Page 44

ERO

B linding flame and billowing smoke blossom to either side of the amphitheater, rocking the ground. Ananke and Dom shout orders, Dom eyeing the crowd like he just saw a ghost.

Surprise!

From every angle, phantom attacks corral Ananke’s soldiers, hemming them in. The guests panic, rushing toward the path of least resistance, toward the back.

Clusters form in the mob, lashing out against perceived attacks from within the audience. Fighting breaks out between gangsters and politicians, celebrity bodyguards threatening anyone trying to approach.

Circe and I spot Ananke and Dom running for the sideline of the arena, our former mistress gesticulating wildly and spouting orders.

“No one leaves! Kill every single one of them!”

Dom leans in, reaching for her arm. “Hey?—!”

“This is your fault!”

“What?! I gave you Ero and that little bitch?—”

One of her guards backhands Dom. They scuffle, Dom deftly snapping the man’s wrist and taking his gun. By the time he breaks free, his partner vanishes, leaving him cussing and looking for a way out.

“Stop him!” Circe screams.

Two steps forward and we’re surrounded by a swarm of Pantheon goons.

Neither of us waste a moment, shoving off of one another and propelling ourselves into the fray.

Disarming two at once with lightning stabs of stiffened fingers and a clever twist of one of their guns.

I toss the pistol behind me to Circe, flicking a pendulum kick into a chin to my right and flip another assailant’s hands back viciously, forcing his finger against the trigger, right into his face.

Three pops on my flank, two cries of wounded and dying men, and I’m dropping into a spin, taking out another guard’s legs.

He lands with a thud, Circe slamming her heel down across his throat.

“She’s getting away, they both are!”

“Dom’s not going anywhere,” I snarl, spotting two of my brothers as they break free of the press and converge on the gap in the wall Dom slipped through moments before.

Circe dithers, struggling with which way to go.

“Circe!”

She tilts her head away from me, toward the ear not leaking blood. Some hearing must be returning.

“Let’s go!”

“Go get him. Be there when they fucking off that prick! I have to go after Ananke.”

“If you’re only deaf in one ear, she might?—”

“I can’t risk her disappearing, Ero. I’ll never rest or find peace unless?—”

“Hey bitchface!” A cocky, female voice rings over the tumult. “You coming? She went that way!”

Circe and I look up past rows of bodies and ex-party guests battling against Ananke’s army. It’s a fucking madhouse. But there at the top of the steps, an incredibly tall woman kicks a groaning guard in the gut, resting a katana on her shoulder as she points the way.

“Artemis!” Circe cries.

“And …”

A diminutive figure steps out from behind Artemis, shifting with staggering speed. Another two soldiers crumple, falling short of reaching the duo. “Haru!”

“Thanks, Short King,” Artemis hollers and Haru flicks his blade free of blood as she bends over to kiss him. Go, Haru.

Circe is already running, glancing back with a grin. With those two as backup…

“End this! Then find me!” I shout, backing into a run.

“I always do!” she roars, leaping up the stairs.

Tucking any worry for my deadly lover’s safety away for later, I sprint after my brothers and Dom.

Tracking them in the dark would be difficult normally, but none of them bothered to be any kind of subtle in their mad dash.

Just past the stone wall, a string of bodies and a shotgun-sprayed barrier lay in ruins.

A short way off, shouts alert me to another confrontation.

An engine roars, a sizzling whistle screeches in the night, and a plume of fire mushrooms above the trees. Taking the field between me and the blast at a dead sprint, I check my gun for ammo.

Shit.

Should have grabbed a clip.

A low gust of breath to my left pivots me in mid-step, popping off a shot just in time. Some Triad thug nosedives, clutching his neck. Well, shit.

There goes my last bullet.

Rifling through his clothes, I snag a couple of knives and move on.

Clashing metal and the cries of battle echo from my right, my left. The violence spilled out, it’s spreading as desperate mobsters and the elite fight toward the vehicles and their only means of escape.

We mapped this place out when we figured out where she was going to host the demonstration. It’s remote. An archeological site that she must have paid a pretty penny to access.

Or she just took it.

Avoiding roving soldiers, I stay low as I skirt a minor skirmish between a handful of Brits and several men I’m certain I’ve seen before. Sitting in a cell in South Africa.

Any one of the encounters would slow me down or target me.

As if on cue, a machete whizzes down at me, a tatted, gold-toothed scream catching me off guard.

Zip-pop and he goes down. The entire gaggle of gangsters follows suit.

“Watch out, chernyy volk, we almost shoot you too! ” A gruff female Russian accent barks.

“ Spasibo , Vanya!” I holler over my shoulder, pressing on.

“Go make sure the zmeya does not kill my Shakal . Or escape.”

“ Lo giuro, sorella ,” I snap back at her in Italian, only getting a snide grunt in response.

Reaching the summit of a small hill, I notice light near the tree line. A huge catering tent stretches out along the edge of low foundations—the uniform remains of the temple and the town that once hosted the amphitheater.

A silhouette steps into the outline of the doorway, a second behind. Aless. Ciro.

“Dom!” one of them shouts.

“Thought I saw him slither in here…” They disappear inside.

The lights cut out.

Running again, I veer off, down the side of the structure.

Slashing the fabric, I slip inside, taking stock of my position. A back room of sorts, serving equipment. My eyes flick to the side at the sound of a gasp.

Raising one finger to my lips, I shush the waitress as I stalk past.

Through the opening, I slink into a maze of dividers leading out to the main dining area beyond. Ciro peers around a corner, catching my eye. Two fingers signal his direction. Another where he wants me. Aless must have gone around to flank from the other direction.

“ Maledetto Diamantes!” Dom’s rasping voice fills the tent, muted and indistinct. “How many times do I have to fucking kill you?!”

Alessandro enters the hall across from me on the far side of the tent. He nods, pointing toward the back of the structure. I follow the wall along what appears to be private smoking rooms, periodically spotting the other two.

Reaching the final divider wall, Ciro glances at each of us, swiveling his fingers for us to go around while he steps through the main entrance. Aless vanishes out the side of the tent wall. My thin passage extends along the side of the lounge, leading to some sort of service access.

“They send the defective Russian defector to do the deed, heh?” Dom mewls. A hint of smoke flares my nostrils. Dom always liked his cigars.

A gap near the back shows me the interior, dimly lit by a lantern on a low table. Dom’s sitting at the edge of a plush ottoman. Another puff of his cigar illuminates his haggard features.

“It’s more of an attention deficit, I think. Undiagnosed.” Ciro cocks his hip, his hands in his pockets.

“Fucking re?—”

“Whoa! Dial that ignorant trash back to you just being a vile sack of shit.”

“Prattling dunce. You always act so fucking clever.”

“Nah. I leave the clever stuff to them.”

While he keeps Dom occupied, we creep in, taking our spots in the corner chairs. Dom looks around, gasping.

“Always teatrale , no, Alessandro? Have to make an entrance.” He laughs nervously, coughing lightly. “Three against one. Fair enough. I have enough bullets for all of you, fratellini. ”

“Go ahead.” Adriano’s voice startles even me. My older brother emerges from right behind Dom, rising from his hiding place.

“Ah, hiding right under my nose, just like always, Adriano. You…mmm…You, I will strangle with my bare hands. Sell out. Rat. Fucking turncoat cocksucker.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Alessandro rises.

“Come on then. Give me your best speech before you all die.”

“No speeches,” Adriano steps up behind Dom.

Ciro closes in, I appear next to him.

A low, fatalistic chuckle shakes the older man’s shoulders. “You knew…”

Adriano cocks his head, that humble acknowledgement that he’s almost always the smartest guy in the room. “Aless isn’t the only one with a flair for the dramatic. Or a not-so-secret addiction to smoking.”

Dom’s hand shakes. The cigar falls to the ground, smoldering in a sickly sweet scent, slightly putrid.

“Always a step ahead, eh, Adriano? You know, Ananke made me do all of this. Like she did with Ero, with the Lyra whore. Brainwashed me?—”

“Don’t shame yourself with more lies, Domenico,” I whisper, my knife dropping into my grip. Metal flickers in Ciro’s hand. Adriano fingers his switchblade.

Aless steps closer, raising a hand for us to stop.

Reaching down, he hooks his hands under Dom’s quivering elbows, the poison soaking him in cold sweat. He can barely move. Alessandro helps him to his feet.

“Want to face me like a man, eh?” Dom chokes on a cackle.

“No. I would face you like family.” A tear traces down Aless’s face as he embraces Dom.

He holds his mentor and best friend tight for a moment. Our godfather, our enemy.

“ Andare con Dio, fratello. ” Alessandro steps back.

Three blades sing a song of death, making the hooded one proud. Blood spills down Dom’s sides, down his back. He sinks to the floor, one hand reaching for Alessandro.

My brother steps back.

Ciro and I distance ourselves.

Adriano pauses. Takes his hand.

“Tell Gloria…I-I—” Dom croaks, drowning in his own blood.

“ No .” He sets Dom’s limp hand back in his darkening lap. “But I will take care of her.”

A faint smile twitches at the edges of Dom’s mouth. He nods. Like he’s proud of us for this.

One final hiss passes the serpent’s tongue.

Domenico Vipera is no more.