28. Ciro
28
CIRO
T he first tell that my night is about to waterslide straight into the toilet is Vanya looking at me. Looking at the door. Then bolting.
That can only mean one thing.
Diarrhea.
A moment later, I spot it, walking through the door.
Adil Abas.
Music resumes in earnest.
Honestly, I’m just shocked that he showed up. The entire place is fixated on him, and in that stillness, I manage to locate Vanya, sprinting up the stairs to the next level.
Which means she saw someone worth chasing.
The rest of the party catches its breath, the murmur of gossip and congratulatory drinking kicking back off as if nothing happened. As if a blood enemy didn’t just walk into the midst our ranks.
Fyo grabs my arm.
“He is here?”
“I think so. Vanya is chasing something. I hope it’s her dreams.”
“Find your sibling. And perhaps trade places with him.”
“I—”
My phone buzzes.
No more playing. You had your chance.
“Oh balls. Fyo. Get your team working double time.” I show him the text.
“Fucking Diamantes make my life hell. Go! I will find Pyotr.”
I start to follow Vanya on her chase.
That would be the natural thing to do. Try to hunt down my brother, search this massive, million-square foot maze.
But I’ve always been impulsive.
Striding in the opposite direction, I make a wide crescent through the crowd, sidling right alongside Abas and his troupe. Years of drawing attention to myself and watching Ero slip around unnoticed has had an added benefit. I know what people look for.
What they miss.
I’m standing inside the circle of guards and walking shoulder to shoulder for a few steps before anyone notices. To his credit he doesn’t jump or start.
“Ciro.”
“Adil. Mind if I call you Adil?”
“Not at all. I mind that you stepped on my toe.”
“Did I steal your thunder?”
“No, you actually stepped on it.” He stops, turning to face me. Immediately his guards stand to attention, all of them reaching for weapons in their coats. Adil raises one hand and they return to their impassive, stiff stances. “Why are you here?”
“To celebrate the birth of our lord and savior, Jesus Jones.”
“Your candor would be far more refreshing than your humor.”
“Why did you bring my brother with you?”
“Ah, so he told you. I did not bring him. Ghost is away on a mission.”
“Well, that answers my question.” I turn suddenly, sucking in my stomach to dodge between two of his men. They let me leave, the cadre moving on toward Pyotr’s entourage.
My mind is racing.
Adil doesn’t know he’s here.
No senses alerting them to the fact that it probably means my rogue twinsie is planning to eliminate all of his problems in one fell swoop. I’m off down a hallway, checking doors, bathrooms. There’s no good way to do this. The place is too big.
In the movies, the bomb would be in a van in the garage, or in the elevator shaft. Fyo already cleared those.
I’m gasping after fifteen minutes and three floors of hallways. No sign of Vanya. No sign of Ero.
“Think, scatterbrain! I need a hint, a freaking miracle!”
I’m leaning against the wall when I see a cart go by, stacked high with boxes, note cards. A cart. A dolly. I don’t even know how big the damn thing might be.
But he had to have brought it in somehow. Maybe he’s the bomb.
Nah.
If I know my brother…
I’m walking across a bridge across the party below when it hits me.
I stop dead in the middle of a group of older rich Russians, interrupting their conversation. Reaching to my right, I snatch a glass of bubbly right out of someone’s hand. Pound it back.
“ Loshad’ mochi perkhoti ! Horse. Peehole. Dandruff.” Every one of them looks at me like I just slapped them. That’s what they get for having the worst curse words in Russia.
I suppose I could have said “eureka.”
But that’s not the point. The point is, I know my brother .
We shared a womb, a room, bunk beds. No one knows how he thinks better than me. And if there is one thing I know about Ero that has not changed, ever, it’s that he is vindictive.
Not in the “I’ll get you back for that in some passive aggressive sort of way” vindictive. It was always overkill. I throw red dye in his laundry, he runs me off the road into a vat of red paint on the back of a barge in the Hudson.
I take off at a run, heading for the nearest elevator.
The stitch in my side is still aching as I hit the button and wait. On the second floor, recovered for the moment, I grab the nearest server, gripping his jacket.
“Where are the fancy cars?” I demand, looking sweaty and disheveled and not at all like a lunatic.
“In the expo hall,” he stutters, pointing vaguely to my left, his right.
“ Spasibo !” I shout, bolting down the corridor.
It’s the next hall over, but many of the gala-goers are scattered throughout the room, admiring the collection of supercars, the gleaming collection on display to showcase the wealth of the Bratva. Vanya mentioned the council elders from different territories all contributed a unique prized vehicle for the occasion.
Including a bright red BMW.
An awful lot like the one currently sitting on the bottom of the ocean off the coast of Casablanca.
“Fyo,” I gasp, releasing the button on my radio. “Get to the car show. I think there’s junk in my trunk.”
Moments later, Fyodor and a group of his best clear the room. Using some excuse of protocol.
“Someone needs to move one of the cars.”
Props to guy for a believable reason. We really do need to move one of the cars.
Lying under the back of the Beamer together several tense minutes later, we stare up at the mess of wires, linked through the rear engine of the legendary, one-of-a-kind car. Apparently, the i16 never made it to production. But someone got one.
And my brother put a bomb in it.
“What are the chances you know how to disarm this thing?”
“Higher than yours.” Fyodor mumbles, pinching a cluster of wires. “If I cannot, I could try to drive it out, but he may have it wired to blow.”
“Not to mention that you’d have to drive it toward the party to get to the entrance.”
“ Da .”
“From the second floor.”
“It’s a problem.”
“You’re not colorblind are you? Cause that would be?—”
“I can see fine. We will need to evacuate soon.” Not that we’ve found a timer yet. “You should go.”
“And just leave you here like you’re…” I can’t find the right word.
“ Expendable ?” He turns his head, giving me a dry look.
My mouth drops open. “You do love me.”
“That was a good movie. Now get the fuck out of here and let me try and save the day. You go save Vanya.”
“She hardly needs saving.”
“If your brother is half the killer you say…”
I nod, locking Fyo with a stare. Right before I slide out from under the car, dropping down the levels of the display stage.
She doesn’t respond to radio. So I rush back toward the ball, cutting through the front hallway to avoid foot traffic. I think I catch a glimpse of her running on the level above, the glass-walled rails glaring and obscuring my vision.
I stumble to a halt overlooking the ballroom, scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of movement. So many people. There’s no way we get them out in time if Ero blows the car or we run out of time.
Then the entire world quakes.
A shockwave takes most of the guests from their feet as the deafening sound rattles through the building, bursting the floor to ceiling windows, dimming the lights, cracking the floor.
I’m tossed to the ground, debris cascading down around me.
In the haze, I hear screams, shouts.
But as some of it clears, it appears that the damage was minimal. Which means Fyodor must have gotten the bomb out. Or minimized the blast.
I’m just dragging myself to my feet when I hear her.
“Ciro!” Vanya’s scream echoes down, I glance up through the atrium, see her pointing. To a lone, dark figure standing on the upper balcony. Light glows from the ballroom, illuminating his face.
Ero looks frazzled. A little bloody.
But his hand works just fine as he raises his gun, aiming down at Pyotr.