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“Vanya, just…wait.” Ciro half stands, his hands out to the sides in warning.

Ero barely responds, his hands raised, a bland expression on his face.

I cock the hammer on the gun.

“I will wait to kill him. Sure. As long as it takes for us to leave Morocco.”

Ero’s upper lip curls at me. He is cocky like Ciro.

“Tell him,” I order, twitching the barrel of the gun, “Tell your brother how you stabbed Matvey, the young man in the office of the compound. With this knife.”

Ciro shakes his head, trying to deny it. “It could have been anyone…”

“I’ve killed hundreds of people with that knife.” Ero shrugs. “And I am often required to make a pass after an attack. Finish off the wounded. Kid sounds familiar.”

And I see Ciro’s face fall.

“I am sorry, Ciro,” I intone, reaching for his arm.

I did not want to force this on him. But it is necessary. For us to escape.

Because I know Ero brought us here to kill me and kidnap Ciro. To convince him to join the Mocro or run.

“Ero, do not follow us—” Ciro starts, stepping back.

But the other twin blurs forward suddenly, shoving Ciro to the side, knocking the gun from my grasp. How is he so unbelievably fast?

My vision swirls as he whips around behind me, pinning my arms and pressing a dagger to my neck. Fucking tranquilizers.

I growl, struggling, but he holds me fast.

Ciro recovers, breathing heavily at the other end of the room, his eyes wide with panic. Fury.

“Ler her go. Let us go.”

“You will not abandon me again, Ciro.”

“I never abandoned you. None of this was my choice. Just like you. But you have a choice now.”

“No. I don’t,” Ero sighs, his voice devoid of any conviction.

“I said, let her go.”

“Or what?”

“Or I willfuckyour world up.”

“You’d kill me? Your own brother?”

“You are not my brother. Not anymore,” Ciro’s voice rings more dark and horrible than anything I have ever heard from him. Even as a tear trickles down his cheek.

And I feel the gut punch of Ciro’s words in the man holding the blade to my throat. He did not expect this. He islost.

And distracted enough for me to slam my knuckles into his wrist, knocking the knife from his grasp and dipping into a somersault, out of his grip and toward the door.

Ciro flanks his brother as I rise behind him and we circle him, trying to make our escape.

“Don’t do this, Ciro.”