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LUCIA

I walk to the café beneath a blazing early afternoon sun, hoping to catch Abby when she goes for break. The children have had a disrupted school term, having started in Spain then gone back to London for some time while the building renovations were finished. They’ve been back and forth between London and Malaga ever since, but have remained connected enough to their lives here that they are all involved in the upcoming Holy Week celebrations held by the Russian Orthodox Church. After a busy morning shopping for school supplies, Luis drove the children an hour out of town to the church, where the rehearsals are held, leaving me with a few spare hours.

It’s not even been two days, and I’m horribly aware that I’m in far deeper than I ever imagined I could be—and not just with Roman.

Early this morning, not long after I returned to my apartment, I heard Ofelia talking to Masha on the baby monitor, which I took with me when I crept out of Roman’s penthouse. I almost turned it off out of respect for their privacy, until I heard what Masha was saying.

“Is Luce gonna be our new mama?”

I froze, my heart thudding, completely shaken out of my half-awake daze.

“No, Mash.” Ofelia slipped into Russian, as I notice all the kids do when they’re talking privately. “We have a mama. Remember? Her name is Inger. She’s really pretty.” The pain lurking beneath that cheerful tone cut me to the core. I might not have had a mother for a long time, and ours might have been a strange household, but I know what it is to be loved completely by both parents. The thought of a child as young as Masha not knowing that feeling is heartbreaking.

“Oh.” Masha’s voice was small and uncertain. “Inger in ’Merica?”

“Yes, myshka. ” Ofelia’s voice was quiet and pained. “Inger in America is our mama. Remember when we visited her? Remember how pretty she looked? She was having her photo taken.”

“I ’member.” Masha paused. “But if she’s our mama, why do we call her Inger?”

“Because it’s safer for her if people don’t know who we are.”

I almost leaped out of bed and ran across the corridor when I heard that. I also wanted to take this Inger woman and strangle her until she couldn’t breathe.

“You want to keep Mama safe, Masha, don’t you?”

“ Da .” I could almost see Masha’s little head bobbing fiercely.

“Then we have to be careful, Masha. We always have to be careful, do you understand?”

“But why?” The fear in Masha’s voice made me want to kill something. Or someone.

“You don’t have to worry, myshka .” I heard the rustle of the covers as Ofelia cuddled her little sister. “Mickey and I will always be here to protect you. We’ll keep you safe.” She began singing then, the Mary Poppins song Masha was playing yesterday afternoon.

I lay awake until long after they’d both fallen back to sleep, my heart aching and mind racing.

It feels like I’ve walked into far more than even that contract suggested. I already knew Mikhail Stevanovsky died in a car bomb. News like that makes the papers, and I’ve researched Roman and his business enough to get a rough idea of who the players are. I know, for example, that the children’s grandfather, Yuri, is in jail, and that their other uncle, Nikolai, runs a nightclub that’s frequented by celebrities. Abby’s horrible footballer is a regular there.

But it feels like there’s a whole lot more to this story that I don’t know.

Like the fact that Roman worked in a restaurant kitchen as a teenager. I saw the flash of interest in Ofelia’s eyes at that particular piece of information. I’m clearly not the only one curious about who Roman really is, where he’s come from.

For some reason, I imagined that Roman had been raised to the bratva. As Mikhail’s younger brother, perhaps he might not have been born to be pakhan , but certainly born to play a leading role. An honored family member born to the brotherhood. Born to violence.

I don’t doubt that last part. I’ve been around dangerous men long enough to know a lethal killer when I see one. And bratva don’t wear the kind of ink Roman does unless they’ve earned it, the hard way. The scars on his body alone are enough to tell me the violence he’s lived.

But boys born high up in the bratva don’t wash dishes in restaurants at fourteen years old. Or if they do, it’s some kind of punishment, over quickly. They certainly don’t work in such a lowly position for two years. And the way Roman shut down after letting that piece of information slip has every instinct inside me on high alert.

I spent hours googling him while the children slept in this morning, but just like my earlier searches, I turned up nothing. Zip. Nada. Roman is as much a mystery to me as I am to him.

At first, I thought the deliberate shield over his identity was just an attempt to distance himself from the raids that broke up the Malaga bratva several years ago, and which local newspapers still love speculating about. But now I’m beginning to wonder if there might not be more to the story, and to Roman, than the sparse information available online.

I don’t want to care about that story. I don’t have room in my life for more bratva secrets than those I already live with. Roman’s life seemed like a familiar fortress. I justified walking into it by telling myself that there was no better place to hide than the last place the Orlovs would think to look.

But now that I’m here, living in his home, my body thrilling to his touch, my heart being melted by the children in his care, I can feel the carefully constructed boundaries of my life falling away. I can feel myself starting to care about the children far more than is wise.

Most of all, I can feel myself reaching for a home that can never be mine. A home that is probably just as dangerous as the one I fled, and seemingly full of just as many secrets.

With every minute he spent in the kitchen yesterday, I felt myself becoming part of that delicate web. Wanting to build a bridge between Roman’s gruff exterior and the children who so clearly are longing for his love. Even more dangerously, I can feel myself wanting to be that bridge. To be the one who makes Ofelia feel safe again. Who cuddles Masha when she can’t sleep and makes her know, without ever having to question it, that she is deeply loved. I want to see Mickey’s caution fall away and his confidence grow so he can become the man I sense inside him.

The children all need Roman to be a father to them if they are going to truly grow into themselves. And for some reason, he won’t allow himself to take that role in their lives.

I should be worrying about where I’m going to find new fake passports. How I plan to hide the money I have now.

Not how to make three children feel loved and safe, or how to open the heart of a man who clearly has no desire for any such thing.

Even if he can take my body apart with devastating skill.

I need to put some distance between myself and Roman’s home. I need to get some perspective.

I shiver despite the heat of the Spanish afternoon, picking up my pace as I near the café.

Thank God for Abby. She always makes me laugh.

I’m almost at the door when I hear my name.

“Hey, Lucia.” I spin around, my heart racing. Even after six years, I still panic when a stranger calls my name.

A tall blond man with a gleaming smile and designer clothes is walking toward me, hand outstretched. I ignore it.

“I don’t know you.”

“Sure you do.” He’s English, with the posh kind of accent that suggests private schools and a lot of money. “I’m Lance Ryder, a friend of Abby’s.”

“Abby’s never mentioned you.” I keep walking toward the café.

“I just wanted to talk for a minute.”

I speed up, ignoring him.

“I saw Abby in Pillars nightclub recently. Interesting company your friend keeps.”

“Go away.” I’m nearly at the café door.

“Do you know who runs Pillars, Lucia ?” His faint emphasis on my name sends a cold trickle of fear down my spine. And I don’t like where his questions are heading. Suddenly I recall Abby’s warning about the pap photographer who’s been stalking her for a quote.

“Look.” I turn around, intending to tell him to go to hell and leave my friend alone.

Instead I find myself facing an enormous camera.

Idiot, Darya.

I hold my hands up in front of my face, too late to prevent him clicking a quick rapid-fire of pictures. I spin around and run the last few steps into the café, my heart racing.

I hide by the door for a moment, peering out onto the street, but Lance Ryder seems to have disappeared as fast as he turned up. I press against the wall, waiting for my pounding pulse to calm down. By the curious looks of the customers who saw me come in, I look as flustered as I feel.

I don’t want Abby to see me like this. It will only lead to more questions I can’t answer. Not without endangering her, and that’s one thing I won’t ever do.

I wipe my face with a shaking hand and take a deep breath. I’m so tired of being afraid.

When my heart has stilled and the perspiration dried on my forehead, I walk through the crowd to the counter.

Abs looks up and grins. “Luce! Where you been, loca ?”

I roll my eyes, feigning normal despite my still-rapid pulse. “You really need to get over your Twilight addiction, Abs.”

“Never.” She sighs dramatically. “Team Edward forever, baby. I’m even thinking of getting a TITSOAK tattoo.”

“A what ?”

“TITSOAK. It’s an acronym. As in, ‘this is the skin of a killer, Bella.’”

“Oh, dear lord.” But I’m laughing, which is a hell of a lot better than a moment ago. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re the loca around here.” I glance over my shoulder and lower my voice. “But you should know—I think that journalist you told me about is outside. Is he a tall dude with blond hair? He just kind of accosted me in the street.”

Abby’s smile fades, her eyes scanning the street. “You mean he’s here now?”

“He was.” I glance over my shoulder again, but I can’t see him. “It looks like he’s gone.”

Her face tightens. I frown. “Are you okay, Abs? Has this guy been harassing you?”

“Y-yes,” Abby says uncertainly. “A bit. But you should stay away from him, Luce. Actually, it’s probably better if you don’t come in here again. He’s been hanging around a lot lately.”

Despite the fact that the café is still bustling, Abby takes her apron off.

“I’ve covered for the new girl every day so far, and trust me, she’s no picnic. She owes me one. I’m taking you for a drink, no arguments.” She nods toward the kitchen. “Let’s go out the back door, in case that douche is still hanging around.”

I’m still uneasy as we walk out of the restaurant, but there’s no sign of Lance Ryder.

“So tell me.” Abby links her arm through mine and steers me toward our favorite haunt, a little tapas place tucked away in a side alley off the beach. “How’s it going with CEO Man?” She gives me a lewd wink.

Despite my best intentions, I blush. Badly.

She pulls back and stares at me. “Well, well.” Her face stretches into an evil grin. “If my little Luce hasn’t gone and done the horizontal tango with the devil himself.”

“ Abby! ” I look around, horrified, but nobody’s watching us.

“Don’t you Abby me. I want every. Single. Filthy. Detail.” She steers me into the bar, and we get a table at the back, well away from the window and any prying eyes.

Or camera lenses.

I shudder, scanning every face in the room while Abby gives her order, until I’m certain we’re safe.

“Leave the bottle,” she tells the waiter when he pours her a glass.

I cover mine. “I can’t. On child duty.”

“Suit yourself.” Abby winks at the waiter. “Leave the bottle anyway. So.” She gulps a mouthful, her eyes gleaming. “How’d it happen? Dinner? Drinks? Legs up in the back of the limo?”

“Oh my goodness.” I bury my flaming face in my hands. “Abby, you can’t tell anyone about this. I mean it.” I look at her between my fingers. “Seriously. It’s not just secret. It’s like... CIA-level classified.”

“Okay, okay.” She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “I’ve got it. Don’t mention the fuckpad.”

“The fuckpad ?” I shake my head, but I’m laughing. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best, and you know it.” Abby covers my hand with hers. “Now spill.”

“I don’t even know where to start.” I sit back, taking a deep breath. I really don’t know where to start. I can’t tell her about the contract. I can’t, really, tell her about much at all. And right now the need for secrecy has never bothered me more.

“I guess I knew what I was getting into,” I say slowly. “I mean, he isn’t a commitment kind of guy, you know? He’s made that clear enough from the start.”

“But?” Abby prompts.

“But he’s got these three kids. Godchildren. The ones I’m caring for?”

She nods sagely. “His excuse for getting you under his roof, you mean.”

“Ha.” I flush again. “But they’re so sweet, Abby. You should see them. Their dad is dead, and their mother...” I explain the essence of the conversation I overheard between Masha and Ofelia without going into too much detail. “They’re seriously damaged,” I say quietly. “But they’re also just kids. And they clearly idolize Roman. I just don’t understand why he won’t let them in.”

Abby regards me for so long that I get uncomfortable. “What?” I ask finally.

“Okay.” Putting her wineglass down, she folds her hands on the table and pins me with her I’m serious look. “You’ve told me all about the children and what they need. You seem very concerned about their relationship with Roman and about his interactions with them. But you haven’t said a single thing about how you feel. And as for him not letting people in? Well, I have to say it, Luce—doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

The heat fades from my face, and I take a mouthful of water to try to calm my suddenly jumping pulse.

“Look,” Abby says quietly. “I know there’s stuff you can’t tell me. I’ve always respected that, and I always will. But at some point, you’re going to have to trust someone. I’m not saying CEO Man is perfect.” She rolls her eyes, making me smile. “But I do think he can look after you, Lucia. And I think that you need to be looked after. At least for a while.” She covers my hand with her own. “Maybe this isn’t about Roman, and who he will and won’t let in. Maybe it’s about you being scared to let anyone in. The kids, who you’ve clearly fallen in love with already, or CEO Man. Who, for the record, you are clearly head over heels for.”

Unwelcome tears are prickling behind my eyes. I dash them away, embarrassed that Abby should see through me so clearly.

“I don’t think he feels the same way,” I mumble. “Like I said, this isn’t about emotion for him.”

“Bullshit.”

I look up in surprise to find her staring at me without even a hint of mischief in her face. “Lucia, that man has been obsessed with you from the minute he walked into the café. He never even learned my name, but within a week, he knew everything about you there is to know.” Her mouth purses. “What little you let people know. Anyway.” She waves an impatient hand. “What I mean to say is that first he got you alone in his penthouse. Then he ravished you in his office under the pretext of giving you his big... tip. Then,” she goes on, and I laugh despite myself, “he hired you to live in his house and care for his children. Not to mention what other services were included in that little contract he made you sign.”

She shakes a finger at me when I start to protest. “You know I don’t give a shit about the details, Luce. You’re speaking to the girl who screwed a dumb social media influencer for a visa, remember? Not that it worked, but that’s beside the point.

“My point is that Roman Stevanovsky isn’t some flake trying to get laid, or a skeezy footballer looking for a paparazzi shot. He’s the real deal, Luce. He can have any woman in this city. Hell, probably any damn city in the world—but he wants you. So much that he’s prepared to pay what I can only imagine is a king’s ransom to have you. And not only that—” She cuts abruptly short, biting her lip, then takes a very large drink. Unusually, she’s colored up slightly.

“Not only that what, Abs?” I study her, trying to work out what she isn’t saying. “Do you know something about Roman that I don’t?”

She pulls a face. “Well, I might have been doing a little horizontal research of my own. With the hot bodyguard.”

“Dimitry?” My eyes almost pop out of my head, even though I did get a bit of a vibe about those two when I heard them bickering in the car. “Woah! Hey, I’m really happy for you, Abby. Dimitry’s a great guy. He’s so good with the children—”

“Yup,” she cuts me off. “Whatever. It’s not going anywhere. What I wanted to say is that from what I can gather, CEO Man is very protective about you. As in, put you in his tower, throw away the key, and probably kill anyone who gets anywhere near you without his permission kind of protective. And I don’t even think I’m joking about that last part.”

Me either.

That should scare me. All of this should.

But it doesn’t.

It makes me feel safer than I have in a long time. I don’t know how to feel about that.

“I know you’re running from something, Lucia.” Abby says it quietly, without fuss. “I think I’ve always known it.” She squeezes my hand, and I feel the tears threatening again. “All I’m saying is that everyone’s got to stop running sometime. And for what it’s worth, I think Roman would be a good place to stop.”

“But what if I—what if it’s dangerous? Not just for him. For the children. How could I do that to them, after all they’ve been through? And what if he doesn’t—”

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

I nod.

“How will you ever know, Luce, unless you trust him? And as for putting him in danger—ha.” She snorts. “If anyone was ever able to take care of business, it’s Roman Stevanovsky. I wouldn’t worry about putting that hard bastard at risk.” She gives a huff of rather cynical laughter. “I’d worry about who gets in his way.”

I look at her narrowly. “Do you know something about Roman that I don’t, Abby?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve been around.” She upturns a third of the bottle into her glass. “More than you might think. And I know men. Especially dangerous men.” She raises her glass to me in an ironic salute. “You’d think I’d know enough by now to know how to stay away from them, but clearly my body missed that particular memo.” She rolls her eyes, but I don’t laugh. “Fine,” she says, eyeing me warily. “Then I guess you should know that Dimitry and Roman met in a halfway house, when Dimitry was ten and Roman was barely two years older.”

“Wait.” Every muscle in my body is on high alert. “ Dimitry told you this?”

She nods.

I frown, a little uncomfortable that Dimitry would betray Roman’s secrets so easily. “I’m surprised he opened up about Roman’s past to you.”

“Ah.” Abby winces, her face coloring slightly. “I may have dosed his vodka a little last night. What?” she protests when I put my head in my hands. “I might like bad boys, Luce. But when my best friend is living with one of them, and I’m about to sleep with his friend, I reserve the right to get whatever answers I think necessary.”

I shake my head in my hands. “You’re terrible , Muriel.”

“And you’re welcome. By the way, you pick on me for my Twilight obsession, and then quote Muriel’s Wedding to me? Who’s tragic now? We both seriously need to stop watching old movies.”

She grins, pulling my hands away from my face. “Anyway, now it’s my turn to tell you something classified.” She leans forward and looks around, like I did earlier. “Roman wasn’t born a Stevanovsky, Lucia. He was adopted by Yuri when he was sixteen. Before that, he was an orphan living on the streets of Miami.”

Miami?

I freeze. My blood runs completely cold.

“Roman is from Miami ?” I can barely whisper.

“Yes, but listen up. That isn’t the point of this story.”

Fortunately, Abby doesn’t seem to register my shock. I swallow hard and try to make my heart start beating again.

“They met after Dimitry had just been released from a juvenile detention facility,” she says. “He was only a kid, got booked running drugs for some asshole who let him take the fall. When he got out, there was no family to take him, or at least none who wanted to. He was placed in one of those halfway homes kids stay in until they get fostered. Which, obviously, was never going to happen for Dimitry, not after being in prison. He was young enough, and small enough, to become a target for every abuser in the place. Not that he said that specifically but... well.” She lifts a shoulder. “I know cigarette burn scars when I see them.

“Anyway.

“Apparently Roman used to run favors for the kids in there. You know, find things they wanted, trade it for something else. A knife, a gun, cigarettes, stuff like that. One day he came in with a knife one of the older kids had asked for. Roman found that same older kid holding Dimitry up against the wall, beating the shit out of him.”

“What happened?” I’m hanging on her every word. I can’t imagine hulking, burly Dimitry as a ten-year-old child being beat up any more than I can Roman as a kid running errands.

In fucking Miami.

“Roman used the knife on the same kid who’d paid for it,” Abby says quietly. “Stuck him straight through and left him bleeding out on the floor. Then he grabbed Dimitry, and they ran.”

I stare at her, too stunned to speak.

“After that they became a team. They dropped off the radar and stayed out of the system. Had each other’s backs. From what Dimitry told me, they lived pretty rough, too. Right up until the day Mikhail Stevanovsky came into the restaurant where Roman was working and took a liking to him. According to Dimitry, they hit it off from the start, drinking on Mikhail’s daddy’s yacht like they’d been born brothers. Unfortunately Mikhail was a dumb rich kid back then and flashed his cash at the wrong time and place. He got jumped. Roman got in between Mikhail and the bullet meant for him. And after that... well.” Abby shrugs. “Yuri was forever grateful that Roman saved his son, yada yada, although my guess is that Yuri saw Roman as a useful soldier in his little organization. However it went down, when the Stevanovskys left Miami, Roman and Dimitry went with them, on Yuri’s payroll. Dimitry said Yuri went so far as to formally adopt Roman, which is why he shares the same name as the children.”

I try to digest all of this. “So... wait. What was Roman’s name before Stevanovsky?”

“No idea.” Abby sits back and drinks her wine. “I don’t know what Dimitry’s was, either. I just know they were both abandoned, or orphans or whatever. Dimitry wasn’t exactly specific.” She grimaces. “He might also have been extremely out of it at the time. Which he definitely hasn’t forgiven me for.”

“Did you two have a fight, then?” Not that I’m overly surprised, given that it appears Abby got him drunk and drugged him, by the sounds of it. From what I know of Dimitry, it’s a wonder she’s still walking around alive.

“I needed to know what I was getting into. Now I do. Or at least, I did.” She lifts one shoulder half-heartedly. “I just can’t do any more assholes, Luce,” she says quietly.

“I’m not sure Dimitry is an asshole.” I frown. “Maybe you should hear him out, Abs—”

“Hey.” Abby leans forward and jabs a finger at me. “This is about you, not me, remember? Forget about Dimitry. I know I have.” She pokes her tongue out to make me laugh, but that doesn’t hide the shadow I can see in her eyes. “Anyway.” She drains a good deal of the contents of her glass. “All of this is to say that I think you should let CEO Man in.” She winks at me. “In more ways than one.”

“I’m not so sure.” I turn my water glass on the table, trying to make sense of all she’s said. “I think that maybe I need to just stick to the terms of our... arrangement.”

“Your arrangement , huh?” She winks at me. “Not that I need every detail,” she says, holding a finger up, “but I do think it’s very mean that you won’t make my day by telling me exactly how many positions he ravished you in. Because, girl, I gotta say it.” She leans back and grins at me as she swallows more wine. “You are looking good. And I mean taken apart at the seams, thrown up against every available surface kind of good.”

The color rushes back into my face.

“Oh, wow.” Abby’s grin turns into a smirk. “You really do have him bad. Come on. At least throw me some crumbs. Tell me how hot it is.”

I blush again. Harder than before. “It’s . . .”

Roman ordering me to undress in front of him.

Roman’s dick filling my mouth.

Roman so far inside me I can’t even remember my own name.

“Mind-blowing,” I mumble eventually. “Heat-wise, right off the charts.”

“I knew it!” Abby crows. “And if it’s that good, there’s no way he’s going anywhere, no matter what crazy opinions you have about the matter.” Her smile fades back into serious. “Even if you can’t tell him everything, maybe you should just relax a bit, Luce. Enjoy this for what it is. See where it goes. So long as you think you can, that is.” She looks closely at me. “But that’s the question, really, isn’t it? You’re clearly extremely into CEO Man. Do you honestly think you can live in his house, care for his children, and have mind-blowing sex on a regular basis without getting your heart involved?”

I laugh rather hollowly. “It’s the only option, really.”

“Hmm.” Abby looks at me doubtfully. “You’ve never really been a body-count kinda girl, Luce, and that’s coming from the queen of slutdom.”

That makes me laugh and change the subject.

I’m deeply unsettled. About how I feel. Where this is all leading.

But most of all, I’m shaken to hell about Roman being from Miami.