still hear the ringing timbre of his voice in my ears—
“What did he do?” Roman’s rough voice cut through the memory.
“Who?” It was a stupid question. We both knew who.
“The Pakhan,” he said. “I know that look in your eyes. You’ve got the look of a woman who’s been seduced by Konstantin.”
I tensed. “I haven’t been seduced by Konstantin. And I certainly do not have the look of a woman who has been.”
“Don’t sound so jealous,” Roman mused. “I’ve never seen him as interested in a woman as he is with you.”
“Thanks,” I said coldly. I couldn’t help my brain going into a frenzy. Was Konstantin interested in me? Was he thinking about me the same way I was about him?
Get a grip, I told myself. You’re not a teenage girl and Konstantin is not the boy next door. He is a Russian Mob Boss for God’s sake!
“You should be proud.” He grinned widely. “So, what did he do to you? Shower you with expensive jewels? Dine you on top of the Empire State building?”
“No.”
Delight flared in Roman’s eyes. “He wrote you a poem—or killed your childhood bully and made a necklace out of his bones for you?”
“Are you sick in the head?” I demanded.
“Definitely but that’s a common trait around here,” he laughed. “He did none of that? Okay, okay. Clearly my man is bringing the big guns…. let’s think…Did he hire out the entire theater and escort you to a private show?”
“Nothing like that,” I gritted out.
Roman shook his head. “Then I’m flummoxed. What did he do to seduce you?”
“Nothing. Because I haven’t been seduced.” I smiled coldly. “Just like Danika.”
“Dani and I have our own stuff,” he scowled at me. “Years of history you don’t know about.”
“I know enough,” I retorted. “I know you’ve never made a move—and that you pretend to hate her. Because that’s better than her not seeing you at all.”
Roman slammed the pen onto the table and shot to his feet. I knew I had hit the nail on the head. “You think you—”
“Stop fighting.”
We both turned our heads towards the commanding tone. Konstantin had stepped into the library, hands in pockets and looking relaxed. Even Babushka lifted her head to greet him.
“I could hear you two bickering from the end of the hallway,” he greeted. “Like siblings.”
Roman made an angry noise low in his throat.
While he had Konstantin’s attention, I slipped the paper Roman had been practicing on beneath the stack of books.
“Roman was intruding on my library time,” I recounted.
“Ah, well, I’m afraid I must do the same thing, Elena,” Konstantin said. “The President of the Hell’s Henchmen MC has requested a meeting.”
17
Elena Falcone
Before my very eyes, I watched as Konstantin became the Pakhan of Staten Island. The Russian Gentleman. The man who’d choked his father to death at the tender age of fifteen.
I could only stare as we stepped down onto the runway.
Konstantin always had some commanding way to himself, even in the casual mornings at family breakfast. Even when he scooped his nephew up, throwing him over his shoulders like a monkey.
But here…that command he weaponized came out full force. He seemed to stand taller, look scarier. Even his tie seemed to be glowing in warning: I killed my father, it seemed to say, imagine what I’ll do to you.
Konstantin wasn’t the only one who seemed to shed away his civilization.
Artyom grew harsher, Roman grew meaner, Dmitri grew colder. They changed into the Russian mobsters they were, the bloodthirsty Vory who tore apart the Falcone empire and rebuilt their own in its void.
The sun had just begun to rise over the airport hangar, clearing the mist that blew over the runways. A crisp breeze blew over us, ruffling hair and stimulating goosebumps.
“It will be a cold winter,” Artyom remarked. His voice cut through the silence.
“Indeed,” Konstantin agreed, his voice turning into white fog in the open air.
Roman scanned the area, eyes dark. “ETA is three minutes away.” He glanced back at the private jet we had departed from. “Would you rather wait in the plane, Boss?”
Konstantin shook his head. “There is no danger, Roman.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Not yet, anyway.”
Then, beyond the mist, a faint rumble began to form. It grew louder and louder as they drew nearer, their engines echoing throughout the airport. The sound reminded me of the roar of a dinosaur, low and threatening.
Konstantin’s men fanned out, some disappearing into the shadows, while others formed a wall around their Pakhan. They rested