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 crac
k.
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 trigger. She could shoot us without even meaning to.
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 finally 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 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 her father 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.
I saw 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 you kids?”
“He killed them in front of us kids.”
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 their babies.”
“Yeah, that’s what he did. They ran up there to protect us.”
“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? He chased you?”
“He knew I’d be a threat to him. I was old enough to understand. To remember. 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 like guns, 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 it morphed with her mood. She says, “You need to find baby Kiro.”
“We’ll find him. You remember him?” I ask, 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 from blood.”
“Wait.” I straighten, remembering the smell of his puke after he killed my parents. “Blood makes him sick?”
“So sick, Aleksio. He keeps it secret.” She twists her lips, focusing on nothing, fighting through whatever haze she’s in. “He’ll pretend to look, but he won’t. Get an already dead finger. Wrap it in something bloody. When he sees the ring…” She swallows, swaying. “…When he gets the ring he’ll accept the finger. No question. Won’t look. He’ll accept it.” She looks up. “Do you get it?”
“I get it.” Could it work?
“He’ll have somebody take the ring and give it to him. He’ll know the ring is real. He’ll know you mean business. Okay? You don’t have to kill him.” Tears in her eyes. “Promise.”
“Promise what, baby?” I whisper, held in a trance by her cinnamon gaze…and, admittedly, the waving gun.
“Don’t kill him. You can’t kill him. Not ever.”
Fuck.
“Promise,” she says, swinging the thing around. She seems so off-kilter, she could start shooting just as easily as she could start crying.
“Okay. I won’t kill your dad.”
“Promise. Not Viktor, either. Not any of your guys. You can’t have any of your guys kill my dad.”
Viktor growls.
I glare at him. We’ll settle for making him wish he was dead. “Promise her, Viktor.”
“I promise,” he says.
She lowers the weapon. As usual, she’s forgotten herself. She didn’t ask for us not to kill her, because that’s who she is. She thinks of others before herself.
Raised in a nest of vipers and this is how she turns out.
I’m impressed, but also pissed off. I want to shake her. She needs to give a shit a
bout things like being killed.
I hold out my hands. “Come here.”
She comes to me.
I slide an arm around her and gently grab the cool barrel, keeping it downward. I whisper in her ear, “Let go of the piece.” She loosens her grip, and I take it from her and hand the thing behind me to Tito.
I press my face in her hair. “You’re okay, baby.”
Her chest begins to shake. I realize she’s crying. My ankle is screaming, but all I hear is Mira.
I stroke her hair. “It’s okay. We’ll make it okay.”
She pulls away, eyes swollen, still gorgeous. “He killed a mother in front of her babies! But he’s my dad. Promise you’ll get him medical attention if the blood fucks him up.”
“But he probably won’t even look, right?”
“Yeah, but if—”
“Sure.” I brush back her hair. “What kind of criminal gang would we be if we didn’t have a doctor or two on our payroll?”
“Hold on, what?” Currie says. “Me? Are we talking about Aldo Nikolla?”
I give him a look. We handled some deep loan-shark trouble for him. He owes us his life.
“I’m wearing a mask,” he says. “That’s the only way I see her dad.”
“Fine. Wear a mask, then.” I nod at Viktor. “The morgue. We need a finger and some blood in an hour. Tito knows a guy.” Viktor and Tito start working it out. We need to get this together fast.
“Wait, I might have a source,” Currie says.
“Work it out,” I say. It’ll cost us, knowing Currie. Like I give a shit.
“We need to save baby Kiro,” Mira says.
“Yeah, we do.” My heart hammers out of my chest.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. We’re sorry. Viktor’s sorry.”
She narrows her eyes at him, trying to focus. “But you love Little Vik.”
I twist her hair around my hand, feeling crazy.
She tries to focus on my face. “He’s your brother,” she says, words thick and strange, as if in a trance. “You love him.”
I push my face into her hair and breathe in the scent. “Shh,” I whisper.
Tito and Yuri will be hitting a medical school. Currie can get them in. Bodies donated to science.
Viktor’s glaring at me. His face looks like shit. Eye swelling up. Lip a fat, bloody mess.
Mafia Romance Page 47