35. Konstantin
35
KONSTANTIN
ONE WEEK LATER
My fist tightens in her dark chestnut hair, and I give it a hard yank so that our eyes lock in the mirror.
“Look at yourself while I fuck you.”
Emily’s teeth clench around the pillow, barely muffling her cries as I spear into her from behind. She bucks like a wild horse in response as she stares at our reflections.
When she catches my gaze in the mirror, her body arches instinctively against mine and she pushes her perfect ass against my hips, pussy squeezing my cock with wanton abandon over the edge until I empty myself inside of her.
I collapse into her, panting as my lips brush along her spine to draw a steady line to the small of her back. My cock twitches one final time against her inviting wet warmth before I pull out to marvel at the way my cum oozes from her quivering slit.
We’ve been inseparable every night and morning since our wedding. One night, I found myself shivering awake with her mouth wrapped around my cock under the sheets until she sucked me dry. I repaid the favor a few hours later in the morning, burying my face between her legs until she woke up screaming as she soaked my chin and the sheets.
Our bodies are dotted with marks that we’ve left on each other. Her nails run long tracks along my back, and my teeth imprint on her neck, her shoulders, and her hips.
A new understanding seems to have arisen between us since she agreed to be my real wife. Rather than shying back, Emily has embraced it with enthusiasm.
But her enthusiasm only increases my guilt.
I still haven’t told her about how my grandmother changed the conditions for giving me the signet ring.
To Emily’s credit, she hasn’t asked about it.
Because I don’t know how I might be able to explain it to her if she does.
I’m afraid that if I tell her, she’ll want to leave.
And that’s the last thing I want.
“Good morning to you, too.” She flips over, her perky breasts glistening with sweat as she pulls the thin sheet over herself.
Before I can respond, a knock comes at my door. I’m tempted to shout at them to leave, but the knock comes again.
“Kostya! It’s me!” Sima barks behind the door in Russian.
“Go,” Emily says. “We’ll pick this up later.”
Smiling, I press my mouth around her soft lips before I reluctantly get out of bed and slip on a pair of slacks from the chair nearby. Emily lies back still in the faint glow of the morning outside my window.
Opening my door, I slip into the hallway. Sima stands there, a grim expression on his face. He also looks like he hasn’t slept this entire week.
But for less happy reasons.
“Glad to see you’re still willing to take the time for the rest of us.” He picks at the inside of his palm, toying with an old burn scar.
I wipe my hand over my mouth. “What do you need?”
“It’s best if we discuss all this in private.”
I cast a glance at the door behind me, knowing that Emily is waiting for me to return. Well, she’s going to have to wait. I’ve wasted enough time already.
Without another word, I follow Sima as he leads me towards my office.
“We need to talk about the aftermath of your wedding,” he says as soon as the door closes behind us. “And funeral arrangements for the dead.”
And in an instant, my good mood is chased away and replaced with guilt. For a whole week, I’d been so enamored by Emily, so obsessed with her, that I’ve been neglecting both my duties as pakhan.
“What’s the final body count?”
“With or without the guests?”
“Without.”
“Nine of ours, and thirty of theirs.”
“And with?”
“Thirty.”
One for one. I hiss. “Not exactly the trade I’d been hoping for.”
“The good news is that none of our friends have seen fit to turn their backs on us yet,” Sima says quickly. “But the longer we wait …”
“In that case, send them my condolences,” I tell him. “Pay out any widows in accordance to the years of service their husbands gave us, and offer to take care of any children who are now fatherless, motherless, or both.”
Sima nods. “That should suffice for now.”
“Is that all you wanted to talk about?”
“No.” He sighs. “There’s more. I have both good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?”
“Let’s start with the bad news.”
“Fair enough.” He unlocks his phone, scrolls until he finds what he’s looking for, and hands me the phone. “You’re going to want to see this.”
Huffing, I sit and accept the phone from him and my heart stops when I see what’s on screen.
I’m looking at the building in East Flatbush, the same one that I found Emily at. The same one where Alisa’s trail ended.
“What is this?”
“While you’ve been busy with your new wife, I’ve been digging around based on the information she provided you,” he explains. “I haven’t found anything that might help us locate Alisa Yurevna, but I did find this. It’s the security camera footage from the building across the street. And the only one that hasn’t been scrubbed.”
I look down at the video and hit play.
The grainy video is clear enough for me to make out the details. I glance at the timestamp.
Three weeks ago. This must’ve been right when Alisa was kidnapped.
A man with long hair approaches near the front door of the walk-up at midday. My heart thuds quicker when I recognize him.
It’s the same person I killed inside of that apartment.
And he’s dragging Alisa behind him.
The video ends.
“Is that it?” I look up. “We know she was there.”
“There’s more.” Sima’s face darkens. “Keep going.”
I do, and play the second video.
I check the timestamp. A full twelve hours has passed between the first video and this.
It’s night time in the video, and the door to the walk-up opens. The hitman I killed walks forward. Behind him, someone else enters into the frame.
I can recognize his tell-tale limp from anywhere.
Domenico.
He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag, the glowing tip throwing the lines of his face into clarity.
“What does this prove, Sima?” I pause the video turn to him. “We know that the Ferratas are responsible for the kidnapping.”
“Keep watching.” He says quietly. “And look closely.”
And then I see it.
There is someone else there.
A woman stands behind Domenico around the corner of the entrance, almost completely tucked out of sight. Something about her looks familiar. Domenico takes one final drag on his cigarette, and tosses it on the ground.
And I see the telltale dark chestnut hair.
Emily?
No … it’s not her. This must be her sister, Olivia.
They look nearly identical.
“That’s Emily’s sister, Olivia.” I sigh. “Emily told me that it was her apartment where the trail ended.”
“Keep watching, Kostya.”
Domenico starts to limp towards the steps heading down, but he suddenly stops. Turning around, he walks over towards Olivia. My breath goes still as I watch.
He raises his hand up and beckons her towards him. She does. And then he does something unexpected. He caresses her cheek, as if they’re old lovers, and leans in close to her. At first, I think he’s kissing her on the cheek, but when she nods, I realize that he said something to her.
There’s a tenderness in the way they’re acting, and I feel like a voyeur spying on an intimate moment I’m not supposed to be witnessing.
“There’s more.”
The video changes. I look at the timestamp. It’s a week after Alisa first arrived at the apartment, and a full week before I showed up.
The door to the building opens, and Alisa is the first person to walk out. Her arms are wrapped around herself, and there’s no mistaking that she’s crying.
My hand balls into a fist around the phone, but I force myself to keep watching.
A man places a blindfold around Alisa’s eyes and marches her forward.
Squinting, I press the phone closer and press play again, doing my best to ignore Alisa’s fear as she is shoved into a waiting car.
A few moments later, Domenico walks out, flanked with several men.
This time, I don’t see Olivia.
“There was no chance that Alisa Yurevna was ever there by the time we arrived,” Sima says.
“Is that supposed to be the bad news?”
“No,” Sima answers. “The bad news is who gave me this footage.”
Unease creeps into my chest, and I clear my throat before I ask. “Who?”
“Alexander Vorobyov,” Sima says. “One of Gennady Starukhin’s brigadiers.”
Fuck!
“Did he say anything else?” I start. “Does the rest of the East Coast Bratvas know about this?”
“We can only assume that they do.” Sima sighs. “This is starting to get out of hand. I told you it was a bad idea to go to New York.”
“I hope the good news you have outweighs this.”
“It doesn’t, but it’s still good news.” Sima nods. “Augusto is dead.”
The news hits me like a clap of thunder, and glee pours through my body. But at the same time, I feel disappointment running through me at the thought that I won’t have the satisfaction of killing him myself.
I glance back at the still image on his phone, and feel any remaining elation evaporate. Sima’s right. It doesn’t outweigh the bad news so far.
“How?” I ask.
“Heart attack if you can believe it,” Sima says. “I asked Zampa if it’s true, and he doesn’t seem to think so. He’s under the impression that father and son might’ve had a little disagreement. One thing led to another, and here we are.”
“He thinks Domenico murdered his own father?”
“That’s the theory so far.” Sima starts playing with the lighter again. “He wouldn’t share any details with me beyond that. Most likely because he doesn’t know the specifics.”
I rub my face. “Did Zampa say anything else?”
“Nothing more other than the fact that Augusto’s untimely death is shaking things up in New York,” Sima replies. “Zampa says there’s a lot of commotion right now. Tempers are running high, and everyone’s jockeying for favors for the transition period.”
“That doesn’t help us find Alisa,” I say.
“No, it doesn’t. But it does mean that whatever Domenico and Augusto planned will have been delayed.”
“You mean the wedding.”
“Exactly. This buys us time, Kostya. More importantly, it leaves the Ferrata Mafia in a temporary weakened state. We might be able to exploit this.”
“Anything we do short of a killing blow won’t change the overall balance of power.” I rub my temples. “Nor does it solve the problem of Alla going behind my back to give her blessings for any potential marriage.”
Augusto’s death lessened that possibility of that, but it certainly hasn’t eliminated it completely.
“I don’t understand.” Sima blinks. “How can Alla Antonova go behind your back on this anymore? Didn’t she give you the signet ring now that you’ve fulfilled the conditions she set out?”
“No, she didn’t.” I look at him and shake my head. “She saw right through the whole thing, and she’s clarified the conditions upon which she’ll hand me total control.”
“Which is?”
I sigh as I remember what Alla told meafter she met Emily and made her cry. The memories of Emily’s tears cause my hands to ball into fists. My nails dig into my palm.
“Kostya …” Sima insists, urging me to tell him. “What did she say the condition is?”
As much as I hate saying the words out loud, I know I have to.
“The only way my grandmother will release my inheritance,” I say as each word breaks off another piece of my heart. “Is after I put a baby in Emily’s belly.”