Page 52

52

LUCIA

“ C hica!” Abby comes rushing toward me, her smile faltering as she gets closer. “Oh, no. I know that look. What’s happened?”

“Inger turned up.” It’s the easiest of my problems to explain.

“The dreaded mother? Oh, fuck.” She gives me a sympathetic hug. “Was she awful to you?”

“I don’t know. I hid in Ofelia’s bedroom to avoid her, then escaped up to the penthouse before we accidentally ran into one another. I know it’s cowardly.” I shrug ruefully. “But the kids were already tense. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“Smart, I’d say.” Abby squeezes my hand reassuringly. “Listen, I can’t stay long. Gregor’s stressed out of his brain about Nikolai coming in tonight. There’s loads of stuff to do. Dimitry usually helps, but he’s been MIA the last couple of days.” She grins at me. “I blame CEO Man. Apparently some deal came off and they got stuck into the vodka last night. It must have been some celebration. Dimitry didn’t even make it home.”

I force a smile as if I know what she’s talking about. “Yeah, I gather it all went well.” Even if I’m relieved to know it was Dimitry with Roman last night, it seriously irks me that Abby knows more about what happened than I do.

“Here’s your package.” She pulls a thick padded envelope out of her bag. It’s post stamped from Seattle and has the logo of a popular online store on it. The description on the international sticker describes the contents as books.

“Thanks for this, Abs. They’re for Papa.” I hate how easy it is to lie to her. “He’s starting to read again, but it’s really hard to find books in his language here in Spain.”

“You mean in Russian.” She gives me a complicit smile. “I’m not totally clueless, Luce. It’s pretty obvious where you’re from.” She mimics zipping her lips again. “But I know, I know. Secret squirrel and all that.”

I swallow hard and give her a weak smile. “Thanks. I’m... sorry, Abby.”

She waves me off. “We’ve all got our secrets, chica.” She gives me a slightly pained smile. “Even me, believe it or not. I get it.” She hugs me briefly. “I’ve got to go before Nikolai the Knob turns up.”

I can’t help but snort at that. Abby’s always had a way with nicknames.

“Take care, okay?” She looks around at the slow-growing dusk. “I’m amazed CEO Man let you come down here alone. You should get back, yeah? Even I’m not a fan of the marina at night.”

“Go, go. I’ll be fine.” We kiss goodbye, and I take off down one of the small alleys behind the dockside warehouses that lead back to the main road. It will only take me ten minutes to get back to the villa.

I’m halfway down the alley when I hear footsteps behind me. I speed up slightly, keeping my eyes on the streetlights up ahead. I wonder, rather tiredly, if I’ll ever stop fearing the sound of footsteps following me.

They’re getting closer.

Resisting the urge to turn around, I speed up into a partial jog. An old joke of Abby’s runs through my mind: Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean somebody isn’t following you.

Channeling Abs makes me smile. I’m almost at the main road.

“Darya.”

Lance Ryder. I’d know that British private schoolboy voice anywhere.

My blood runs cold. I break into a run, but a hand closes around my arm, jerking me to a halt.

“Let me go.” I swing around, trying to wrench my arm from his grip.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Darya.” His polished features are as smooth as ever, his gleaming smile as unsettling as I recall. “I’m trying to help you. Roman Stevanovsky isn’t who you think he is.”

“I don’t care what you have to say.” I’m trying to keep hold of my bag with the package in it while also twisting out of his hold.

“He’s been buying up Borovsky safes at auction anonymously for years, Darya.” His clasp on my arm is like a vise. “He knows who you are, and he knows why the Orlovs want you. Do you think it’s a coincidence that he’s got you in his home, under such close watch?”

Every word feeds the fears that have been churning inside me since I opened that door this morning. But fears or not, I’m not taking advice from a snake like Ryder.

“I told you to let me go .” I finally manage to pull free of his grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I glare at him. “I have nothing to say to you. Stay away from me, unless you want Roman to come after you himself.” I back away down the street, still watching him.

“I’m not the only one who knows where you are, Darya.” His eyes flash nastily. “If you trust me, I can help you. I helped your brother, Alexei. He’s here, did you know that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say again. I’m almost at the road. “Just leave me and my friends alone.”

I back onto the pavement and collide with a passerby. My bag falls off my shoulder. “ Disculpe me ,” I stammer, swiping my bag hastily off the pavement, my heart thudding.

“ Nada .” The woman steps around me, giving me a kindly smile.

I don’t bother looking around for Ryder.

I just run.

I run the entire way back to the villa, looking over my shoulder every few steps. I can’t see Ryder, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still watching.

And much as I loathe him, I can’t get his warning out of my mind.

Especially since I’ve seen the proof of Ryder’s words with my own eyes.

Why would Roman buy up Borovsky safes?

One might be a coincidence. But several? Bought anonymously?

If Ryder’s telling the truth.

Unfortunately, however, his claim matches Roman’s own admissions to me too closely for comfort. Roman said he’d been buying up his father’s jewelry for years.

Swap “jewelry” for “safe,” and he’s already told me the same story.

Anna, Papa’s maid, opens the door to me with a smile that quickly turns to concern. “What happened? I thought you were still asleep! Are you okay, Lucia?” She glances behind me, frowning. “Where’s your security?”

“It’s nothing.” I try to smile. “I had to slip out to pick up something from the post office. I didn’t want to bother Bryce during siesta. Somebody tried to snatch my bag on the way home, and I got a fright, that’s all. I’m fine.”

“Oh!” She covers her mouth, ushering me inside. “You poor thing. You shouldn’t have been walking alone, not at dusk. It’s not safe, even in Malaga...” Chattering on, she seats me at the kitchen table and starts pouring me a glass of wine.

“Anna.” I interrupt her. “Can we just keep this between ourselves? Papa would worry, and Roman will be furious if he knows I went out without security. I don’t want Bryce to lose his job for something that was my own fault.”

“Of course.” She pats my hand. “But are you sure you’re okay? Here.” She pushes the glass of wine toward me.

I eye it warily. I’ve never wanted a drink more.

But as much as I want it, I can’t help but think of the unopened test sitting in my drawer.

Damn it.

I’m suddenly fed up.

Between my pregnancy fears, Inger’s arrival, Roman’s silence, the Borovsky safe, and my encounter with Ryder, my internal stress barometer has hit peak pressure.

There’s only one of those things I can actually control.

I resolve to take the test tonight. At least I can cross one damn thing off the stress list, either way.

Making a decision, however small in the grand scheme of things, helps calm me down. Gives me the illusion, at least, of control.

And being accosted by Ryder in a dim alley has put something else into perspective.

Not once has Roman made me feel endangered.

In fact, he’s done everything in his power to do the opposite.

The last time I didn’t trust him, I nearly lost him. Even the memory of that makes me shudder.

Ryder’s hand on my arm was a reminder of the terror I’ve lived for six years. Roman gave me a way out of that, and he’s never given me reason not to trust him.

Ryder, on the other hand, is a notoriously skeezy pap journalist who has repeatedly harassed not only me, but Abby, too. He told me once before that Alexei was here—and yet I’ve seen no sign of my brother. I know Alexei. If he was close, and knew I was in danger, nothing would stop him from getting a warning to me.

I need to talk to Roman.

That decision gives me an even greater sense of relief. Roman clearly has secrets. But I don’t believe he’s lying about how he feels about me.

I simply can’t imagine anyone, particularly not a man as ruthless and passionate as Roman, being able to fake the intensity of feeling that exists between us.

Yes, he’s been avoiding my father. But that could be for a myriad of reasons that have nothing to do with Miami or Roman’s interest in Borovsky safes.

My father is a traditional Russian man.

Roman is pakhan of the Stevanovsky bratva, which is about as traditional as it comes.

Secret or not, given that our relationship began via a sex contract, in his shoes I wouldn’t be too keen to face my father, either.

There’s no question that he has some explaining to do about the Borovsky safe. And maybe, if he’s from Miami, he might even have heard the rumors about the Petrovsky vault.

But I can’t believe, in my heart, that the same man who has let Masha spread caramel all over him, taught Mickey to box, and actually managed to connect with Ofelia can genuinely wish me harm.

My mind at least partially eased, I make my way up to Papa.

He’s sitting just in front of the terrace doors, a plume of smoke rising from the cigarette in his hand, which he hastily stubs out and tosses in the garden when he hears footsteps, waving the smoke away. Clearly, he’s managed to bribe one of the therapists. I’ve refused to buy him cigarettes for years.

“ Docha! ” He greets me with a slightly guilty smile, propelling his chair easily toward me, eyes bright and alert. It’s astonishing just how much his condition has improved with the daily therapy sessions.

Despite the damned cigarettes.

But I’m not going to berate him about them today. There’s too much else on my mind.

He glances behind me. “ Gde deti? ” Where are the children?

Papa has become very attached to all the children, particularly Masha, who can sit by him for hours, babbling away in Spanrush. The two seem to have a quiet understanding that exists amid the small flowers Masha likes to pick in the garden and the special rocks Papa collects to show her when she comes.

“Their mother, Inger, has come for a visit,” I explain in Russian.

It’s not a lie.

“Ah.” He touches my hand, nodding. “Now I understand the troubles on your face.”

It’s always hard hiding my emotions from Papa. And it’s been a long time since I’ve visited him alone. We often come here for lunch instead of going back to the apartment. The villa terrace is a pleasant place to eat, and the kids love the informality of Anna’s cooking. Papa likes playing chess with Mickey, chortling when Mickey inevitably beats him. And he loves listening to Ofelia play the piano. The villa feels oddly empty without them all here.

“ Docha .” He’s frowning. “I would like to speak to Roman.”

You’re not the only one.

But there’s no time for all that now. “I’ll bring him,” I say, dodging the question. “Soon.”

I brace myself for what I need to say. Part of me wants to keep the existence of the passports a secret. But some secrets aren’t only mine to keep. It’s Papa’s contact who sent them, and he deserves to know they’re here.

Holding my finger to my lips, I nod at the terrace.

Papa reacts immediately, his eyes growing sharp and focused. I wheel him outside, over to the low wall, and he gestures to a small corner that is shielded from any prying eyes by a row of potted citrus trees. I take out the package. He nods curtly. “They came?”

“They came, Papa.” Opening the padded envelope, I withdraw two hardback novels in Russian and hand them to him.

His old hands run expertly over the inside of the covers. “ Da. They are sewn inside.” He looks at me shrewdly. “I think we leave them inside the books, docha , no? It’s safer.” Despite being slightly hesitant, his speech is almost back to normal.

“Yes. Do you have a safe place?”

“Of course. There’s a loose tile in the bathroom, third from the left and four up from the bottom.” Papa speaks with his head down, his mouth barely moving. “I will wait here.”

I go into the bathroom. I’m almost certain there are surveillance cameras installed in the villa, but I doubt they’re in the bathroom. I find the loose tile, put the package inside the wall, and carefully replace the tile. Flushing the toilet, I go back out onto the terrace and lean over the wall, as if admiring the city lights.

Papa touches my hand. “I don’t think we will have to use them. Your Roman... I think he will not want you running again.”

There’s a question behind his words, but right now, it isn’t one I want to answer.

“I hope not, Papa.” I give him a small smile. “But we can never be sure, can we?”

The old eyes narrow, scrutinizing me closely. “Is there something you need to tell me, Darya?”

I’ve never told him that Roman knows our real identities. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to worry him.

But the truth is, I didn’t want him to make me run again.

Today, though, perhaps because I feel surrounded by secrets, I don’t want to keep them myself.

“Roman knows who we are, Papa. I didn’t tell him,” I add hastily. “He... found out.”

He doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, he smiles wryly. “When?”

I grimace. “Two months ago.”

He nods. “This is why he avoids me, then.”

“I didn’t realize you...” Papa arches a subtle brow, cutting me off. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding you.” I glance at him. “Do you?”

“Hm.” His smile lessens, but doesn’t fade completely. “I have some ideas.” He pats my hand. “But you don’t worry for this, docha . This is between your Roman and me.”