“His heart.” Viktor sneers. “He does not deserve your care. He does not deserve shit.”
“You have all this wrong. He and your father were friends and partners! They were like brothers!”
He brings the glass to my lips, but I shake my head violently and it spills all over us.
“You will want that in you, I think.” Viktor fills it again.
“Why are you doing this? Think! If he really did send you away, it was to save you.”
“You are so stupid.” He sounds disgusted. “Aleksio did not want to tell you—out of kindness he did not want to tell you. ‘We are taking enough from poor Mira,’ he said.”
A horrible chill spreads through my chest.
He pours another and pushes the glass toward me. “I told him it was obvious. ‘She will work it out,’ I said to him, but he did not think that you would work it out.” Viktor shrugs. “He was right.”
“You don’t know shit,” I say.
Viktor’s eyes go dead. “Drink.”
“Fuck you.”
“We will make you drink, then.” Viktor nods at Yuri. Yuri grabs my hands and holds them behind my back while Viktor brings the glass to my lips. Again I make him spill it.
Viktor fills it again.
“Get Aleksio!”
“This I do for Aleksio. Drink.”
I sit there with my lips zipped tight, like if I don’t open my mouth I might not be able to drink, and therefore the finger chopping won’t go ahead.
“Most do not get to drink vodka,” Yuri says, pronouncing it “wodka.” “It just happens. Fwap.”
“God, you’re fucking barbarians.”
“Somebody is coming out here with a paper cutter in a few minutes,” Viktor says. “You will be drunk or sober.”
“A paper cutter?” I try wildly to jerk away, writhing in his arms. I knock him in the head and balls, and he has to put down the glass and help Yuri hold me still.
“It will happen, zolotse,” he says softly into my hair. “Is sharp. Will be fast.” He lets one of my hands free, and that’s my chance—I take the bottle by the neck, thinking to hit him, but he’s too fast. He snatches it back. I moved too slowly.
“Fuck.” I look down at my pinky, a little bent on the tip, with the freckle birthmark. This is going to happen, I think, fighting back the tears. The worst thing is thinking of my father seeing it. He’ll recognize it. He’ll know it’s mine. The blood will be too much for him.
“Shhh,” Yuri says. “You’ll get through.”
“Fuck you.” I sniffle. I should tell them about his blood thing. Or will they just use it against him? My mind feels hazy.
Viktor pours me another. This time I drink it. “I can’t do this.”
“It’s the adrenaline,” Viktor says. “Is still worse if you are sober.”
“Aleksio’s going to kill you.”
“He can kill me after we find Kiro.”
I take a drink and look at my pinky against the rough, dark wood of the picnic table, resisting the impulse to sob. Sobbing won’t solve anything; it could even make things worse. A door slams from somewhere inside house. I perk up, hoping it’s Aleksio. But no, it’s one of the Russians coming out with a bag…from an office supply store.
My blood races as the man who was joking with me not fifteen minutes ago pulls out a box. He rips it open and pulls a big heavy paper cutter from its Styrofoam bed. I twist and turn and scream for Aleksio.
Viktor says, “The fact that you are calling for Aleksio is exactly why I made sure he cannot be here. He will not come.”
“Fuck,” I say, hyperventilating. It’s from the shock of what’s happening to me. I feel like throwing up. “Oh my God.”
I’m feeling woozy. More woozy than I should for just drinking a few shots of vodka. “Did you put something in that vodka?”
“No,” Viktor says. “I wouldn’t ruin good vodka like that.”
“The glass?”
“Maybe.”
Things are feeling tilty. Like I’m not really in my body. “Warn my father beforehand. His heart can’t handle the shock, but if he’s warned…”
“Your worthless father,” Viktor spits. “I should open his chest with a machete and fuck his heart as he dies. If it was not for Kiro, this is what I would do.”
I swallow past the dryness in my mouth. “The Valcheks are the ones who killed your parents, Viktor. They’re the ones you should be angry with. And the Valcheks are dead. Why? Because Dad killed them. He avenged the death of your parents, and this is how you repay him?”
“This is what you tell yourself? That it was the Valcheks?” Viktor wipes the paper cutter. He’s careful, deliberate. Lush lashes like Aleksio’s, but none of his warmth.
“It’s what happened! Everyone knows it.”
“Aleksio knows different. He saw.”
“What?”
“Aleksio saw your father kill our parents. Your father slit their throats. Bloody Lazarus helped.”
My throat feels thick.
“Your father drugged our mother and father and cut their throats. He killed them as they begged for the lives of their babies.”
“No,” I say. “My father wouldn’t…” My heart pounds. “He couldn’t!” I’m about to tell him about my dad’s secret, that he becomes violently ill at the sight of blood, but I can’t form the words.
Viktor draws his face near to mine. “We were all there. Kiro was one. A tiny boy.” He straightens. “I was a baby, too, but not so young. I remember the feeling. The blood. Nothing more.”
“My father wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t and couldn’t.”
“The man you know now, maybe not. He is old now.” He watches me with dark calm. “Your father split those babies up so that they would never find each other. Me he sent to the worst orphanage in Moscow. Kiro he sold. Aleksio got out. But not before he saw all. Old Konstantin pulled him into a cubby and kept him still. Hand over his mouth. They hid in the very room where the killing was.”
Viktor wipes the cutting surface with vodka. “There are many cubbies in that playroom, no? Many places to hide. He watched it in the reflection of the window. Your father gave our parents drugs to make them slow. He slit their throats and then he threw up, so disgusted was he with what he did.”
“He threw up?”
“He cleaned it up, of course. He is not stupid.”
I’m stunned, reeling. He threw up.
It’s his reaction to blood. The secret he hides, the secret they would have no way of knowing. Could it be true?
I feel like throwing up myself.
Viktor is droning on with the story. When my father could not find Aleksio, he figured out Konstantin must have helped him get away…and my father put out contracts on them both.
I think about the burn. The hiding. That was my father hunting Aleksio. I think about the look on my father’s face when he recognized Aleksio. Could it be true? God, to kill a mother and father in front of their babies!
“Your father hunted Aleksio unceasingly. You know what the price on Aleksio’s head was at the age of nine? Three hundred thousand. It takes only fifty to have somebody killed. But for this young boy, three hundred thousand. Konstantin, too. All the best hitters were out for him. They raised it later. Too little, too late. Isn’t that what you say? A baby one year old,” Viktor continues. “Our mother begged while her babies screamed.”
Tears swim in my eyes. “Why would he hate your family so much?”
“Bad blood between partners. Konstantin saw it coming. He tried to warn our father.” Viktor positions the cutter in front of me.
I let the tears fall as the details mesh up into a perfect story. It’s got the ring of truth, and not just about the blood aversion. It feels right, feels like the truth. It echoes with the contours of that dark time.
Is it possible he knows more about Kiro? Is Dad holding back, even knowing I’m in danger? No way.
“We have each other’s backs.” My tongue feels thick.
“He doesn’t know more—he can’t.” The trees are blurry. A three-week-old baby is tiny. Just a little bundle. I’m floaty.
“Bloody Lazarus is hunting Kiro now. He cannot let the brothers unite.”
“But Bloody Lazarus would want to find my father first.”
“If he has a chance to kill Kiro, he will kill him. He needs that prophecy put to rest.”
So many things I don’t know. But I know his story is real—I can feel it in my gut. It makes sense with Aleksio’s story.
“Was everything a lie?” I mumble, watching the trees sway. Or is that the ground swaying? Or the table? I’m staring at the world from far away.
The slaughter of their parents in front of babies? It would imprint their souls. I can’t let it be true. I won’t accept it.
Viktor’s face floats in front of me. “How do you feel?”
I furrow my brow. “The trees…”
Just then the door slides open. I jerk my head up, but it’s not Aleksio. It’s an outdoorsy-looking guy with a blond beard. He’s carrying a little black bag.
“Currie!” Viktor says.
“What happened to her?”
“Nothing yet.”
“What the fuck?” The man called Currie sounds strange and faraway. “You’re not going to do what I think you’re gonna do with that.”
“Hold him,” Viktor says. A couple Russians grab on to the man. “You will see to her after.”
“Fuck me,” the man called Currie says. “What the fuck is wrong with you people?”
“Okay.” Viktor comes to me. I gasp as my world spins. He twists my hair and shoves it in the back of my shirt, then he takes my hand and flattens it on the cool, flat surface of the paper cutter.
I’m sweating, flying.
“Don’t do it, man!” Currie shouts. He sounds like he’s on another planet.
Viktor pulls my pinky out to the side so that it hangs partly over the edge.
“Get away!” I try to jerk away. Another guy comes to press my wrist into place. I can barely move—they’re too strong, too determined, too expert. It’s like a dream. A nightmare.
“Breathe,” Viktor says.
Little Vik. A baby can’t understand that kind of violence, but it goes into its psyche all the same.
“Look at Yuri’s eyes,” Viktor says. “And breathe.”
Yuri’s face is blurry. I can’t tell if it’s the drugs or the tears. There’s a crisp metal-on-metal sound as the blade is lifted. It’s happening. Everything is too bright.
And then a crash.
Not my finger—it’s from somewhere else. A yell rips through the air.
Aleksio.
“Fucking hell.” Viktor lets my pinky go and straightens.
Aleksio’s limping, half-running across the patio past Currie to get to us. Our eyes lock. He’s the one steady thing in my seasick world. His white shirt is bloody, half tucked in.
Yuri mutters something in Russian, but all I see is Aleksio. He came for me.
Aleksio practically falls to the picnic table, next to me on the bench. He takes my hands in his, checking my fingers. His knuckles look pink and raw. “Are you okay, Mira?”
“Yes,” I say. He seems slightly unreal. Like he’s part here and part not. “It’s okay now.”
He stares into my eyes.
“Intact,” I say, proud I found that word. He claps a hand onto the side of my head and presses his thumb onto my eyebrow, forcing one eye open wide.
I laugh. “Stop it, ’Leksio.”
He turns a feral gaze to Viktor. “What the fuck did you do to her?”
“What you will not,” Viktor says from somewhere far away.
Aleksio’s gone just like that. Everything’s cold and I’m alone again. Where is he? I look up and spot him flying at Viktor. He tackles him onto the green grass, a sea of lime soda.
He’s on top, pounding Little Vik in the face. Whap.
That straightens me up. “Stop it!”
Another crack.
Tito tries to pull him off. “Don’t do it, man!”
Yuri’s in there. It’s a whirlwind of fists. White shirts, black jackets, blood all over.
I stand, gripping the table. Everyone’s fighting!
Aleksio hits Tito, and then Viktor’s on top, pounding Aleksio. They’re fighting wildly, rolling around, grabbing at each other’s arms. A blur of motion. Black and white and blood all over.
I sway on my feet.
They fight like animals, these brothers. Separated so long ago.
The world comes in and out of focus, blurred with tears. Need to do something.
And then I spy the gun. Sitting out on the table. Waiting for me.
It’s cool and heavy in my hand. I fit my palm around the grip. Trigger on my finger like half a ring.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Aleksio
We stop fighting when she shoots the gun.
In a flash we’re off the ground, hands up. There she is, staggering, waving that gun. We’re all freaking.
“Put it down,” Viktor says.
“Stop fighting!” Tears stream down her cheeks in streaks.
“We stopped! We’re okay now,” I say.
Except we’re not. Mira is staggering around with a loaded Glock, finger on the fucking trigger. She could shoot without even intending it.
She’s going to shoot us, that’s my thought, and I wouldn’t blame her. I blew up her house. Abducted her. Degraded her. Made that movie. Viktor nearly chopped her finger off.
I keep my hands up, showing her I’m no threat. “Baby—”
“Don’t call me that! Or ‘Kitten’!”
“Mimi,” I say. “Put it down.” Ten guys are out here—Dr. Currie and the Russians and my guys, looming around, hands half-up. Shit, a pack of guys won’t improve this situation. I flick my fingers, signaling everyone to back away.
They pull back fast. All except Viktor. I growl—I can’t look at him.
He, too, backs off. In a soft voice I say, “Give me the gun.”
She gazes into my eyes, lip quivering. “Did he really do it?”
“What, Mira? Your finger?” Fuck. Is she asking me whether Viktor cut off her finger? How bad did he drug her? I’m so fucking angry I can’t think.
“My father! Did he really kill your parents while you and your baby brothers watched? And he hunted you?”
I grit my teeth. No wonder she’s so fucked up. She had to know her dad was a killer, but I can only imagine the picture Viktor painted for her. The young parents. The babies crying. The way the killed my father, then lunged for my mother as she darted away. I remember that so vividly. And then Lazarus held her for the blade. Her eyes. The blood.
“Is it true?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“He just…” She stares off at the trees, swaying. “He just killed them? In front of their babies?”
“He killed them in front of the babies.”
Her voice is small. “You’re sure?”
I swallow. “He drugged their drinks, and then he chased them up to the top floor of our home and slit their throats. Him and Lazarus.”
“In front of the babies.”
“Yeah, that’s what he did. They went up there to protect their babies.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
This, I think.
She’s frowning, focusing intently on me. The moment seems to slow, and I feel her like I always have.
“And he wanted to kill you, too? Is that true, too?”
“Yeah. He needed to take me out because he knew I’d be a threat to him. I was old enough to know what happened. To want vengeance. Konstantin hid me while it happened. He kept me quiet.”
The tears are coming again. “And you heard Dad throw up after?”
“Yeah.” It kills me, seeing her like this, hurting and fucked-up.
“And that was my dad and Lazarus chasing you? When you got burned?”
My pulse whooshes. “And now I’m back good as
new. Let’s have the gun. You don’t really want it, right? We’re going to work it all out.”
“Lazarus is trying to kill baby Kiro. You’re worried about baby Kiro.”
If he’s not already dead.
She walks unsteadily toward me, finger still on that fucking trigger. Nobody move, I think. Nobody spook her. I blank out the pain in my ankle, my head.
Her dark hair is wild and wavy around her shoulders, as if morphed with her mood. “You need to find baby Kiro.”
“We’ll find him. You remember him?” I say, willing her to lower the piece. “Remember his little hat? His little fingers?”
“So tiny.”
“Yeah, we need to find Kiro. He’s running out of time. I promised I’d protect him.”
“You keep your promises.”
“I do. How about giving me that gun, Mira.”
She’s right in front of me now. I consider grabbing the gun, but any fast movement could make her twitch. Suddenly she’s doing something with her hands, pulling a ring off her finger, still holding that damn gun.
“Be careful where you point that,” I say calmly. “Real careful.”
She keeps working at the ring, the gun pointing this way and that. It seems like it’s stuck on her middle finger, and she’s pulling and pulling.
“You need help?”
“No.” Finally she gets it off and presses it into my palm. “This was stuck on my finger for years. Dad and I even went to a doctor to ask about cutting it off. But I lost weight recently…I never told him when I finally was able to get it off and on and off and…”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“Don’t you see?” She’s swaying. “If he sees the ring…” She forms her words with difficulty, hopped up on whatever Viktor fed her. “If he sees the ring, he won’t look at the finger. We’ll fool him. Pretend it’s my finger. But without showing him blood.”
“What are you talking about, Mira?”
“He can’t look at blood. It’s why he threw up. He won’t look at it. We’ll give him a fake finger. He won’t ever look at it.”
“He’s not stupid. He’d look.”
“No. He’ll pretend. He won’t look at it. He gets sick.”
“Wait.” I straighten, remembering the smell of his puke after he killed my parents. “Blood makes him sick?”
Dark Mafia Prince: A Dangerous Royals romance Page 10
