45. Konstantin
45
KONSTANTIN
Anguish tastes a lot like broken glass.
No, it’s worse.
I’d rather eat a mouthful of shattered bottles, and let the shards cut my tongue and gums until I’m gurgling blood, than know that I did this to her.
To Emily.
Falling to my knees, I listen outside the door as she cries, and feel shame overwhelm me.
“There you are.” Alla says in Russian, as she turns the corner of the hallway, flanked by her bodyguards. Her hands are folded in front of her.
I turn to face her, and my anguish transforms to rage the closer she approaches.
“You bitch.” I refuse to answer her in Russian. I want Emily to hear.
I need Emily to hear.
“Have you done what is necessary?” Alla’s eyes narrow as she levels a frosty gaze at me and continues speaking in Russian. “Have you impregnated the whore?”
I rise to my feet and walk towards her. Her bodyguards immediately move between us, but part at a single wave of her hand.
“I asked you a question, Kostya.”
“And I told you,” I growl, “to stop calling her that.”
“Congratulations.” Her lips shift, and they look like two skinny wriggling worms twisting as she smiles. “This was your final test, Kostya.”
What the hell is she talking about?
She raises her left hand, and I gasp when I see that she’s wearing the signet ring engraved with the Siderov family emblem. I haven’t seen it in years, not since father’s death. This is what I was after by marrying Emily.
This is what I hurt her for …
I should feel victorious. But instead, the sight of it only compounds my guilt.
“Final test?” I ask.
For the first time in my life, she looks uneasy. Taking a deep breath, as if gathering herself, she reaches over and slowly works the ring off her finger until it is free. A metallic tang spreads over my tongue.
Anticipation? Excitement? Or dread?
I can’t tell anymore.
Not that it matters.
Because all of those emotions inevitably give way to the same result: guilt.
“I needed to know if you could be ruthless.” Now she switches to English. “I needed to know that I was about to hand over control to a worthy pakhan. I needed you to show me that you were willing to do whatever was necessary for the bratva.”
Sick realization pits in my stomach. “You wanted me to hurt her …”
“Of course, my darling Kostya,” Alla says sweetly. Her worm-like smile spreads wider. “I had to know for certain, after you abandoned me for her when those Ferrata dogs invaded the wedding. Could I really have trusted the future of the bratva to you when you were so ready to abandon it in that moment?”
“You devious old bitch.”
“Careful now, Kostya.” She withdraws her hand and the ring. “This ring isn’t yours yet.”
“And if I were to take it from you?” I glare at her. “By force?”
She shrinks back slightly, and her bodyguards immediately move to my flanks.
My hand moves before I can stop myself, and I seize her by her throat. Alla gasps in surprise and the ring tumbles from her fingers, where it clatters on the ground in a soft clink. Quick as lightning, I feel something cold press against my forehead.
A gun.
“You dare point a gun at your pakhan?” I growl at the bodyguard.
The man remains still as a statue, but the gun doesn’t waver.
“Think about your wife, Kostya,” Alla strains against my hand. I tighten my grip, but she continues to speak. “My guards will keep any child in her belly safe should both of us die, but their allegiance is to the heir . To the bratva. Not to her . What do you think they’ll do to her once that child is born?”
My hand shakes. As much as I want to tighten my fingers and snap her neck, I don’t.
I can’t.
Because I know that she’s right.
If I die, then Emily will suffer the consequences.
She’s already suffered enough because of me.
Slowly, one finger after another, I release Alla. She falls to her knees, gasping.
I take a step back, and the gun is removed from my temple.
Rising to her feet again, Alla regains her composure as she massages her neck. The angry red marks are visible on her papery skin, and I know that by morning, those red marks will turn to bruises.
Slowly, she picks up the ring, and holds it out for me to accept. And when I do, she drops it into my palm.
It can’t weigh more than a chestnut, but my hand wavers as if it’s a boulder.
“Our future is in your hands now, Konstantin Yurevich.”
I don’t dare close my palm, half thinking that she’ll yank it away as soon as I do to shame me. Finally, her hand withdraws, and I start to close my fist.
That’s when she grabs my wrist with both her hands. Her grip is like iron as she scrutinizes me the way she has always done since I was old enough to walk.
“Now,” she says. “Do what you must, and bring my granddaughter back to me.”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. “I thought you wanted to use her to end this pointless war? What changed?”
“ You proved that you will do what is necessary to ensure the family’s survival,” she says. “For the bratva. And now that I know our future is secure, I will not allow my darling little Aliska to languish in the grips of the same people who murdered my son.”
“You devious bitch.” My hands ball into fists.
“Call me what you like, Kostya,” she muses. “But never doubt that everything I do, I do for the family. As a woman, I cannot lead men to war.” She raises her hands and cups my cheeks, her single good eye drilling into mine. “Therefore, I must do what I can to position the family for the best possible outcome. It’s what I’ve always done. When will you depart?”
“The men will be ready in two days.”
“Good.” She smiles. “I trust you to do what boys do best.”
“And while I’m gone,” I tell her as my fist tightens around the signet ring. “You will stay away from my wife. Understand?”
She stares back at me with both of her eyes so that I can see her defiance.
“Of course,” she says softly.
I give her one final look before I start walking away. My fingers are already tapping at my phone to inform Sima of what is to come.
Because this next part is shockingly simple.
After all, there’s only one real rule in a Mafia war.
Your enemies have to die.