Page 25

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ROMAN

L ucia freezes like prey in the forest, her back to me. I can almost hear her thinking frantically through what she’s going to say.

Part of me wants to hear it.

The other part wants, very badly, for this to be a terrible mistake.

The Orlovs killed my father. They took everything from me. And I will remember their sparrow tattoo for the rest of my life. I saw it on the hands that wrung the last breath of life from my father and left his body limp on the kitchen floor.

My body is still pounding with the aftermath of fucking Lucia. If I’m honest, what I really want is to do it again, right away. But I’m not a man who tolerates being lied to. A little elusiveness, I can tolerate. But the Orlov bratva tattoo? In the same building as my godchildren?

Lucia Lopez is lucky she’s still breathing.

“I saw it the first time I had you naked.” I talk to her frozen back, keeping my tone deliberately casual. I have my Glock close by, though the thought of using it on the body that even now has me half hard makes me feel physically sick. “I told myself it was just a coincidence. You’ve done a good job of changing the colors. And the cage helps. But minutes ago I felt the scars you’ve disguised with ink. Whoever inked that sparrow on your back cut you where the wings should join the body. So I think it’s about time you leveled with me, Miss Lopez. What’s an Orlov bratva runaway doing in my home?”

When she finally turns, her face is bloodless, the topaz light in her eyes hidden behind an opaque layer I can’t read. I don’t like that. I don’t like Lucia going some place I can’t follow. It makes me frustrated, makes me fucking mad.

I’ve done everything to make her safe. And yet still she won’t let me in?

I should be worried about what her presence here means, not why she’s withdrawing. But if I’m honest, I’m far more furious that she clearly doesn’t trust me than about whatever game she may or may not be playing.

Bratva games I can handle. I’ve been handling business since before she could walk. Give me an army bursting through my door with guns, and I’ll show you a cold-blooded massacre that I walk out of without a backward fucking glance.

Based on those scars, and the mutilated sparrow, Lucia is either an instrument of the Orlovs by force or running from them. Either way, I can help her. The fact that she seems to doubt my ability to do so isn’t just aggravating.

It’s downright fucking insulting.

I glare at her. I’m about to explain exactly why crossing me is extremely unwise when, to my surprise, she speaks up voluntarily.

“I was planning to talk to you about this today. Now, in fact.” Her voice shakes, but her eyes on mine are steady, her face oddly set. I resist the urge to give a scathing response. Instead I move from the coffee table to the sofa, lean back, sip my Scotch, and watch her.

What I really want is vodka.

But there’s no way I’m showing her how much this is getting to me. I’ve already let my guard down way too much with Miss Lopez.

Or whoever the fuck she is.

I scowl. I really don’t like being the one in the dark here.

“I thought I could get through this contract and then leave without endangering anyone.”

Leave? I’m gripping my glass hard enough to shatter the fucking thing. The endangering part is just laughable.

But the fact she planned to “get through this contract” ?

Planned to leave, seemingly without a second thought?

It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to throw her down on the sofa and show her how mistaken she is, if she thinks she’s ever going to be able to walk away from me.

“But then I met the children.” Her eyes go liquid soft, her lips quiver, and her hands twist anxiously. “I’d forgotten, you see. What it’s like. To—to be in a family. To care more about what happens to someone else than about my own safety. We’ve been alone so long— ” She cuts off abruptly, her eyes darting to the side, biting her lip as if she’s said too much. She breathes in sharply, gathering herself, and faces me squarely again.

“What I mean to say,” she continues in a low voice, “is that my presence in your house may pose a danger to your children. And to you.”

I try not to laugh at the danger part. It’s not that difficult, considering how incredibly pissed off I am.

So it was the children who changed her mind?

Not me. Not the fucking insane sex we’ve been having. Not the way I make her feel, or anything I’ve done.

No.

For Miss Lopez , apparently it’s the children who managed to trip the emotional wire. And while I should, probably, think that’s an admirable thing, what I actually feel is unbelievably fucked off.

Which makes me feel even worse, because who gets jealous of children , for goodness’ sake?

She’s supposed to adore them. They’re supposed to adore her.

But the fact that they all seem to adore each other, while I’m stuck on the sidelines like a spare dick at an orgy, pisses me off more than I can explain.

And I do not feel proud of that at all.

“I know you want answers.”

She’s brave enough, I’ll give her that. By now, faced with my death stare and grim silence, even the bravest of my minions would normally have collapsed in tears or bolted. I can see the trepidation in Lucia’s face, but she doesn’t actually seem afraid. I’m not sure whether that makes her a complete fool or the most courageous person I’ve ever met.

“This is what I can tell you.” She meets my eyes steadily. “I’m not working for the Orlovs. But they are hunting for me. They’ve been hunting me for many years, and they won’t ever stop. I give you my word that I do not mean any harm to you, your business, or your family. I would never, ever do anything to harm you or the children. But, Roman.”

Her voice cracks slightly on my name. I clench my fingers hard to stop myself reaching for her. She looks so ridiculously soft, standing there with her lips still swollen from mine, her hair tousled, and her dress still creased from where I threw it. I want to pull her close and never let her go. I want her to say my name like it’s home.

Instead I force myself to just raise an eyebrow.

She swallows hard and goes on, her voice not quite steady. “I can’t tell you who I am.”

I almost throw the glass across the fucking room.

“Please believe me when I say it isn’t because I don’t trust you. It isn’t that.” Her voice begins to tremble, and I can see the tears she’s trying to hold back.

I want to be furious.

I want to not want to hold her.

“But I’ve made promises to people I love that mean I can’t tell you the whole truth. I cannot betray those promises, Roman.”

There’s an almost pleading note to her voice that is getting close to breaking me.

“If it were only me at risk, then I would tell you the truth in a heartbeat. Please believe that. But others have risked their lives to ensure I am standing here today. To betray their confidence would dishonor that sacrifice.”

She swipes impatiently at her eyes and takes a shaking breath, forcing herself to meet my eyes again.

“I know you’re powerful,” she says quietly. “And I don’t doubt your strength. But the less you know about me, the safer it is. For you and everyone you love. For your business.”

Her eyes drop to the floor. “I understand that my life is in your hands now,” she says dully. “You clearly know who the Orlovs are. I’ve told you what I can, hoping you won’t trade me to them, but I know how business is done. I know that I have no right to ask anything of you, after all you’ve done for me and my—friend. But given that this is probably the last conversation we’re likely to have, I will ask anyway, because more lives than my own depend on what you do next.” She takes a deep breath and faces me squarely. “I would be very grateful,” she says quietly, “if you gave us a... head start, before you make that call to Miami.”

For the first time in many, many years, I’m utterly dumbfounded.

Scrap that.

I’ve never been this dumbfounded in my entire life.

I always know exactly what to do. Whether it’s a gun pointed at my head, or my own pointed at someone else’s, I know. I don’t hesitate. I don’t overthink. I know when to run, and I know when to stand. I never, ever question my instincts.

But right now, my instincts are shot to hell.

Because this isn’t about what I know.

It’s about what I feel.

And I am not a man who deals in emotion.

Emotions are a murky undercurrent. They drag a man under. Emotions disguise the truth and cause confusion. This moment is evidence of that. My silence is all the proof I’ve ever needed that emotions are the most dangerous enemy a man can face. I’ve avoided them since the day my mother left. I shut them down completely the day my father died.

And right now, I feel like I’m drowning in them.

I want to kill Lucia.

I want to love her so hard she won’t ever think about running again as long as she lives.

And most of all, I want to fucking murder the bastards who did this to her.

“I’ve said enough,” she mumbles, and I can tell the last of her shield is finally about to break. “Please. Will you tell the children goodbye for me? I—I’ll go now.” She stumbles past me, toward the elevator doors.

It’s only when they open that I finally find my voice.

“Wait.”