Page 145

I snort softly, staring into my drink.

Roman stands up and walks to the edge of the balcony, leaning over the wooden railing. “Never really liked Asia,” he says. He waves his glass over the railing. “Too many fucking monkeys.”

“Monkeys.” I shake my head. “I know I’ll regret asking, but what is your problem with monkeys?”

“Remember I flew out to Thailand a few years ago, to meet with the bratva boys who set up shop here?” He glances back and I nod; I remember. “So we went out for lunch,” Roman goes on. “It was all going well—decent food, halfway decent booze—until a fucking monkey came up and snatched my meal out from under my nose.”

I give an involuntary snort of laughter.

“Yeah,” he says darkly. “Funny, huh? But while that littleprick was stealing my food, another one was picking my pocket. For a hot minute there I actually thought the fucking monkeys were on the bratva payroll. I came damned close to pulling out a gun and putting monkey brains all over the nice tablecloth, which would have blown a multibillion-dollar deal, not to mention started a fucking war.”

My snort turns into an actual cough of laughter. Roman gives me a dry side glance, which makes me laugh even more.

His wry smile widens as he watches me, and when he starts to laugh too, the sound sends the startled minivets flying off into the forest, which tips us both over the edge to full-blown hilarity. I laugh so fucking hard that tears roll down my cheeks, and when I finally stop, the horrible, leaden weight in my chest has lifted enough that I can breathe again.

We sit there in a companionable silence for a while, feet up on the railing, just drinking our vodka and watching the forest.

“I should have flown out to Australia the minute you told me Abby was missing.” It’s Roman who finally breaks the silence. “For what it’s worth, I knew I was wrong as soon as I got off the phone. That was before Darya, the kids, and every one of our crew made it pretty fucking clear that they thought I was a grade A asshole.” He shoots me a sideways look. “Yes, even more than usual,” he says dryly. “It got so bad that Mickey refused to train in the boxing ring with me and Darya took off to London with the girls and Aleksander. Even Sergei, her father, had a shot at me, the old bastard. Not to mention my mother and Alexei. Even the fucking geek squad gave me the cold shoulder, the little pricks.”

“So you’re saying you basically got bullied into getting onto that plane,” I say, grinning despite everything.

“No.” His unusually sober tone makes me turn to face him, my smile fading when I see the hollow look in his eyes. “I goton that plane because you were fucking right, Dimitry, and I was wrong.”

I’m too surprised to speak.

Roman looks down at his glass. “You told me last year that one of the reasons you ran into the streets with me, back when we were kids, was because you thought I was the loneliest person you’d ever met.”

I grimace. “Pretty sure you told me to fuck off.”

“Probably.” He doesn’t smile. “But what I didn’t tell you is how it felt to finally have someone by my side. The truth is that it wasn’t me who rescued you back in that halfway house. It was you who saved me.” He meets my eyes. “You gave me a reason to wake up every day and fight for a better future, from rebuilding the Stevanovsky clan to starting Mercura. And you didn’t just stand beside me while I did it. You built the foundations that hold it all together, and you did it without ever asking for credit, let alone the slice of Mercura that’s yours by right.”

“I didn’t do it for that—”

“I fucking know you didn’t.” Roman cuts me off harshly. “That’s the worst of it.”

We sit there for a moment, the words between us slowly reshaping the years we’ve walked side by side.

“No offense,” I say eventually, glancing wryly at him, “but my girlfriend is still stuck in a compound with a psychopath, and we’ve got several triad clans, not to mention probably the entire Cardeñas cartel, who’d prefer Abby and I were both dead. Can we park the therapy for now?”

Roman snorts into his vodka glass. “Christ, yes. Please.”

“Good.” I tilt my head back toward the house. “Who’s the crowd?”

“Mickey and Pavel, for starters.” He grins. “No chance those two were sitting this one out. They’ve probably already hacked into every scam those bastards are running. Bryceinsisted on coming, despite all the bullets he took in that Miami shitshow. Mak sent a team to Australia to free up Luke, so he’s on his way with some mad fucking Irish mate of his—”

“Paddy,” I say, grinning.

“Something like that. They’re not coming here, though, since Luke’s worried they might have been made. They’ll wait for your instructions.” Roman half smiles. “Mak has offered whatever help you need. I said you’d be in touch as soon as you have a plan. Oh, and Alexei Petrovsky is here, too. Apparently he’s gotten used to having you around in Miami. He brought a couple of men with him who seem to like you too, though fuck knows why.”

His smile twists a little. “It took threats of actual violence to stop the rest of the entire Stevanovsky and Petrovsky clans from buying their own tickets and coming here under their own steam, no matter what I said.”

I swallow with difficulty. “What about the bratva clans here? Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Roman pretends not to notice the rough edge to my voice. “Those fuckers are making so much money off Mercura they’ll cop the risk and fucking like it. I’ve told them this is a private deal, not company business.” He swallows the last vodka in his glass. “This is your show, Dimitry. Your plan. Your orders. We’re all here for you, and for Abby.” He grips my shoulder hard enough to leave marks. “Whatever you need, brother—I’ve got your back.”

33

Abby