the man who doted on Tatiana’s son or the one who flirted
with Elena. I was the Pakhan of Staten Island. Konstantin Tarkhanov. The man who killed his father
with his own necktie before he could drive a car.
There would be no weakness in my façade, in my mask.
I was king; they would bow.
We reached the room, only visible by a door stamped into the concrete wall. I knocked once, and
Roman opened it. He peered behind my shoulder, eyes protective, “God,” he said and looked over his
shoulder, “you invited everyone. It’s like a fucking family reunion.”
“Let them in,” came Danika’s bouncy voice.
Roman stepped aside as I entered, greeting me with a “Boss” before turning his attention to Tatiana
and Elena behind me.
In the center of the room, illuminated by a single ray of light, Edward Ainsworth was tied to a
chair. Sweat and blood soaked him, but the knotless hair and clean face told me that Danika had been
working her magic, making him trust her.
And from the way his eyes followed her around the room, she had done a very good job.
“Edward,” I greeted.
His head snapped to me, eyes widening. He was still a bit slow after his fall, but Danika had been
injecting him with a high dosage of pain medication. His broken bones and sprained muscles would
feel like nothing but faint throbbing.
“You,” he breathed, and begun struggling in his restraints.
“Hey, hey, Eddie,” crooned Danika.
He turned to her immediately, drinking in the sight of her. She ran a comforting hand over his head,
like a parent soothing a child.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted Roman shift from foot to foot.
“You said you had something to tell me,” Danika murmured. “Can you please tell me?”
Edward’s eyes blurred as he looked between Danika and me. He wasn’t an anomaly; most of
Danika’s little projects found themselves caught up between their love for Danika and their fear of
me.
“You have to, Eddie,” she encouraged. “Or else Konstantin will have to hurt you. I don’t want that.
Do you?”
 Edward shook his head, clarity washing over his face. “I—I...” He blinked rapidly. “The next
victim...”
Danika stroked his hair again, urging him to go on.
“The next victim...” His forehead furrowed and he looked at Danika. She muttered a few empty
words of comfort, but they seemed to work on Edward. “Marzia Vigliano.”
Marzia Vigliano. The name felt familiar. The image of a young girl tucked beneath the arm of
Giovanni Vigliano, drug lord of Maine, came to mind.
“She is a child.” I swallowed down my growl. Behind me, Elena made a sharp noise of disgust.
“Any man who cannot protect his women is no man,” Edward breathed. He looked to Danika. “Did
I do good?”
She smiled affectionately. “Yes, you did. But...do you know anything else?”
He shook his head. “The Vigliano girl is next. That is all I know. All I was told.” He blinked
sleepily. “Titus wanted...said something about drowning...”
I ground my jaw, keeping my temper at bay. I could imagine reaching forward and tearing out his
throat with my hands, the sense of the oesophagus and blood already burned into my mind.
It wouldn’t be for his past crimes, however. I would do it because he almost killed Elena.
My temper roared inside of me at that thought.
Not yet, I told myself. Danika has put too much time and effort into Edward for you to destroy
him.
Just be patient.
“How did he contact you?” Danika asked.
“He…” Edward’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Titus…there was a phone. A number.”
“Do we have his phone?” I asked Roman quietly.
My bodyguard shook his head. “It wasn’t on his person or in the hallway he attacked Elena and
Roksana. Not even the eyeless Vik had any identification.”
Danika caught our conversation and asked, “Where is your phone now, Eddie?”
“Don’t know…” Edward glanced around the room fearfully. “It’s not…here.” His eyes caught the
women behind me and widened. “Here…”
“He won’t be lucid again for a few more hours,” Danika said. “I can ring you the next time he is.
Or is he no longer useful?”
I assessed Edward, running my eyes over his mind as if I could peer into his brain and read the
secrets he kept within. “He is too valuable to kill just yet. He is, after all, the only person we know
who has spoken with this Titus.”
Edward’s eyes cleared at the name. “Titus,” he said and then began repeating over and over, “Titus,
Titus, Titus.”
“Shut up, hooy morzhovy,” Roman snapped. His rough voice echoed through the room, almost
making Danika jump. “Never stops fucking talking,” he muttered under his breath.
I had advised Roman against being here while Danika did her job, but my byki was stubborn and
insisted he would be fine. As usual, I had been correct, and now I would have to deal with Roman
stirring up Danika for the next few days because he wasn’t ready to admit his feelings.
“Danika, take a break. Let Edward rest.”
Danika looked relieved, and happily followed us out of the room. Roman wasted no time, saying,
“You smell like sewer.”
Even Elena and Tatiana sent him looks. Though, Tatiana’s was more affectionate, a motherly
really? Whereas Elena’s seemed to say are you serious?
 As the two bickered, Elena turned to me and narrowed her eyes. “How are you so clean? We’ve
been surrounded by dirt and fungi for nearly an hour. I’m filthy.”
“I can tell. You have some in your hair…let me…” When she didn’t resist, I reached out and
picked a piece of dirt out of her hair. She raised her hand to it, like she was checking it was really
gone.
Elena sniffed and brought her hand away. “You can’t have cleaner or cooler dungeons,
Konstantin?”
“Since when do you hate dirt?” I inquired. “I’ve seen you trek around the woods in nothing but your
pajamas.”
Tatiana, who was walking ahead of us, turned around, eyebrows high. She gave me a thumbs up
before facing the front once again.
Her quiet support was comical but not denied.
“It’s not what you think, Tatiana,” Elena said. “I was going on a walk and Konstantin just happened
to be there.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Tatiana called back, voice light with humor. “I’m sure Dmitri and I had a
few walks in the woods while wearing our pajamas.”
“And nine months later, I was an uncle,” Roman said from behind us.
That sent both Tatiana and Danika into giggles.
Elena rolled her eyes and fought a smile. But she couldn’t dim the brightness in her eyes, the humor
making her face glow. “I hope you don’t plan on telling Anton that.”
Tatiana laughed. “No, no. My boy won’t ever go on a walk in the woods dressed in pajamas.”
It was Roman’s and my turn to chuckle.
When we reached outside, the clean fresh air was a relief. Elena held her hair up off her neck,
trying to cool herself down, whereas Danika spread her arms wide, but with too much energy, and
ended up toppling to the ground.
“At least it’s cool on the grass,” she muttered when I helped her up.
I held back as they went towards the cars.
Elena turned around, eyes sharp. “You’re not coming with us?”
“No. I have to make a phone call.”
Understanding smoothed her expression. “Good luck,” she muttered.
Good luck, indeed.

I stood on the edge of the pier, overlooking the Narrows. In the distance, the Verrazzano-Narrows
Bridge loomed, loud with honks and yells as New Yorkers tried to navigate the tumultuous traffic.
I felt my men behind me, ready for any threat.
But they couldn’t protect me from a phone call.
After four rings, the smooth Italian-American accented voice greeted me. “Konstantin Tarkhanov,”
he greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Giovanni Vigliano was the lord of the Maine coast. If there was an import or export into the
Northeast, Vigliano knew about it—and had probably allowed it. His ability to move drugs, firearms
and other merchandise was highly coveted, and he was happy to do so, for a price. We’d only had a
few dealings so far, but we would have more as my empire expanded.
Or if he decided to take some of New York.
He was one of Lorenzo Vigliano’s bastards, and the only who dared to claim his father’s name,
despite having no real birthright. Being illegitimate had meant he was cut out of the family’s fortune
when Lorenzo died, but I doubted Vigliano cared. He had more money and power than any of his
legitimate half-siblings.
“I’m afraid I bring bad news,” I said, matching his domineering tone with my own.
“Oh?”
“As you know, Edward Ainsworth is currently in our care,” I stated. “My people have been
working him day and night. They have pulled the name of his next victim out of him.”
Giovanni was deathly silent on the other end of the phone.
“He named your daughter, Marzia Vigliano, as the next target.”
“Is that so?” he said coldly.
“He mentioned drowning but seems a little hazy on the facts. As most of those who have undergone
torture are, you understand.” My tone made it clear what I thought about Edward Ainsworth: soft,
weak, unable to bear torture.
“And I am supposed to believe you?”
I smiled faintly. Suspicion and paranoia were the traits of a mafia boss, which I was sure Vigliano
would one day be. Those who grew complacent found themselves dead very quickly. But my smile
faded as I said, “We have already lost one child because of these killings. Our world is a bloody one,
but we do not kill children.”
“No.” Giovanni’s tone was firm. “We do not.” But we kill everyone else, went unspoken.
Silence settled over us both.
Wind whistled over the Narrows, waves growing larger and stronger.
“Rumor has it you have set your sights on New York, Giovanni,” I said.
“Rumors have a habit of being correct,” he replied.
I laughed softly. “Indeed, they do. But I do hope your arrogance doesn’t exceed your power. I find
myself lacking patience for such men.”
Giovanni made a noise of agreement. “As do I.”
I knew before confirmation that it would be Vitale Lombardi who Giovanni would target. The
Chens, Ó Fiaichs and Ishidas were still powerful, too prominent, but the Lombardis had been growing
weaker—especially since their closest allies, the Falcones, had been eradicated.
It would be interesting to see if the Lombardi family accepted bastard-born Giovanni Vigliano.
Judging on how he reigned over Maine, he would be a formidable Don, but a Don wasn’t just one
man. Without the support of his men and women, he wouldn’t last very long.
“If Ainsworth says anything else about your daughter, you will be informed.”
We said our goodbyes, more foreboding threats than well-wishes.

When I returned to the estate, Elena was stretched out on the front lawn, book in hand. She wasn’t
alone; Anton ran around the grass, kicking a ball, joined by one of the friendlier but smaller puppies.
Every now and then, she would lift her head to check on him before going back to her book.
The grass crunching beneath my feet alerted her to my presence.
“So, Giovanni didn’t send a drone to kill you,” she said. “Pity.”
I smiled and crouched down beside her. Anton waved to me. “I couldn’t very well die and miss
you babysitting. Aren’t you meant to play with the child?”
“Tatiana is overtired,” Elena said, tone implying I was an idiot. “The baby is exhausting her.”
I cast my eyes towards the manor, as if I could see Tatiana sleeping inside and check that she was
fine. I sent a quick message to Dmitri, much to the incredulity of Elena.
“She’s fine.”
 “Dmitri worries. Is he allowed to?” I asked her.
Elena huffed and turned back to her book, dismissing me. As I rose to my feet, she asked, “What
did Giovanni say?”
“Not much. But it’s clear he’s not pleased with the threat against his daughter.”
“Should he be?”
“Of course not,” I said. “He also confirmed his intention to take part of New York.”
Elena used her book to shield her eyes from the sun. I stepped to the side, blocking the rays for her.
“Did he say where?”
“No. But the most logical choice would be the Lombardis.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Most logical choice? Why do you say that like you know that for
a fact? I thought the Lombardis were strong.”
“Strong, but not the strongest. In fact, compared to the other three families, the Lombardis have
very little power,” I confirmed. “A change in leadership is inevitable.”
Realization danced over her expression. Elena had never been slow at understanding meanings
behind my words—or anybody’s. “You were going to take the Lombardis’ territory. Why didn’t you?”
“They didn’t have everything I wanted.” I met her eyes, looming over her. Her breath caught. “But
the Falcones did.”
“Like the key?”
“One reason,” I murmured. “But not the main one.”
Elena swallowed. “Konstantin, I have to tell you something—”
Anton came bounding over, disrupting us both with a loud, “Uncle Kostya, Auntie Lena.” He threw
himself down beside Elena, cheeks flushed with delight. “Where’s Mama?”
“She’s having a nap,” Elena said. “I think we should let her rest.”
“And sister Nika?”
“She’s also napping,” I confirmed, when Elena’s brow furrowed at Anton’s lack of understanding
about babies in the womb.
Anton got back to his feet, something capturing his attention. “Okay!” He darted back into the
overgrown garden.
I stood taller, checking for him. I could spot his little dark head moving amongst the flowers, joined
by his puppy companion.
Elena steadied herself on her elbows, searching for him. A new word had appeared on her wrist:
phylum.
“I didn’t know Danika was so successful with her interrogations,” she said, moving from one topic
to another with the speed of lightning.
“She can get anything out of anyone,” I agreed. “Only a few have managed to remain immune to her
charm.”
“Roman?”
I smiled, capturing her eyes. She almost smiled back. “Roman, yes.”
“I have a theory it is because he’s so hard-headed.”
“Oh? Perhaps you’re right.”
This time she did smile slightly. “Are you immune to Danika?”
“I’m not sure. She has never tried to charm me—we have always been friends before boss and
interrogator.” I held her gaze. “You’re immune to her.”
“I’m not. I just know when she’s trying to get something out of me.”
“Is resistance not the same as immunity?”
 Elena glanced out at Anton, his giggles rising above the plants. Something flickered in her
expression, and she said quietly, “No. No, it’s not.”
A voice called out across the garden, and Tatiana joined us. Her hand rested on her swollen
stomach, cradling it the same way she had done when she was pregnant with Anton.
“Is he behaving?” Tatiana asked.
“Always,” I said. Elena nodded in agreement.
Tatiana put two hands to her stomach and laughed softly. “She’s kicking again. Honestly, Elena, it is
you.” She smiled down at her. “Do you know your Auntie Lena, Nikola?”
Elena’s expression tightened but she did not deny her title as Auntie Lena.
I searched her beautiful features, the freckled olive skin and eyes the color of ferns. Elena had
never mentioned a deep connection to her family and had vocally hated Thaddeo, but she had blended
well into this family, gaining the trust and love of Danika and Roksana easily, followed by Tatiana,
Roman and even Artyom.
Babushka and Dmitri were the only ones holding out, unsure what to make of the newcomer.
As for me, Elena had already been a part of me, deserving of my love and trust, since the day I
picked up her thoughts in the shape of an academic article.
 20
Elena Falcone

I was standing in my childhood dining room.

I had hated this place growing up, hated the chairs and chandelier and table with a fierceness that
the intimate objects hadn’t deserved. Hours I had spent angrily scanning the walls out of boredom,
counting all the holes (37) and dents (17). I had catapulted 54 peas into the chandelier and hidden 12
broccolis under the chair.
Like another part of my memory, my father formed from the wall and into his chair. He always sat
in the same place and ate the same three meals. He always took a sip of wine before every bite and
ate his meat before his vegetables.
I’d hated him as well.
“Elena, how was school?” he asked, his words warped and dream-like.
I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came out.
My father looked up at me, his green eyes growing brighter and brighter. “Elena, how was school?”
He repeated.
Suddenly, his face began to shift. His nose grew, his skin tightened, and gray hair darkened to
brown. I watched as his chin changed shape, and his eyes blended into a familiar brown.
Thaddeo was now peering at me from across the table. “Elena, where were you?”
Once again, I could not answer.
He repeated his question. “Elena, where were you?”
His words echoed through my head, growing louder and quieter, hard and softer. I couldn’t form an
answer, couldn’t manage the words—
“Elena, why would you do this?”
I snapped my gaze back to Thaddeo, but he no longer looked at me. Instead a feminine face stared
at me from across the table, golden hair bouncing down her shoulders and blue-grey eyes cold.
Tatiana held a flower between her fingers, the familiar lilac color and horn-shaped petals indicated
what it was immediately. Foxglove.
“Elena,” she said again, voice too mean and nasty, “why would you do this?”

I woke up with a start.

It took a second for my body to tell me that I needed to vomit now. Lurching from the bed, I skidded
to the en-suite and crouched down into the bath. I had passed the toilet but there was no time to go
back.
As I pressed my forehead to the cool tiles, uncomfortable with the sense of burning nausea up and
down my throat, all I could hear was Tatiana’s voices ringing in my mind.
Elena, why would you do this? Why would you do this?
Why had I done it?
 The soft tinkering of the lab calmed me as my thoughts grew wilder and wilder. Listening to the
bubbling of beakers and crunch of powder managed to help narrow my thoughts, give them proper
direction.
I fiddled with the thermometer in my fingers, using it to trace out invisible answers and theories in
the air.
Options sat before me. None of them ideal.
But time had forced my hand, the threat of the world around me had forced my hand.
And if I was being completely honest…Konstantin had pushed me into action, not because I wanted
to be free so bad, or because I wanted the upper hand.
No. It was something else entirely.
I rubbed my forehead but forced myself to concentrate as I contemplated my options.
One, give Konstantin the instruments he needs to figure it out all on his own.
To do this, I would point him the right direction, drop a few hints, but there were already too many
variables attached to this idea. Would Konstantin even come to the realization on his own? His
devotion to his family could blind him from seeing the truth.
Also, how would I drop hints? A few sly comments or catch her in the act? But how could I
possibly do that?
Two, don’t say anything, claim my freedom and leave.
I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a tempting option. Leaving them to their own devices, their own
traitors, could save me a lot of grief and time. At the end of the day, these people were not my family
—and they certainly didn’t consider me theirs.
So why was it my job to unravel the deception in their midst?
But…some part of me physically could not do this. I don’t know where my selfishness had gone,
my calculating nature, but when I called upon it to make me apathetic, it refused to answer. Instead my
heart and gut physically hurt at the idea of leaving without saying anything.
Leaving them in danger.
Last but not least, the third and final option.
Three, tell Konstantin.
Option one was too iffy and option two made me feel physically upset. But option three…If I told
Konstantin outright, who was to say he would believe me? He could react in such a myriad of ways.
He could trust me, accept the evidence and deal with the situation as he saw fit, or he could deem me
a liar and treat me how Bratva traitors were treated.
My tongue curled at the thought.
But option three was the only immediate option. The only one that could guarantee the truth being
exposed.
I drew little columns in the air with the thermometer, sorting out the options. Advantages and
disadvantages were ticked and noted.
I didn’t see myself as someone who shied away from the truth. In this moment however, I would
have done anything to believe the lie, to be ignorant and blissful.
Being swept up in the fibs and falsehoods had never been who I was. I walked around this world I
had been born in, able to see into the shadows and know exactly what I was looking at.
It wasn’t the blessing you would think.
The word punishment came to mind, bringing with it a tirade of memories.
My father’s strong fist, head hitting a wall; my uncle’s slap, my cheek stinging; Thaddeo’s grip, my
arm aching.
 I knew deep in my bones, in my primordial ooze, that Konstantin would never lay a hand on me.
But violence wasn’t the only way I could be hurt.
I came to the sudden and horrible realization that not only did Konstantin hold my freedom in the
palm of his hand, but he also held the ability to hurt me.
And with one single movement, he could curl his fist and crush my heart into pieces.

Ironically, it was Tatiana who was able to drop me off at the Russian Bathhouse. She was heading
to a pediatrician’s office, with two bodyguards of course, and was happy to go on a short detour past
the baths.
“Don’t let them embarrass you,” she told me as we arrived.
“Embarrass me?”
Tatiana nodded. “Men think their dicks are magical and expect all women to feel the same.”
I almost cracked a smile. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“That,” she mused, “is something I seriously doubt.”
 21
Elena Falcone

I didn’t offer anyone the satisfaction by shielding my eyes. I kept my chin high, my shoulders straight,
and strode straight through the bathhouse. A few men cried out at my arrival whereas others invited
me to their heated pools.
Ignoring the men allowed me to take in the Russian tiles and design of the house; a collection of
steaming baths, decorated with fountains and modern tiles. It was an old Russian past time, I had been
told a few times, to bath publicly and with your friends.
I passed a group who hollered in delight at the sight of me. “Come join us, malishka!”
“Shut up, man,” someone hissed. “That’s Elena Falcone.”
The jeering stopped immediately.
I ignored them all and beelined for Konstantin.
Separated from the others, but still part of the public area, Konstantin and his men sat around a
bath. They were relaxed, chatting and laughing, all dressed in nothing but a towel hanging low around
the waist.
Sweat dripped down Konstantin’s chest and disappeared beneath the towel, his hair falling around
messily, strands sticking to his forehead.
My brain blurred into a confused soup of images. Konstantin’s naked chest, his long neck, the
Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his chin—
Keep it together, Elena, I told myself.
The steamy. heavy air of the bathhouse automatically raised my temperature, but seeing Konstantin
nearly naked and dripping with—
GET IT TOGETHER!
“Konstantin!”
He lifted his head, eyes gleaming. “Elena.” He didn’t look surprised to see me. “To what do I owe
the pleasure?”
Roman and Artyom also lifted their heads. Like their boss, they wore towels only, revealing their
tattoos and muscled chests. Roksana and Danika were both very lucky women.
I kept my attention on Konstantin. “I had a breakthrough in Tatiana’s...illness.” I swallowed, the hot
hair drying my throat.
Yeah, I mocked myself, it’s the hot air making you thirsty.
“You said if there were any developments to come right away,” I added.
“So I did.” Konstantin rose to his feet, his entire muscled golden form on perfect display. My lips
parted. “This way, Elena. Let’s speak privately.”
Privately.
Bad idea.
You came here to speak to him privately, Elena, I snapped at myself. Stop acting like a horny
teenage boy and pull it together.
 “I can just wait outside...”
“This cannot wait.” Konstantin pressed a hand to my back. His presence overwhelmed me, his
smell pressing down—
It’s just the humidity, I reasoned with myself.
“It will only take a moment,” I said as Konstantin led me away from the baths. “You’ll be able to
return to your testosterone bath time in a second.”
He smiled.
Konstantin escorted me to a separate room, with a private bath. Not nearly as hot or crowded as
the public area, but still warm and misty. The sound of fountains rushed past, mixed with the soothing
Russian music played throughout the bathhouse.
Off the quiet bath, steam rose.
Some part of me wanted to dive in, to feel the warm water against my exposed skin. It would be so
relaxing, such a break from my constant stress and fears.
“Elena,” Konstantin toed the water, looking back at me. “Your breakthrough?”
“I—” The words died in my throat.
Realization hit me suddenly. In this moment, I had to tell Konstantin what I knew. What I had
discovered.
It would break his heart.
“Tatiana…” I tried to pull the words out of me. Just say it, Elena, I told myself. Just say it and let
it be done. Don’t drag it out. “Tatiana…”
Concern took over his face. “Is she okay?” He took his foot out of the pool and prowled towards
me. His chest rippled as he moved. “Elena, is Tatiana okay?”
I swallowed.
“I told you. Anything you need is at your service,” he said. “There is nothing we won’t do to help
Tatiana.”
I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“I—” I turned my head to the pool, drinking in the water like it might offer some relaxation.
His words rung through my head, the worry in them so distinguishable.
Anything you need is at your service. There is nothing we won’t do to help Tatiana.
Noise came out of my mouth before I could stop it. “I found the cure,” I said. “I…found the cure. I
just need some ingredients…”
Konstantin’s smiled widened, and he kissed me on either cheek. Heat darted through me at the
contact. “Brilliant, Elena. You did what our best doctors could not.”
“I… She’s not completely better yet,” I murmured, flustered by his reaction. “I need a few more
things.”
The word coward was ringing through my head on repeat, like a bell swinging from a sleigh.
Coward, coward, coward.
“Write a list and give it to Feodor. He will get you anything you need.”
I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself. I must’ve looked tensed because Konstantin asked,
“Why don’t you join me for a dip? The banya is to help relax, to socialize.”
I tightened my arms over my chest. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
He smiled. “One does not wear swimsuit into the bath, Elena.”
My entire body tensed. “Then I’m not getting in.”
“Scared, Elena?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of a bath? I’m not a child.”
 Konstantin looked nothing but amused. He gestured behind me. “There are robes in the closet over
there.”
I shifted on my feet, weighing the decisions in my mind. Turning around and leaving would be so
easy.
But the look in Konstantin’s expression, the dare in his smile...
I beelined for the robes, ducking into a small alcove to undress in privacy. The plush fabric of the
robe felt nice against my overly sensitive skin and being out my jeans and sweater allowed my body
to cool down. I scooped my hair off my neck and pinned it up, cooling me down even further.
When I stepped back into the main room, Konstantin had abandoned his towel by the side of the
bath. He stood tall in the water, back to me, the still water allowing me to take in the curve of his ass,
the length of his legs. If he turned around...
“I don’t like swimming,” I said.
Konstantin turned around. I forced myself to keep my eyes above his shoulders.
“It’s not very deep,” he assured me. “You won’t drown. And if you do, I’ll save you.”
“Via mouth to mouth, I’m sure.” I dropped myself down beside the bath, holding up the robe so it
didn’t get wet as I dunked my legs in. The toasty water felt uncomfortable against my skin, but after a
few seconds, I felt my muscles begin to unclench and relax.
Konstantin walked over, causing ripples to spread throughout the water. The steam caused strands
of his hair to curl slightly, making him look younger somehow.
“Not a fan of the banya?” he inquired.
“It’s fine,” I said dismissively.
Konstantin was close enough now that if I reached out with my foot, I would touch him.
I didn’t move.
“There are different times for women and men,” he said. “You might be more comfortable during
the women-only time.”
“I think I’ll be more comfortable alone in my bathroom at home.”
Konstantin’s eyes brightened. “Home.” He didn’t pose it as a question.
I met his eyes. “Home,” I confirmed.
His eyes danced over my skin. Despite the modest robe, I could feel his attention on my upper neck
and exposed legs.
“It will be a shame when you leave,” he said. “Danika’s grown quite fond of you, as have the
others. Babushka, included.”
I snorted. “Babushka hates me.”
“I may have exaggerated,” Konstantin laughed. “But I only did it to convince you to stay a little
while longer.”
I didn’t respond. A decision was forming in my mind, fueled by the warm water and humidity and
Konstantin’s nakedness.
He cocked his head to the side, eyes brightening as he saw the darkening of my expression, the
hunger I allowed to show.
“I’m ready to test my hypothesis.”
He went so still the water stopped rippling. “Is that so?”
I met his gaze head on. “Yes.”
Konstantin drew closer, his hands resting on either side of my thighs. I could feel them lightly
pressing against my flesh, teasing and inevitable.
“What equipment do you suppose I should use for our experiment?” he purred. His eyes had grown
so dark, so heavy, that the tawny brown was now closer to the color of hickory.
I swallowed against my dry throat. “Whatever you have on hand.”
His grin grew wider, teeth flashing dangerously.
Very slowly, Konstantin reached forward and pushed my knees apart. Air brushed against me
immediately, bringing with it a tickling sensation between my thighs.
His rough hands rested on each knee, not moving just yet.
“Now, lyubimaya,” he murmured, “there a few rules to an experiment, aren’t there? Would you
care to tell me what they are?”
I wasn’t sure if I could speak, or think, but the answer came to me. “Controlled variables.” I
sounded breathless, like I had just run a marathon.
“Controlled variables,” he repeated, his accent rolling over the words. “What are they?”
“I didn’t realize this was a quiz.” I tried to sound sarcastic, but my tone sounded too husky and
hoarse.
Konstantin understood anyway. “Not a quiz, an experiment.” His fingers dug deeper in my knees,
the sensation going straight down to the apex of my thighs. He smiled at my reaction and prompted,
“Controlled variables?”
“They…make sure the experiment is valid…” I swallowed air.
“And what are our controlled variables?”
“The controlled variables…” My mind tumbled over the situation, but kept getting caught on the
sense of Konstantin’s fingers pressing into my flesh, his chest on display, his hair sticking to his
forehead— “Temperature…it is a constant.”
“We have that covered. What else?”
What else? My eyes darted to his fingers. “The subjects involved have to stay the same.”
His smirk was nothing but dangerous. “They will definitely remain the same.”
His thumbs began to move in slow circles. The stimulation stole my attention, the soft press of his
thumb, the goosebumps rising along my thigh…
He was so close to the faint throbbing, so near and yet so far.
“Have we covered all our bases?”
Technically, no, but I was sick of playing his little game. I wanted to feel his fingers inside of me.
Now.
I nodded.
Konstantin smiled like he had seen straight into my lie. “Well, then, shall we begin?” He stretched
my legs further, pressing them into the sides of the bath.
My heart began to speed up, a rapid drumming in my chest. I could feel my gut twist in anticipation,
my thighs shake in prediction.
He drew his hands up higher and higher, closer and closer, until they were dangerous close to me.
“Lyubimaya,” he purred, hands cupping my thighs. His tattoos stood out starkly against my
unblemished skin, images of birds and daggers staring up at me.
“Konstantin,” I breathed.
His eyes snapped up to mine, a small smile playing on his lips. “Relax, lyubimaya. The banya is
for relaxing.”
I didn’t think I was ever going to relax again. My bones were about to rip from my skin, my legs
were shaking, the throbbing was increasing.
Konstantin leaned down to my left thigh, pressing his lips to my knee. Soft and warm, he trailed his
lips higher and higher until he could breathe in the scent of me, see the effects of his teasing.
 His smile told me he did.
But he didn’t go where my thigh directed him. Instead he pulled himself back up and paid attention
to my right knee. Once again, he trailed kisses down the sensitive skin, only this time I felt the scrape
of teeth, the press of his incisors.
My heart sped up further.
“Konstantin,” I breathed, both a warning and a plea.
“Patience, lyubimaya. Good things take time.”
I didn’t want him to take time. I wanted to feel his lips on me now.
Konstantin’s thumbs hadn’t stopped their rubbing, only growing harder as he pressed his lips
against me.
His hands stretched out suddenly, pinning me to the side of the bath. The strength was firm but
gentle.
Water sloshed as he crouched down, his muscles straining and creasing as he got into position. He
was deep enough that water lapped over his shoulders, hiding his naked form from me.
“Lyubimaya,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to my inner thigh. He was so close now, so close
I could feel his hot breath against the nakedness of me.
Konstantin’s teeth pressed lightly into my skin, causing me to cry out at the sensation. The mix of
pain and anticipation was too much to be quiet over.
He pressed a kiss to the place he had bitten, rubbing his nose over it with care.
“Konstantin, please,” I cried out. Pride be damned; the only thing on my mind was his touch, the
feel of him as he—
Konstantin moved closer to my center. His hot breath blew against the sensitive spot of my inner
thighs.
The throbbing grew greater.
“Lyubimaya,” he murmured, his lips dancing over my sensitive flesh as he said my name. His nose
nuzzled closer, feeling the wetness and heat.
He growled low in his chest, his hands holding me tighter.
“Konstantin—”
Hearing the begging in his name, he blew onto my wet sex again. The sensation sent shivers
shooting through my body, grabbing my breasts in heavy phantom holds and forcing my heart to race
faster in my chest.
I felt his hair tickle my inner thigh, his fingers press tighter, his hot breath.
And then he pressed his lips to me.
Soft at first, tasting.
They teased me softly with butterfly kisses. His lips against mine.
I tipped my head back, breathing hard. “Konstantin—”
The pressure of his tongue reached out.
A cry erupted from my throat as his tongue stroked me. Up and down, side to side, the movement
unhurried and hard.
His lips caught my clit, sucking on it.
Another moan came from me. The sensation was too much, too vulnerable and hot and wet. I could
feel his lips and tongue against me, soothing and growing the throbbing sensation that threatened to
overwhelm me.
Konstantin’s grip grew harder, holding me prisoner.
I didn’t care. I was unable to move, to breathe, to do anything but focus on the feeling of him.
 Water splashed as his movements grew faster, as my feet flinched in his grip.
My strength let out as he dipped his tongue into me, deliciously searching for the part of my body
that was so reactive to his touch.
I fell onto one arm, the other reaching forward and catching in his hair. Moisture clung to the
strands, but my fingers dug deep into it, using the hair as a way to hold him in place.
Konstantin snarled against me.
He continued to suck and lick, until the throbbing grew stronger and louder. It threatened to
consume my entire body.
When he caught my clit with his teeth, rolling it gently in his mouth, lightning struck through me.
I gasped out for air, but the only noise I was made was his name, loud and pleading.
“Konstantin!”
My back arched as the pleasure tore through me. My hips bucked, my legs flinched, but Konstantin
kept me in place as I screamed out.
My arm gave out and I fell to the ground.
My chest rose and fall rapidly as the aftermath of my orgasm trickled out of me. Air constricted my
lungs, and heat enveloped my blood.
“Elena,” came Konstantin’s soft voice. He rose, allowing me to see him over the top of my hips.
His hands slowly released my thighs but his body in between my legs stopped me from being able to
press them together.
He reached out a hand and picked a strand of hair off my sticky forehead. His fingers brushed
lightly over my cheeks.
“My Elena, are you okay?”
I nodded, finding the strength in myself to lift myself onto my elbows. The robe had come undone,
revealing the bare expanse of my stomach and upper chest. My nipples weren’t visible but the
plucked tips could be seen through the fabric.
Sensations began to come back to me quickly. The water tickling my legs, the steam pressing
against my skin, naked Konstantin between my legs. Naked Konstantin’s cock pressing into between
my legs.
I would’ve thought my body couldn’t take anymore but heat struck through me. Images littered my
brain of his cock sliding in between my wet sex, the feeling of him pressing against the hot flesh—
“Lyubimaya,” he growled.
I recalled his earlier question. “I’m fine. Just…” I pressed myself against the rock-hard length of
him.
Konstantin growled low in his chest, features warping in hunger.
“Experiments have multiple trials,” I breathed. “Or else they’re not considered valid.”
His teeth flashed as he smiled. “Well, then, we better follow the rules of science to test your
hypothesis correctly.”
I leaned up, searching for something. Konstantin brought his head down, his lips so close to mine—
“Boss! There’s a—oh, bloody hell!”
Konstantin wrapped my robe around me in a second, hiding the newcomer from seeing anything. He
snapped his head to the side, baring his teeth. “What do you want, Artyom?”
I had never heard Konstantin speak like that before. Voice guttered and carnal.
I refused to be flustered and turned to see Artyom hovering by the door, looking considerably
embarrassed. Well, as embarrassed as reasonable and rational Artyom could ever look.
He turned his head to the wall, offering us some semblance of privacy. “I’m sorry, Kostya, but there
is a situation.”
“Unless someone is dead, it can wait,” Konstantin snarled.
“That’s why I’m here…” Artyom muttered. “Edward Ainsworth was found dead in his cell. And
all his teeth were removed.”
 22
Elena Falcone

“I want to know who did this,” Konstantin said coolly. Despite his tone, I wouldn’t mistake him as
anything but furious.
He braced his arms on the desk, eyes scanning everyone in the room. Spread out on the desk were
graphic images of Edward Ainsworth’s body. He was shot in his chair, then had his teeth removed.
Blood dripped from his mouth in every photo.
The household and Konstantin’s men were scattered around the study, from Babushka to Rifat
Denisyuk. No one spoke, some even didn’t dare to breathe.
Edward Ainsworth had been found dead in his cell, mouth bloody and toothless. This was not the
time to talk.
“The bratok were knocked out, sir,” Artyom said from his position behind Roksana’s chair. “The
security cameras facing Ainsworth’s dungeon went dark. No one was seen coming in or out.”
“It is hard to see people coming in or out if the cameras are not working, Artyom,” Konstantin
responded.
“It was obviously this Titus,” Feodor said from the far side of the room, leaning against the desk.
Konstantin turned his head, pinning his gaze on Feodor. He moved the same way a snake did as it
picked out its prey. It was eerie and chilling.
Feodor fell silent for a second, pinned beneath his Pakhan’s gaze, before finding his voice. “We
need to find out who he is. Some low-level drug lord or one of our neighbors. He has attacked our
women and killed one of our prisoners. He needs to be destroyed.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Konstantin asked softly.
“We spy on every boss, threaten every soldier. All the families who have been attacked will stand
with us.”
“So, because we have no suspect, we accuse everybody?” he inquired.
“We would be out of allies before the day is through,” Artyom said.
Beside me, Danika rested her head on my shoulder. Both of us were sitting on the ground, leaning
against a bookshelf. After days of interrogating Ainsworth, all her hard work had been destroyed in
one afternoon.
I shifted my arm so she could get more comfortable.
Roman rocked on his heels, standing behind one of the chairs, too agitated to sit down. He paced
and swore, looking like he was seconds until he burst from his skin. I understood the feeling. “He’s
fucking taunting us. He is showing us just how vulnerable we are, just how much he knows about us.”
“That is not true,” Dmitri said sharply. He sat very still in the second chair, Tatiana on his lap.
“The attack on Roksana and Elena followed the same precedent as the other killings before them. The
death of Ainsworth was because he was one of Titus’s men and telling us information.”
Roksana lifted her head, eyes darting to Konstantin. She was curled up on a chair with Babushka
asleep in her arms. “The child—Marzia?”
 “Giovanni has been warned,” Konstantin said. “I imagine the security around her could rival the
Queen of Chicago’s.”
Sophia Rocchetti, the Queen of Chicago and my childhood friend, hadn’t been seen in public since
the beginning of the serial killings. Not even to give interviews or cut ribbons; the Chicago public
missed her greatly, but I knew her husband wouldn’t take the risk.
“Keeping the women under lock and key is a temporary solution,” Artyom said. “The only option is
to kill Titus.”
Artyom was right. It would be impossible to keep every woman associated with the mafia locked
away or followed by a handful of bodyguards at all times. It wasn’t a viable option.
But who was Titus? How could he be killed?
Nobody had any idea who he was, nobody knew his motives or history.
His motives...
I gently nudged Danika, “Dani?” I whispered.
She turned her head up to me, blinking sleepily. “Mm?”
“When you interrogate someone, how do you do it?”
Danika’s dark eyes cleared at the question. “How do I do it?” She let out a little yawn. “Well, I
suppose...I make a profile of them. Do they need a mothering figure or a friend? Someone to fear or
rely on? Once you know what they need, it’s pretty easy.”
“What do you think of Titus?” My tone was loud enough that everyone in the room turned to us.
Danika leaned against the bookcase, face tight in thought. “There is no arrogance in the killings.
This Titus doesn’t claim them—or make himself known. We only found out his name because of one
of his followers. But the act of removing teeth post-mortem...it’s painless to the victim, but vulgar to
the bystanders.”
Roman stopped pacing. “So we’re looking for a non-arrogant psychopath. That should be easy.”
Konstantin rose to his full height. “His ability to remain anonymous is impressive,” he said. “But
no one moves through this world unseen. Not in this day and age.”
“He must be living somewhere, interacting with someone. He’s not a ghost,” Roksana agreed. “If
we find those who follow him, perhaps we might have a better chance of drawing him to us.”
“How would we do that?” Roman asked. “We’d need to know every fucking mobster in the States.”
An image flashed through my mind. The piles of boxes, the dozens of USBs. All the secrets and
knowledge in one room, gained via decades of watching and spying.
As the picture formed, so did the pain. My upper arm ached painfully, a strange contrast to the
pleasurable aching I had experienced earlier in the day.
The sex…I could feel the pressure of Konstantin’s lips against my bundle of nerves, still feel the
pleasant aftermath of the orgasm. I didn’t know what to make of it. It had been good, it had been a
taste of what was to come, but the strange connection forming between us felt tender.
You’re leaving soon, Elena, I told myself, but I didn’t sound as determined as I had been
previously.
Konstantin’s jaw tightened in response to what Roman had said. “My niece mentioned something
similar happening back in Russia,” he said. “A woman was killed and had her teeth removed.”
“Any connection?” Tatiana asked. She raised her gaze up to Dmitri, like she couldn’t stand having
Konstantin’s commanding attention on her.
“I’m not sure yet,” he replied. “But the coincidence is too great to ignore.” Konstantin cast his eyes
out the window, seeing something we could not. “He also made his plans for New York clear. Watch
him.”
 “Yes, Boss.”
“Serial killers, rival mob bosses,” Roman bitched under his breath. “It never fucking ends.”
“You would grow bored, Roman,” Artyom said.
That made a grin flash over his face. “Ah, you’re probably right. If I didn’t have to worry about
Konstantin, then what would I do?”
“Steal syrup,” Danika muttered.
“Really?” He spun on his heel. “You’re still not over—”
“Enough.” The word cut through the room, Konstantin’s commanding voice refusing to be denied.
Silence fell. “Ainsworth must have met Titus somewhere. I want to know every place he has been,
every room he has ever walked into. Titus may be invisible, but his men are not.”
Artyom nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell Olezka he is going back into the business of tracking,” he said. “Give him everything we had
on Ainsworth. Including his body.”
“Yes, sir.”
Still not resolved but now with a purpose in mind, the tension of the room had shifted considerably.
The fear of Titus hovered above us all, shadowing our every move. And now we had lost our only
connection to the man—leaving us back at square one.
Danika’s profile of Titus had left me with only one guarantee: Titus was not a mob boss.
Arrogance fueled the kings of the mafia; it came with the territory. Therefore, Titus was not one of
them.
He was something else entirely. Maybe a disillusioned soldier or furious heir. Maybe even a
scarred wife. But whoever Titus was, he was bloodthirsty and intelligent, cruel and calculating. The
lives of children and honoring dead bodies meant nothing to him.
Titus was dangerous. Not only did he pose a threat to me, but to all the other women associated
with the mafia. The loose sense of sisterhood I had felt with Eithne McDermott was replicated with
all the other women in the same world as me. Sophia, Beatrice, Danika, Roksana...even little Marzia
Vigliano.
I reached up to feel my arm. There was no real pain, it was all in my head, but it served as a
reminder of what my brain had discovered.
After discussing a few more things, the meeting came to an end. Roksana turned to me as people
began to file out, smiling elegantly. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for giving me that tonic. I feel so
much better.”
“I’m glad.”
Roksana had been having horrendous nightmares, the attack triggering her violent past. I had made
her some sleeping medication, which had apparently worked.
It had worked. Not apparently.
It had.
My heels slowed down, listening to my subconscious before I did. At her questioning look, I
waved her ahead. “I’m going to speak to Konstantin.”
Understanding sparked in her eyes but she disappeared, followed by her husband and the rest of the
household. The door clipped shut softly.
I turned to face Konstantin. He hadn’t moved from his position, watching me with blazing eyes.
Still and intense, waiting and ready.
I swallowed, trying to control the reaction my body had whenever Konstantin looked at me like
that. Hell, whenever he looked at me at all.
 “Elena.” His voice was low and dangerous, but curious. “Do you need something?”
I moved towards the desk, his eyes never straying from me. “I need to tell you something.” I was
close enough to him that he could reach out and touch me.
“What is it?” Concern darkened his features.
With movements that did not match his expression, Konstantin reached out and gently held my hips.
The touch sent heat flushing through me.
“I...” I caught the sound of voices in the hallway. Danika’s bright tone was the loudest, followed by
Roman’s rough snarl.
“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 death 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
looked 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?”
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 feel 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.
“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,[S8]” Artyom said calmly. “I’m not happy either, Roman,
but I won’t risk Kostya’s empire because you are unable to rationalize.”
Roman snarled at Artyom. “You—!”
“I’ll do it.”
Silence fell over the room. A few blinks were sent my way, like they had forgotten I was in the
room.
I combed Kostya’s hair back with a hand and repeated my offer, “I’ll make it.”
The doctor coughed. “Uh, it is a complicated chemical process. It cannot be made in your back
garden—”
“If Elena says she can make it, then she can.” It was Roksana who had spoken up, elegant voice
brittle with worry.
Artyom snapped his eyes to me. “What do you need?”
“It’s a mix of anti-digoxin immunoglobin fragments—” The doctor began, but Roman cut him off.
“What the fuck is that?”
“It’s from sheep immunized with DDMA,” I answered.
“Then I’ll find you the healthiest fucking sheep in the world, Elena,” Roman said, not entirely
understanding but trying to help.
I pressed a hand to Konstantin’s forehead. It felt strange and awkward to show affection in front of
his family, but my heart was shaking with something I couldn’t recognize but couldn’t deny.
My chin wobbled as I whispered, “I’ll be back soon, Kon. If you die while I’m gone, I’ll kill you.”
Even in his unconscious state, I could’ve sworn his lips twitched into a smile.

No one bothered me.

Or maybe they did, and I didn’t hear them through my concentration. A haze had settled over me,
sucking me into a tunnel of bacteria and cells and nanograms. My mind was being used at its fullest
capacity, learning years of knowledge in a few hours.
If I wasn’t blinking away tears at every turn, I might have enjoyed it.
Roman and Danika accompanied me. Both were uncharacteristically silent—then again, maybe they
were talking, and I hadn’t heard them—but I could feel the pressure of their eyes on my back.
I wasn’t worried about their wrath if I fucked up the cure.
I was only thinking of Konstantin.
I felt his presence as I worked. Heard his voice in my ears, felt his lips against my skin. Sometimes
when I caught my hair, I felt his fingers twisted around the strands, or when I pulled my sweater over
my neck, it was his hands I felt trailing over my shoulders.
Intimacy which I had never had, never even wanted, had be cultivated between the two of us.
Like a wisteria plant, the connection had started slow and weary, the first twig forming from very
little. But as time had worn on, nourished by challenges and understanding, the vines had grown
stronger and larger, climbing into my heart and soul and mind. Now there was no escape, no single
branch that could be cut to end the link between us.
A word had formed in my head. Four letters, one syllable. But I refused to voice it aloud; I even
avoided saying it in my mind.
I doubted Konstantin would feel so inclined towards me once he knew all my dirty little secrets.
I pushed away thoughts of those very secrets, shoving down the images of my father and Thaddeo.
And Tatiana. There would be time later to face the consequences for my actions, but right now I
needed to help Konstantin, save Konstantin. Nothing else mattered.
As I measured and poured, I felt the irony of the situation. How often had I performed these very
same sets but with a different intention in mind? Instead of causing damage, I was using my brain to
help and heal.
To save.
Hours after the sun had set, the drug was finished.
I bundled up the syringe in a cloth, desperate to let nothing happen to it, before presenting it to
Roman. He only said, “Let’s go.”

The doctor held his hand out for the drug, but I refused to give it to him.
“I’m doing it,” I snarled.
He blinked behind his spectacles, like he was surprised at my feralness, before nodding hurriedly.
“Of course, of course. Let me walk you through it…”
Everyone crowded around as I administered the digoxin to Konstantin. The doctor helped me
position the needle, and safely inject his vein.
The amount was crucial. Too much digoxin and he could suffer from cardiac arrythmia, too little
and he could die.
Seconds passed.
I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. Each thump was another second gone.
Another second…
I needed to come clean. Secrets and mysteries gripped onto me with their claws, unwilling to let
me go. I needed to be free. Free of the lies and nightmares.
Another second…
My eyes darted to Tatiana. She leaned against Dmitri, eyes wide in concern.
Some primal part of me growled at the sight of her, furious she was so close to Konstantin, furious
she was considered innocent and harmless.
Another second…
When the sound of my bone cracking echoed throughout the vault, it had sounded like I had stepped
onto a twig.
Even amongst the agony, I remembered thinking: I’ll kill you for this, husband.
Another second…
Konstantin’s hair was sticking to his forehead again. My hands twitched as I ached to comb it back.
Another second…
My brain hadn’t settled yet from being used so much. I had the same adrenaline feeling that I had
felt when writing that article. Like all the knowledge in my brain was churning around and around,
waiting to be picked and used.
Another sec—
“His pulse has quickened,” the doctor said. “His heart is now beating at a normal rate.”
I bowed my head into my hands and breathed.
From the corner of my eye, between my fingers, I saw anger flash over Tatiana’s face. The look of
a woman who had not gotten what she wanted.
 26
Elena Falcone

Ten days.
Ten days had passed since Konstantin had begun his path to recovery. At first, he hadn’t woken
often, his body working hard to try and subdue the symptoms. By day four, he woke up of bursts of
clarity, asking for water or something to eat, before falling back into unconsciousness.
I sat beside him the entire time, a permanent shape of me now worn into the chair. I ate only for
sustenance and showered out of need, but every other second of the day, I was with Konstantin. I read
to him, talked to him, slept beside him. Whenever he moved, I was alert, watching and waiting.
Most of the days passed in a blur, nothing more than hours of light and darkness where Konstantin
was still unwell.
My voice carried around the room, the Russian fairy tale falling easily from my lips. The story
followed the youngest son of a king who had shot an arrow to find his true love. The arrow had
landed by a frog, who was cursed by some evil Russian cryptid. I wasn’t sure what the warning was,
but I was—
“Elena?”
I snapped my head up.
Konstantin’s head was turned towards me, his eyes bright with energy. A soft smile graced his
features.
“Are you okay?” I put the book aside. “Do you need some water?”
“No, no,” he breathed. “Just sit with me.”
I didn’t move, scanning his expression. Full color hadn’t returned to his face, but he did look the
best he had in over a week.
“Lyubimaya,” he repeated, almost warningly.
I crossed my arms. “I’m not certain you’re fine.”
Konstantin twisted his head to the book. “Were you reading in Russian?”
“I was.”
His light-brown eyes sparked in delight. “Since when do you read and speak Russian?”
“Since last week. You would’ve known had you not gotten yourself poisoned,” I said sharply. The
question of who had done it hung in the air, but I couldn’t make myself voice it aloud.
“I was wondering why my head feels a bit sore,” Konstantin mused. “Sit down, Elena. You look
exhausted.”
I reluctantly resumed my position. “Are you sure?”
“I asked your don if I could marry you two years ago.”
The sentence was said so abruptly that it took me a few minutes to grasp the full meaning behind
his words.
I felt my features furrow. “Kon, I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”
Konstantin pulled himself up, refusing more pillows. He looked like he was going to get out of bed,
but that’s where I drew the line, sending him a warning glare.
He smiled faintly. “So worried, lyubimaya.” He rolled his neck, cracking the joints. “But it is true.
I asked for your hand in marriage before you were betrothed to Falcone. I was denied, of course.”
I rubbed my forehead. Surely, he was lying, but why would Konstantin lie about something like
this? “We didn’t even know each other,” I told him. “Why would you want to marry me?”
“You didn’t know me, but I knew you.” Konstantin turned his head to me, our gazes meeting. An
intensity had gripped his features, holding us both hostage in the moment. “I knew you, Helen A.
Strindberg.”
My lips parted.
Tools of men are not inherently evil. It is how they are used.
Memories of researching and typing flashed in my mind’s eyes. I had been denied permission to go
to college, so in rebellion, I had written and published a journal article. It had been under the
pseudonym Helen A. Strindberg.
What is the hierarchies of men to a tree that has stood for thousands of years?
They had been quotes. I had known, deep in my gut, where they were from. But I refused to believe
he could know…That someone could know…
“How could you possibly…” Shock had a hold on me, making finishing my sentence hard.
“Why…”
Konstantin smiled faintly. “Nearly three years ago, I came across an article. ‘Botany as a weapon:
Discussing the past, present and future of poison.’ It was brilliant. I was enamored by the information,
and the author. However, when I tried to look for Ms Strindberg, there was no information about her.
No other articles, newspaper clippings or even a university.”
I couldn’t manage words. I had kept this secret so close, nursed it as my proudest accomplishment.
When I was sold off, beaten and belittled, it was the knowledge of what my brain could achieve that
kept me going.
“But then…Olezka got a lead. The name Helen A. Strindberg was a pseudonym, and the real author
was a woman by the name of Elena Agostino, based in Chicago.” Konstantin expression turned
wistful. “And what would fate have it? But she was a part of the Chicago Outfit, an capo’s orphaned
daughter.”
“So, you asked for my hand in marriage.”
“I did. I asked the late Don Piero, but he declined.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I considered
many other options. I would seduce you, introduce myself to you in public. Sometimes I even
considered damning good alliances and stealing you right from the Outfit. But I didn’t. I waited, I
watched.
But then…you were engaged to Thaddeo Falcone. A stupid man whose mind would never hold a
candle to your own.” Konstantin cut me a dark look. “It was easy to change my plans. I had planned to
take the Lombardis’ territory, but the Falcones offered a much sweeter deal. The first night you were
here, I asked Alessandro for your hand in marriage.”
“And what did the don of the Chicago Outfit say?” I asked.
There was nothing compromising in his expression. Only the look of someone who had won. “He
said yes.”
I leaned back in my chair, raising my eyebrows. “So, you have asked everyone but me if I want to
marry you?”
“Women tend not to have much of a choice,” Konstantin said. “But yes, I would have asked you.
Eventually.”
 I tilted my head to the side. “You don’t know me, Kon. Not really. There are things I have done…”
“I have done horrific things as well,” he replied. “But I know you, Elena. I know every single part
of you. All your intelligence and sarcasm, I know and love. Do you not compare me to those who
have turned you away—I am not one of them.”
Love.
The word rattled through my brain. “You don’t know everything,” was all I could say. “There are
some parts of me that even I am afraid of. That even I don’t love.”
Konstantin eyes urged me to go on. “I shall be the judge of that.”
“You are too biased,” I said, a glimmer of humor rising in me at his words. “You would let me get
off scot free.”
Something animalistic flashed over his features, “Indeed, I would,” he replied, voice low in his
chest.
When it became clear Konstantin still wanted to hear some of my secrets, I paused. There were
many, and though he knew about my secret life as an academic, that was one of my tamer secrets. The
others…
I ran my eyes down his tattoos, taking in the pictures of weapons and the stories of violence that
were no doubt attached to them. Scars also lined the skin, wounds from the many battles he had
fought.
I was not confessing to a pastor; I was confessing to the Russian Gentleman.
I looked back up to his eyes. His stare had not moved from me, still just as intense and revealing.
“My mother grew foxglove,” I began. “Not a lot of it, just a small pot next to her tomatoes. Her
logic was that if a creature came to steal her beautiful vegetables, then they might also take some of
the foxglove and die for their crimes.”
Konstantin nodded for me to go on. I could almost see the plant in my mind, the finger-painted pot it
had been in, the curved shape of the stem, the vibrant color of the petals.
“My father…” I looked down to my hands. No distinct words could be made, my ink having faded
as I had tended to Konstantin. “He was a mean man. A violent man. He would come home and beat
my mother to a pulp. I still remember scrubbing the floors before the neighbors visited to get the
blood out.”
I didn’t look up to see his expression, but I could feel Konstantin’s wrath. He said darkly but softly,
“I see.”
“I…He never laid a hand on me. My mother bore the abuse. Until…until one day he hit me. I don’t
remember what over. I just remember the feel of his fist colliding with my cheek.” I took a deep
breath.
Warm hands enclosed around my arms, and Konstantin pulled me to his chest. He let me take
control over how I sat in his arms, offering me my agency, but his comfort was needed. I rested my
head in the crook of his neck, breathing him in and continuing with my story.
“He shouldn’t have hit me,” I murmured.
“No, he shouldn’t have,” Konstantin growled.
“Not because it’s wrong, obviously,” I said. “But because I had inherited his viciousness. He
should’ve kept his hands to himself…Do you know that if you poison someone slowly over a long
period of time it doesn’t show up on a toxicology report?”
Konstantin pressed his lips to my head, breathing deeply. “Is that so?”
“It is.” I traced one of his tattoos; a spider in the center of a web. An ode to his niece, most likely.
“I poisoned him slowly. I used to crush up the foxglove leaves with the tea leaves and serve them to
my father. It took a few months, but eventually he died of a heart attack. Nobody was any the wiser.”
Konstantin rubbed his hand up and down my arm slowly, “He deserved it.”
“Yes, he did.” I swallowed. “I only killed him because he hit me. I didn’t care when he hit my
mother, Kon.”
“You were a child.”
“I was a murderer.”
Konstantin pressed another kiss to my head. “And Thaddeo?”
“I don’t like being hit,” was all I said. Konstantin had seen the foxglove plant and heart medication.
He knew if he hadn’t killed Thaddeo, it would’ve been me.
There was nothing more to say.
“Do you not worry, lyubimaya,” he said. “I have done much worse things in my life. Things that
would make you run for the hills.”
“I’m sure they were all for your family,” I replied. “I have never protected anybody else. My entire
life has been an attempt to keep myself safe.”
Konstantin ran a hand down my back. “I will let you to continue believe that,” he murmured. He
didn’t say which part of my sentences he was objecting to.
Voices sounded outside the hall, the byki discussing something with a bit too much emphasis. They
didn’t know that Konstantin had woken up yet.
“You need to go and be their pakhan again,” I said. “Everyone is very worried about you.”
“Later,” Konstantin said. “Right now, there is only one thing I want to do.”
I lifted my head, “And what is that?”
Konstantin pressed his lips to mine. Gentle, at first, waiting for my response. His lips were soft
and warm, and fit perfectly against mine.
I kissed him back, feeling heat flush through me at the feel of him against my mouth.
We were slow, teasing. Our first kiss—late, but worth the wait.
Slowly, Konstantin pushed me back down into the bed, stretching out over me. I could feel the
press of him against my stomach and thighs, his hands holding me steady and in position.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, twisting my fingers through his hair.
“Lyubimaya,” he breathed, breaking away from the kiss. His lips trailed down my neck, so light
and sweet yet igniting hot fire in my veins.
I tightened my grip on his hair. “Kon—”
The door swung open, almost flying off its hinges. “Boss, you’re alive!” Roman cheered, then
laughed. “Shit, you’re really fucking alive, huh?”
Konstantin didn’t speak, just sent Roman a look that could’ve peeled his skin off. I wiggled beneath
him, trying to send Roman a glare as well.
“Roman,” Konstantin said patiently but coldly. “You have three seconds to leave.”
Roman’s grin was huge. “God, am I happy you’re alive—”
“Two,” Konstantin warned.
The byki didn’t take the hint. “You really had us for a moment there, Boss. I thought Artyom would
be Pakhan and I was really freaking out—”
“One.”
Konstantin grabbed my book and flung it at Roman. It zoomed through the air, smacking the
bodyguard straight in the forehead.
“Next thing I throw is a bullet,” Konstantin hissed.
Roman got the message, hand to forehead. “I’ll be right outside when you need me.” His eyes
gleamed. “Anything at all. Cameraman, snack guy—”
Konstantin growled.
“Right, right. I’m gone.” Roman shut the door behind him, but as soon as he was in the hallway, we
heard him yell, “BOSS IS AWAKE!”
Konstantin sighed deeply and pressed his forehead to mine.
“They’ll all be here in a moment,” I said. “We might scandalize them in this position.”
He kissed my nose. “I’m willing to take the risk.”
I grinned as he leaned down to kiss me. This kiss was slow and languish, the seduction of our
mouths—
Someone banged on the door. “Kostya? You’re awake?” It was Roksana who spoke, but I could
make out the deep voices of Artyom and Dmitri as well.
“I might kill your family,” I noted.
Konstantin grinned and squeezed my hip. “Try and refrain yourself, lyubimaya. There has been
enough poisoning today.”
The comment was meant as a joke, but a somber mood took a hold of me.
Oh, Kon, I thought. You have no idea.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Konstantin would still love me after I told him what Tatiana had done.
 Part Three -
Heart of Foxglove

“It is humbling to think that all animals, including human beings, are parasites of the plant world.”

- Isaac Asimov
 27
Elena Falcone

Odessa nickered when she spotted me, tossing her head over the fence. She was fitted with a blanket
and ankle warmers, an attempt to fight the chill.
I greeted her with a nose scratch. “Is your Pakhan here?”
Judging from the pair of byki playing durak, guns on show, this was exactly where Konstantin was.
They nodded to me as I passed.
The stables were warm, heated to keep the horses comfortable as November grew colder. At the
end of the path, Konstantin stood, feeding Basil handfuls of barley. He had recovered quickly, though I
suspected he was ignoring any lingering discomfort so he could get back to being king of the
Tarkhanov Bratva.
Konstantin wore a casual suit, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows and revealing his
tattoos. He looked relaxed as he tended to his horses, but I wasn’t fooled into thinking his guard was
down. In a second, Konstantin could snap into the feared Pakhan he was.
“Lyubimaya.” he turned to greet me. His eyes darted down to my bare feet, the corners of his mouth
tugging up. “Walked, did we?”
“It’s not as far as you think it is.”
Konstantin inclined his head.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I am perfectly fine.” His eyes gleamed. “Thanks to you, Elena.”
I shrugged and came to stand beside him. Basil sniffed me in interest, but when it became clear I
didn’t have any food, he directed his attention back to his master.
Konstantin plucked out a twig from my hair, holding it between his fingers. “How poor you have
become at hiding your savagery, Elena,” he mused. He pressed down, snapping it in half.
“Unlucky for you.”
A quick grin snapped over his face. “I disagree. Your wildness is refreshing in our word of duty
and secrets.”
“You don’t have to flirt anymore, Kon,” I said. “You’ve already gotten a blowjob from me. The
game’s over.”
Konstantin didn’t laugh. Instead hunger gripped his face, warping and darkening his features. “The
game hasn’t ended just yet, lyubimaya.”
My heartbeat began to speed up. “Oh?”
He leaned down, eyes leveled with mine. This close it was easy to get lost in the power of him.
“There are still a few more things I want to do to you before I claim my victory.”
“What makes you so sure you’re going to win?” I asked, rising an eyebrow at his arrogance.
“A worthy opponent you are,” he purred, “but no one has ever beaten me.”
I smiled, feeling my plan weave together in my mind. “Oh, yeah?” I leaned my face closer to his,
our lips a whisper a part. “Then catch me.”
 Konstantin’s arms snaked out, but his fingers barely managed to graze me as I skidded out of his
grip. My laughter rose to the ceiling as I sang, “Too slow, Kon.”
He didn’t move, watching me with a small smile on his face. “Run, then, lyubimaya,” he
murmured. “And we’ll see if I can catch you.”
I wasted no time. I spun on my heel, legs pumping beneath me as I fled out of the stables and to the
paddocks. In the distance, the line of forest loomed.
Moments later, I felt Konstantin on my heels. He wasn’t going as fast as he could, letting the game
play out before it came to an end.
When I hit the mess of woods, he yelled, “Don’t get lost, lyubimaya.”
I laughed and skidded around a tree, barely avoiding a collision. Branches and leaves shaded the
path, darkening the world all around me. Leaves crunched and twigs snapped as I darted over logs
and around bends.
Behind me, I could feel Konstantin getting closer.
Then he was gone.
I dug my heels into the ground, spinning and searching the woods behind me. A loose branch, an
empty birds’ nest, a dozing Caucasian Shepherd, but no Konstantin.
My ears strained as I listened. Besides the rustling of leaves and babbling brook in the distance,
there was no sound of footfalls or twigs crunching.
An unnerved feeling rose up in me, quickening my heart and lungs.
“Elena.”
I turned. Konstantin stood before me, eyes dark. “I’ve caught you,” he murmured.
“Not yet.” I took a sharp left, almost twisting my ankle off in the process. His laughter, cruel and
dark, followed me as I fled.
I leaped down a small ditch, my knees groaning at the force. The air had grown dewier, indicating
the brook was nearby.
Moments later, I stumbled upon it, the rushing river that cut through the property. Little rocks cut up
the water, acting as a makeshift bridge.
I looked over my shoulder. I could see his tall form moving through the forest, his legs eating at the
ground as he hunted me.
Grinning, I strode into the river. The current threatened to sweep me off my feet but I plowed
through, managing to get to the other side. Wet dirt clung to the bottom of my shoes, my heart pounded
in my chest.
I turned just as Konstantin reached the bank. I expected him to pause, to wait, but instead he
stepped straight into the water, with little care for his thousand-dollar trousers and shoes.
Oh, shit.
I began to run again but without a destination in mind. I had thought the river would make him
hesitate, but Konstantin had paid it no attention, treating it as just another obstacle to be conquered.
Trees flashed as I kept sprinting, my speed broken up by random geographical obstacles.
Konstantin was getting closer now.
I could feel his footfalls behind me, the earth trembling [S9]as he neared.
Go faster—
A hand grabbed my arm, yanking me to the ground. Konstantin broke my fall, his arm banding
around my waist and bringing me to him.
He loomed over me, the predator looking down on his prey. “I win.”
I heaved down air. “What are you going to do with me…now that you’ve caught me?”
 Konstantin tore my pants down the middle, his hands going straight to the apex of my thighs.
Pleasure roared through at me the force, the brashness of his fingers pressing down into my wetness.
“I’m sure I’ll find something to do with you,” he growled in my ear.
He pushed me down into the earth, leaves cradling my fall.
There wasn’t enough air in the world to keep me alive, not enough ice in the universe to cool me
down.
Konstantin’s lips pressed against mine, scorching in their collision. Our teeth clashed; tongues
twisted. There was nothing else around us except for the feel of his mouth against mine, devouring me
like I was his own personal feast.
Cold air pressed my skin as he carelessly tossed the remnants of my jeans away. His finger curled
around the band of my panties, tugging.
Konstantin growled into my mouth. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
The fabric came away easily beneath his strength, and Konstantin broke away to hold them up. He
enjoyed the little bow.
“I didn’t know you had such pretty underwear, lyubimaya,” he purred.
“They’re not mine,” I returned.
Konstantin tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, before bringing his mouth back down to mine.
One had gripped my waist while the other ventured to my now bare sex, running a finger through the
wetness.
A growl rumbled low in his chest, “So ready, Elena. So wet from the chase.”
His fingers tightened on my hip, threatening to leave bruises. I gasped.
Konstantin leaned down to my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my neck and spine. “I’m
going to fuck you into the earth, Elena.”
I tipped my head back, lips widening, “Do it then.”
Konstantin grabbed my legs, holding them in place, as he shoved down his trousers. I felt his tip
press against me.
I hissed at the contact, just as he snarled.
With a single thrust, Konstantin entered me. I felt the entire length of him, stretching me and
pressing against my walls.
A cry erupted from my lips.
Konstantin pushed my legs to the sides, looming over me as he pushed in deeper. “Lyubimaya.” He
didn’t even sound like himself anymore, so wrapped up in lust and carnality.
His thrusts quickened, a steady pounding pace that pressed me deeper and deeper into the earth and
insanity.
I dug my nails into his biceps, so hard they tore the skin.
The pleasure was overwhelming. I could only focus on the slap of his hips against mine, the feeling
of his cock entering and stretching me. Anything else and I would’ve exploded, left as nothing but
pieces of shrapnel to be blown away in the wind.
Then Konstantin leaned down, pressing his teeth to the crook of my neck. The skin pricked in pain
as he bit down.
Pleasure shocked through me, another moan flowing from my lips.
“Kon!” I cried out.
He pinched one of my nipples through my shirt, laughing deeply as I let out another squeal of
pleasure.
“Lyubimaya,” he said against my neck. “Like pain, do we?”
 My brain couldn’t form a coherent answer. I only responded by whimpering loudly, desperate for
more and less.
Konstantin stretched above me, lifting my hips. My back arched as he positioned me higher, his
thrust growing faster and harder and rougher. I felt the thrusts rock through my body, pushing me
deeper into the ground.
“Kon,” I groaned, head tipping back.
My muscles contracted as my pleasure began to reach its peak.
“Not yet, Elena,” he growled.
I gasped down air. No command could stop the shock of orgasm that rattled through me, bucking my
hips and causing a scream to escape from my throat.
Konstantin stopped suddenly, peering down at me. “Didn’t I say not yet?” he inquired. “And yet
you orgasmed anyway? Naughty.”
A few muscles twitched in the aftermath, but I managed to say, “I couldn’t stop.”
Konstantin buried his fingers between my thighs, pinching my clit. I cried out, sensitivity still
heightened from the orgasm.
“Dear me, lyubimaya,” he murmured. “What will I do to you now?”
I was quite happy to let Konstantin do anything to me, but I held up my chin, letting him see the
challenge in my eyes.
His teeth flashed as he grinned. “Well, then…”
Quick as a whip, Konstantin pulled out of me and flipped me onto my stomach. The air left my
lungs in shout of surprise.
Konstantin yanked my hips up, positioning himself at my entrance. His teeth scraped the back of my
neck, teasingly and warningly.
“This time you won’t come[S10] until I say so,” Konstantin said against my skin. Shivers skidded
up and down my spine. I couldn’t see his expression but the bite to his tone, the growl to his voice,
told me he wouldn’t be denied.
I nodded, not sure I could form words.
Konstantin’s grip tightened on my hips as his tip pressed against my folds. “Say yes, lyubimaya.”
“Yes,” I gasped.
“Yes what?”
“Is this a quiz?” I demanded. “Yes, I won’t come until you say so.”
His laugh rumbled through his chest. “See, lyubimaya, that was all I needed.”
Behind me, Konstantin pushed into me in one stroke. My teeth rattled as he picked up speed,
pounding against my hips. I dug my fingers into the dirt for balance, but Konstantin was stronger, his
force sending me onto my elbows.
Konstantin arched over me, trailing his lips and teeth down my neck and shoulders. He was moving
too fast to sink his teeth—
I gasped as a he hit the pleasure spot. Dirt and moss filled my nose and lungs.
“Kon,” I gasped.
He aimed for it again, causing my neck to lose strength and drop into the ground.
Another animalistic scream tore from my lips as his rhythm grew faster and harder.
It was all too much. I could barely feel or think, the pleasure was riveting through my blood like a
wave.
Konstantin pressed his nose to the back of my neck, his teeth teasing the sensitive flesh. “Come
now, lyubimaya.”
 I didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as my muscles contracted, his teeth sunk into my neck.
I screamed. Birds flew from their branches, insects grew silent. The noise lifted high, alerting
anyone where we were.
I felt him growl. In the next second, his cock twitched, and I felt his warm seed spill into me. His
bite grew harder as his pleasure hit its apex.
We came together in a final burst, surrounded by the mossy logs and November breeze, our limbs
entwined in a vine-like grip—never to be torn apart.

Konstantin held me in his arms, fingers combing through my hair. We hadn’t moved from the
ground, still laying half-naked amongst the moss and trees. A cold breeze slid over us, causing me to
bury myself further into his chest, seeking warmth.
The ache between my legs had dulled into a pleasant throb, a soft reminder of how Konstantin had
taken me. I had never had sex like that; nothing in my life bore any sort of resemblance. Like two
animals, lost in the haze of lust, and unable to stay away from each other until they tore each other
apart.
I wanted to do it again.
He rubbed a hand down my back and dropped a kiss to the top of my head. “If you’re cold,
lyubimaya, we can go inside.”
I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay in Konstantin’s arms listening to the thrum of his heartbeat
until the forest’s roots grew over us, forever solidifying our embrace.
“I’m not cold,” I murmured against his chest.
His arms tightened around me. “If you say so.”
Silence fell, interrupted only by the noises of the forest. The steady rise and falls of our chests
synced as we both calmed in the aftermath of our wild sex.
Konstantin was the first to break it. “Another meeting has been called amongst the bosses of New
York,” he said. “Would you care to join me?”
“I’m not a boss.”
“No, you’re not. But you would be welcomed as my guest.”
I lifted my head, catching his gaze. “What sort of boss brings a guest to a mobster meeting?”
He smiled. “You were more than happy to join me when I spoke to the Hell’s Henchmen
motorcycle club. Are you no longer happy being my guest?”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“Don’t be coy.” his lips tugged. “But if you insist, I could introduce you as something else other
than my guest.”
“Thaddeo’s widow?” I mocked.
Konstantin’s entire expression hardened. “No.”
I tilted my head to the side at his intensity. “Relax, Kon. I am happy being introduced as your
guest.”
“No, no. I think another title deserved.” His light-brown eyes searched my expression.
A certain seriousness had settled over this conversation. Both an invitation and offer.
I pressed my lips together. “Konstantin…”
“I will introduce you however you wish to be introduced,” he said. “Even if I have other things, I
wish to call you.”
The strange sensation of tears forming welled behind my eyes. “Konstantin…I can’t go to that
meeting. You can’t introduce me as your mistress or girlfriend or guest.”
“You require a better title?” His eyebrows rose.
“No,” I said firmly. “I don’t want any title.”
Konstantin’s features flickered. I could tell that hadn’t been what he had wanted me to say. “And
why is that, lyubimaya?” he asked softly.
The truth rested on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I could feel the threat
of losing what I had hovering over my head. I could lose Konstantin, his arms and care and respect.
But I could also lose Danika. Roman and Roksana. Artyom. Dmitri and Anton.
But what was the alternative? Keep silent forever? Would I sit beside her at breakfast, pass her the
butter, all while knowing her secret?
I squeezed my eyes tightly, my thoughts growing louder and louder.
“Elena.” Konstantin’s hand cupped the back of my head, his thumb tracing my cheek. “What is the
matter?”
I pushed out the words, “I need to tell you something.”
“Open your eyes and tell me.”
I forced myself to peel them open. The concerned look in his eyes almost made me bury my head in
the dirt. But I was not one to cower when the moment was right.
There was no other alternative, no more waiting and watching.
It was time to tell the truth.
“Tatiana was never really sick.”
Konstantin paused, brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”
As soon as the accusation was out, the evidence followed easier. “She was poisoning herself. Her
symptoms matched with someone overdosing on their prescribed medications.” I swallowed. “The
first tonic I gave her was meant to subdue her illness, giving me enough time to actually figure out
what was wrong. But when she miraculously recovered…I—I became suspicious.”
“That is enough, Elena,” he warned. “This petty behavior is not who you are—nor does it have any
place in this family.”
I shook my head and kept talking, “I gave her a placebo. A fake. Nothing more than water and
starch. But she kept getting better. She was lying, Konstantin. Her entire illness—there was nothing
wrong with her. I don’t know if it’s Munchausen’s or if something else—”
Konstantin sat up, causing me to scramble to my knees as well. Fury gripped his expression. “Your
first tonic could’ve worked, even when you did not mean it to,” he said. “That does not make Tatiana
a liar.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Konstantin. Medicine doesn’t miraculously do things it isn’t supposed to.
That’s like saying taking ibuprofen accidentally cured cancer. It doesn’t happen!”
He rose to his feet, pulling up his trousers. I could feel him growing further and further away. “And
that is your only proof?” he asked dangerously.
I rose to my feet as well, not bothering to hide my nakedness. “Why do you think the hundreds of
doctors you sent for couldn’t find anything, Konstantin? Because there was nothing to find. She made
it up—the entire thing!”
“Then why is suddenly better?” he inquired. “Why did she choose you to heal your fake illness
instead of anybody else?”
“Well, I imagine it’s because she probably thought I wouldn’t notice,” I snapped.
Konstantin stood tall, fury emanating from every pore. I had never seen his temper so out in the
open, so easily identifiable. “Tatiana has been a part of this family since she was eighteen. Not once
has she ever acted dishonestly or dishonorably.”
“That doesn’t mean she can’t do shitty things, Konstantin.” I snapped.
“Tatiana is not dangerous,” he warned. “She is a good woman, who has been nothing but kind and
caring to her husband and son. She has never harmed anyone—”
“Unlike me?” I hissed.
Konstantin held a hand. “You know that is not what I meant.” His eyes caught my bare legs,
goosebumps pebbling on the exposed skin. To my surprise, he unbuttoned and slipped off his shirt.
“Cover yourself,” he growled. “And let’s end this conversation here.”
I refused the shirt. “This conversation is not over. I will not be a pawn to Tatiana’s game. Nor will
I let you be.”
“Enough, Elena,” he repeated. “These accusations are grounded in nothing—”
“They are grounded in fact! Open your eyes. She faked getting sick, she faked getting better. Not
really the behavior of a good woman, now is it?”
His features warped, teasing the beast beneath his skin. “I said enough.”
“And I said no.”
Konstantin looked down at me, “Then I guess we are at an impasse,” he growled. “But I am still
Pakhan and when I order you to keep these theories to yourself, you will obey.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, cushioning my breasts. “When I want to keep my theories to
myself, I will. Until then, go fuck yourself.”
“Enough rebellion,” he warned. “I am ordering—”
“So when my rebellion is against everyone but you it’s okay?” My tone had taken on a near-savage
sound to it, equivalent to a wolf shrieking at its prey. “I won’t make myself more appetizing so I’m
easier for you to swallow. You can choke for all I care.”
His lip curled back. “Very well. You have made your decision.” His eyes were nothing but rage as
they pinned me to the spot. “I hope you can handle the consequences, lyubimaya.”
 28
Konstantin Tarkhanov

“I believe her.”
The sentence coming from Roman’s mouth made me stop in my step.
November wind swirled all around us, bringing the cold over the Narrows. We had traveled to the
usual meeting spot via boat, the journey rough and uncomfortable, but the choppy waves hadn’t been
the only reason the tension had been high.
My men were walking on eggshells around me.
As they should be.
There was no word equivalent to how I was feeling.
Rage and fury were too tame to describe the boiling of my blood and red of my vision.
Pens and papers split beneath my grip, bratok cowered beneath my stare, and even the ocean
seemed to shudder beneath my attention.
But Roman, it seemed, had lost his survival instincts for the time being.
I turned to him slowly. I heard some of my men cuss softly under their breath at Roman, but I paid
them no mind.
“What did you just say?” I asked quietly.
Roman shifted on his feet, showing he wasn’t a complete idiot. He sent a few glares to his fellow
byki, meaning he wanted them to offer us some privacy.
There was no need. News had travelled quickly through the men. From my office, to Artyom and
Feodor, with Roman and Olezka following. Soon the entire Bratva, including the women in my
household, knew about the accusations towards Tatiana.
She had not revoked them. Had not apologized or compromised. She had borne the consequences,
the cold shoulders and biting comments with her chin held high.
If I wasn’t so angry, I would’ve been impressed.
Roman cleared his throat as he said, “I believe Elena.”
Elena.
Her name cut through the wind, as demanding and wild as the woman herself.
“And why,” I asked, “do you believe her?”
“I just don’t see why she would make it up.”
I rose an eyebrow. “But you believe Tatiana made it up? The woman with whom you have lived
side by side with for nearly a decade.”
Roman rubbed his mouth. “I believe Elena,” he repeated.
“I fear your confidence is misplaced.”
“How do you know that?”
I cut my eyes to Roman. He looked down at the ground in submission. “Remember who you’re
talking to.”
For once, my byki stayed quiet, just bowing his head in respect.
 Two other mob bosses had arrived before me. Thomas Sr Ó Fiaich and Chen Qiang. They spoke
softly in a pair, looking over the East River.
Their soldiers loitered around the space, lifting their heads up as I joined the party. My own men
sent back glares and warnings, before taking up their own positions. Almost two dozen mobsters
scattered themselves around the edge of Governor’s Island, their numbers catching more attention than
the meeting of the bosses.
“Konstantin,” Qiang greeted first.
We shook hands, exchanging empty but polite greetings. Thomas Sr and I greeted each other the
same way, discussing the weather and the journey and their wives’ health. The topic up for discussion
was hinted at but never explicitly said. It would have to wait until all five bosses were here.
Soon after, Mitsuzo Ishida arrived.
“Awaiting Vitale, are we?” he inquired as we greeted each other. “He is always the last one, no?”
Noises of agreement floated over the group.
“Konstantin, you have made it to your second meeting,” Mitsuzo said.
I nodded. “I’m sure I’ll make it to many more.”
His dark eyes glimmered, and he nodded.
A rumble spread across the bodyguards, a shudder of fury. They darted to their feet, guns in hand.
Personal bodyguards fled to their bosses; Roman coming to my side.
“What is going on?” I asked.
“An intruder has arrived.”
Past the road, an unfamiliar flock of men moved towards us. The black of their uniforms turned
away the sunlight.
Energy and guards rose. Thomas Sr and Mitsuzo went to leave, their bodyguards numbering around
them protectively.
“At ease,” I called. Hesitant eyes flickered towards me. “We know this intruder.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, the guards shifted, revealing the king of Maine.
“Giovanni Vigliano,” Mitsuzo said, rolling the name over his tongue like the man finally deserved
to be known by name. “Lorenzo’s bastard.”
Giovanni reached our group and slipped off his fedora. His eyes roamed over the collected bosses.
“Vitale is dead,” he said. “I am now the Don of Manhattan and Queens.”
Most of us monsters chose another face to wear. Whether it be a face of charisma or violence, one
of an idiot or one of a politician. It was important to moving throughout society without resistance, to
interacting with those who were not monsters. If we did not cover our rotten souls, I feared the rest of
our world would come with pitchforks and torches.
We even wore these faces in front of our men, who were almost as terrible and vicious as
ourselves.
I had worn mine since birth. It had been imperative to my survival.
If my family had known for even a second, when I was small and vulnerable, that I had the mind of
a leader, the soul of an emperor, I never would’ve made it to my eighth birthday.
I had protected my niece from the same problem.
There were only a few mob bosses I could recall as men who often showed the beast. Alessandro
Rocchetti, the Don of Chicago was one of them. His temper and violent nature had never been
anything he had hidden under the guise of civility.
But Giovanni Vigliano was a different manner of mob boss. He had not chosen to be brash or
bloodthirsty. No, Giovanni wore no mask at all. He showed the emotionless monster that tempered in
his blood with little remorse or bother.
His coldness was different to Dmitri’s. Whereas Dmitri was sharp and icy—his attitude more akin
to a frozen black lake with a monstrous serpent beneath—Giovanni’s coldness came from a place of
apathy.
He was considered cold simply because there was no emotion for him to show.
“Is that so?” Qiang inquired.
His eyes shifted to the Shan Chu of the Chen Triad. “Indeed, it is.”
We assessed him; he assessed us.
“We are here to discuss the threat Titus poses,” I said. “Do you have anything to add that your
predecessor did not?”
Giovanni’s blue eyes sparked. “I do.” He turned, gesturing a hand to his men. Their numbers
shifted, and two stepped forward, carrying a duct-taped man between them. “This man tried to kill my
daughter in the name of Titus.”
The torture this man had endured must have been brutal. There was a lack of vitality to his face,
and his eyes looked like mirrors—empty and reflective. His heart might still be beating but there was
nothing left to this man.
Good.
Those who hurt children deserved to be ripped of their souls and forced to live as hollow corpses
for the rest of their existence.
Anybody who had forgotten such a thing, might find themselves face to face with the monster I kept
beneath my very own skin.
“His name is Elmir Smirnov,” Giovanni said. “He was born in Saratov, a city in Russia.”
“He told you this?”
“Under duress, but yes.”
I rose an eyebrow. “What a polite way of putting it.”
Mitsuzo smiled. “It is, isn’t it?” He gestured to the man. “Where did you find him?”
Darkness briefly glimmered over Giovanni’s face. “He entered my property and found himself very
quickly caught.” His eyes met mine briefly, an understanding passing between us.
Without the warning I had given him, they wouldn’t have been waiting for Elmir Smirnov and the
situation could’ve ended very differently for Marzia Vigliano.
“Did he say anythin’ about Titus?” Thomas Sr asked.
“Very little,” Giovanni said. “His loyalty to Titus is unmatched.”
“A problem we also encountered with Edward Ainsworth,” I noted.
Thomas Sr shook his head and narrowed his eyes on Smirnov. “Everybody has a price.”
I wondered if he felt the same way about his own men and their loyalty.
If I ever suspected that one of my men might have a dollar sign attached to his allegiance, I
wouldn’t bother keeping them so close. Real loyalty was difficult to find, and even harder to
maintain. But it was not impossible, and the rewards greatly outnumbered the disadvantages.
“He only admitted to being loyal to Titus and that my daughter was his target,” Giovanni said. “The
rest was useless babble about his life in Saratov and avenging his sister.” He peered down at Elmir
Smirnov in distaste.
Something about Giovanni’s words caught my attention. With a flick of my finger, I instructed
Roman to approach Elmir.
Giovanni waved at his men to let Roman pass. My byki grabbed Elmir’s head and wrenched his
neck back, revealing his full complexion.
 A muscle in my jaw tightened but I refused to reveal the sudden turmoil of emotions that stormed
within me. Men like my fellow bosses would leap on the first sign of weakness—just as I would do
to them.
“Sister, do you say?” I remarked. “Nikolina Feodorovna?”
Deep in Elmir’s eyes, there was a spark of recognition. Eyes that were the hybrid blend of gray and
blue.
Roman’s expression flickered as well, revealing that he had seen what I had and understood the
implications of just what that might mean.
An emotion akin to fear boiled within me.
Fear and betrayal.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I said, my tone growing darker as the rage I kept buried beneath my
civility threatened to escape. “But I am urgently needed elsewhere.”
Through the fog of anger and betrayal, Elena’s voice came to me clearly and distinctly. Even in my
mind, her tone came off as sarcastic and holier-than-thou.
I will not be a pawn in Tatiana’s game. Nor will I let you be.
It was too late, I feared. The final move had been made. Checkmate.
Like we shared the power of telepathy, I met eyes with Roman and he understood my meaning
immediately.
Call Artyom and tell him to rally the men. We have an intruder in our mist.
He nodded once.
 29
Elena Falcone

I was surprised with how much the cold-shoulder I was receiving actually bothered me.
Growing up, I had craved anonymity and isolation. I had purposefully struck fights with my
cousins, been as antagonistic as possible to my classmates. All with the purpose of being left alone,
of being so disliked no one dared make the effort to like me.
Now…my heart squeezed when Danika didn’t offer me syrup, or when Roksana brushed past me in
the hallways like I was a piece of furniture. Even being ignored by Artyom was painful. Dmitri and
Tatiana, I had expected to react badly, and found myself more upset over Dmitri ignoring me than
Tatiana.
Anton, thankfully, knew little of the going-ons between the adults and was the only one not ignoring
me.
I had taken refuge in the library, joined by Babushka. A part of me longed to venture outside, but the
memories of Konstantin taking me amongst the grass and trees only reminded me of the most painful
consequence of my accusation: Kon was ignoring me. He was angry with me.
Rationally, I knew he had to get over himself. I was right in my conviction—I was certain of it. If
he wanted to keep punishing me, then so be it. There was nothing I could do. Even if there was an
unspoken time frame to his fury.
But some much less intelligent part of my brain was miserable over his anger. I fretted like an
uncertain child all night. Should I revoke my belief? My accusation? Or should I force Konstantin to
talk to me, even if it was to fight?
All these strange emotions and reactions swirled around my body. My stomach felt like it was
filled with lead, my heart felt like it was being constantly squeezed. I was on the verge on tears every
night before I fell asleep and woke up every morning with my head in the toilet bowl.
I didn’t like it. I felt like I was learning about my body for the second time. The feeling of newness
overcame me, like my entire body had cut a nail too close to the bed.
Voices erupted from outside the library, high and shrill. I caught Danika’s tone, but couldn’t make
out the second.
Slowly, I put down my book and made by way to the door. The voices cleared.
“Going on?” Danika was saying. “I don’t understand. What is he saying?”
The clear distress in her voice made me push the door open, peering through into the hallway. Two
figures stood, Danika and Roksana. Danika had her arms wrapped around her stomach and her eyes
were wide. Opposite her, Roksana was on the phone, her features pinched.
“Roksana—” Danika tried again.
Roksana stuck a finger in her ear to block her out. Her expression became intent, reacting to
whatever the other person on the end of the line was saying.
I stepped closer, a futile effort to hear what was going on, but only ended up catching Danika’s
attention. Her eyes flared in hurt and her arms tightened around her.
 “This doesn’t concern you, Elena,” she said. The words were meant to be harsh, but her tone fell
flat, making it sound more like a plea.
I closed the door behind me, cementing my position in the hallway. “You look upset.”
“An astute observation,” she said crisply.
I swallowed down my comment about her stealing my gig as being the sarcastic one but kept quiet.
I doubt she would find it funny.
Roksana was growing increasingly more worried. She glanced between Danika and me. “Yes,
they’re both here. We’re leaving now.”
We were? “Where are we going?” I asked.
Roksana brought the phone away from her ear, “We need to grab Anton—”
A gunshot ricocheted through the room. Loud and startling, an echo of terror, before the sound of the
wall cracking beneath the impact.
We shouted in surprise, glancing up at the hole that now dented the wall.
“You’re not going anywhere, I’m afraid,” came an unfamiliar yet familiar voice.
Heels clacked, as unsettling as the sound of the gunshot.
Slowly, I turned my head and felt my stomach drop. Not from surprise…no, not surprise. More like
pity—for Danika and Roksana.
Danika cried out in surprise. “Tatiana, what is going on?”
Tatiana stood at the end of the hallway. No longer did she wear comfortable pajamas or have the
complexion of a corpse. Now, she was dressed like a businesswoman, in a sleek gray dress with
pumps. Without the swelling of her stomach, I might not have even realized it was the same woman I
treated all those weeks ago.
Roksana had gone frighteningly still. She looked sad, but not surprised. Through her eyes of an
outsider, I doubted she was surprised at anything horrific she saw her mafia-born friends do. It was
probably an expectation, a symptom of how we were raised. Eventually we would do horrific things.
But Danika…She was looking around the hallway rapidly, from us to the floor to the windows. “I
don’t…Tatiana?”
Tatiana moved her arm, revealing the gun in her palm. She held it expertly. “That’s enough,
Danika.” Her voice…it was Tatiana’s voice but harder and colder. Like she had pulled a sheet of ice
over her words.
Danika’s chin wobbled. “Why do you have a gun?”
“In case any of you try to run,” Tatiana noted. She pointed the gun at Roksana, the air leaving all
our lungs with the action. “Hang up on Artyom, Roksana.”
“They know, Tatiana,” Roksana said. “You have minutes—minutes—before the men rain hell down
on you.”
She laughed. “I’m afraid they’ll find some resistance from my own men, Roksana.” Her lips
twisted. “I bet you wish you had said no to this life when you had the chance.”
Roksana didn’t refute her claim.
Tatiana’s eyes danced to me, narrowing as they hit their target. She didn’t move the gun from where
it was pointed, only neared her finger to the trigger.
My throat tightened.
“Ah, nasty Elena, the widow of stupid Thaddeo and now the plaything of arrogant Konstantin.”
I growled, “Tatiana, the mother of Anton and Nikola.”
No reaction flashed over her face. “You should’ve left when you had the chance, Elena,” she
merely said. “Not doing so will be the greatest regret of your life.”
 “We’ll see,” I narrowed my eyes, “Titus.”
Tatiana smiled slowly, her entire face transforming. Gone was the nurturing mother who doted on
her family and bravely fought against her illness. Now standing before me was a boss, a monster,
someone who could walk into a room and silence it.
Danika saw it too. “Tell me it’s not true,” she half-pleaded. “I would’ve seen it...would’ve
known...”
Tatiana’s attention moved to Danika, the gun tilting as she moved. My brain picked up on the
movement, coming to life as a plan formed. “You have never interrogated me, Danika. Perhaps if you
hadn’t trusted me so much, you would have.”
“Trusted you?” she whispered. “I love you. I’ve known you since I was a teenager. You taught me
about boys, and how to apply lipstick. I’m your son’s godmother. We’re family; I loved you.” Danika
swallowed loudly.
“Love has no place in this world, Danika,” Tatiana said.
As quick as a whip, I lashed out. My hands came around the gun, the force causing Tatiana’s hands
to come loose. It hit the wall, clattering out of our range.
“Neither does hesitation,” I hissed.
Tatiana bared her teeth in response, shoving me away. Her nails cut through my hands, stinging
erupting. “Neither do women, Elena,” she warned. “Stay out of my way.”
“I will not.”
“Fine.” She looked over her shoulder, “Boys!”
Four figures emerged, each terrifying in their own way. Their tattoos indicated allegiances to La
Cosa Nostra and the Bratva and other families respectfully. They separated; two going for Roksana
and two heading for Danika.
Roksana shoved away but hit the wall, allowing them to trap her between their grip. Danika threw
a punch, it hit nothing but air and she quickly found herself imprisoned as well.
“Don’t struggle,” Tatiana said.
“Leave them alone!” I growled. I started forward, not sure what I was going to do but needing to do
something, when Tatiana caught my arm.
In perfect Italian, she said, “Se vuoi que loro rimangano in vita, comportati bene.”
If you want them to live, behave.
I stopped.
“I’m not going anywhere!” Roksana said, a sudden viciousness overtaking her. She tried to pull out
of her jailer’s grips, but they held fast. She shouted in fury. “You won’t get away with this, Tatiana!”
“I already have,” she noted. With a flick of her wrist, the men dragged the other two women out of
the rom.
Danika dug her heels into the ground, but she wasn’t physically strong enough. Roksana definitely
wasn’t, not with her injury.
My stomach dropped.
Roksana looked back at me as she was carted away. We’ll be okay, her eyes implored. We’re all
going to be okay.
In this instance, Roksana’s optimism was misplaced.
None of us were going to come out of this okay.
Tatiana clucked her tongue as soon as they were out of sight. I could hear them yelling as they were
dragged away, their voices growing fainter and fainter.
“What do you want from me, Tatiana?” I asked.
 Her eyes gleamed. “I won’t ask how you know I want something from you. The answer is too
obvious, I’m afraid.” She ran a hand over her stomach in thought. “You’re the only one who figured it
out. I fooled my family, doctors, professionals, but you saw right through it.”
“It wasn’t hard,” I mocked.
A faint smile grew over her face. “Not to you, it wasn’t.” She looked over at me. “I want to offer
you an opportunity, Elena.”
I laughed, the noise echoing down the hallway. “Fuck off. I don’t want anything from you.”
“Oh, I think you will.” Tatiana assessed me with her blue-gray eyes. She was able to see something
in me and whatever it was, it made her smirk. “I won’t beat around the bush. I want revenge and I
want power. The current era is dwindling to an end and I intend to survive the cull.”
The current era of the mafia was coming to an end. I could feel it; everybody could feel it. It was
time to adapt or perish.
“What does that have to do with me?” I asked.
“Your talents are wasted, Elena. I know that, and you know that just as well. A mind like yours
could be coveted...and it would have been, had you been born a man.”
I lifted my chin. “If I had been born a man, I wouldn’t be as smart[S11].”
Her eyes gleamed. “Very true. But the fact remains. You will never have the respect you deserve.
You will always be just a woman in this world. A baby-making machine who doubles as a bargaining
chip for allegiances.”
“And in your world, that isn’t the case?”
Tatiana shook her head. “You would be one of my closest advisors, a position you deserve, and
would have if you weren’t a woman.” Her eyes invited me. “Don’t you want that, Elena? Notoriety?
Your superior intelligence revered?”
Some part of me did want that. Even after publishing a random journal article under a pseudonym, I
had still craved my peers’ validation. My looks and personality had never been anything I cared
about, but my brain? My intelligence? I held it up to the highest degree, and expected others to do the
same.
Arrogant, yes. But true.
If I hadn’t been born in this world, my life would’ve been so different. I would’ve graduated high
school early, gone to the college of my choice. I would’ve spent my years researching and discussing,
sitting in labs and typing away at computers. There would’ve been awards and medals.
But that wasn’t my fate. Nor would it ever be.
“I do,” I said honestly.
Tatiana’s expression sharpened. “I can give all that to you,” she said. “I have been underestimated
as well, Elena.” She sure had. “But revenge will be mine. Will you join me?”
“Why will you have revenge?” I asked.
Tatiana’s lips thinned. “The men in this world...they only know how to take. And who do they take
the most from? Women in this world. All we do is give: our wombs, our time, our lives. But I refuse
to give anymore. What about you, Elena, will you keep giving?” Amusement sparked in her eyes.
“You have only ever cared about yourself, this I know. Why stop now?”
I had only cared about myself.
Every move I have ever made was to keep myself alive and surviving. When my father had laid his
hands on my mother, I didn’t make a move. But when he laid his hands on me? I killed him. The same
with Thaddeo. I didn’t care about the innocents who had suffered at the hands of his crimes, but when
he came after me? It was only a matter of time before his death was mine.
 What place did a heartless creature like that have in the Tarkhanov Bratva? Monsters, yes. But they
loved each other. Past the fangs and violence, they saw each other at their core and loved them
fiercely. Nobody went without and everybody was always happy to give.
And for a brief time...just a moment...I had been a part of that. I had received and given, been cared
for and cared for in return.
I looked at Tatiana.
Her entire adult life, Tatiana had been loved and loved in return.
But I feared the damage had been wrought long before she’d met Dmitri. And I doubted even his
love for her would’ve been enough to combat the darkness in her soul.
“Why me?” I asked. “Because I’m so apathetic and intelligent?”
Tatiana smiled. “Of course. Why else?” She peered at me. “You were the destroyer of my plans and
now you will be their redemption. The things we will achieve together, Elena...oh, we shall go down
in history.”
History.
The word sat in my mind, bright and potent.
I looked down at my hands. Words scrawled over the knuckles and fingers and palms. My thoughts
summed up in a mixture of chaotic letters. Cold-shoulder, loneliness, nausea, misery.
And in between the thumb and pointing-finger, a small four-letter word had been written—outlined
enough that it was darker than the other scrawls.
“No.”.
Tatiana went still. “No?”
I met her eyes, holding my chin high. “No. I will not help you, child killer. When my work is held
in high esteem, it will have nothing to do with anybody else but me.”
Her lips curled back. “Fine. Have it your way.” She grabbed my arm and dragged me to the
window.
Down in the garden, among the wild shrubs and overgrown plants, Roksana and Danika were
kneeling. The four men who had taken them stood around. Two held guns, and those guns were
pointed straight at Roksana and Danika.
My stomach fell.
“Oh, Elena,” Tatiana cooed. “The stupidest thing you have ever done is cared about someone other
than yourself. Not so smart, now, are you?”
I said, in a voice that sounded like mine but was not, “If any harm comes to either of them, you will
pay.”
“Yes, yes. Artyom and Roman will hunt me down. I’m not scared of them,” she laughed. “I
practically raised Roman. He will be easy to predict and defeat.”
I turned my head to her slowly. “Don’t ever let your guard down, Titus,” I murmured. “Because the
day you do, I will be there. You might not see me, but I will be there. Whether in your food or drink,
maybe even a pretty bouquet of flowers you receive. I will be there.”
Tatiana didn’t appreciate my threat, a muscle in her jaw twitching. “You could’ve had it all,” she
said, almost thoughtfully. “I’m afraid, Elena, if you’re not with me, you’re against me.”
“Obviously,” I growled.
She smiled faintly and waved a finger.
On her command, the men down below cocked their guns.
My stomach dropped like a lead balloon.
“Here is what is going to happen,” she said. “You’re going to leave. I don’t care where you go. But
you will leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I hissed.
Tatiana shrugged. “Fine.” She waved a hand.
I snatched her fingers in the air before the gunshot sounded. “Do not.”
“Then agree to leave,” she replied. “Or else you can say goodbye to your precious family.”
“They’re your family, too.”
Tatiana’s eyes darkened. “My family was killed when I was child. Though I will not relish in their
deaths, they are necessary to getting what I want.”
I assessed her. “And they say I am cold.”
“Make a decision, Elena,” she said.
“Why not just kill me?” I wondered.
Tatiana’s eyebrows rose in faint alarm. “And lose a mind as sharp as your own? No, no. You will
come to your senses,” she said. “Why are you so resistant? Haven’t you wanted to leave the entire
time? Why stay now?”
Why stay now?
I looked down at Roksana and Danika, still at the end of a gun. My eyes kept moving, resting on my
abdomen.
Why stay now?
Tatiana laughed softly. “Oh, I see.”
When I looked back up to her eyes, she was smiling knowingly like she understood. Her hand
caressed her stomach, the movement too loving to match her bloodthirsty expression.
I didn’t respond.
“I am slowly losing my patience, Elena,” Tatiana said. “Stay and be the reason Roksana and
Danika are dead or leave and save their lives.”
I banded an arm around my stomach protectively, like the pressure would stop the pit welling
inside of me.
I opened my mouth. “I—”
“Mama? Auntie Lena?”
We both turned, my lips parting in horror. A few feet away, dressed in his Spiderman pajamas,
Anton stood. Wrapped up in his chubby little hand was the discarded gun.
 30
Elena Falcone

“Anton, baby.” Tatiana gestured to him with a gentle hand. “Give Mama the gun.”
I took a step forward, catching his attention. “Anton, stay there. Do not move.”
Confusion filled his face at the conflicting instructions. His blue eyes darted between us, expecting
us to make a cohesive decision.
“Darling,” fussed Tatiana. “Give Mama the gun. Come now, it’s not safe.”
Anton brought the gun closer to his chest, so vulgar in his innocent hands. “Mama?” His voice
sounded unsure.
Even her son had picked up on a change.
Tatiana made an effort to smooth her expression, donning the mask she had been wearing for
decades. “Anton, baby–”
A loud noise resonated throughout the hall. It shook the windows and chandeliers, rumbling through
the wooden floors and plastered walls. Shouts followed after, then two gunshots.
I fled to the window, desperate to see.
Danika was on her feet, gun in hand and standing over a fallen man, with Roman on her left. Behind
her, Artyom had an arm wrapped around Roksana’s waist, his expression monstrous. Konstantin’s
bratok crossed over the gardens, heading for the house.
I turned to Tatiana. “The game is over, now.”
“Not yet it isn’t,” she hissed. She spun to Anton. “Give Mama the gun!” She went to grab it, but
Anton started back.
The gun fell.
What happened next happened in a blink of an eye but somehow also over the course of one
hundred years.
I heard more than saw the bullet leave the chamber. But I saw Tatiana double over, clutching her
abdomen.
Her scream shattered the room.
My mind caught up before my heart did. Disbelief and horror held hands around my chest,
squeezing tightly.
There was no way...
Anton began screaming too.
Tatiana leaned back, her hands reaching out.
Like they had been freshly painted, her hands were slicked with red.
Blood.
“Anton!” I went to grab him. He fell into my arms, his little body molding into the offered comfort.
His crying did not stop, sounding in my ear like an alarm.
Tatiana fell against the wall, shock spreading her eyes and mouth wide open.
Her stomach...it was bleeding.
 “Put pressure on it,” I spat. With Anton in my arms, I tried to go to her, tried to press my hands on
the wound.
Tatiana shoved me away.
Before anything else could be said, my name roared through the halls.
“ELENA!”
My Konstantin.
I screamed his name back.
A second later, he came around the hall, gun in palm and expression deadly. His light brown eyes
had darkened in possession and his features were warped with fury. Not the charming politician
anymore…now the bloodthirsty beast who rose to power on the backs of corpses.
He pointed his gun on Tatiana immediately. “Enough now, Titus,” he hissed. “Your little ploy has
come to an end.”
She laughed, the sound tightened by pain. “My ploy has just begun, Kostya.”
Konstantin looked to me. I felt him assess me for injuries, before he took in the screaming toddler
in my arms.
His eyes darted to Tatiana’s bleeding abdomen.
Slowly, Konstantin lowered his gun, a brief spark of humanity visible in his expression. But not
enough for him to stop pointing the weapon at Tatiana completely.
There was a flash and Dmitri rounded the corner. His eyes took in the scene.
“Tati,” he stepped forward, eyes searching her expression fiercely.
He didn’t look like a mobster or a krysha of the Tarkhanov Bratva. He looked like a man who had
just had his heart torn to shreds.
“Dmitri,” Tatiana said coldly.
“Tell me it isn’t true.” Even Dmitri sounded like he wouldn’t believe her if she tried to defend
herself.
I wondered how much he had seen over the course of their marriage and written off as a
coincidence or non-important. No one else in the world had been closer to Tatiana than Dmitri.
Tatiana lifted her chin. “And what will you do if it is, husband?”
He met her eyes. “Kill you.”
A slow saccharine smile grew over her fac, pushing past the pain. “Oh,” she laughed. “I don’t think
it’s going to come to that.”
The window shattered. Glass flew in every direction.
I bowed over Anton, shielding him from the shards. His little head buried into my chest, his tears
soaking through my shirt.
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,[S12] 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 littered 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.”
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
[S13]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 high 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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