“What happened?” Millie cried, her face painted with panic. “What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Igor hushed, shushing Paul as he bounced him, and attempting to console his wife.

“You just screamed,” she shrieked. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You screamed at your brother. What did he do?” Millie turned to me. “What did you do, Viktor?”

“I didn’t …” I began as Maks grasped my arm and yanked me hard. I hadn’t realized I had been doing anything more than breathing the sentiment, but from my family’s reaction I had been louder than expected.

While Maksim practically pushed me out the door, I could hear Millie screaming, “Death lullaby?” a carnal sense of horror in the question.

“What the fuck, Vik?” Maks groaned when we reached the hallway. “Why would you do that, man?”

“I didn’t even …” I rubbed my forehead, confused at how control had gotten away from me. I mumbled nonsensical words as my cousin searched my face.

“Did you have a stroke?” he asked, holding my cheeks and staring into my eyes. “That may be the only acceptable explanation.”

“Oh, kick rocks! It came into my head,” I replied, shoving him away from me. “After years of hearing it, it came into my head and that’s it.”

“That was one from my dear uncle’s hit list, huh?” Maks sighed, shaking his head. “Fucking Taros, man.”

“Yeah, well, he’s who he is.”

“And you? What about you? Are you who he is, too?” Maks asked as we walked to the elevator.

“I didn’t have enough vodka to deal with your annoying ass,” I grunted, pulling my scarf over the bottom half of my face as we got slapped by freezing February air.

“We could have had more and some fucking potato puffs if you hadn’t gotten us kicked out,” Maks admonished. “I wanted those potato puffs too.”

“You’re a goddamn potato,” I huffed, laughing when he leaned down and balled an orb of snow in his hand. “You better not.”

“Or what, Vik?” he challenged, tossing it between his gloved mitts. “You’ll sing me a sad song, too?”

Before I could tell him to fuck off, I felt a splat of snow hit my nose. “You didn’t,” I chuckled, clicking my tongue at the misfortune that would befall him within the moment.

“But I did,” he smirked, scampering away as fast as he could as I picked up my pace behind him.

It was every man for himself as we attempted to wreck the other with powdery projectiles. And though our faces stung from the cold and our lungs begged for air, it was nice to smile for a little while.

30

June 1937