That’s Aleksei’s roar. He found the bodies. He knows what I chose.
I don’t bother hiding. I walk out of the kitchen and into the main dining room, where moonlight streams in to make this all look like it’s been dipped in confectioner’s sugar. The match sits ready in my damaged hand. The smell of gasoline chokes the air.
I stand in the doorway and wait for my brother to find me.
Aleksei rounds the corner, flanked by two men with guns already drawn. But I barely notice the guards. I see only my brother. He’s unhinged. I can see it in the wild whites of his eyes, the way his chest heaves beneath his tailored coat. For the first time in my life, Aleksei Izotov looksafraid.
He stops short when he sees the mountain of wooden fuel I’ve piled up for my fire. “You’re making a mistake,” Aleksei warns. “Put that down. We can still fix this.”
I cough up blood as I shake my head. “There’s nothing left to fix, Al. You made sure of that.”
His guards shift uneasily, guns trained on me, but they don’t fire. They’re waiting for orders. And Aleksei hasn’t given them yet because he knows—heknows—that the second a bullet enters my body, this match is hitting the floor.
“I gave you a way out,” Aleksei says, taking a careful step forward. His hands are raised, palms out, like he’s approaching a spooked animal. “Why couldn’t you justtakeit?”
“Because I finally understand something.” I adjust my weight, match still poised to strike. “You don’t get to decide who I am anymore. You don’t get to lock me in freezers and call it protection. You don’t get to threaten the people I love and call itfamily.”
The first guard makes the mistake of rushing me.
But even nine-tenths broken like I am, I’m still better than him. My good hand snatches the chef’s knife from the prep station I’d been leaning against and hurls it. The throw is sloppy, telegraphed, fucked by pain and exhaustion. But he’s too close and too eager, and the blade buries itself in the soft hollow of his throat. He goes down, hands clawing at the handle.
The second guard swings his gun toward me. I duck behind the stainless-steel counter and snatch up a cast-iron pan. I wait, and when he rounds the corner in pursuit, I swing. It connects with his temple with a haunting crack. Something caves in. He crumbles to the floor.
And then it’s just us.
Brothers.
Enemies.
Whatever the fuck we are now.
Aleksei stares at me across the wreckage of his men, and for one strange moment, I see the boy he used to be.
Then I blink and it disappears.
That boy died a long time ago.
Maybe he never existed at all.
“You were supposed toleave.” His hands are still raised, but I see him checking the angles and waiting for the right moment to pull the gun off his hip. “We had a deal, Semyon. I gave you your freedom.”
But I’m done bantering with him. We’ve had all the conversations we’re ever going to have. The time to talk is over. The time to act is now.
So I strike the match.
The flame catches, small but hungry, dancing between my ruined fingers. Aleksei’s eyes go wide.
“Put it down,” he says. “Semyon, I’m warning you?—”
I drop it on the puddle of gasoline at my feet.
At the same time, Aleksei lunges for me. His hand closes around my collar just as the match hits the floor—and the worldignites.
Heat roils outward in a ravenous wave. Aleksei’s momentum carries us both backward, crashing through a prep table. Pans crash. A knife block topples. An edge of hard metal clips my shoulder as we roll across the floor, locked together, brothers in the truest and most terrible sense.
His gun is out now. I see the black muzzle swing toward my face, see his finger tighten on the trigger?—
But I’m already inside his guard.
