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ROMAN

“ U ncle Roman.” It’s extremely rare for Mickey to call me. Let alone address me as “Uncle.” I frown out the plate glass window of my Hale office, my entire attention on the phone in my hand.

“What is it?” Unease makes me sound harsher than I might have liked. “Mickey?”

“Lucia brought us to the villa where Babushka Vera stayed. You need to come, Uncle Roman. The man here is Russian.”

A thousand questions run through my head, but every one of them is superseded by the fear I can hear behind Mickey’s unusually forceful tone.

“You’re safe, Mickey. I know the man there.” I mentally cross my fingers at the lie, all the while running through the security measures I’ve taken in case I might be mistaken.

No. Even if I don’t know the identity of the man Lucia is caring for, he is cocooned in security I have provided. The children are safe at the villa, that much I can be certain of.

“The security guards at the villa are mine, Mickey. Do nothing. Just wait, and I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Uncle Roman.”

“Yes?” I’m already stepping into the elevator.

“Lucia said that isn’t really her name?” The uncertainty in his voice makes it more of a question than a statement.

I close my eyes briefly.

“Yes, Mickey. I know that.” I make my tone deliberately calm.

“Oh.” The confusion and hurt in that one simple sound makes me wince.

“I’m on my way, Mickey. Just relax, okay? There’s nothing you need to worry about. Do you understand?” I keep the line open until he cuts it at his end, by which time I’m already in the Maybach and pulling out of the basement. I race through the siesta-quiet streets, the speed matching my thoughts.

The truth is that since I discovered who Lucia is running from, my only concern has been ensuring her safety. The most peaceful moments I know are when she is in my bed, naked, her body mine to own and hold. In only a matter of days, I’ve begun to listen for the sound of her laughter floating up from downstairs. To count the minutes until I can summon her to my penthouse.

And in my need to satisfy myself that Lucia is safe in my care, I’ve managed to neglect the three people for whom I am legally, morally, and emotionally responsible.

Not neglect their safety, of course. I could be drugged and bound and still ensure my people are fucking safe.

But I’ve conveniently overlooked the fact that this revelation was always going to be inevitable. I’ve allowed them to become attached to Lucia, all the while knowing that eventually this day of reckoning would come.

Dimitry’s warning rings uncomfortably clearly through my mind: “It’s about damn time you did something more than just keep them safe. They need more than just a nanny, Roman. Especially one who might leave at any minute. They need a father. And a mother. One who actually gives a shit about them.”

I grip the steering wheel hard enough to turn my knuckles white, grinding my teeth. I really, really fucking hate to admit when I’ve messed up.

I take care of my people. I make certain they’re safe. But Dimitry is right: in the case of my godchildren, “safe” means a lot more than placing guards on the door.

The kids lived through the trauma of their father’s brutal death, the raids that imprisoned their grandfather, and Inger’s blatant neglect. Vera has the emotional intelligence of an amoeba, while Inger’s parents prefer cruise ships to relationships.

And then there’s me.

I run an orange light, ignoring the indignant shriek of car horns.

Without any discernible effort on my part, I’ve been enjoying something of a proxy relationship with the kids, enabled and facilitated by Lucia. I’ve even felt self-congratulatory about having made such a good choice. As if they were simply another task taken care of.

Best geek minds in the world? Check.

Best security guards in the business? Check.

Best au pair? Check.

And let’s not forget why exactly you hired her.

Although on that particular point, my logical mind wavers. I didn’t ask Lucia to sign that contract simply because I had to have her in my bed. In some ways, it would be easier if I had.

No.

I asked her to sign it because some part of me knew the children would love her. And the animal instinct in me knew I could trust Lucia, despite her murky background.

But even if I had the best of intentions when I hired Lucia, the only person truly responsible for the children’s well-being is me.

I’m many things, with killer and utter prick at the top of the list.

But I’ve never been a liar. Particularly, I’ve never lied to myself.

The fear I heard in Mickey’s voice isn’t Lucia’s fault for living under a false identity. Nor do I blame her for taking the children to the villa. Knowing how protective she is of both her own past and the children’s safety, instinct tells me she would never risk either without good reason.

No. The only reason the children are currently shaken and unsure is because the one person on whom they are completely reliant failed to make them feel safe.

The fault here is mine.

If I had prioritized the children’s needs over my own, Mickey would never have had cause to pick up that phone. He would have trusted me to act in his best interests. All three of the children would be certain that I would never place them at risk.

Instead, all three of them have just had their already fragile world shaken to the core. A teenage boy had to make a man’s call that undoubtedly terrified him. After having been betrayed by every adult they should have been able to rely on to make them safe, my godchildren are now facing a heartbreaking confirmation of their experience thus far—that the world is a dangerous place, one devoid of love or safety of any kind.

Well, fuck that.

I pull the Maybach through the villa gates, nodding curtly at the guards.

I might have been slow to face my own culpability. But nobody can ever accuse me of failing to fix a problem when I find it.

Even if the problem is me.

I see Mickey first.

He’s standing by the glass doors leading to the terrace, where he has clearly been waiting for me. Despite his pale face and rigid stance, his eyes behind the glasses are sharp and focused, oddly mature for a fourteen-year-old.

“Lucia said the man on the terrace is her father,” he says quietly as I approach. “But he’s bratva, Uncle Roman. I recognize his tattoos. I don’t think my sisters should be around him.”

His casual use of the term bratva gives me a severe jolt.

My chest tightens with an odd mixture of both guilt and, unexpectedly, pride.

When did nervous little Mickey become this grave-faced young man? I wonder how I missed that transition. I vow not to miss anything more.

“You did the right thing by calling me.” I grip his shoulder. Holding his eyes, I smile, hoping that he reads in my face the reassurance I mean to convey. “I’m really proud of you, Mickey, for making that call. Your first instinct was to protect your sisters, and that says a lot about the person you are. The fault here is mine, for not explaining the situation properly.”

His startled expression twists the knife of guilt in my side.

Have I really seemed so arrogant that they believe me to be incapable of admitting my mistakes?

Going by Mickey’s face, the answer is a resounding yes .

“Come on.” I turn him toward the terrace. “It will be easier to explain the situation to all of you at once.”

I’m aware of Lucia watching me as I come onto the terrace. She’s standing beside a long, lean figure in a wheelchair, who is just removing Masha gently from his lap. But I’m less concerned by either Lucia or the man in the chair than I am with the two small faces now watching me cautiously. Ofelia tugs Masha close, her arms crossed protectively over the little girl’s chest. Her blue eyes are as hard and closed as I’ve ever seen them, and by the way her back is turned to Lucia, significant damage has already been done. Masha, on the other hand, seems as unconcerned as ever. She’s waving some kind of tiny reptile in her hand.

“Potato,” she says, holding a gecko up for my inspection.

“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Potato.” I squat down in front of her and gently remove the quivering creature from her hand. “Shall we put him in the garden for now, so he can play with his friends?”

Masha pouts. “I wanna play wiv him.”

“I think he might be a little frightened, myshka . There’s a lot of big people here.” I place the poor creature into the terrace garden, where Mr. Potato makes an immediate and hasty getaway. “We can look for him later. Okay?”

“Okay.” Masha nods, her wide blue eyes watching me with frank interest.

Taking her hand, I stand up and face Ofelia. “ Privet, umnyashka .” Hello, clever girl.

Ofelia’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything.

“It’s okay,” I say quietly. “Everything’s fine.” Seeing her tension, I don’t try to touch her.

“Mickey.” I put out my arm, drawing him forward. “I’d like to talk to all three of you together, if that’s okay?”

The look exchanged between Mickey and Ofelia stirs up the uncomfortable sensation of guilt once again. It isn’t the first time I’ve watched this silent communication, by any means. I’ve just chosen to ignore it before now. I told myself it was the smartest thing for everyone. I’m hardly equipped to manage emotional teenagers.

But I wasn’t ready to find myself homeless at ten, either. Or pakhan after Mikhail’s death.

A man doesn’t choose the challenges the world gives him. He just rises to meet them.

And equipped for it or not, this challenge is one I should have faced head-on long before now.

When they offer me slight nods, I take my chance and usher them inside. I still haven’t spoken to either Lucia or the man in the wheelchair. They come second today.

I close the terrace door and wait until we’re all seated on the U-shaped sofa. Masha, as ever, is cushioned between her siblings. I face them across the coffee table, hands clasped between my knees. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Lucia’s identity,” I say without preamble. “That was a mistake, and very wrong of me. I never meant for you to feel afraid.”

“Who is she?” Ofelia asks the question with icy brevity. “Your girlfriend?”

Oh, fuck.

Of all the hard questions I was expecting, addressing the exact nature of my relationship with Lucia isn’t one of them. I do a speedy calculation of what the kids might or might not have observed, while simultaneously being extremely aware of Ofelia’s razor-sharp scrutiny.

In the end, I decide to go with as close to honesty as I can get.

“She wasn’t my girlfriend when she came to stay with us.” I meet her eyes steadily. “She was a friend who was in trouble and needed somewhere safe to stay. I like Lucia a lot, and I trust her. I thought you might like her too.”

“I like her,” offers Masha chirpily. “Like Poppins.”

I smile at her. “I’m glad you like her, Masha.”

“Yes,” Ofelia interrupts impatiently, “but Lucia is just a fake name. If she’s such a good friend of yours,” she says, putting enough emphasis on the word friend to make it clear she hasn’t let that part of the explanation go, “then why do you have to keep her real name a secret?”

Mickey nods emphatically at this. His eyes aren’t quite so X-ray probing as his sister’s, but they hold the same sensitive awareness as his father’s once did. If I could always read a room at a glance, Mikhail was always able to read the emotions at play within it. Mickey seems to have inherited the same ability.

“I’m not going to try to sugarcoat this for you.” I lean forward, holding each of their eyes in turn. “You already know that our family faces... risks that others don’t.”

Perhaps once, I wouldn’t have alluded so directly to the nature of our business. But these kids have had a front-row seat to the brutality. There’s no point in trying to pretend our world is something other than what it is. The fact that not even Masha turns a hair at this comment is proof enough of my point.

“Lucia comes from the same world we do,” I continue quietly. “Her family has suffered similar tragedies to ours. I wanted her to feel safe again, just like I want you three to feel safe.”

There’s an odd relief in actually saying that aloud. And when I do, it feels simple. It feels right.

“She said her father has enemies.”

Her father? I conceal my surprise at Mickey’s remark. My brief impression of the man in the wheelchair was of someone old enough to be Lucia’s grandfather. But at least this revelation makes Mickey’s comment easy to answer.

“Masha,” I say gently, seeing her squirm restlessly on the sofa, “would you like to play with Mr. Potato again? You can go outside and ask Lucia to help you, if you like.” The fact that she instinctively looks to her siblings for consent, rather than taking my word, is yet another twist of the knife.

I have a lot of fucking ground to make up.

I wait until she’s left before addressing the two very shuttered faces in front of me. “Lucia and her father do have enemies. Very dangerous ones. They are living under different names so those people can’t find them.”

“Then why did you take them in?” Mickey’s question is uncharacteristically harsh. “If they have dangerous people chasing them, doesn’t that mean we’re in danger, too?”

And now we’re at the pointy end.

I meet his eyes steadily. “Do you believe I would ever place you, or your sisters, in danger, Mickey?”

His mouth twists. “No, but—”

“But Papa would have said the same thing.” Ofelia cuts her brother off. Glaring at me, she folds her arms. “You can’t keep us safe, no matter what you say. Nobody can keep anyone safe. And bringing her into our house just makes our lives even more dangerous than they already are.”

As usual, her barbs are precision designed for maximum damage. Usually I shut them down with equally harsh rebuttal. But that hasn’t worked in the past, and it sure as hell won’t work now.

“I can understand why you believe that, Ofelia. And in some ways, you’re right.” She reels back, her eyes narrowing in surprise. “I can’t guarantee that you will be safe every day of your life. That would be a foolish promise to make, and you are clever enough to know that. But that’s the key here, umnyashka . You’re clever.” I nod at Mickey. “You both are. Look at what you did today. You identified a risk, and you took action by calling me. You didn’t wait passively for someone to notice the danger for you. Instead you looked for it, and despite your affection for Lucia, you acted on your instincts. That’s what intelligent people do, Ofelia. I’ve known men twice your age who wouldn’t have acted that quickly. You’ve both seen danger close up and suffered the results of violence. You’ve both learned from that. But here’s the important part.”

Two sets of eyes, one deep cobalt and grave, the other piercing, dark arctic blue, stare back at me. To my astonishment, Mickey and Ofelia actually seem to be hanging on my every word.

“Knowing that danger exists doesn’t mean we run from it. Identifying risk doesn’t mean we choose a life of seclusion and defense. To do so means we would hide behind high walls for the rest of our lives, never daring to go outside, or”—I crack a smile—“take part in a Holy Week parade.”

Their faces thaw slightly.

“Most importantly, when a friend is in danger, we don’t turn our backs on them. We don’t let them face that danger alone. We take them in. Make them feel like family. And we do everything in our power to ensure they are protected—even if that means keeping their identity a secret.”

Ofelia’s eyes widen, and she turns instinctively to look out onto the terrace, to where Lucia is on her hands and knees with Masha, scrabbling through the plants for the elusive Mr. Potato. Mickey has colored slightly, his eyes fixed on my face.

“I thought I was doing the right thing for Lucia and her father by keeping their secret.” I hold Ofelia’s eyes. “But when I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong. I realize now that I could have trusted you with that secret, and been certain that you would keep it. Nobody understands family better than both of you. You both protect Masha every day. You have each other’s backs without question. I should have known you would have Lucia’s, too.”

Mickey is nodding vigorously, and Ofelia has hectic spots of color on her cheeks.

“I was really mean to her,” she mutters, glancing shamefacedly at the door.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Lucia absolutely adores you.” I give Ofelia a smile, and for once, she tentatively returns it. “She will understand, probably better than anyone, why you were so afraid.”

“But if she’s in so much danger,” says Mickey worriedly, “how are we supposed to protect her?”

Oh, no.

“That’s my job.” I pin them both with a serious look. “I want you to always be thinking for yourselves, to be smart and accountable for your own safety, as I said. But keeping this family safe is my job. That includes Lucia.

“I need you to trust me to do that. I realize that after what happened to your father, you might find that hard to believe. I understand that. Believe me when I say that I, too, learned lessons from that experience. I can promise you this: your safety is my primary mission in life. I do nothing without considering it, first and foremost. And that goes for Lucia and her father, too. Do you trust that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe?”

Ofelia and Mickey look at each other, then back at me.

“Yes,” Mickey says.

“Yes.” Ofelia actually nods at me. “I do.”

“Thank you.” Reaching across the table, I take one each of their hands. “And for my part, I promise that I will be honest with you both from now on. The first example of that is what I’m about to say now.

“It’s safer for Lucia, and for our family, if we all continue to call her and her father by the names they use. I know it’s asking a lot, and I hope you know I wouldn’t ask it if I didn’t believe it was strictly necessary. But Lucia is our responsibility. Our family. And what do we do when someone is family?”

“We protect them,” say Ofelia and Mickey in unison.

I nod. “Exactly. Are you willing to help me protect Lucia and her father?”

“Yes.” They answer without hesitation.

“Good.” I squeeze their hands, and they return the pressure. “Then let’s go outside and show them how a real family takes care of one another.”