Page 4 of Daddy's Reluctant Queen

2

TITUS

The smell of gunpowder mixed with the scent of burning wood has always bothered me. There’s something about the mix of the two that immediately makes me want to take a shower. Usually, when both things are unfortunate byproducts of a night like tonight, all I can think about is getting home and getting clean.

There’s more than that on my mind tonight. It was an almost perfect raid, the result of nearly half a decade of planning. I’ve dreamed of the night I would put a bullet in Marius Aristov’s head for so long that I no longer know what my dreams will look like when I go to bed tonight. It’s not often that a man can accomplish his greatest goal in life.

Only, it’s not entirely finished yet. In a way, I suspected that it wouldn’t be. Wiping the earth of one’s family never happens in a single night. Not even the Bolsheviks were able to completely wipe out Tsar Nicholas II’s entire family. There are always stragglers…

Or those who escape. That beautiful thing that claimed to be Marius’s daughter managed to elude me, but not before leaving Cyril a parting gift of breaking his nose. I’m sure he didn’t expect a beautiful woman like that to put up a fight. I certainly wouldn’t have expected it.

Kind of wish I weren’t so busy mag dumping into Marius’s face. I’d have loved to see that kind of spirit on display.

But for now, the important part is done. Over the next few days, the remaining members of the Penza Bratva will be flushed out and exterminated. And even Marius’s children will be found and…

And I’ll decide what will be done from there.

I drive my car onto my property, turning into the gates and up to the house. I’ve been driving with the windows down this whole time. My suit is ruined and so is this shirt. The blood splattered on the sleeves mocks me every time I move my arm and it moves up. I sacrificed one of my favorite suits for my vengeance. And it was worth every minute.

I pull into the garage connected to my house and get out as the door slides shut. Tomorrow morning, I’ll need to talk with Ignat and Cyrus about what comes next. I expect both of them to have a plan of action for this next part. They’ve been in on this with me all this time. I know they’ve already set the wheels in motion to find the rest of the Penzas.

For now, shower, sleep, maybe something to eat. The day is over. The plan is moving along.

I walk into the mudroom and take off my shoes, pausing as I spot splattered blood on the leather. Part of me thinks that the stains can be buffed out. I know better, though. Too many years doingthis have taught me that burning your clothes is truly the only safe way to proceed.

“Mr. Malkin? Is that you?” Natalie calls from the kitchen. The scent of the stew she started when I left floats through the cracked door warmly.

“Yes,” I say. I pick up my shoes and walk into the kitchen in my socks. Natalie’s a stout, portly woman with silver-streaked dark hair that’s usually in a messy bun on top of her head. She’s been with me for the last six years and always seems to decide to cook on the nights when I need to work late.

At this moment, she’s standing at the stove, stirring a large pot. Tendrils of fragrant, garlicky smoke float up from the rim and circle her head. Natalie turns and looks at me, and her jolly expression fades as her eyes drop down to my suit.

“I take it things went well,” she says as she wipes her hands and walks over to the counter where there are vegetables in various states of chopped on a cutting board.

“As well as could be expected,” I tell her. “Is Luka still awake?”

She nods. “As usually, he insisted on waiting up for you. He wanted to sit in the living room so that he might be the first thing you saw when you walked through the door.” She pauses and looks back up at me. “Do you need me to call someone to take care of your car?”

“Please.”

She nods again, turning her eyes back to her vegetables, and starts chopping. “In any event, I told Luka to wait in his room and when you come home, you’ll come up to tuck him in.” She takes another look at my clothes and says, “Looks like that wasan appropriate call, too. You might want to change before seeing him.”

“Right,” I say. I crane my neck at the warm smell coming from the boiling pot and she clicks her teeth at me.

“This is tomorrow’s dinner. I have to start it tonight if it’s going to be ready by then. I expect you to stay out of that pot.”

I don’t have to ask what it is. Natalie always makes this stew whenever I have to do any kind of wet work. She morbidly calls it a funeral stew and usually reminds me of its dual use if I don’t make it home. So far, I’ve been able to enjoy it every time she prepares it.

“Smells good,” I tell her. “Looking forward to dinner tonight. We will have guests, by the way. I have a meeting. Make sure there is enough.”

“Of course.”

I leave, going through the living room and straight upstairs to my own room. The moment I see myself in the bathroom mirror, I realize that I should shower. Despite wiping it away while I was there, a good amount of blood and brain matter are still flecked across my face and neck.

I guess that bit of wiping that I did as I left the burning mansion did very little. I take the moment and start washing away the residue. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but it’s got to be good enough to hide from my son. He doesn’t need to see it in any capacity.

After my face is sufficiently washed, I take off my clothes and wrap myself in a robe and look myself over in my mirror. Once upon a time, my hair and beard were dark brown to almostblack. My eyes were a little wider, maybe a little more innocent. Fine lines play at the corners of them now, and I imagine if I shaved my beard, there may be laugh lines around my mouth as well.

Age is a strange thing. I still look as I always have, just with little augmentations that tell my true age. All things considered, I have to say I look good for a man in his forties.