Page 22

22

LUCIA

I walk through streets bustling with people returning to their homes for lunch, turning Abby’s words over in my head: “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...”

It’s hard for me to separate my emotional defenses from the secrets I keep. They’re entwined, my inability to disclose the truth about my past preventing me from developing intimate relationships. The first, by definition, rules out the second. I’d thought I could maintain that distance in the context of the arrangement in Roman’s contract.

But that was before I met the children.

I’m potentially endangering them every day by not telling Roman the truth about my past. The journalist outside the café was just another reminder of how close I always am to possible exposure, to forces coming after me who won’t stop at anything—including torturing children—to get what they want.

I touch my shoulder, feeling the old scars beneath the tattooed cage.

I know what the Orlovs are capable of.

The right thing to do is tell Roman the truth about my past and take the consequences. The problem is that, unlike Abby, I don’t believe that telling him the truth will result in some kind of utopian happy family. Despite her assurances, I can’t see any evidence to support her theory that he cares for me. Roman might fuck me like a dying man having his last drink, but he hasn’t said one word that indicates he feels anything more than lust.

Besides, telling him the truth will almost certainly mean the end of my role with the children. If emotional intimacy isn’t on the table—and he’s made it blisteringly clear, in black-and-white print, that it isn’t—then I face a choice: betray my family or continue to place the children in danger.

Opening up to Roman will expose Papa and me to grave danger, not to mention Alexei. And given that I now know Roman has ties to Miami, it’s more than possible he will trade us to the Orlovs.

Continuing to lie, however, means putting the children in direct danger.

Which means that it’s no choice at all.

Even a short time living within Roman’s protective bubble has been a blissful respite from the exhaustion of constant vigilance. From a life where I’ve never been able to confess either my fears or my dreams to anyone. From looking over my shoulder every minute of every day. The comfort of a security guard outside my door, which is locked by a code only I know, is a relief nobody can understand unless they’ve slept with one eye open for years on end.

But that doesn’t justify endangering three innocent children who have already seen more than enough. Watching Roman with the children yesterday brought home how selfish I’ve been, thinking I could have all this without anyone paying the price.

Roman’s connection to Miami raises another possibility, of course. One I have to consider, even if it makes my gut churn.

Is it possible he’s known who I am all along?

Logically, I know it is certainly possible.

But unlikely.

If Roman wanted to use or trade me, he’d have done it already. He certainly wouldn’t have left me in charge of his godchildren.

No, I truly don’t think he has any idea who I am.

But it’s impossible that he could have grown up on the Miami streets and not heard of the Petrovskys. Or the Orlovs. Which means that if he does find out who I am, he’ll know exactly what’s at stake.

I heard what Abby said about his background, the way he and Dimitry met. Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that even back then, Roman would insert himself between someone he considered innocent and any threat to them. It’s what good men do. What honorable men do. And for all that Roman is ruthless, my gut instinct tells me he is honorable.

The Lucia part of me wants to trust him with the truth. If not for myself, at least so he can be prepared for any threat to his family.

But the Petrovsky part of me knows that the secrets I keep are not just mine. My father’s life depends on me. My brother’s, too.

Which means that I need to be careful, and I need to make sure that I have an escape route prepared.

I’ve still got an hour before I need to pick up the children. I change direction and head for Papa’s villa.

When I arrive, Papa is in the middle of physical therapy. I watch as he works with the therapist. It’s only been a few days, but his speech is already easier, his body stronger. It hurts me to even think of taking him away from this, of putting us both back on the road.

It might not even come to that .

But I can’t know that it won’t either, especially after my run-in with that journalist and learning that Roman is from Miami.

I’ll never forgive myself if things go wrong and I haven’t taken precautions to protect my father.

After the therapist leaves, I sit beside him.

“Papa.” I hold his hands. “Our contact in Argentina. Do you know how to get in touch with them?”

Papa tenses, his eyes on me sharp as lasers.

“ Da ,” he says curtly. He never allowed me to meet his contact when we were in Argentina. Sick and old though he might be, Papa will never stop trying to protect me, in whatever ways he is able.

“I got a burner phone.” I slip the box under the rug covering his knees. “Can you place the call?”

He nods, but his face is creased with worry. “Dangerous.”

“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “But it’s not safe to find someone here. Malaga is crawling with bratva. There’s no chance we can get passports made without someone finding out.”

Especially when I’m living in the home of the biggest pakhan in town.

I don’t mention the journalist, Lance Ryder. I haven’t forgotten that Papa thought he saw a man with a camera outside the motel. It’s a coincidence I don’t like at all, but I don’t want to worry Papa any more than he already is.

“Get the passports sent to this address.” I hand him a piece of paper with Abby’s postal box on it. It’s risky, I know, especially since she’s clearly involved with Dimitry, however adamant she is that it’s over. Either way, it’s unlikely he’s stooped to checking her mailbox.

“Leave—soon?” Papa is watching me closely.

“I don’t know.” There’s no point in lying. “But I have the money to pay for passports now. I might not, in the future. I think this is best.”

“Takes—time.” I hate how worried he looks.

“There’s no rush, Papa.”

I mentally cross my fingers.

I hope there’s no rush. If I’m wrong, and all of this has been some complex ploy by Roman to trade me to the Orlovs, then it’s likely too late anyway. Either way, I can do this. Get new identities for us both. New names, new backgrounds. I’ve withdrawn enough cash from the account to run if we have no choice. Abby can always send the passports on to us.

I don’t like thinking about any of this. But I’ve lived too long in the shadows to avoid harsh realities, no matter how improbable they might seem.

Papa and I have run too long, and risked too much, to get lazy now.

T he children are yet to return when I get home. I’m still wondering if I can keep my secrets just a little longer, until I know we have passports and are safe. Then I think of Masha’s little face and know that I can’t justify secrecy one more moment.

I take the cover off my phone and take out the folded picture of Alexei I have tucked inside it. I cut it from a lurid tabloid piece about Russian bratva I found in a doctor’s office. It’s the lone picture I have of my brother. The photo was taken at some society event in Miami, barely a year ago.

I touch Alexei’s face. He has an eye patch now, which tells me everything I need to know about the ongoing torture he has endured. But he still looks so much like Papa it makes my heart hurt. He has the same hard body, grim expression, and fierce killer eyes. The face of a man who has seen too much death. More than anyone should have seen at only twenty-two years of age.

I unfold the brief biography attached to the photograph.

T he original article had three other thumbnail images below the larger one of Alexei, one each of Papa, Mama, and me. I didn’t cut those out when I took the article. Even though the photo of me was taken when I was fifteen, it resembled me enough to make me uncomfortable. The article itself gave me nightmares for weeks. Whoever wrote it knows much more than they should about our family history.

I trace my little brother’s features. Despite the five-year age gap between us, Alexei and I were always each other’s best friend. It was inevitable, really, given the cloistered life we led. I try not to allow myself to think of him, because when I do, the guilt is overwhelming. But sometimes I miss him so much it feels unbearable. Times like now, when the memories come in a flood that can’t be held back.

“ I ’m not coming with you, Darya.” Alexei stands in the shadows, his face hidden from me.

“What?” I look at him in blank shock. “You have to. We escape together or not at all.”

He shakes his head slowly. “This isn’t your decision. And I won’t change my mind, so there’s no point trying.”

“Look where we are!” I gesture angrily at the small tin boat tied to a jetty just down from our own. “They’ll find that tunnel the moment they know we’re gone. They’ll know you helped us escape—”

“No, they won’t.” In the pale reflection of the city lights off the water, Alexei’s mouth is a grim line. “The guards outside our bedrooms were both paid enough to keep quiet until dawn. That gives me at least six hours to kill them both and get rid of their bodies. More than enough.”

My mouth falls open. “ Kill them ? Are you mad? You’re not a killer, Alexei. This isn’t you.”

“It has to be me.” He steps forward, gripping my shoulders. “I need to become a killer, just like you need to become invisible. These are our lives now, Darya. If we want to survive, if we don’t want to lose everything Papa worked for, this is the only way. I stay here and make peace with the Orlovs. You go and save Papa. You must.”

I shake my head slowly. Reaching up, I touch the jaw that only recently sprouted the first signs of a beard. “They won’t believe you. They’ll torture you—”

“Worse than they already have?” Alexei gives a harsh laugh. “Pain I can take, Darya. Watching them torture you and Papa is far worse. You’ve been flirting with the guard on the gate for months. They’ll believe it was him who bribed the other guards and let you go, just like we planned.”

I look down at Papa, who is watching us in silence. “You don’t agree with this, Papa. You can’t.” But I already know, looking at the faded eyes that are full of pain, what his answer is.

“You worked this out together.” I look between them in shock. “You were just waiting until I was safely out to tell me. You always planned to go back.”

Alexei nods grimly. “I’m sorry, Darya. But we knew you’d never agree otherwise. And this is the only way. Papa will die if we stay here. And it’s only a matter of time until they decide to rape you, for fun if not for answers. The only surprise is that they haven’t done it already. If we run together, the three of us will be caught before the day is out. But this way, you have a real chance. The Orlovs won’t hunt you as hard if they still have me to answer their questions.”

There’s a hard determination in my brother’s face that both breaks my heart and shows me the first indication of the man he is about to become. I can’t bear the thought of him having to murder to protect me. Of him enduring Orlov’s brutality so I don’t have to.

I feel physically sick with guilt and shame.

“Go, Darya.” Alexei kisses Papa on both cheeks, gripping his hands. “Please.” It’s then that his voice cracks, and I realize what it’s costing him to do this, to force his father and me into the unknown night, armed with little more than some cash, a map, and an address in Argentina.

Every moment I delay is only making it harder.

“I love you, Alexei.” I put my arms around his neck, trying not to cling to him.

“Keep running,” he whispers, hugging me fiercely. “They won’t ever stop looking, Darya, and they have money. It won’t just be the Orlovs searching—it will be everyone who wants whatever reward they offer. Don’t trust anyone. And never, ever tell anyone who you are. I’ll find a way to defeat the Orlovs, eventually. And when I do, I’ll come and find you. That’s my promise to you.”

“And I promise to become invisible.” My whisper cracks, but I force myself to keep going. “I promise to keep Papa safe. To keep him alive. I’ll disappear so completely nobody will ever find our trail, and I’ll stay lost as long as you need me to be.”

I wipe my eyes, staring at Alexei’s face. Letting Roman in is one thing. Betraying the promises I made to my family is another.

I owe Roman the right to take care of his family. But I can’t, and won’t, endanger my own.

I will tell Roman some of the truth. Enough for him to make an informed decision.

I fold the article and slip it back inside my phone cover.

I just have to hope that doing so doesn’t mean betraying everything I ran to protect.