strangely disappointed he hadn’t said anything. I would’ve enjoying snapping at him a few more times.
The crunch of the gravel signaled the car beginning to slow down. I twisted in my seat, trying to avoid brushing against the gangsters. Through the tinted window, I could see the suburbs had thinned to countryside.
A lump began to grow in my throat.
Rationally, I knew Konstantin wouldn’t dare to lay a hand on me. I knew my family back in Chicago might not care for me—or I them—but the insult would not go unavenged. The Rocchettis weren’t known for their ability to forgive, nor was my childhood friend, Sophia, who I was closer to than anyone else in my family.
Yet still, knowing this, my body tightened in anxiety. Something about being out in the country, surrounded by the vicious Bratva, I would imagine was the reason behind the reaction.
In the midst of the forage, I spotted a bear-like creature. Huge, furry and snarling at the car.
I resisted the urge to snarl back at it.
I was about to turn back around to Konstantin, uncomfortable with having my back to him for too long, when the trees opened up onto a huge lawn surrounding a manor. We drove through gleaming gates and part way around a circular drive before slowing down and rolling to a stop.
“Mrs Falcone.” Konstantin held a hand out to me.
I didn’t touch it.
“Very well,” he said. “Boys.”
The two Russian gangsters, one on either side of me, grabbed a respective arm and hauled me out of the car. I twisted in their grips, but their strength easily overpowered mine and they dropped me easily onto the gravel like a sack of potatoes.
I scrambled to my feet just as Konstantin elegantly stepped out of the car, newspaper folded under his arm.
“Are you alright?” he inquired, voice amused.
I didn’t brush the dirt off my dressing gown. “Fine,” I gritted out.
I looked around and felt surprise slither through me. For such a put-together man, his estate was…unkempt. Ferns grew onto the driveway, branches hung over fences, flowers overtook their pots. It was a grouping of green and wildness, the opposite of Thaddeo’s manicured, picture-perfect garden.
I would never admit it aloud, but it was actually very beautiful.
Of course, Konstantin has my dream garden, I thought bitterly. Konstantin was the sort of man who had everything you dreamed of, but he had gained it effortlessly.
If the garden made me slightly jealous, then the house sent me straight into envy.
Built in the style of an old English home, the gray-bricked house loomed over the estate. Classic windows allowed you to peer inside, paired with almost French detailing around the edges. Over the bricks and past the balconies, vines of wisteria grew wildly, hiding most of the architecture beneath their leaves.
I peered at Konstantin. I hated him and his perfect estate.
“This way, Mrs Falcone,” he gestured me forward. “One of my family members will keep you company while you wait for the plane.”
“Just drop me off at the nearest bus stop,” I replied.
A flicker of amusement passed over his face. “Don’t make this harder for yourself.” He offered the advice like we were old friends, despite it being a sugar-coated threat.
I wasn’t a child, about to stick my heels into the gravel and throw a tantrum. But the reality of my situation was beginning to dawn on me.
I was going back to Chicago.
And my only hope at not being sent back there stood in the form of a Russian Pakhan who had just killed my husband.
Relenting, I followed Konstantin into his home. Behind me, I saw his men jumping out of cars and moving weapons into another part of the house. A few followed us inside, including Roman the pit bull, his lips pulled back, showing his teeth.
Inside was beautiful, if not a little spare. The interior favored a very classical French mixed with Russian feel. From the chandelier to the warm wooden floors and detailed white walls, the European influence was obvious. However, barely any furniture was around, most of it covered in white sheets.
They had just moved in from the looks of it.
“Is that her?” said a feminine voice.
I turned to see a woman around my age dancing down the stairs. Before I could even respond, the woman landed awkwardly on a step, instantly crashing down into the handrail, hair and legs flying.
“Stop tripping over, woman!” snapped Roman. He stomped angrily over to the fallen girl. Before he could make a move to help her, she scrambled to