Kingpin's Foxglove (The Tarkhanov Empire Book 1)

by Bree Porter

  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 to
ok 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 wh
ich 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.”