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“I will when I'm done here,” Rurik grunts, holding Papa’s wound shut as Angelina starts giving him some stitches.

“Fuck’s sake,” Kir growls. “Is anyonenotdrinking?”

“I’ll stick with tea, thank you,” Angelina says quietly, focused on sewing Papa up.

Vasilisa, who doesn’t drink at all, shakes her head as she comes back into the living room with a stack of clean towels.

Kir pours the drinks as I take a towel, wet it with antiseptic, and start gently cleaning the blood from Nero’s face.

“Still gonna love me if I scar up and get all not pretty?” Nero grins lazily at me.

“You might be stuck with me for a long time,” I shrug. “I think I might have Stockholm Syndrome.”

“You just get wet for a guy who saves your life,” he grins.

“Stop it,” I mutter, grinning at him and blushing fiercely, thankingGodthat it would appear no one else heard him with his voice so trashed.

“I’m right, though. Right?”

I roll my eyes.

Kir walks over and hands us two glasses. I pass one to Nero as Kir goes back to the bar cart, then he pours two more for Rurik and Papa and takes them over.

“So,” he growls quietly. “Anyone have anything they want to talk about?”

“Uh…” I glance at Nero and Kir. “Yeah, I’ve got…you know, a hundred.”

Kir looks at Nero, his brow arched, asking a silent question.

“Why not,” Nero murmurs. “Fucking cat’s out of the bag anyway.”

Kir takes a sip of his drink.

“I grew up thinking it was just my sister Polina and I,” he says quietly. “When I got older, after my parents had died, she and I found out we actually had a half-sister—a daughter our mother had had with an Italian man here in New York before she and my father met. My mother was barely eighteen when she had the baby, and had no family or safety net of her own. So it was the father’s mother who raised that little girl.” He glances at Nero. “Her name was Natalia Crivello. She became NataliaDe Lucawhen she married Nero’s father, Antonio.”

My heart lurches and my eyes go wide as they dart to Nero’s. He grins, lifting his good shoulder with a grimace before twisting his head toward my father.

“Does me being a quarter Russian ease the pain a bit, Marko?”

Papa chuckles quietly as Angelina secures the bandage around his abdomen. He lifts his glass to Nero in a toast. “It just might.”

“What I want to know,” Rurik says, standing and rolling his neck before taking a swig of vodka, his eyes locked on Kir, “is exactly how you managed to walk in at the perfect time.”

Kir’s expression doesn’t give much away, but I catch the hint of smugness there.

“When Marko reached out for my help after Milena wentmissing…” He glances at me significantly. “Well, let’s say I had a hunch.” His eyes swivel to Nero. “So I watched this one, and when the eyes and ears I had on him told me he’d been snatched off the street by masked men speaking Russian…” He shrugs. “Well, I put two and two together, and assumed—correctly—that he’d been broughtherefor some fatherly justice.”

“Thank you,” Papa says seriously, looking up at him and raising his glass. “Truly.”

Kir nods, tapping his glass to Papa’s. “Any time, my friend.”

I shake my head. “But…Uncle Levka…” My eyes meet Papa’s. “I don’t understand.”

“Unfortunately,” he growls, “I thinkIdo.” He takes a drink, then sighs. “Levka is…was…the type of man who always wants more control but shouldn’t ever have it. A man whowantsthat sort of power is the last one who should ever wield it. Me?” He shrugs. “I hate being in charge. Which is why I’ve done wellbeingin charge. I carry it like a weight, not a crown.” He exhales heavily. “Levka, though, desired that sort of power. And I’ve always known that. I was reluctant to let him take control when I was sick four years ago, but I had no other choice.” He shrugs. “There was Rurik?—”

“Not a fucking chance, boss,” Rurik grunts. "Told you that at the time."

Papa smiles quietly. “Indeed. So, my brother it was. And after he got a taste of being in charge, he liked it a bit too much. Even when I’d recovered, it was almost awkward when I had to demand it back from him.”