What will she do now that you have broken your side of the bargain?
“Where is he?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Konstantin’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“The man I met nearly three years ago.” He didn’t respond. “The man who gave me a library and joked with his family. The man who was respected by his men before he was feared. I want to know where he is.”
His expression did not flinch. “I wish I could say the same. But the woman I met all those years ago ran from her problems and has not stopped since.” A slow smirk grew up his face. “Are you tired yet, Elena?”
Exhausted.
I was so tired from the running and hiding and sneaking that some days I was amazed I woke up in the morning. I was amazed my heart hadn’t stopped beating from fatigue and my lungs hadn’t stopped breathing from weariness.
How could I even respond to that?
I have so little energy that sometimes I am more corpse than human. I am a lethargic creature whose sole purpose is to keep her son alive. My bones fall asleep at lunch and my brain is napping by noon.
Of course, I’m fucking tired, Konstantin, I wanted to snap.
Instead, I said, “You chose to love something poisonous, Kon. You can’t be mad when it makes you sick.”
“So it seems.” Konstantin gestured to the door. “I feel as if our little chat is over. Feel free to leave.”
“I’m not done yelling at you.”
He pressed his lips together. I could see his anger stirring beneath his calm exterior. “I am done discussing this.”
“I’m not.”
“You sound like Roman. Arguing your point like a petulant child.”
I almost laughed. “Oh, we’re talking about children now? That’s ironic. Considering you’re definitely not getting any Best Dad Ever mugs this year–or ever.”
That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Konstantin slammed his hand on the desk, the entire room shaking under the impact. I felt my heart skip a beat, the tiniest bit of fear growing in me.
He wouldn’t hurt me...Right?
“Enough! How dare you speak to me like this.” His voice sounded like thunder. “I am the Pakhan, the king. You are not in any position to challenge my authority, Elena.”
I put on a braver face than how I felt. “I can challenge any authority I might wish. Especially the father of my child’s.”
Konstantin shot to his feet. I had almost forgotten how much taller than me he was. I was so used to being one of the tallest in the room, not only in physical height but also in intellect and self-esteem.
I felt very small all of the sudden.
“You don’t get to punish me for a crime I wasn’t even allowed to commit,” he growled. “You took that child from me, took that child from his family. And then you named him Nikolai Falcone.”
I paused.
Wait, what?
“Falcone?” I echoed, tasting the surname on my tongue with each sour sound. “Falcone?”
“You could’ve given him at least a better surname. Agostino, Strindberg. But Falcone?” Konstantin growled. “Fucking Falcone?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “You think I named him after a man I killed? A man who I hated so much I slowly poisoned him with foxglove every day so that his heart would eventually give out?” I threw my hands up in the air. “Have you even checked Nikolai’s birth certificate or are we just making wild accusations?”
Konstantin didn’t calm down. My amusement seemed to ignite his temper even more. “I have it on good authority.”
“Clearly not,” I said. “Because I was there that day when the birth certificate was filled out. You want to know his name is, Konstantin?”
His Adam’s apple bobbled as he gritted out, “What is it?”
“Nikolai Konstantinovich Tarkhanov.” My accent curled awkwardly around some of the vowels but I got the point across. “His name is Nikolai Tarkhanov, you sack of shit.”
Konstantin’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the desk and the wood groaned. I wasn’t sure if he was holding it so hard because he was preparing to throw it at me or if he was using the desk as the last barrier between us, his only way of stopping himself from lunging.
“When I told the midwife, she asked me how to spell it,” I said, the memory falling out of my mouth. “I told her. Then she asked me for the father’s name.”
“What did you tell her?”
I met his eyes. Beneath his anger, his madness, I could see something familiar. Sadness. Loss. Heartbreak.
“I told her the truth,” I said honestly.
Konstantin closed his eyes briefly, an effort to try and hide how he was feeling from me.
It didn't make much of a difference. Konstantin saw every part of me, and in return, I saw every part of him.
“When the threat is over, Niko and I will be out of your hair.” It hurt to say those words out loud but why? That had always been how this tale would end. “I won’t show up in thirty years claiming to have the heir to your throne and steal all the glory from your other kids. We’ll live a quiet life, a life out there.”
He said nothing.
“You won’t ever have to see us again.”
Then he laughed.
It was so startling, the purring, almost warm, laughter, that rumbled up his chest and out into the tension-filled air.
“No, no, my Elena,” he mused as he calmed down. “That is not how my son is going to live out his life.”
I didn’t like the way he said that.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Nikolai is a Tarkhanov. He is my heir.” Konstantin rose from the desk, stealing all the air in the room as he did so. “The rest of his life will be here. With his family, with his father.”
Arrogant bastard! “And without his mother? Yeah, that’s not fucking happening,” I snapped. “I’m his mother. He doesn’t even know your name.”
“He will,” Konstantin threatened. “Everyone knows the name Konstantin Tarkhanov and my son will be no exception.”
I growled. “And when it comes time for him to take his throne, I’ll pass him the damn necktie!”
“If you ask nicely, I’m sure he’ll let you be the one to do it.”
“What, Konstantin? You’re going to raise him beneath Titus’s blood reign? You’re going to read him bedtime stories and cut the crusts off his sandwiches while Tatiana gets revenge on anyone who ever laid a hand on her?”
Konstantin bared his teeth, lip curling up into a snarl. “You’re lucky I don’t want revenge, Elena.”
“Oh, that’s how it’s going to be, huh? Do I need to break out the old foxglove? You stupid mother–!”
“Mama?”
10
Konstantin Tarkhanov
Nikolai had opened the door, and now hung off the doorknob. He was wearing pajamas that were too big for him, the pants cuffs drowning his ankles. Anton’s pajamas–I’d overheard Roksana mentioning to Anton that he would be sharing for a little while.
Nikolai’s eyes were wide as he took in both his mother and me. His blond hair was ruffled from sleep and there was a crease of a pillow melded into his cheek.