Hilarion came to a halt in front of him, hooves digging into the floor.
Konstantin growled something in Russian, the timbre of his tone low and threatening. Not the voice of someone you wanted to cross.
The horse agreed and stopped where he stood.
Konstantin grabbed his halter, holding him in place and turned to me. “Did he scare you?”
“Most rational people are scared of half ton horses coming towards them, Konstantin,” I snapped.
Hilarion turned his head towards me, nostrils flaring. His ears pinned back as he took me in.
“Behave,” Konstantin warned. “Hilarion is our stallion, and only current racehorse. He has the temperament of a teenage boy.”
I didn’t take my eyes off the horse. “I prefer Odessa,” I said simply.
Hilarion threw his head back but Konstantin kept a hold on him.
“Many do,” he mused, giving Hilarion an affectionate pat on the nose. I wouldn’t have put my fingers so close to the stallion’s teeth. “Come and meet Basil.”
Basil turned out to be a relaxed, hefty gelding that practically fell asleep under my scratches and pats. Even when Hilarion neighed, Basil did not bother opening up his eyes.
“Our better-behaved horse,” Konstantin said. “I’ve never seen Basil stressed or panicked.”
“He looks high,” I laughed as Basil rolled his eyes back.
Konstantin turned his head to me at the sound. A small smile grew up his face. “Do you have much experience with horses?”
“Other than carnival pony rides, no.”
“I can teach you to ride if you’d like.”
The word yes tried to crawl its way out of my throat, but I held it down. “No, thank you. I won’t be here for much longer.”
“Is that so?” Konstantin inquired. He gestured to my hand, spying the new ink. I resisted the urge to tuck my hand into my chest. “Magnificent,” he read. “What does that pertain to?”
“None of your business.”
His eyes gleamed. “So, it has something to do with me.”
“Has anybody ever told you you’re the most arrogant man alive?” I demanded.
“A few,” Konstantin noted. “None interesting enough to remember.”
I rolled my eyes to keep myself from laughing. “Touché.”
Annoyed at being ignored, Hilarion let out a thunderous neigh. Seconds later, Odessa responded from outside, sounding just as pissed.
“You have a lot of pets,” I remarked. “Horses…dogs. Roman.”
“I enjoy animals,” Konstantin said. “They’re easier to train than humans.”
“Of course you like them based on their trainability,” I muttered. “What do you do with your rebellious pets?”
His blonde eyebrows rose. “I haven’t come across a rebellious pet yet,” he said. “Only humans behave in such a way.”
I continued to scratch Basil’s nose, the act comforting for the both of us.
“If we don’t leave in a few minutes, we’ll miss breakfast,” Konstantin said after moments of silence.
“I’m not hungry.” As soon as the words left my mouth, my stomach let out a gurgle.
Konstantin laughed softly. “No?”
“Fine.” I dropped my hands from Basil, who had fallen asleep.
Once Konstantin had let Hilarion out into the field, he led me to his car, insisting I didn’t walk all the way back to the manor without shoes on.
“You never did say why you were out here,” Konstantin said as I slipped into the back seat. One of his men took the driver’s seat, cigar hanging out the window.
“I wanted to go on a walk.”
Konstantin nodded. “Of course.”
He didn’t broach the subject again but how easily he let it drop didn’t fool me into thinking he was satisfied with my answer.
11
Konstantin Tarkhanov
Neutral territory is a difficult thing to find.
After hours of going back and forth, all five Bosses of New York decided Governors Island was the best place to meet. Though the island was technically in Ó Fiaich territory, it was accessible via water—all the bosses would be able to escape if they needed to.
No enclosed space could be agreed upon, leaving the meeting to take place outdoors.
My fellow mob bosses and I lined up, overlooking the East River. Our men loitered behind us, not getting too close but watching all possible threats like hawks. Roman and Artyom had both accompanied me.
When the sun reached its highest peak, it was Mitsuzo Ishida who said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet, gentlemen.”
Mitsuzo Ishida was the Oyabun of the New Jersey Yakuza. Since immigrating to the States in the mid-20th century, Ishida had reigned over New Jersey fiercely but fairly. Despite a few power plays throughout the decades, his grip on power had never wavered. Ishida had seen bosses come and go, seen territories rise and fall.