Page 117 of Descent

“Ero.”

“You’re stinky like Daddy, Ero.” Her eyes are so like her mothers, along with her stern demeanor. But it’s Ciro’s hair and face that look up at me.

“Yes I am.” I nod, glancing up at my twin. Ciro bites his lip.

“He looks likeDyadyaAdrino-no.”

“That might be the most insulting thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I say quietly, smiling softly at her.

Myka frowns, pursing her lips at me.

The staring contest lasts several seconds.

“On khoroshiy,Mama,” Myka says, very matter of factly. Without another word, she leans in, kissing me on the cheek. A twirl of her dress and she dashes from the room.

Flabbergasted, I rise.

“She’s …”

“Da,” Vanya smiles. “Me? I do not trust you,prizrak.But my daughter? Her judgment I trust.”

“Meaning …”

“Meaning that you’re right about one thing. Our family is not safe as long as Ananke and Dom Vipera are in power. We’re in.”

“But I thought the council decided?—”

“Council is in charge of Bratva. Defending borders. Assets. We are heads of council. They do not tell us what we can and cannot do.” Vanya slaps Ciro’s ass hard enough that my brother clenches, letting out a slow, pained squeal.

“I appreciate it. We’re going to need a bit more help than just us three though.”

“What do you say we get the whole gang back together?” Ciro gets that old, wild look in his eye.

“One last ride for the Diamantes?” Excitement swells in my chest, the old flames roaring to life again.

“Like the Four Horsemen of the fucking apocalypse!”

33

CIRCE

Days and miles.

Time, time, time.

I’ve all but lost track of it. What I know for certain is that Ananke and Dom moved the seat of the operation to Algiers. Only because I recognized the lettering on the crate they loaded up with Ananke’s lab equipment before they hooded me and took me to be transported.

Since Estonia, I have been hobbled and chained. Heavily guarded, often sedated.

When I wake from my most recent lapse of reality, I’m in a colossal bed.

The new digs are unreal. Palatial grounds, gardens, ballrooms, and viewing galleries.

My lodgings see a marked improvement from the cold cell in Italy.

Not that I care. My luxury bedroom is a fancy prison. My doors lock from the outside, my tiny windows don’t open. A stunning view of the surrounding countryside keeps me from spiraling into a pit that I’ll never crawl out of.

Distraction. That’s all I have. I occupy myself tracking guard movements, assessing security. Old habits.

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