Kingpin's Foxglove (The Tarkhanov Empire Book 1)

by Bree Porter

  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 t
alking,” 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?”