by Bree Porter
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 l
ittle 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, 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 wid
e 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.”
