I’m glaring back at him with zero pity.
We get inside and Currie slaps the kitchen table. “Up here, Aleksio.”
“Mira needs you more. Take her pulse and shit. She’s been drugged up and traumatized.” I clench my fists, resisting the impulse to fly at Viktor.
Currie sits her down on a kitchen chair and checks her pupils with a small light. Now that the adrenaline is ratcheted down, Mira’s being silly, saying that stupid Russian action-star thing at one point.
Viktor leans in the doorway, beat up and defiant, military haircut sleek and smooth. “What about Kiro?”
“Watch me burn the world for him,” I say.
“We lost time.” His gaze goes to Mira.
I stalk over to him and throw him against the wall. His nostrils flare.
“You will kill me, brat?” he grates out.
Mira whimpers.
“Take it the fuck outside,” Currie barks.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight. I hate that I’m distressing her. I have to stop, I have to…
Viktor grabs my shirt. “I am frightened for him.”
Kiro. He’s talking about Kiro.
“Do I need to give Mira the gun again?” Currie says.
“I don’t remember him,” Viktor says softly. “You knew him. You got to hold him.”
Fuck. I let Viktor down. “We’ll get him.”
We watch Currie listen to her heart. We talk in low tones about how to present the finger to her father. What would make the most impact? A napkin? A box? We know if we smear it up with blood and give him the ring separately, he won’t look at the finger. He’ll tell us what we want to know if there’s more to tell.
It’s then that the call comes in from the chop shop. Our guys holding Nikolla. I answer. “Talk.”
“The fucker’s in the wind.”
“What? He’s gone?”
“Old man got away. Escaped. He turned Driscoll to his side, we think.”
My heart pounds. Driscoll’s one of my guys, who I sent to help Viktor’s Russians. I thought he was loyal.
Viktor’s face goes white.
My man drones on. “Dima’s dead. We think the old man turned Driscoll, and then he shot Dima and got out.”
Dima. Viktor’s youngest guy. Viktor slams a fist through the wall.
Currie’s glowering. “Take it outside.”
Viktor lost a guy. Because of one of mine. “I will destroy that fucker.”
Viktor stares bleakly at the crater he made. I go over and put a hand on his shoulder. He puts his hand over my hand.
With that, we’re back. A team out for blood.
“What?” It’s Mira’s voice. “What? What’s going on?”
She’s sitting up, looking worried again.
I suck in a deep breath. “Your dad got away.”
Mira’s eyes widen.
I feel sick. Kiro is out there, undefended. Her old man was our only way to find him.
She squints at the clock, trying to focus. “Um…he’ll be at his restaurant in two hours. You can find him there.”
I straighten. “You really think he’ll show up there after all that’s happened?”
“Eggs…zactly.” She folds her arms on the table and lays down her head. She’ll pass out soon. “He has to,” she says dreamily. “He has to show he’s in control. He will definitely, absolutely, positively be there. That is his way.”
“What restaurant?” Yuri asks.
“Agronika,” I say. “On Fourteenth. Old-school Albanian joint. Kind of his office meeting room. I could bring him the finger. He’d never expect it.”
“Bring the princess’s severed finger to the king in his throne room,” Viktor says. “I like it.”
“Are you guys crazy?” Currie barks. “You’re all bananas!”
Mira’s eyes are drifting closed.
“Time for bed for this one,” I say, pulling her up out of her chair.
“What the fuck? Your ankle!” Currie says. “You’re going to have permanent damage. You’re looking at a life of hell with that.”
“We’ll deal with it after we find Kiro.”
He grumbles. He doesn’t think Kiro is alive, but I know he is. I feel Kiro alive out there—I always have.
I get her to her room and into bed.
She smiles, then she seems to remember something and frowns. “I have to get away from you,” she says.
“I know, baby.” I tuck the covers around her.
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“Close your eyes and count to twenty. Then you’ll wake up fresh with annoying energy to get away from me.”
She smiles. “Can I just close my eyes?” she asks. “And not count?”
“Fine,” I whisper, wanting nothing more than to get under the covers with her.
She closes her eyes. “It’s nicer,” she says. “To not count.”
“I agree.” I tuck the blanket all around her arms. She’s dozing off. I press my thumb onto her lower lip, remembering.
When I limp back out, Viktor’s making coffee. “I spoke with my network. We picked up one of Lazarus’s guys. Lazarus has been running down information on Kiro, scouring for leads on him, but you know what he hasn’t been doing?”
“What?” I ask.
“He has not been searching for the old man.” Viktor looks at me significantly.
I frown. “Find the king, rescue the king. That should be his priority.”
“Unless Lazarus is making a move on the king,” Viktor says. “Nikolla is old. In boxing, you deliver the body blows before you try for the knockout. You soften your foe. Perhaps we softened the old man up for Lazarus to knock out. Lazarus wants to be king.”
I nod. Viktor would know.
Viktor would have seen this kind of thing a lot—the Russian gangs are famously cutthroat. Leaders don’t tend to last.
“Whatever Lazarus has planned, Kiro’s in danger. Because Lazarus will want that prophecy off the table.”
“Why?” Yuri asks. “Surely Lazarus doesn’t believe the superstition? Lazarus, he is not one of the old ones from the mountains, is he? Tito said he grew up here. Surely he does not believe—”
“It doesn’t matter if he believes,” I say. “He knows other people do. The Dragusha brothers rising together is a thing. Trust me.”
“Like Bible stories,” Tito says. “The clans are all about the fucking superstitions. The sleeping Dragusha king. The three brothers rising up. I knew about that shit when I was four.”
“Whoever kills a Dragusha brother has a psychological edge,” I say. “And if we can all stay alive, we have the edge.”
Yuri nods. He gets that. Crime is all about psychological edges—way more than other businesses.
The three brothers together will rule. Fucking Miss Ipa with her fingernails like red arrows, pointing at our little faces. Apart they are weak, together they are strong. They will take everything.
The old crone has been dead for years now, but the damage was done with that prophecy of hers. Probably why Aldo Nikolla split apart my family in the first place. He wanted to be the one to lead instead of me and my brothers.
“The brothers together,” Viktor grumbles. “We brothers would be together today if not for her.”
I nod.
“If Lazarus could kill a Dragusha brother and Aldo Nikolla in the same week…” he says.
“Bingo,” I say.
Viktor frowns. “Bingo?”
“A game. Never mind.” I look at the clock. Ninety minutes before the old man arrives at the restaurant. “They’ll never expect me to show up there,” I say.
“They won’t expect it ’cause it’s cray,” Tito grumbles.
I hold up my hand to silence him. “We have his daughter as insurance.”
“Dude, if Lazarus is there, us having Mira won’t matter. Lazarus doesn’t give a shit about Mira. He’d kill you both just for fun.”
Too true.
“Maybe courier the finger,” Tito s
I shake my head. “I want to give it to him. Look in his eyes.”
“I’ll back you,” Viktor says.
“Screw that. One of us needs to stay alive to find Kiro,” I say. “Plus, I’m the one who was studying him all these years.”
“But what if Lazarus is making his move? How will we know if Lazarus’s guys are in there?” Viktor asks. “We don’t know his people anymore.”
Viktor has a point. Konstantin and I focused on Aldo, not Lazarus.
“I will not let you walk into a nest of Lazarus’s guys,” he says. “I’ll put you in the trunk if I have to.”
“No, you’re right,” I say. “We need to know what people are Lazarus’s. We need insight that’s more recent than those old photos.”
Viktor tips his head, waits for me to say it.
“Right. Mira.” I turn and limp toward her room.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Currie’s up and blocking my way. “She needs to sleep.”
I take his shirt in my fist. “And now I need to wake her up.”
He sees I’m serious. He growls and moves aside.
I head down the hall, hand on the wall. I open the door and go into the darkened bedroom. She’s lying there pretty much how I left her, perfectly tucked in. I sit next to her on the bed and rest my hand on her shoulder. “Mira,” I whisper. Nothing. I shake her. “Mira.”
“Huh,” she says.
“Wake up.” I shake her again.
She resists, but I shake her a few more times, and that does it. She rubs her eyes and regards me woozily. Her sleepy eyes widen in horror the moment she remembers. “My finger!”
“Shhh. Nothing happened—you’re okay.” I tighten my grasp on her arm. “Okay?”
She begins to shake. She’s all fucked up and crying now. Drugged out of her mind.
“You’re okay. I’m here.” Which is laughable when you think about it. An oxymoron. “Move over.” She doesn’t comply, so I shove her over. I get in and wrap my arm around her. “Shh.”
She begins to sob. Fuck. I just hold her tight, wishing I could swallow up all that sadness for her. Eventually she quiets down.
“I need to ask you some questions. About Lazarus.”
“Huh?”
“Who does Lazarus like? Who does he trust these days?”
“I dongeddit.”
“Who is a friend to Lazarus?” I have an idea, but I need it from her. “Who does he like best? Of all the Black Lion clan guys. Who did Lazarus show up to dinner with on Friday?”
“His brother,” she says. “Ioannis.”
We know that, of course. Lazarus loves his brother. “Who else?”
“Ferit. Best buds.” The way she says it, it sounds like best buzz.
“Okay,” I say. “That’s good.”
She seems to drift off a bit. “Hey.” I shake her. “You were telling me about Lazarus’s buddies.”
“Right,” she whispers.
“Who does he ride with? Besides Ioannis? Who did he hang around with at the ribbon-cutting ceremony?”
“Engjell. Like the four musketeers.”
“Good,” I say. “That’s good. Who else? Who owes him?”
“Why?”
“The bastard wants to know, baby.”
She laughs softly and suddenly gives me a stream of names. It’s like she’s hypnotized or something and the names are just falling out of her. Her names are helpful. I grab my phone from my pocket and text to Konstantin. He needs to know what’s happening. He’ll have photos of the guys. I’m thinking Viktor can send a team of advance people in to the restaurant as off-the-street diners. They’ll be on the lookout. A layer of protection for when I go in, and they can warn me if Lazarus has filled the place with his people.
I could see Bloody Lazarus going after me and letting Aldo get caught in the crossfire. That would be a brilliant plan. Two birds with one firefight.
“Aleksio?” She turns to me. I touch her nose with the phone. She tries to grab it, but her reflexes are messed up from the drugs.
“You should sleep,” I say.
“Aleksio,” she whispers. I know what’s going to come now—it’s in the air between us. It’s in her eyes. She splays her hand against my chest.
“No, baby.”
“I liked it like that.”
My blood races. “Mira—” I’ve never wanted a woman so much. But no. Not like this.
She reaches down between us; I grab her hand before she can make contact with my cock. “No, baby.”
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s do it that way again.”
“You’re going to sleep.” I pull her tight. “That’s an order.”
“Let’s be messed up,” she whispers into my ear.
Lust whooshes through me. It’s not like we don’t have the time. An hour or more before dear old Dad shows up at Agronika. But I won’t do it.
She turns back around in my arms, facing away. I move to keep my straining cock away from her perfect ass, because there’s just so much I can handle.
“What was the question?” she mumbles. “Did you have a question?”
“You already answered the question. We’re good.”
Her breath gets even, and I think she’s sleeping. But then she sighs. So peaceful. I stroke her hair, wondering what it’s like to feel that kind of peace.
I spent a lot of years watching her from afar, wondering what it was like.
Konstantin made me into a killer, yeah, blowing guys’ heads off while they begged, while they cried, while they went about their days. He made me into a weapon sharpened for battle with old man Nikolla, but he never succeeded in making me hate Mira, much as he tried.
Mira was the untouchable goddess. In a way, it seemed right that she was in the world. Like it’s right that there are stars or the sun or something. When you’re a killer, ugly and bloody and beaten to shit, you don’t hate the stars for shining. You’re glad there’s something good out there.
That’s how I felt about Mira.
I pull her closer. “You’re safe, just like you always were,” I whisper before I can think better of it. “Remember? Just an endless green lawn. A blue lake. Soldiers under command to die for you. No worries. Do you remember?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles lazily.
“What was it like?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Don’t you remember?”
“No. You gotta tell me.”
She doesn’t move.
“Come on,” I say. “Tell me.”
After a long silence, she says, “I don’t know.”
“You have to know. Try, baby.”
“It’s a hard question.”
“Try.”
“What?”
“What it was like to feel safe?” I ask, frustrated. I picture her at birthday parties, picnics on the grounds. The boating outings. Plush, wall-to-wall safety.
I just really want to know. I always wanted to know.
“Tell me how it feels,” I press.
It took Konstantin a long time to figure out I squirreled away the photos she was in. When he figured that out, he hit me so hard he nearly knocked my teeth out. That was back when he was bigger than me.
Back when he was in charge.
I think she’s gone to sleep, but then she speaks again. “I can’t describe it. I don’t know. Safety…what does gravity feel like? What does air feel like? I dunno. It just is…” She drifts off. “Dunno….”
She doesn’t know.
Her answer is a fist slammed into my gut—safety is not knowing what safety feels like.
It’s the one answer I never imagined, but it’s obvious now. You can’t describe what safety is when it’s all you’ve known. When you’ve never been moved in the middle of the night because of a crackle on the phone or a light in the alley. You never had an itchy fake mole put on your chin or got whacked upside the head for trying to pick it off.
Safety is walking down the street without having to worry that someone back there recognized you.
Safety is never thinking about safety.
You’d think with all that safety she’d be weak, but she’s strong.
I pull her closer. Is that where her optimism comes from? If she lost her safety, would the optimism go, too?
“Do you feel safe now?” I ask.
“Yes,” she whispers. Her breathing evens out, but then it changes, gets ragged. “Except Dad killed your parents.” She’s getting agitated. “He killed them. In front of the babies…”
“It’s okay now,” I whisper.
“We’re supposed to have each other’s backs,” she says.
I hold her more tightly. Even in her fucked-up state, she cares about rules. She wants people to be good. She wants to think we’re all not animals.
She says, “My mom had my back, but she died.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Got cancer.” She’s doing that uneven breathing again. Stupid of me to not think about that. Like I’m the only person who lost something.
“I bet she loved you a lot,” I say. “I bet your mother loved you so much.”
“Yeah.” I can feel her calming.
“Remind me what she was like.” I remember, but that’s not the point.
“She liked old things.”
“And?” I shouldn’t be getting her to talk right now. I should be getting her to sleep.
“She was beautiful,” she whispers. “She laughed a lot. Picnics. She liked ABBA. Scrabble. Badminton down by the lake.”
“A prissy sport.”
I can see from the shape of her cheek that she’s smiling. “You played it.”
“Maybe once.”
“The birdie in the air and Mom laughing. And Sundays…” She trails off. “Umbrellas in the sun Sundays. Tea party. With cubes of sugar. Flowers on them. What was the question?” she says after a while.
She’s drifting off, but I don’t want her to go.
I put my face to her sweet-smelling hair. “Up in the playroom. The happy baby animals? Are they still painted on the wall?”
Her chest moves. I suppose it’s a sort of laugh.
“Are the baby animals still up there? In that secret cubby?”
“You know about the baby animals?”
“I lived there, remember?”
Another jerk of her chest. Laughing, crying. It sort of doesn’t matter. She won’t remember any of this tomorrow, that’s the idea I’m getting. “The happy baby animals,” she says. “Yeah. Their faces are lit by the sun. But only in the winter.”
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