it. “I know what is wrong with Tatiana.”
Konstantin linked his fingers together, leaning back in his chair. “What is the matter with Tatiana?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
Dmitri hissed beside me. “How dare you—”
“Enough, Dmitri.” Konstantin commanded. To me, he said, “Why is that so, Mrs Falcone?”
I swallowed, my throat dry. Perhaps I should’ve had some water when I was with Tatiana as well. “If I am not returned to Chicago and I’m promised freedom, then I will cure Tatiana.”
He raised a single dark blonde eyebrow. “Is that so?”
I lifted my jaw. “Yes.”
Konstantin surveyed me.
“You’re not really considering this, Kostya?” Dmitri said, sounding like he couldn’t believe it.
Konstantin held up a hand and Dmitri fell silent. “I am inclined to take you up on your offer. But I want to negotiate the conditions.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, the word pittance glaring up at me. “I bet you do.”
A whisper of a smile passed over his face. “You will diagnose and cure Tatiana. Any resources you need will be provided for you. If you cure Tatiana, then I will support your relocation and gift you…your freedom, shall we say.”
I nodded. Freedom, freedom, freedom. The word bounced around my head. “I agree to those terms.”
“There is also the issue of the Outfit and your family,” Konstantin said. “I won’t have our community thinking I kidnapped you. That would give most of them the ammunition they need to declare me their enemy. I expect you to keep in contact with your family and join me in public, like anyone else in my household.”
Konstantin wouldn’t risk his reputation, especially so soon after taking over Staten Island. Keeping the Falcone widow would make the other Italian families upset, maybe even some of the non-Italian families. If I was treated and acted like a guest, they wouldn’t have enough reason to go up against Konstantin.
For all the mafia world’s guts and glory, they were politicians. Noted, guns were more preferred than speeches, but a gangster taught in both violence and bureaucracy would climb the ladder a lot higher than a gangster who only knew how to kill.
“One more thing,” he said. “I will not have you roaming all over Staten Island. You will live here at the estate while you help Tatiana.”
Nobody in the room liked that idea.
Dmitri stepped forward, eyes electric. “My son lives here. She is the wife of the enemy.”
“A dead enemy,” Konstantin corrected. “I imagine Elena will be no threat to your son.” His eyes went to me. “She wants her freedom too much to do anything so irrational.”
He was right. I would change diapers and bath all of Dmitri’s sons if it meant I was a step closer to my freedom, a step further away from Chicago.
I wasn’t happy with the idea of staying with Konstantin and his little family. I didn’t want to be around Konstantin any more than I had to.
But this was my chance.
I could see my freedom—and it was in the palm of a violent Russian gentleman. One wrong move and he could crush my ambitions into crumbs.
I nodded. “I agree to your terms.”
Konstantin smiled, but there no warmth like there was in Danika’s smile. There wasn’t any hatred like in Roman’s, either. Instead, it seemed practiced, taught. But it looked much better than my smile, which was more reminiscent of a grimace. “Good luck finding your antidote, Mrs Falcone. May you succeed, for both your sake and Tatiana’s.”
He didn’t say what would happen to me if I failed. Even picturing it was enough to make me feel sick.
Now, I just had to figure out what the fuck was wrong with Tatiana.
3
Konstantin Tarkhanov
Artyom stayed quiet until I placed down the phone.
“What did The Godless say?” he asked.
“He has given his blessing for me to keep her.” I didn’t expand on the rest of the conversation. Artyom had been there the first time when I asked a similar thing of the Outfit.
Artyom rubbed his forehead. “Are you even certain she can cure Tatiana? The last thing Dmitri and Anton need is false hope.”
I glanced down at my desk, tracing the stack of papers before me. My men had sent it curious looks throughout the years but none of had ever asked about it. I could see Roman fighting the urge sometimes, amusingly so.
“You don’t believe she can?” I asked.
“None of us are as we first seem,” he said, “but she has no formal education, no medical degree. I doubt her family even allowed her to watch