Page 42

ERO

C irce and I freeze, bathed in blinding white light.

A murmur of voices and scandalous hisses slither through a massive space past the border of what I can see. It would seem that we have an audience…

And that Ananke had us chained up in a circus cage.

The gate opens, leaving us facing the center of the arena. As if we are the main event at whatever show this is. At the push of a button, our manacles click open, freeing us.

Nervously, we both stand. No sense feeling shy now. This audience already caught the tail end of our farewell.

I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck as I pull up my pants. Glancing around, I take stock. Guards lining the open space, the stage of the ancient theater.

Circe follows my lead, stretching her arms and cracking her knuckles.

Ananke stands at the base of row after row of blocks arcing around and up, surrounded by her entourage. Dom sits just behind and to her left, striking in his tuxedo.

Ananke wants a show?

I’ll happily show her to her grave .

“Cirs.”

“Yeah?”

“No matter what happens, trust in the end of the fall …”

She turns her head to lock eyes with me, a confused frown shadowing across her brow. Her lips press together tightly as music swells around us. Ananke brought a fucking live band.

Audacious bitch.

But I brought some entertainment with me too. We just have to stay alive long enough for them to get into position.

Ananke steps forward, turning to address her guests.

“I will now demonstrate what is possible through the application of my treatment. A method that can provide you all with weapons that neither complain, nor disobey.

“These two are but a fraction of Spartan’s potential. Behold…” Ananke lowers her microphone, swiveling her head back toward us.

One. Whispered. Word.

My vision doubles for a second. Circe grabs her head, her scream guttering.

“Gentlemen? Weapons, please. Circe, be a dear and stab your lover in the heart!”

“Is this a Bratva perk or a Diamante perk?” I muse, stepping off the private helicopter.

“This is a ‘a bunch of people owe us some serious favors’ perk.” Ciro leads our little party down away from the helipad toward a broad, low building across a long, narrow footbridge. Everything is modern, extremely elegant looking.

And designed to be almost invisible from above. The top of the edifice blends right into the mountainside even from our vantage a few hundred yards away.

“You didn’t specify who ‘us’ is.” I have to shout over the wind. Fucking cold up here.

“And you didn’t used to talk so much,” Ciro barks over his shoulder.

“Now you know how I felt!”

“Do you know how you felt?”

“Ha. Memory jokes. It’s coming back, bit by bit.” I glance around, watching for movement. We’re being watched.

“Perhaps the psychopath twin will go back to not speaking. I like him better silent. Already have one ass-mouth,” Fyodor rumbles, hauling all of our bags with one arm.

“Fyo, don’t you know you’re never ever supposed to go ass to mouth?” Ciro snips back at him.

“How about foot to ass?”

“Only if you bring your little red tights, Zangif.”

“Not to be a nag, but whose Swiss Alps hideout is this, anyway?” I interrupt. If I don’t, they’ll never stop.

“You’ll see.” Vanya yells back, smirking almost menacingly. I hate the way she does that.

Better than the murder glare she used to give me. “That is, if J. Bond doesn’t infiltrate the base and stop the owner from executing their plan of blowing out the moon.”

Vanya snickers.

Ciro and I open our mouths at the same time. “I’d love to blow out ? —”

“You should know better than to walk into a verbal trap like that, Sokolov,” a male voice calls from the porch of the partially obscured house. For some reason, my heart starts pounding.

“She’s only just starting to understand the inner workings of jokes,” Ciro quips in return, dodging a sharp jab from his wife.

“I will show you inner workings of your chest cavity. With a knife.”

“Funny way to say you wanna be inside me, dear.” Ciro pauses as we round the last hill. The rest of our party appear nonchalant, even casual as they come to a halt. The porch is empty.

“Um. What are we—?” I don’t get to finish the sentence.

Powerful arms loop under mine, pulling back and pinning me. A sack slips over my head.

“Should I have seen this coming? Think I did,” I growl as I’m manhandled along in the same general direction we were going.

“Necessary precaution,” the man behind me states. Matter of fact. Clinical. Familiar.

“Necessary, my ass!” I grunt, stumbling over a step.

No one responds, though I sense them around me still. My escort steadies me, guides me inside, the wind cutting off abruptly.

Déjà vu.

How many times have I been slammed down into a chair with my hands bound and either a blindfold or burlap sack yanked off dramatically?

As my memories have slowly been trickling back, I can say it’s kind of ridiculous. Mostly because I’ve gotten myself into this situation every time. The tune of my soundtrack is a broken record.

Only difference is they don’t uncover my head.

And I don’t tell them to go fuck themselves.

“I get why you’re being careful. I haven’t exactly acted in good faith toward anyone. You could say I haven’t been myself, but that’s actually a load of crap. We all know I was messed up back then. Got even more messed up.”

“His sales pitch is really bad,” Ciro whispers.

“He’s convincing me,” the deeper, calculating voice says, “That he’s not to be trusted.”

“Let him finish,” the first voice I heard from the house. Resonant, a hint raspy like someone who sneaks too many cigarettes and doesn’t think anyone will notice. “If he digs his own grave, we can just throw him in.”

“There was a cliff right back there, I could throw him off right now,” Fyodor offers a little too enthusiastically.

Damn. That’s cold.

“Chill out, Drago,” the analytical one says. Several snickers precede Fyodor’s low growl. “We’re not killing you just yet.”

“Thing is, I already died. Multiple times over. My parents’ deaths, even if I can barely remember their faces.

I remember the pain. The loneliness. Every mission I did for that lunatic, Dom, killed me a little inside.

When my brother sent me away, I felt lost. When I thought my twin was dead, I snapped.

Then it was death, death, death. Adil Abas and Mocro.

Attacking Vanya and Ciro in Russia. Trying to kill them. ”

I swallow, my mouth drying out.

“I died again that day. Bled out in a ditch. And someone rescued me. Revived my body and used it to kill others. But I wasn’t living. And she fucked up. Because that cunt Ananke unwittingly gave me to the woman who brought me back from the dead.”

The room feels vacuous, horridly silent.

“It took someone scrambling what little brains I had left to jumpstart my heart,” I fumble my way through the gut-wrenching feelings. God, I sound like a fucking sap. And we are running out of time. “And it took her shooting me in the chest to free my mind from Ananke’s control.”

“Who controls you now, Ero?” the deep voice asks softly.

“The man who wants, more than anything, to save the love of his life.”

A hot tear streaks across my cheeks.

The bag slides off but I keep my eyes down, my eyes closed.

“And what will you do to make that happen?” Cool-and-Cunning hums.

“Give up my life, if necessary.”

I raise my eyes.

Alessandro’s hazel gaze hammers into me. Standing ahead of him and to the left, Adriano crosses his arms, studying me. The shift in power between them feels…right somehow. Equal.

Ciro and Vanya stand to either side of me, waiting for the two eldest brothers to speak. Alessandro defers to Adri, tilting his head.

“You’ve done some fucked-up stuff, Ero,” Adriano starts, his expression lightening slightly. “But if you failed this family…”

He waves his hand and Fyodor snaps the zip tie around my wrists.

“This family has just as certainly failed you, too many times.”

“We’ve all made our fair share of shit choices, Fiero. Mine started this whole shit show six years ago,” Alessandro grimaces.

Ciro’s hand rests on my shoulder as I rise to my feet. “I don’t expect forgiveness. Just please, help me get her back.”

Two more bodies enter the room. Female.

Gloria slips her hand into Adri’s, his entire demeanor brightening. Isabella looks me up and down with a mocking smirk as she leans into Alessandro, shaking her head like a disapproving older sister.

“Man, this almost seems familiar…like the four of you have rushed off to save some broad before.” Isa tongues the inside of her cheek. “She must be one of a kind to claim the heart of the Angel of Death.”

A smile pulls at my lips, spreading into a full-blown grin.

“What the fuck is that?!” Adriano blurts, his eyes bugging out a bit.

“He keeps doing this, scaring children with this face he makes now. It is nightmare fuel,” Vanya explains, making a disturbed face.

“It’s like watching a rabid dog trying to chew off its own tongue,” Aless grunts, giving me a thin smile of his own.

“He’s Christmas Ero now! His heart grew three sizes!” Ciro guffs, socking me in the arm.

“Does that make you Max the dog?” I snap back at him.

“Where did he even get a heart? Probably stole it from the morgue.” Gloria sniffs, turning to lead the way farther into the house.

“Actually, I really did kickstart his heart. Me and my motley crew,” Ciro snickers.

“I think Ero meant the whole death thing to be a metaphor, Zero,” Alessandro looks back over his shoulder.

“It wasn’t a meta for shit. We seriously had to defibrillate the fucker when we found him. He flatlined like three times.”

“Does he know what a metaphor is…” Gloria mutters under breath.

“Have they sainted you yet, Vanya? Your patience and tolerance for my brother are truly inspirational,” Adriano drolls.

“Don’t I need to die first to be sainted?” she sniffs.

“Yeah, die from laughing so hard.” My twin pouts.

“Hey, Diamantes! Can we get to the part where we figure out how we are going to take down some world-dominating queen-bitch and save Ero’s little goddess? Sometime this year would be great.”

Thank you Isabella.

Circe straightens, her back rigid, her eyes blank and hollow. I mimic her stance, my thoughts clear and my will my own.

Ananke’s whispered key phrase tore at my consciousness, clawed for a handhold. But the hooks she had in me are rusting, cracked, and disintegrating.

Just in case, I broke my pinky finger on my left hand the second she opened her mouth.

Pain hones my senses, sharpens my resolve, blocking out the vestiges of her grip on my mind.

A glance toward the audience shows me a signal, two, three. Ciro. Adriano. Alessandro. All decked out in finery and disguised as dignitaries.

Which means everything is ready.

Ananke takes her seat, right beside the leering Dom Vipera.

Now, I just have to figure out how to get through to the woman I love. I have to hope that she’s still in there, that she can find her way back one last time.

Before she kills me.