Kingpin's Foxglove (The Tarkhanov Empire Book 1)

by Bree Porter

  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 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 th
e 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.