Page 46

46

ROMAN

“ U ncle Roman!” Masha’s indignant tones pierce straight through the bedroom door. “Hurry up! ”

Lucia leaps under my hand as if it’s a cattle prod. “Get up,” she hisses.

“No.” I catch her around the waist and throw her back beneath me. She gasps as I run my tongue along her collarbone. “Stay quiet,” I murmur, pinning her beneath me with my leg, “and maybe they’ll go away.”

“We can hear you,” says Ofelia in a bored tone. “Lucia, I can’t find my blue halter top.”

“And I’m supposed to be at the lab in half an hour,” adds Mickey.

I look down at Lucia’s swollen lips and the cherry nipples already hardening under my touch. “Later,” I murmur, sucking one of them before she slips out from beneath me. “We never should have given them the code for that elevator,” I grumble as I head for the shower.

“It was your idea.” Lucia steps in ahead of me. “No,” she admonishes, dancing out of reach of my hands. “Seriously, Roman. Ofelia is meeting her friends at the fiesta, and Masha’s been promised churros. We need to move it.” I wait until she’s out then turn the water to icy cold, trying to kill my raging hard-on. You’d think that two months of having Lucia in my bed, the shower, and on any available surface at every spare moment would have lessened my desire for her.

You’d be wrong.

When I emerge from the shower, she’s already dressed in a white sundress which, by my reckoning, I could remove in about three seconds. “Are you going to see your father this afternoon?” I ask, calculating the timing of a siesta special.

“Yes.” She glances sideways at me, and I suddenly regret having brought that particular topic up. “You know, Roman, it would be nice if you would actually talk to him.”

“I need to get Mickey to the lab.” I turn away, buttoning my shirt so I don’t have to see the sadness cloud her eyes. I know Lucia doesn’t understand why I avoid her father. But over the past two months, we’ve won a tentative peace. Lance Ryder has stayed lost since the parade. There’s been no sign of the Orlovs. Mercura is almost at launch date, with no further problems.

Best of all, Lucia and I have been happy. Not just sexually mind-blowing, which we always were. But actually fucking happy. As in, race home from work already looking forward to what I’m going to find happy. Cooking as a family happy. Helping kids do their goddamn homework happy, although in Mickey’s case, it’s more like him tutoring me.

And most of all, devouring Lucia’s body every night happy. Which, if I’m going to be honest, is more like ecstasy than happiness. Sex with her is a drug I cannot get enough of. And lately I’ve been thinking nonstop of how I nail that down permanently. As in, a diamond ring on her finger and my baby in her belly kind of permanent.

Except there’s the small matter of our respective fathers. More to the point, the fact that my father died to save hers. And that my mother disappeared forever due to Sergei’s failure to protect her, as he promised my father he would.

I can understand Sergei wanting to protect his children and guard their inheritance. Respect it, even.

But that doesn’t mean I can forgive him for failing to help my father protect his.

And right now, my only goal is to protect the fragile happiness in my home. That means continuing to call Lucia by her assumed name, so the children aren’t confused. It means giving all of us time and space to gradually relax and find a routine and dynamic that works.

And on top of all that, I’m still running a multibillion-dollar business, with the Mercura launch date edging ever closer.

Bottom line?

I don’t want to rock the boat. I’ll face Lucia’s father soon enough and explain who I am. Probably around the same time I take Lucia to pick out that diamond ring.

But not yet. Not while the Mercura launch date is just around the corner, and I’ve only just begun to trust that when I get home every night, Lucia will be there.

“About time ,” Ofelia says impatiently when Lucia and I finally emerge. She’s perched on the countertop in my kitchen, eating a tostada and sipping fresh-squeezed juice. Masha is kneeling on a stool beside her, covered in pulp, and Mickey is opposite them, laptop open on the other side of the counter.

“You guys know you have a perfectly good kitchen downstairs.” I gently shift Masha out of the way as I go to the fridge. “Not to mention a chef whose actual job it is to make your breakfast.”

“He did make it. We just brought it up here. Except for the juice,” Ofelia adds. “But we couldn’t be bothered going back down to get it, and you had oranges in your fridge.”

“ Had being the operative word.” I eye my bare refrigerator shelves and close the door again. “Come on, Mickey. Looks like I’ll be hitting the café at work. Have you got your gym bag?”

“Yep.” He closes his laptop and jumps off his stool. After only two months training with Dimitry and me, he’s already begun filling out. He moves with an athletic confidence, no longer the gangly, awkward kid who couldn’t look me in the eye. He’s swapped his glasses for contacts and cropped back the floppy curls so his eyes are actually visible. Mickey won’t ever be a jock, but going by the way the girls who came over for Ofelia’s sixteenth birthday sleepover last week ogled him, I don’t think he’ll be reduced to creating an avatar when it comes to getting laid in a few years.

“Hey,” Ofelia says as we reach the door. “Don’t forget that stuff you said you’d do for my project.”

Mickey nods. “On it.”

Lucia frowns. “Ofelia, you can’t get Mickey to do your project work for you.”

“She’s not, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a computer bit that will make it look better, that’s all. Bye.”

His sisters wave as we leave, and Lucia throws me a shy smile. Even after two months, and with the kids more than aware of where Lucia spends her nights, she’s still wary about open displays of affection in front of them. Normally I thoroughly enjoy exploiting that discomfort, but I’m still fighting to keep my cock under control, and that sundress is way too tempting to be safe.

“So,” I say as the elevator drops to the basement level, “what’s this project you’re working on for your sister?”

“It’s just a boring family tree thing. Don’t worry.” The look he casts me is almost amused. “You and Lucia aren’t in it, since you’re my adopted uncle and Lucia is... well, not officially family.”

I should feel relieved by both of those things. Oddly, however, they thoroughly piss me off. Which makes no real sense.

“I’m just going to spend some time up in the lab before I go down to work with Pavel, though,” Mickey goes on. “The software program I need is up in the research facility.”

“Yep.” I shift my mental focus to Mercura issues. Given the current murky waters surrounding both my and Lucia’s backgrounds, I’d rather not dwell on family any more than necessary.

“ S o we’re set for launch next month.” Pavel pushes his chair back, rubbing his face and yawning. He’s been working ridiculous hours the past few weeks. All the tech kids have.

“Does that mean it’s time for invitations to go out?” I tap my fingers on the table, looking around at the exhausted faces.

There’s a collection of nods, but Pavel, I note, looks slightly uneasy. Which means there’s a problem. I narrow my eyes at him, and he shakes his head, a movement so infinitesimal that it’s obvious he doesn’t want the others noticing. “You need to do it in person,” he stresses, “as discussed. You let one of these links go digital, and we’re exposed. This is the high danger end. Every minute between the moment you have those conversations, until we go live, is a chance for us to be undermined. We’ve done our end to keep Mercura locked down. This part is up to you.”

“I’m well aware of that, Pavel.” I glare at him. Having respect for the techies is one thing. Being told how to manage fucking business is quite another. “Trust me. The people using this system aren’t going to be any more interested in exposing it than I am.”

“Fair enough.” His expression doesn’t change, but there are a few knowing smirks around the table. I don’t mind that. Sometimes I think the tech kids are more excited than I am at fucking over the corporate banking systems. And given that they’ve all got a financial stake in ensuring it goes off without a hitch, their confidence is pretty much assured. It’s unlikely any of them are ever going to find a pot of gold like Mercura, and they know it. These kids are going to be set up for life after the launch.

I might use bullets when necessary, but I’ve always believed that, in most cases, honey works a lot better than a bee sting. I nod at the table, and they file out.

“What the fuck, Pavel,” I growl as soon as they’re gone. “You think I need to be told how to run security?”

“You do if someone is a step ahead of us.” The way he glances around to make sure we’re alone sets my teeth on edge, but there’s only the buzzing of the long banks of machines. “We might have a problem. More than one, actually.” He turns the laptop screen around so I can see it. Unease crawls down my spine. Alexei Petrovsky’s one-eyed face stares back at me. He’s standing on the deck of a yacht, beside another face that’s vaguely familiar, but which I can’t immediately place.

“After I turned up the stuff about the Petrovskys,” Pavel says, “I put a hidden search in place that locates anything that appears online about them. This cropped up about an hour ago. For once, this isn’t our friend Ryder’s handiwork.” He nods at the photo. “This is a Miami-based online gossip site that enjoys tracking the rich and semifamous. Apparently our friend Alexei has been spending time on a superyacht that recently docked in Miami.” His eyes swivel to mine. “I’ll give you one guess which yacht.”

A glance at the screen only confirms my worst suspicions. “What the fuck is Alexei Petrovsky doing on the Guapa ?”

It can’t be fucking coincidence, I know that much.

“Here’s the thing that’s really interesting.” Pavel opens another window, this one the records from a Spanish port authority. “Remember that trojan we managed to lock out a couple of months ago?”

“Given that it almost cost me several billion dollars,” I say sarcastically, “I think it’s safe to say that I remember, Pavel.”

“Yeah. Well.” He reddens and clears his throat uncomfortably. “My point is that according to these records, the Guapa was in the Malaga marina at the time.”

My head snaps around. “What the fuck? How did we miss that?”

“Well, first because you’d already sold it six months ago, to that Swedish software developer.” He nods at the man standing next to Alexei on the screen. “Lars Andersson.”

“Who wanted it because of the tech capabilities I’d set up on board,” I say slowly, my brain starting to put it together.

“Exactly. He had it sailed to Italy, where it changed hands again—this time to a shell company based in the Caymans.”

“Bratva money.”

“We should assume so, given Alexei Petrovsky’s presence on it. Petrovsky, or Orlov, money, which is untraceable, of course.” He clicks back to the Port Authorities record. “According to this record, at exactly the time that trojan got into our system, the Guapa was being refueled in Malaga. And given the equipment on board, not only could a clever operator have uploaded that virus, they could also have moved that yacht around enough to make it almost impossible to trace.”

“Fuck.” This is far, far worse than anything I’d previously imagined. “So you think this Lars Andersson knows something about Mercura? And that he’s working with Alexei Petrovsky?”

“Andersson’s sold the yacht, so he might not have been here at all. This just came up, as I said. I haven’t had time to look into it properly.” He takes one look at my face. “I know, I know. Keep digging. Be discreet.” He shakes his head tiredly. “It’s a hell of a coincidence. But it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, boss. Lars Andersson could match any of the techies in this building, and then some. He’s basically a fucking genius. If he wanted to get into Mercura, I hate to say it, but he’d be in.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I rub my face again. “Either way, I don’t like the thought of him being anywhere near Mercura. Stay on it, Pavel. Actually, throw everything you’ve got at it. This could seriously fuck us.”

In more ways than one.

“Boss.”

“What?” I try not to snarl. I truly do. This isn’t Pavel’s fault.

“I know you want all this Petrovsky stuff kept on the down-low. But I’m going to need help on this. I’m swamped already.”

I frown. “You can get some of the tech kids on it, Pavel. This isn’t a background check—”

“No.” His answer is swift and certain. “I trust them, boss. But Lars Andersson is like a fucking god to most of those kids. He’s the classic tech start-up boy wonder, started in his parents’ basement when he was a teenager, had his first multimillion-dollar deal by the time he was sixteen. There’s no way I’m giving any of them the chance to have so much as a shot at outsmarting him. It’s like dangling heroin in front of an addict. None of them will be able to resist doing dangerous shit.”

“You could have mentioned all this when I sold the fucking yacht to him,” I say tightly.

Pavel gives me a rather old-fashioned look. “As I recall, your only comment when I mentioned Andersson’s line of work was that you, quote, didn’t give a fuck what tech bullshit he did, so long as his money was good.”

Unfortunately, that does sound like me.

“Dammit.” I glare at him. “Tell me there’s no way he could have found traces of Mercura on the equipment on board.”

“Not a chance.” Pavel’s already shaking his head. “My people replaced the entire system with new equipment. The Guapa was sold with all the same capabilities, but absolutely no trace of prior activity. If Andersson is working on this, then it’s his own doing.”

Which doesn’t make me feel any better at all. And doesn’t solve the problem of who I can trust to help Pavel.

“Can I make a suggestion?” he asks hesitantly.

I nod curtly.

“Mickey.”

“What?” I stare at him in disbelief. “Mickey’s a fucking kid.”

“So was every tech in here when they started. Mickey is also a genius. And he’s been working alongside me for months. He knows how I work. He’s fast, and he learns even faster. He’s exactly what I need. And you trust him.”

I drum my fingers on the table, thinking. Mickey will be on school holidays in just over a week. He’s already been accepted into multiple schools for next year. And God knows, there’s nowhere he’d be happier than holed up in the Mercura basement with Pavel.

And Pavel’s right. I do trust him.

“I’ll set it up,” I say.