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