I push up his TV table that fits over the armrests of his wheelchair.

Konstantin turns on the computer and shows us spreadsheets, flow charts, graphs. "I have made something for you boys. Years ago I began the long game, filling in names and places." He goes on to detail what he has been doing. As he speaks, I realize that he has been slowly putting the puzzle of businesses together using a network of private investigators and administrative assistants.

He has been working in the dark, working in the quiet, to prepare the way for us to weaken the Nikolla empire and take it back.

An old criminal at his jigsaw puzzle.

"We choke off their cash, their protection, then we strike..."

"Jesus," I say, amazed. "You had this all this time, and you didn't tell me?"

"I was saving it for after we found Kiro," Konstantin says.

I hit the keys, flipping through. The spreadsheet is madness. It's everything we need.

His plan is to infiltrate their flesh trade, their most profitable business, especially their underground brothel, Valhalla.

"The nerve center of their billion-dollar operation," Konstantin says. "The jugular. No one understands this as I do."

He has more-blueprints to the money laundering, the chop shops, people in and out of the clan who can be bribed or blackmailed. "I helped stack that empire," he growls. "I know how to make it fall. Then the true sons step up."

Konstantin wants Viktor to infiltrate the brothel. Viktor grumbles like a kid who got the bad Cracker Jack prize. Infiltrating a brothel isn't bloody enough for Viktor.

Konstantin shakes his head. "It needs somebody who can speak Russian but pass as an American. A lot of the pipeline is Russian."

Viktor avoids my eyes as he grabs the paper with the URLs Konstantin has written. "Writing websites on a piece of paper like an old man."

"I am an old man."

While other old men do crossword puzzles, Konstantin has been up to this.

Viktor is darkly focused on his flesh-trade flowchart, looking at the names. A lot of Russians. The names of the victims are mostly Russian, too. I see why Konstantin put him there.

"I would like to kill them," he says. "All of these on the chart."

"But you won't," Konstantin says. "Because you know others will replace them. We will destroy the structure itself. Like termites. Your father would never have run such a place as Valhalla."

Viktor frowns. "I will be a termite for a little while. Then we will kill the shit out of them."

"Good boy."

We discuss how to get the American side of the Russian mafia involved.

He closes the laptop. He reaches out to grip my arm, tightening and loosening as if in extreme emotion. "You two brothers together take your vengeance." Konstantin lets go of me and beckons Viktor over. He adjusts Viktor's tie. "Some of Aldo Nikolla's people may come over to you. Some you will be able to trust, some not. Use your gut. As you weaken Aldo, there will come a tipping point where you can finally pull everything to yourself." He looks up, so full of emotion. "Your father built his empire to pass on to you, his sons. He would be proud."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Mira I crash on. I think I hear people behind me, but it could be my imagination, like footsteps in the dark.

The way up ahead gets lighter, as though there are fewer trees up there. It's a good sign-it could mean I'm coming out the other side. My legs are bleeding, but I don't even care. I burst out from the trees, and there it is, a two-lane highway. Not much traffic, but all I need is one person, one driver willing to help.

And coming, in the distance, is a black car. I slide down the steep, grassy slope and wave and jump, right in the middle of the road, thankful I'm wearing bright colors.

The vehicle slows. Coming.

I move to the side, waving more frantically. "Help!" I call out.

And then I recognize Yuri. Eyes boring into mine. Angry.

I turn and scramble back up the side.

The vehicle pulls off. I run into the woods. My feet are getting torn on roots and branches. I trip, and suddenly he's on me.

He pushes me down and presses a knee to my back. I'm squirming, trying to get free, as he makes a call.

A voice on the other end. Viktor. They speak in Russian.

I feel something cold and hard on my arm. I jerk away too late. The Taser shock jolts through my body.

And then the darkness closes in.

Familiar arms around my shoulders, under my knees. "Mira. Baby."

Aleksio.

An angry voice nearby. "She would run to her father. Tell him everything."

Viktor.

I open my eyes, blink in the sunshine.

Aleksio's looking down at me, gaze dark with worry. "Are you okay?" Trees above. Dizzying sky. Part of the roof. We're out in the driveway of that Stonybrook house.

I force my lips to form his name. "Aleksio."

He's holding me like I weigh nothing. "Fuck, Mira."

"She was going to run to Daddy," Viktor says again from somewhere nearby. "She would tell him where we are. Show the patsani we are weak."

"I wouldn't," I mumble. "Wouldn't...tell..." I try to speak but I can't. Yuri Tasered the hell out of me.

I can feel the rage pulse through Aleksio. He must have pulled me from the truck. "She would never do that," he says. "She would never betray us."

"She's a Nikolla."

"This conversation is over."

"She's hurting us, brat."

For once I agree with Viktor. I'm hurting them, tearing them apart.

I feel the growl in his chest, deep and possessive. "You don't touch her."

"Kiro is dead, and she lives," Viktor says. "They would see that she even has her fingers. She weakens us. She shows them we don't keep our promises."

"This shit between us right here is the only thing weakening us." He carries me into the house, through the foyer, limping.

"Your ankle," I say. "Put me down."

He tightens his arms around me.

Viktor's drunken voice follows behind, talking half in Russian.

Aleksio pulls me more tightly to his chest. It reminds me of the first day in the yard when they shot up Dad's boat.

We pass Yuri, standing in the kitchen holding a blue ice pack to his eye.

Viktor keeps coming. "Aleksio-"

"Lay off! And if you or any of your men touch her again, I'll kill you."

"Don't say that," I say. "Never."

Aleksio doesn't seem to hear me, as though he's far away in rage. He slams the study door with his good foot and settles me down on a leather couch, putting pillows around me.

"Stop it-I'm not made of glass." I sit up. "And you can't fight with your brother like this."

He goes to get me a glass of water from the wood-paneled bar in the corner. He hands it down to me. He seems wild.

I clutch the glass. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be fucking sorry. But you can't do that again."

"Think, Aleksio. How does this even work with me here?"

He loosens his tie and undoes a button, baring his neck. Raw power pulses around him. "Drink. Now."

I drink. He watches me as if from on high, a dark god with unruly curls, chest rising and falling. I think about that night in the hotel with a rush of lust. But this is not the time for lust.

I hand him up the empty.

"Good girl." He sets it on the desk and pauses there, with his back to me. He stacks up some files and puts them aside.

It seems strange he's suddenly focused on files.

"I can't stay."

"You have to stay."

"I wasn't going to Dad, I swear. I would never betray you."

"I know."

"I was just going to disappear. You have to let me do that."

He kneels in front of me. My skin heats under his gaze.

"You have to let me go."

He takes my hand and turns it over, exposing my palm. He just holds it, staring at it like a trembling fortuneteller, trembling at the story that he sees in the lines. "I can't let you go. It was only you. It was always only you."

"You know I can't stay."

He kisses my palm. It feels intimate-forbidden-like he's kissing the very secret part of me. I try to pull my hand away, but he won't let go. He pulls back my fingers, and he kisses my palm again, feverish breath on my wrist.

Heat blooms through me. He's invading me, taking me, and it's just my palm. "You can't keep me prisoner."

He lifts his wild gaze to me, chocolaty hair half in his eyes. And fuck if that's not a yes I can.

I want him so badly I can't breathe, but he's not thinking right. If he had his head on straight, he'd understand how destructive it is for me to be here. "It was the perfect solution. I was going to go somewhere where you'd never find me."

"I would tear apart the world looking for you." He kisses the inside of my forearm. I have the crazy sense of him as a large animal, consuming me from the edges in.

I gasp as he rips my sleeve, then he kisses the tender skin on the inside of my upper arm.

"I would tear apart the fucking world," he says.

"The longer I stay, the harder it will be to let me go."

"I'm not letting you go." He kisses my neck, melting my resolve.

"You're grieving," I say.

He brings his mouth near mine, hovering there. Electricity builds in the blank space between our lips. "I need you."

I could close the space between us. I could push my face to his and be lost in him. It starts with just this kiss. I would care for him and love him. Be his.

I want that kiss more than anything. But I push him away and stand.

He sways. His pain is rough and raw. He's all heart, and right now that heart is wounded in a thousand ways.