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 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.”