Dark Mafia Prince: A Dangerous Royals romance (13 page)

“Your father hunted Aleksio unceasingly. You know what the price on Aleksio’s head was at the age of nine? Three hundred thousand. It takes only fifty to have somebody killed. But for this young boy, three hundred thousand. Konstantin, too. All the best hitters were out for him. They raised it later. Too little, too late. Isn’t that what you say? A baby one year old,” Viktor continues. “Our mother begged while her babies screamed.”

Tears swim in my eyes. “Why would he hate your family so much?”

“Bad blood between partners. Konstantin saw it coming. He tried to warn our father.” Viktor positions the cutter in front of me.

I let the tears fall as the details mesh up into a perfect story. It’s got the ring of truth, and not just about the blood aversion. It
feels
right,
feels
like the truth. It echoes with the contours of that dark time.

Is it possible he knows more about Kiro? Is Dad holding back, even knowing I’m in danger? No way.

“We have each other’s backs.” My tongue feels thick. “He doesn’t know more—he can’t.” The trees are blurry. A three-week-old baby is tiny. Just a little bundle. I’m floaty.

“Bloody Lazarus is hunting Kiro now. He cannot let the brothers unite.”

“But Bloody Lazarus would want to find my father first.”

“If he has a chance to kill Kiro, he will kill him. He needs that prophecy put to rest.”

So many things I don’t know. But I know his story is real—I can feel it in my gut. It makes sense with Aleksio’s story.

“Was everything a lie?” I mumble, watching the trees sway. Or is that the ground swaying? Or the table? I’m staring at the world from far away.

The slaughter of their parents in front of babies? It would imprint their souls. I can’t let it be true. I won’t accept it.

Viktor’s face floats in front of me. “How do you feel?”

I furrow my brow. “The trees…”

Just then the door slides open. I jerk my head up, but it’s not Aleksio. It’s an outdoorsy-looking guy with a blond beard. He’s carrying a little black bag.

“Currie!” Viktor says.

“What happened to her?”

“Nothing yet.”

“What the fuck?” The man called Currie sounds strange and faraway. “You’re not going to do what I think you’re gonna do with that.”

“Hold him,” Viktor says. A couple Russians grab on to the man. “You will see to her after.”

“Fuck me,” the man called Currie says. “What the fuck is wrong with you people?”

“Okay.” Viktor comes to me. I gasp as my world spins. He twists my hair and shoves it in the back of my shirt, then he takes my hand and flattens it on the cool, flat surface of the paper cutter.

I’m sweating, flying.

“Don’t do it, man!” Currie shouts. He sounds like he’s on another planet.

Viktor pulls my pinky out to the side so that it hangs partly over the edge.

“Get away!” I try to jerk away. Another guy comes to press my wrist into place. I can barely move—they’re too strong, too determined, too expert. It’s like a dream. A nightmare.

“Breathe,” Viktor says.

Little Vik.
A baby can’t understand that kind of violence, but it goes into its psyche all the same.

“Look at Yuri’s eyes,” Viktor says. “And breathe.”

Yuri’s face is blurry. I can’t tell if it’s the drugs or the tears. There’s a crisp metal-on-metal sound as the blade is lifted. It’s happening. Everything is too bright.

And then a crash.

Not my finger—it’s from somewhere else. A yell rips through the air.

Aleksio.

“Fucking hell.” Viktor lets my pinky go and straightens.

Aleksio’s limping, half-running across the patio past Currie to get to us. Our eyes lock. He’s the one steady thing in my seasick world. His white shirt is bloody, half tucked in.

Yuri mutters something in Russian, but all I see is Aleksio. He came for me.

Aleksio practically falls to the picnic table, next to me on the bench. He takes my hands in his, checking my fingers. His knuckles look pink and raw. “Are you okay, Mira?”

“Yes,” I say. He seems slightly unreal. Like he’s part here and part not. “It’s okay now.”

He stares into my eyes.

“Intact,” I say, proud I found that word. He claps a hand onto the side of my head and presses his thumb onto my eyebrow, forcing one eye open wide.

I laugh. “Stop it, ’Leksio.”

He turns a feral gaze to Viktor. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

“What you will not,” Viktor says from somewhere far away.

Aleksio’s gone just like that. Everything’s cold and I’m alone again. Where is he? I look up and spot him flying at Viktor. He tackles him onto the green grass, a sea of lime soda.

He’s on top, pounding Little Vik in the face.
Whap
.

That straightens me up. “Stop it!”

Another crack.

Tito tries to pull him off. “Don’t do it, man!”

Yuri’s in there. It’s a whirlwind of fists. White shirts, black jackets, blood all over.

I stand, gripping the table. Everyone’s fighting!

Aleksio hits Tito, and then Viktor’s on top, pounding Aleksio. They’re fighting wildly, rolling around, grabbing at each other’s arms. A blur of motion. Black and white and blood all over.

I sway on my feet.

They fight like animals, these brothers. Separated so long ago.

The world comes in and out of focus, blurred with tears. Need to do something.

And then I spy the gun. Sitting out on the table. Waiting for me.

It’s cool and heavy in my hand. I fit my palm around the grip. Trigger on my finger like half a ring.

Aleksio

W
e stop fighting
when she shoots the gun.

In a flash we’re off the ground, hands up. There she is, staggering, waving that gun. We’re all freaking.

“Put it down,” Viktor says.

“Stop fighting!” Tears stream down her cheeks in streaks.

“We stopped! We’re okay now,” I say.

Except we’re not. Mira is staggering around with a loaded Glock, finger on the fucking trigger. She could shoot without even intending it.

She’s going to shoot us, that’s my thought, and I wouldn’t blame her. I blew up her house. Abducted her. Degraded her. Made that movie. Viktor nearly chopped her finger off.

I keep my hands up, showing her I’m no threat. “Baby—”

“Don’t call me that! Or ‘Kitten’!”

“Mimi,” I say. “Put it down.” Ten guys are out here—Dr. Currie and the Russians and my guys, looming around, hands half-up. Shit, a pack of guys won’t improve this situation. I flick my fingers, signaling everyone to back away.

They pull back fast. All except Viktor. I growl—I can’t look at him.

He, too, backs off. In a soft voice I say, “Give me the gun.”

She gazes into my eyes, lip quivering. “Did he really do it?”

“What, Mira? Your finger?”
Fuck.
Is she asking me whether Viktor cut off her finger? How bad did he drug her? I’m so fucking angry I can’t think.

“My father! Did he really kill your parents while you and your baby brothers watched? And he hunted you?”

I grit my teeth. No wonder she’s so fucked up. She had to know her dad was a killer, but I can only imagine the picture Viktor painted for her. The young parents. The babies crying. The way the killed my father, then lunged for my mother as she darted away. I remember that so vividly. And then Lazarus held her for the blade. Her eyes. The blood.

“Is it true?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“He just…” She stares off at the trees, swaying. “He just killed them? In front of their babies?”

“He killed them in front of the babies.”

Her voice is small. “You’re sure?”

I swallow. “He drugged their drinks, and then he chased them up to the top floor of our home and slit their throats. Him and Lazarus.”

“In front of the babies.”

“Yeah, that’s what he did. They went up there to protect their babies.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

This
, I think.

She’s frowning, focusing intently on me. The moment seems to slow, and I feel her like I always have.

“And he wanted to kill you, too? Is that true, too?”

“Yeah. He needed to take me out because he knew I’d be a threat to him. I was old enough to know what happened. To want vengeance. Konstantin hid me while it happened. He kept me quiet.”

The tears are coming again. “And you heard Dad throw up after?”

“Yeah.” It kills me, seeing her like this, hurting and fucked-up.

“And that was my dad and Lazarus chasing you? When you got burned?”

My pulse whooshes. “And now I’m back good as new. Let’s have the gun. You don’t really want it, right? We’re going to work it all out.”

“Lazarus is trying to kill baby Kiro. You’re worried about baby Kiro.”

If he’s not already dead.

She walks unsteadily toward me, finger still on that fucking trigger.
Nobody move,
I think.
Nobody spook her.
I blank out the pain in my ankle, my head.

Her dark hair is wild and wavy around her shoulders, as if morphed with her mood. “You need to find baby Kiro.”

“We’ll find him. You remember him?” I say, willing her to lower the piece. “Remember his little hat? His little fingers?”

“So tiny.”

“Yeah, we need to find Kiro. He’s running out of time. I promised I’d protect him.”

“You keep your promises.”

“I do. How about giving me that gun, Mira.”

She’s right in front of me now. I consider grabbing the gun, but any fast movement could make her twitch. Suddenly she’s doing something with her hands, pulling a ring off her finger, still holding that damn gun.

“Be careful where you point that,” I say calmly. “Real careful.”

She keeps working at the ring, the gun pointing this way and that. It seems like it’s stuck on her middle finger, and she’s pulling and pulling.

“You need help?”

“No.” Finally she gets it off and presses it into my palm. “This was stuck on my finger for years. Dad and I even went to a doctor to ask about cutting it off. But I lost weight recently…I never told him when I finally was able to get it off and on and off and…”

“Uh-huh,” I say.

“Don’t you see?” She’s swaying. “If he sees the ring…” She forms her words with difficulty, hopped up on whatever Viktor fed her. “If he sees the ring, he won’t look at the finger. We’ll fool him. Pretend it’s my finger. But without showing him blood.”

“What are you talking about, Mira?”

“He can’t look at blood. It’s why he threw up. He won’t look at it. We’ll give him a fake finger. He won’t ever look at it.”

“He’s not stupid. He’d look.”

“No. He’ll pretend. He won’t look at it. He gets sick.”

“Wait.” I straighten, remembering the smell of his puke after he killed my parents. “Blood makes him sick?”

“So sick, Aleksio. He keeps it secret.” She sucks in her lips, focusing on nothing, fighting through whatever haze she’s in. “He’ll pretend to look, but he won’t. Get an already dead finger. Wrap it in something bloody. When he sees the ring…” She swallows, swaying. “…When he gets the ring he’ll accept the finger. No question. Won’t look. He’ll accept it.” She looks up. “Do you get it?”

“I get it.”
Could it work?

“Give him warning. Don’t just unveil it. You don’t have to kill him.” Tears in her eyes. “Promise.”

“Promise what, baby?” I whisper, held in a trance by her cinnamon gaze…and, admittedly, the waving gun.

“Don’t kill him. You can’t kill him. Not ever.”

Fuck.

“Promise,” she says, swinging it up to chest level.

“Okay. I won’t kill your dad.”

“Promise. Not Viktor, either. Not any of your guys. You don’t have any of your guys kill Dad.”

Viktor growls.

I glare at him, choking down the rage. “Promise her, Viktor.”

“I promise,” he says.

Yeah, he’ll settle for making him wish he was dead.

She lowers the weapon. As usual, she’s forgotten herself. Viktor told the old man we’d kill her if we didn’t get Kiro back. She didn’t try to get that promise from us. Because that’s what’s inside her. She blows my mind—raised in a nest of vipers and she turns out strong and good. This is the real Mira. Not the Mira Mira shopping shit or the mafia princess at the party. This.

I hold out my hands. “Come here.”

She comes to me.

I slide an arm around her and gently grab the cool barrel, keeping it downward. I whisper in her ear, “Let go of the piece.” She loosens her grip, and I take it from her and hand the thing behind me to Tito.

I press my face in her hair. “You’re okay, baby.”

Her chest begins to shake. I realize she’s crying. My ankle is screaming, but all I hear is Mira.

I stroke her hair. “It’s okay. We’ll make it okay.”

She pulls away, eyes swollen, still gorgeous. “He killed a mother in front of her babies! Promise me…promise you’ll help him if he needs it. Promise you’ll get him medical attention if the blood fucks him up.”

“But he probably won’t even look, right?”

“Yeah, but
if
—”

“Sure.” I brush back her hair. “What kind of criminal gang would we be if we didn’t have a doctor or two on our payroll?”

“Hold on, what?” Currie says. “Me? Are we talking about Aldo Nikolla?”

I give him a look. We handled some deep loan-shark trouble for him. He owes us his life.

“I’m wearing a mask,” he says.

“Wear a fucking mask, then.” I nod at Viktor. “The morgue. We need a finger and some blood in an hour. Tito knows a guy.” Viktor and Tito start working it out. We need to get this together fast.

“Wait, I might have a source,” Currie says.

“Work it out,” I say. It’ll cost us, knowing Currie. Like I give a shit.

“We need to save baby Kiro,” Mira says.

My heart hammers out of my chest. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. We’re sorry.
Viktor’s
sorry.”

She narrows her eyes at him, trying to focus. “But you love him.”

I twist her hair around my hand, feeling crazy.

She tries to focus on my face. “He’s your brother,” she says, words thick and strange, as if in a trance. “He’s trying to save his baby
brat
. You love him.”