Odessa’s nose. She whinnied happily at the attention.
“Let me introduce myself.” I held a hand to my heart. “Konstantin Tarkhanov. The new king of Staten Island.”
Thaddeo’s cousin yelled something else but the tape didn’t allow for any clarity.
I gestured to Olezka. My torpedo leaned down and gently removed the tape from the man’s face. I bet if I checked the ties, they would be smooth, comfortable knots. Despite being an assassin, Olezka wasn’t naturally cruel and vindictive.
As soon as the tape came away, Mr Falcone began yelling. “You stupid Russian!”
“Watch your mouth,” Roman spat, gun in palm.
“Olezka,” I said.
Olezka put the tape back over his mouth, reducing his angry yells to muffles once again.
I crouched down, surveying him. Falcones were never very interesting. They followed the same rules and traditions as all the other Italian families. This runner was no different, except my respect for him was minuscule. Only a coward would abandon their family to save their own backside.
“Enough,” I told him. “I find my patience growing thinner by the minute.”
Something in my tone registered with the primal part of his brain. The man quietened.
None of my men let up at his sudden obedience. I doubted they would until I was safely back in my estate and this Falcone cousin was buried six feet under.
“Where did Thaddeo keep the key?”
His eyes widened.
I pulled off the tape, the ripping sound echoing through the acreage.
He began speaking immediately. “I don’t know anything about a key—”
“Yes, you do,” I told him. “Where is it?”
“Thaddeo never said—”
I gestured to Roman over my shoulder. Like a whip, Roman stepped forward, swinging his gun over his shoulder and straight into the man’s kneecap.
I covered the tape back over his mouth to hide his howl and turned to Olezka, instructing, “Kill him and do as you wish with the body.”
Through his pain, Mr Falcone heard my orders and began objecting.
I rose to my feet, sparing him a glance. “Tell us where the key is and I might spare your life.”
Olezka removed the tape once more, only revealing the man stuttering out in pain and his lack of knowledge.
I turned on my heel, my men moving with me.
“Wait, wait!” the man cried.
I kept my back to him but turned my head to the side, catching sight of him sniveling on the gravel like a worm.
“The key—Thaddeo mentioned it once… He…” The man coughed. “He said something about it when the landscaping was…Something about burying it…”
Roman rolled his eyes and looked to me. “Convenient. It’s hidden below ground in Thaddeo’s huge fucking garden.” To the man, he said, “Couldn’t be any more specific, huh, pizdobol?”
I didn’t bother turning around. This man wasn’t going to tell us anything. “Olezka,” I commanded quietly.
The gun went off.
I straightened my cuffs and fished out my phone. Feodor answered on the first ring.
“Boss, how’s New York treating you?” came his deep raspy voice. “Better yet, how’s Falcone’s widow treating you?” His leering tone made the real meaning behind his words clear.
I didn’t entertain his good humor. “Send a group to Falcone’s manor and tell them to tear apart the garden.”
“Any specific part?”
“The entire thing.” The garden had looked like it had been freshly planted so I doubted it would be hard to strip away. “I want this key found before the other mob bosses decide they want it.”
Feodor grunted in agreement. “Yes, Boss. Consider it done.”
“Has Rifat contacted you yet?” My derzhatel obschaka, also known as my accountant, had the tendency to disappear into his brain for days, surviving off naps and coffee. For a bookkeeper, he was oddly eccentric. A small part of me wondered what he would make of Elena—or what Elena would make of him.
“No. Should I send over some boys to check on him?”
“I’ll send Danika in a few days. He doesn’t like anyone else.” I glanced into the distance, the horizon broken up by spots of trees. “Did you hear about the third woman?”
“I did,” Feodor replied, voice darkening. Usually, Feodor was the epitome of jolliness, but violence against the weaker sex had always upset him. “Your krysha believes it is an inside job.”
I stepped away from the car as Olezka drove away, dead Falcone in the boot. Odessa buried her nose in my pockets, looking for carrots.
To Feodor, I said, “I am interested in hearing what you believe.”
I had been born and raised in this world, had understood the customs and violence for thirty years. But Feodor was double my age, the things he had seen and