name. Eden. She plays violin in the States. Timur is always showing me pictures of her.”
Isn’t that just great.
“Small world.” I rose and got my own glass of vodka. “Could Timur be seeking revenge against my problem with his sister?”
“I doubt Timur knows anything about it. Too busy working on his church. Kazimir, Timur is a good man. You’re not to bother Timur, or his daughter, Eden.”
“His daughter is with the head of the Corsican. She may be a—”
“Timur saved your mother from a bullet, not once, but twice. You would have never known her without Timur being her personal guard.”
I groaned.
“You were also kidnapped when you were a toddler and found by Timur. He brought the kidnapper’s head to your father who pissed in the head’s opening.” Rolan pointed at me. “You would not be standing here, if not for Timur. You would not know your mother, if not for Timur. And—”
“I’ve got it.” I finished pouring the glass and returned to my seat.
“Promise me you will now return the favor and keep Timur’s daughter safe. In some ways, she is your sister.”
She is not my sister.
Frowning, I swallowed some of the vodka.
“Whoa.” Emily scratched her head. “It is a small world.”
“I mean it. Don’t touch Timur or his daughter, Kazzy Bear.”
I gritted my teeth. “I promise.”
“If I hear anything about her demise and it has to do with you, I will come your way and I will not be bringing candy.”
“No need to threaten me, Uncle Rolan.”
“I just want to make sure that you understand this. Any more questions?” Rolan asked. “Or will there be more traveling down memory lane?”
I flipped the picture over, showing him the Knights of Babylon’s symbol. “And this?”
Rolan held his glass in mid-air.
“Are you apart of them?”
Rolan set the glass down. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack today?”
Emily shook her head. “When we found it, this was on the picture.”
“I’ve seen this picture before. . .more times than I’ve ever wanted to.” Rolan finished his glass. “I promise you that this symbol was never drawn on it. In fact, the marking looks fresh.”
I leaned my head to the side. “And you’re some sort of ink specialist now?”
“You call me here for my help.” Rolan pointed at me. “Now listen to my answers and be happy with it. I am not a part of the Knights of Babylon. I prefer drinking vodka to blood.”
“And my father?”
Rolan cursed. “You forsake his name?”
“I was nervous, when I saw the picture.”
“No one in that photo was ever a member of the Knights of Babylon. That I can assure you. Igor tried to be a part of the group, searching them out.”
Still holding my glass, I leaned back in my chair. “He did?”
“He did. Too much of his searching and asking questions, resulted in Igor getting an unwanted visit in the middle of the night.” Rolan set his glass down. “A bunch of men showed up in cloaks with masks on their faces. He was in his bed. Your aunt was still asleep.”
At the mention of Aunt Fanya, her beautiful face popped in my head.
Uncle Igor had a wife named Frances. We’d called her Fanya. No matter how much money they made, she baked bread every day. No matter how many men she helped him kill, she danced at night and sung beautiful hymns in the morning.
I considered her my second mother.
And then one night, my uncle’s enemies settled a problem with him. They took Aunt Fanya from his home while he was away with me on business. They raped and beat her, mutilated and gutted her tiny frame.
When we returned, she hung from a tree. Her eyes had been dug out with a knife. Fox heads lay in a circle around her. She’d been dangling from the tree for a while. Worms, birds, and spiders covered and crawled, snipping and snapping, feeding and nesting.
Rolan interrupted my thoughts. “The Knights of Babylon told Igor that if he asked any more questions, they would kill his wife. He didn’t stop. . .”
I blinked. “Are you saying that the Knights of Babylon killed Aunt Fanya? I thought it was another group—”
“Igor said what he had to. Killed who he needed to, and did his best to move on, but. . .I am sure it was the Knights of Babylon. We have no proof, and no one ever confessed.” Rolan shook his head. “After her death, Igor decided to make a cult of his own, but it never