23. Vanya
23
VANYA
S tatic fuzz hisses in my head.
Where am I? A bed. In a room I do not know.
Unfamiliar scents. The ocean.
The last thing I remember was…
I sit up suddenly, hearing Ciro’s voice, agitated, low, coming from the other room. Like he is trying to argue quietly.
I slip from the bed, wobbling a bit. The door is pushed to, leaving a crack wide enough for me to see out of.
Creeping to the wall beside the door, I waver, still dizzy from the tranquilizer.
Bastard shot me. Ciro’s brother shot me.
Among other things.
“You haven’t told me what you intend to do with us.” Ciro sounds put out. Tired.
“I haven’t decided. Abas wants you to go back. You want to go back.”
“So what’s the problem?” Ciro sniffs, probably making that face he makes when he knows he is right. I hate that face. But now, I love it.
Ero stays silent, but I can almost feel his anger, his hopelessness from here. I noticed it in the way he fights too. Without any regard for his life. It gives him an edge of sorts.
But so can fighting with a purpose. The way Ciro and I do.
Leaning to the side, I get them both in my line of sight, facing each other across from the hallway to the bedroom. Ciro is sitting, Ero leans on the counter.
They are much alike, in gesture, in tone. But Ciro has passion. Purpose. Ero is hollow.
Both of them have scars from many battles, but the one that stands out to me is the brand on Ero’s neck. The same symbol on his mask. The symbol my brother drew in blood.
The same blood that now boils in my veins.
Rage has a way of blinding people.
It also can help you focus. Give you clarity in a moment of adrenaline-fueled necessity.
Thinking back to the wounds on Matvey’s body, I check off the bullet wounds. But those are not what killed him. It was a stab. From a very specific blade.
A blade very much like the one sitting on the dresser across from me. It is a specific shape. Meant for eviscerating. Making a wound that cannot be staunched.
“Ero…” I hear my lover’s voice again, unsure. He is torn. I can tell. And I do not blame him. I wish every day to see Matvey again. Even if I know this is a fantasy.
But Ciro is in dangerous waters.
This is where I must step in.
To make sure he does not let Ero manipulate him. Ciro is clearly still having trouble putting the two together, reconciling the idea that the masked man is his late brother.
I have no qualms.
He is the enemy.
Grabbing the dagger, I slip from the room, flying low. My head spins only slightly as I rush for Ero’s leg, slashing, not aiming to cut him, but his holster.
The gun drops into my other hand and I roll to my feet, taking aim at his head.
“You killed my brother, you son of a bitch.”
“Vanya, just… wait .” Ciro half stands, his hands out to the sides in warning.
Ero barely responds, his hands raised, a bland expression on his face.
I cock the hammer on the gun.
“I will wait to kill him. Sure. As long as it takes for us to leave Morocco.”
Ero’s upper lip curls at me. He is cocky like Ciro.
“Tell him,” I order, twitching the barrel of the gun, “Tell your brother how you stabbed Matvey, the young man in the office of the compound. With this knife.”
Ciro shakes his head, trying to deny it. “It could have been anyone…”
“I’ve killed hundreds of people with that knife.” Ero shrugs. “And I am often required to make a pass after an attack. Finish off the wounded. Kid sounds familiar.”
And I see Ciro’s face fall.
“I am sorry, Ciro,” I intone, reaching for his arm.
I did not want to force this on him. But it is necessary. For us to escape.
Because I know Ero brought us here to kill me and kidnap Ciro. To convince him to join the Mocro or run.
“Ero, do not follow us—” Ciro starts, stepping back.
But the other twin blurs forward suddenly, shoving Ciro to the side, knocking the gun from my grasp. How is he so unbelievably fast?
My vision swirls as he whips around behind me, pinning my arms and pressing a dagger to my neck. Fucking tranquilizers.
I growl, struggling, but he holds me fast.
Ciro recovers, breathing heavily at the other end of the room, his eyes wide with panic. Fury.
“Ler her go. Let us go.”
“You will not abandon me again, Ciro.”
“I never abandoned you. None of this was my choice. Just like you. But you have a choice now.”
“No. I don’t,” Ero sighs, his voice devoid of any conviction.
“I said, let her go.”
“Or what?”
“Or I will fuck your world up.”
“You’d kill me? Your own brother?”
“You are not my brother. Not anymore,” Ciro’s voice rings more dark and horrible than anything I have ever heard from him. Even as a tear trickles down his cheek.
And I feel the gut punch of Ciro’s words in the man holding the blade to my throat. He did not expect this. He is lost .
And distracted enough for me to slam my knuckles into his wrist, knocking the knife from his grasp and dipping into a somersault, out of his grip and toward the door.
Ciro flanks his brother as I rise behind him and we circle him, trying to make our escape.
“Don’t do this, Ciro.”
“Don’t do what? You said it yourself, we need to go back. Let us.”
“I…I can’t!” He lunges at Ciro, swinging a bit wildly. “I can’t let you go!”
Ciro bats the strike away, shoving Ero into the wall and shuffling back to me. The darker twin pushes off the wall, stumbling, dropping to his knees.
“Come with us, Ero. Maybe we can figure out how to get you away from Abas, you can?—”
“I don’t want to join the Bratva. I don’t want to be a Mocro. I just…”
“Just what?”
“I just want my brother. I need my brother back.” His words are filled with despair. But they are poisoned. Diluted.
“You are misguided. Lost. You do not want Ciro. You want absolution. To be taken away from your decisions and your failures.”
Ciro blinks, his shoulders dropping as Ero’s eyes widen, looking at me in horror. In anger.
“She’s poisoned you against me.”
“She’s right, though. You’re a mess, Ero.”
“You sound just like Adriano. You sound just like our condescending, patronizing, sanctimonious?—”
“Shut up, Fiero. I’ve had enough.”
“Don’t you get it, Ciro? We were played . From the minute we were born! We were manipulated, used, thrown away. The only way out of this is for us to stick together. The only way out of this is for you to listen to me, Ciro, but you won’t!” He tears at his hair with his fists, his face contorting in furious confusion.
Ciro and I back toward the door as Ero rises, slicking his hair back and cracking his neck. He takes a deep breath and straightens his clothes before looking up.
When he does, his eyes are flat. Black. Empty.
“If you won’t listen to me, I’ll have to take things into my own hands and save you myself, or kill you trying.”