Page 38

ERO

L ightning strikes my chest.

My nerves light up like a fucking Christmas tree of pain.

Feels like getting hit by a car, stabbed through the ribs, and dipped in sulfuric acid all at once.

Muscles lock up, release. Back to the darkness.

“Wakey, wakey, chocolate shaky.” Ciro’s snarky droll stabs its way into the sweet bliss of oblivion.

“I thought we were done with this,” I mumble, my mouth feeling spongy, my jaw aching.

Even my fucking teeth hurt.

Vague impressions of my trek filter back into my aching head. Stumbling through the dark. Sharp pain in my chest. Then later, the other pain, that jolting, lingering blaze.

Still there. Only now, it feels tighter.

Like someone stitched me up.

Trying to move my hands, I realize they’re tied behind me. My head lolls from side to side. I’m in a sitting position. I try to open my eyes, but the dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling nearly blinds me.

“Could you turn out the lights, please?” I slur through the sensation of steel marbles in my mouth.

“You do not make demands, shadow man.” Accent is thick. Russian. Deep voice.

“I asked nice. Next time I’ll break your…” my mouth stalls. Making words and thoughts is so damn hard.

“I tell you this, dark one. You do not open your mouth unless it is to spit blood.” A massive backhand takes me across the cheek, nearly knocking me over. The same powerful hands catch my chair and steady me.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t really hurt. Or maybe comparatively. Probably because my entire body already does.

Still, He’s not wrong. Drool and a little bit of blood trickle to the floor, but I’m finally able to open my eyes a crack, so that’s something.

“You said ‘dark one,’” I plow onward, pushing my luck. “Like you know me.”

“ Da . You are like dark side of moon. We never see you. You disappear, but apparently you are still there, always living when you should be dead.”

He grabs me, dragging me up, and I managed to lift my head to look up into his face. The man is huge , a full head taller than me, with arms like fucking tree trunks.

Yet, in spite of his terrifying presence and intimidating expression…

I choke on a laugh. “Oh my God. Y-your hair.”

Suddenly I’m full-on fucking cracking up. I may never get used to that sound coming out of me.

It’s a short-lived experience.

The beast tosses me back down into the chair, tipping me over onto my back.

“You wish you looked this good,” he says, his lip quirking up to one side.

Several punches later, I start to block out the pain and light and the world in general. Sure would be nice to have Ciro’s voice back with me, keeping me company.

“I’m still here, bubba.” Ciro sounds far away.

At least I made it to the Bratva. There’s still a chance that I might make it out alive.

I have to for Circe’s sake.

Bratva…Something itches in my brain at that thought. This guy knows me. Which means…

I’m yanked back upright again.

“Ah, there you are again. More lucid?”

I guess so…How long was I out?

“Tell me why you have come back to Russia. You come to finish the job?”

“I don’t even have a job, I swear?—”

“Fyodor.” The door swings open, a blurry figure backlit by the fluorescent lights in the hall. “That’s enough.”

I don’t need to see the man’s face for the wind to get knocked out of me. That voice. Distinctly different from the one in my head.

“Oh, man. Things are about to get really fucking weird for you, Er.” Ciro’s imaginary words drift off to the sound of his laughter.

The man in the doorway steps into the light. To my perception, it should only be a year or so since I saw him last. But he looks older still, a few more scars lining his once boyish face.

This Ciro is tough as nails. Looks more like Alessandro.

Light, hazel eyes bore into me, contrasting with the hint of a smile on his lips that never reaches those eyes. Seconds pass and my head dips, fighting nausea and drowsiness.

“Fyodor, could you give us a minute?” Ciro says, the question sounding a whole lot more like an order. “I need to speak with my brother, please.”

Fyodor hesitates, setting me down and scowling. Ciro only raises one eyebrow, nodding toward the door.

With a deep sigh, Fyodor squeezes past Ciro, thumping him on the chest with the back of his fist. “She will not be happy with this. I will be watching.”

“She’ll be fine. She trusts me.”

“Eh. I trust you too, with my life. I don’t trust him.”

Alone, I try to hold Ciro’s gaze. My jaw works a few times.

Finally, Ciro plops down across from me, a bewildered look on his face. “You know, you’re supposed to be dead. And you were damn sure never supposed to come back to Russia.”

“In that order?”

Ciro glares. “I watched you die.”

“That’s my line. But then again, that was a lie. Lot of those going around lately.”

Ciro scoffs, not following my very reasonable line of thinking. The sterner, more serious version of my brother leans forward, forearms on his knees. Hands clasped.

Damn. He’s really got that stone-cold stare down. Suddenly it shifts to disbelief.

“You’re really here, aren’t you?”

“And you’re really here too, right?”

Ciro reaches over abruptly, pinching me hard on the leg. “Heh?”

“Not really as effective as you might think. You carried me for like, a whole mile last night.”

“I don’t know what that means. But now I am sure you’re not my twin brother.” Ciro kicks his chair back.

“Why is that?”

“Because my brother wouldn’t know a joke if it cock-slapped him in the mouth,” he snaps, grinning for real.

“Then I guess you could say that I’ve had the shit cock-slapped out of me since we last met. At least the last time we met in real life.”

“Please tell me what the fuck that’s supposed to mean,” he blurts out, and suddenly we’re chortling, cackling, roaring with laughter.

“Who the fuck are you?!” he howls.

“Some people call me the ‘Gangster of Love,’” I warble out, choke on a snort and we’re crying.

Slowly, the hilarity dies down, fading to silence. We sit there in the still, staring at each other.

“Oh man, I forgot how good you can sing,” Ciro finally speaks up.

“I…” Is he messing with me?

“Seriously, though. No one would guess that you were lead in our boys’ choir growing up.”

“I was?”

“Yeah…” He hesitates, watching my eyes. “You didn’t say shit till we were almost ten, but Aunt Eva made you try out, got you voice lessons. Aless swore it was the only thing that opened you up.”

Huh.

“Where have you been, Fiero?” His tone drops to a gruff whisper.

Exhaustion, bone-deep and steeped with years of strain, settles around me. The levity drains out. My shoulders droop. Tears creep along my eyelids, betraying me.

Dammit, I miss her. I pray she’s alright.

“Hell, man,” I say simply. Then I start from the beginning. Unpacking my bottomless well of fucked-up choices and experiences. At least, what I can remember. Most importantly, I tell him about Circe.

I’ve put most of the pieces back in place enough to tell a cohesive story. Even if I do still have holes in my memories. Mostly it’s like seeing and knowing that things happened. Photos without the context of having lived it.

Ciro listens, rarely interrupting. Fucking weird.

“Vanya said you weren’t all there. When you fought back then.”

I nod.

“But believing that you were brainwashed doesn’t remove the responsibility for your actions. And it damn sure doesn’t mean that I trust you.”

“I get it. You’ve got to protect your own.”

“You are my own. You were.” Ciro grimaces, clenching his fists. He winces, like he wants to tell me something.

“Can you tell me one thing?”

“They’re alive.” His eyes meet mine and for one split second I feel like we used to, when we could practically read each other’s thoughts. The bond we shared for almost thirty years.

Our reunion is suddenly interrupted by the door slamming open.

Fury rolls in like a thunderstorm. Jet black hair and ice blue eyes swivel toward me, then back to Ciro.

“What the mother-fuck are you doing with him , Shakal?” Death and destruction rumble in her gaze, promising annihilation.

“Trading snickerdoodle recipes, Bun-bun,” Ciro quips, his entire demeanor changing.

Vanya’s whole posture morphs to the genuine grin on his face. Her lips pout out in a little smirk. “Do not let him bake anything. He will poison it.”

“Hi, Vanya,” I mumble.

“So you are not dead. Pity.”

“Seems like everyone keeps trying, but I just won’t die.”

Her eyes narrow and I stop talking. Ciro leans over and slaps her straight up across one curvaceous cheek. Vanya gasps, taking her wrath off of me.

“Just need a few more minutes, moya vkusnaya miska beskonechnogo udovol’stviya ot lizaniya kiski .”

Vanya’s face flushes bright red.

“I missed some of that…did you say ‘delicious bowl of—’” I start.

“Endless bowl of—” Ciro corrects.

“Fuck. It is like there are two of you now,” she snaps. “Now, what is there left to talk about. You have been here for hour.”

“There’s just a lot to unpack, Van.”

“I do not see any luggage.”

A loud, awkward snort blubbers out of my nose.

“He laughs now?” She looks horrified.

“He laughs now,” Ciro confirms, tilting his head apologetically. “Um. Did you need something? Other than this sweet dick, I mean.”

Yep. Still my brother. Crude as ever. Just way more badass.

“ Da ! I’ve been looking all over for you. We have problem. Reports are coming in of attacks all along the border to the south. Men have been taken.”

“ Who ?” But it’s clear he already knows the answer. Ciro’s face darkens.

“Pantheon.”

“Pantheon is attacking you?” I light up.

“They’ve been trying to trick us into negotiating for months.”

“All while scraping away at our defenses, raiding our ports. Fucking coward dogs,” Vanya adds. “Captains and the council want to meet with you in the war room.”

“When?” Ciro looks put upon.

“ Yesterday .”

“Can I come?” I chirp, flinching back as Vanya reaches for her gun.

“This is going nowhere,” I whisper.

“In circles, mostly,” Ciro murmurs.

“It’s weird. I feel like I’ve been here before.”