"It's what happened! Everyone knows it."

"Aleksio knows different. He saw."

"What?"

"Aleksio saw your father kill our parents. Your father slit their throats. Bloody Lazarus helped."

My throat feels thick.

"Your father drugged our mother and father and cut their throats. He killed them as they begged for the lives of their babies."

"No," I say. "My father wouldn't..." My heart pounds. "He couldn't!" I'm about to tell him about my dad's secret, that he becomes violently ill at the sight of blood, but I can't form the words.

Viktor draws his face near to mine. "We were all there. Kiro was one. A tiny boy." He straightens. "I was a baby, too, but not so young. I remember the feeling. The blood. Nothing more."

"My father wouldn't do that. Wouldn't and couldn't."

"The man you know now, maybe not. He is old now." He watches me with dark calm. "Your father split those babies up so that they would never find each other. Me he sent to the worst orphanage in Moscow. Kiro he sold. Aleksio got out. But not before he saw all. Old Konstantin pulled him into a cubby and kept him still. Hand over his mouth. They hid in the very room where the killing was."

Viktor wipes the cutting surface with vodka. "There are many cubbies in that playroom, no? Many places to hide. He watched it in the reflection of the window. Your father gave our parents drugs to make them slow. He slit their throats and then he threw up, so disgusted was he with what he did."

"He threw up?"

"He cleaned it up, of course. He is not stupid."

I'm stunned, reeling. He threw up.

It's his reaction to blood. The secret he hides, the secret they would have no way of knowing. Could it be true?

I feel like throwing up myself.

Viktor is droning on with the story. When my father could not find Aleksio, he figured out Konstantin must have helped him get away...and my father put out contracts on them both.

I think about the burn. The hiding. That was my father hunting Aleksio. I think about the look on my father's face when he recognized Aleksio. Could it be true? God, to kill a mother and father in front of their babies!

"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.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Aleksio We 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?"