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LUCIA

I wake on the couch at first light, the children’s limbs entwined with my own.

I gently shake Ofelia and Mickey. “Time to go back to your beds,” I whisper. Masha is still snoring against my shoulder. I carry her across the corridor, past an entire army of security, the older two kids blinking owlishly at the sudden bright light. They partially sleepwalk into their rooms. I lower Masha gently onto her bed and pull the covers over her, then stand for a moment, savoring her sleeping face.

I check on the other two. Ofelia stirs when I kiss her cheek. “Love you,” she murmurs, before turning onto her belly and falling asleep.

Mickey is lying on his back, his eyelids drooping, but they widen when he sees me. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

My heart clenches so fiercely it hurts. “Yes, darling.” I kiss his cheek. “I’ll be here.”

I hurry back past the guards, tears blurring my eyes.

In my own rooms, I sit on the couch, my knees tucked to my chest.

Yes, I’ll be here when the kids wake.

But I might not be here tomorrow.

Tonight, after the ball, I’m going to talk to Roman. About everything.

Lance Ryder’s accusations. Alexei. The passports that arrived yesterday.

About the vault, and why the Orlovs won’t ever give up looking for me.

Most of all, I’m going to tell him about the baby growing inside me.

Whatever comes next, Roman has earned the right to be part of my decisions. And however much he’s withdrawn from me, I can’t live with all the secrets anymore.

But most of all, I’m going to talk to him because those three children deserve better than to go to sleep every night wondering what losses tomorrow might bring.

I go to the cupboard in my bedroom and pull out my old bag.

My go-bag, as I always think of it. It’s a scuffed backpack, small enough to be a day bag, big enough to hold what I need.

It’s the same one I carried when I left Miami.

I carried it with me every day after that, for six years. Right up until the day I moved into this apartment and told myself I was safe.

Lance Ryder’s voice runs through my head again, on a disquieting loop:

“He’s been buying up Borovsky safes anonymously for years, Darya. 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?”

Maybe tonight’s conversation will go well. But maybe it won’t.

Maybe I won’t even get a chance to have it.

I’ve run long enough to sense when danger is close. And right now, I can taste it on the very air around me.

Waiting too long is dangerous. It’s one of the first things my father taught me.

Which means that I need a plan. I need to be ready.

Slowly, my heart heavy as lead, I start to pack.

I t’s midmorning when there’s a knock on my door. I open it smiling, expecting the kids.

Instead I’m met by an unsmiling Roman, holding a large bag over his arm. “Can I come in?”

His tone is close to the cold courtesy he used with Inger yesterday. It sends a chill of alarm through my body.

“Of course.” I push open the door, trying to calm the sudden, panicked racing of my heart. My smile falters under his grim stare, which seems to rest anywhere but on me.

Something has happened. Something bad. Worse, I suspect it’s something Roman has no intention of sharing.

The ominous sense of gathering darkness gains momentum in my soul, triggering my old flight instinct. It makes me feel physically sick.

“You’re coming to the Russian Society ball tonight.” Roman drapes the bag over a chair, and I realize there’s a dress beneath a zipped cover. “I took the liberty of getting you a dress and shoes.” He puts both down on the counter.

“The ball?” I frown in confusion. “Why would you want me to—”

“Inger requested that you attend. She wants the children there for the pap walk, and she thought your presence would make that easier.” His eyes touch mine, then slide away. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I would very much appreciate your help. It should be over quickly enough.”

I swallow nervously. After all the nights I’ve spent splayed under his hands, our limbs so entwined I can’t tell where mine stop and his begin, everything about the detached formality of this conversation is utterly jarring. Normally I’d reach over and touch him. Catch his eye and smile. Breach the distance.

But this Roman isn’t the man who has laid me out on any available surface and seduced my body, inch by sensual inch. He isn’t the man who played with the children in his mountain pool, sunlight and water turning his dark eyes to fire.

It isn’t the man who has sprawled next to me in the vast king-sized bed most nights for the past two months, one leg thrown possessively across my body.

I don’t know who this Roman is. Only that he’s a cold stranger, as remote from me as some two-dimensional character on a screen.

And, just like that, I’m fucking terrified.

“The makeup and hair people will be here in a few hours,” he says calmly. “The girls will need your help to get ready. Mickey will be out with me for a while, but he’ll be back in time to dress.” He’s still staring somewhere past me. “I’d appreciate it if you could make sure they all get a good lunch and a decent siesta. It will likely be a late night for them, especially Masha.”

“Of course.”

What else am I going to say?

“About the paparazzi,” I start tentatively.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re kept out of camera range.” He almost smiles. “I don’t imagine Inger will want to share the spotlight anyway.” He turns, heading for the door. “The makeup and hair people are here for you, too, not just the children. The car will be outside at seven. I’ll come by the apartment five minutes before to collect you all.”

“Roman.” The name chokes in my throat. His hand pauses on the handle, but he doesn’t turn around. “Can we... Tonight, after the ball, can we talk?”

His head drops slightly in what could be a nod, but he still doesn’t turn. “Yes, Lucia.” His voice is strangely thick. “We’ll talk tonight. You have my word.” He pulls the door open before I can answer and strides through it. The door swings closed, clicking into place with a chilling finality.

I stare at it for long minutes after he’s gone.

I grew up around men who issued kill orders. I’ve seen the way they treat people once that order is given.

It’s exactly the same way Roman just treated me.

As if I’m already fucking dead.

I pass the day in a strange fugue state.

On one level, I go through the motions of getting the kids up, dressed, and fed. I let them all know I’ll be attending the ball, which slightly mollifies Masha’s indignation at having to attend herself. Mickey leaves early with Dimitry, who, notably, can’t seem to meet my eyes. Nor does the increased security detail escape my notice.

They’re making sure I don’t go anywhere.

Once, a few years ago, I watched some paranormal show where the characters could switch off their humanity. They showed it onscreen as a slow blink. One moment, the feeling, emotional person was present in the eyes.

Then, blink , they were gone.

It’s exactly the way I feel about running.

The time leading up to the moment of decision might be full of worry, second-guessing, and fear.

But when the time comes to leave, it happens in the blink of an eye.

It’s time to blink, Darya.

With a tired, heart-wrenching sense of resignation, I flick the switch in my head and become Darya Petrovsky again.

A fter lunch, when Ofelia and Masha go down for siesta, I call Abby.

“Hey, chica.” She sounds exhausted.

“I’m so sorry. Did I wake you? I waited until I thought you’d be up.”

“I’m up. It was just a hella busy night. Nikolai had the entire Cádiz FC in here, plus groupies. I had to watch a dozen of them drape themselves all over Miguel. Like I fucking care.” She yawns. “I didn’t get home until seven this morning, which pissed Dimitry off. I’m not sure he’s too keen on me working here now that Nikolai’s back.”

“I can understand that.” I’m surprised Dimitry didn’t just knock Miguel flat.

“And you won’t believe the skeezy fuck who was drinking with Miguel,” she goes on.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I can. Let me guess—Lance Ryder?”

She’s silent for a moment. “Hang on. Did he track you down again, Luce?”

“Yeah.” I shake my head. “But it doesn’t matter. Hey, Abs, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“Anything.” Abby’s yawning insouciance is all gone. “But, Luce. Did you tell Roman about Lance Ryder? You should, if you haven’t. I don’t trust that fucker. He knows some bad people—”

“We’re going to talk about it later.” I brush over her question. “Listen. I have something I need to have delivered somewhere, but I’m going to be tied up with the kids all day before this ball, and I don’t really want to bother the security guys. Is there any chance I could ask you to come and grab it for me?”

“Um. Yeah. I guess so.” Abby sounds concerned. “Is it... something dangerous?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” I reassure her. “I’ve just... There’s a friend of mine who needs something, that’s all. Can you do it?”

“Yup. I need a coffee anyhow. How about I come over now?”

“That would be amazing.” I end the call, my heart thudding slowly. I know it’s risky to involve Abby, but there isn’t anyone else I trust.

When she knocks at the door half an hour later, I open it to find her joking with the guards, all of whom she seems to know by name. Her hair is piled up in a messy bun, and big dark sunglasses hide the shadows under her bloodshot eyes until she gets inside and takes them off.

“Wow.” I give her a sympathetic look. “You really do look exhausted.”

“Yeah, well. The price of a barmaid’s life, you know.” She gives me a half smile, but there’s something lurking behind her eyes, a shadow of something I can’t quite read.

“Maybe it’s time to slow down a bit? I’m sure Dimitry could help—”

Her smile disappears completely. “Nope. I’m not signing up for gangster help, thanks. No offense.” She gives me a slightly apologetic look.

“None taken. Besides.” I force myself to smile. “I’m technically the au pair, remember?”

“Vaguely.” Abby rolls her eyes, and I laugh along. The truth is, after tonight, I won’t even be that. But I keep those feelings locked away inside. Darya knows better than to show anything out of the ordinary.

I need to give Abby the best performance of my life.

I hand her a coffee, proud that my hand doesn’t shake at all. “So you know the lockers at the airport, where I used to stash my stuff when I was in between places?”

She watches me as she sips the coffee. “Sure.”

“Well, I’ve got a friend who’s in a... similar situation as the one I used to be in. As in, he needs to stay under the radar.” I’ve thought this cover story through, trying to find any holes in it. “He needs my help, Abby. But I don’t want to tip anyone off, and if I leave here, I’ll have half of Roman’s security team following me, which will freak him out. I wondered if you could drop a bag into one of the lockers for me, then text me which one, with the code?”

“Um. Yeah.” Abby is frowning at me. “I can do that. But, Luce—”

“There’s something else,” I interrupt her hurriedly. “At Papa’s villa. You know that package you got for me? With the books?”

Her frown darkens. “I fucking knew that parcel was dodgy.”

“It belongs to my friend. And he needs it, Abby. It’s—well, without it, he won’t get far.” I meet her eyes, focusing all my attention on remaining calm. “I know what this looks like. But I had to run once, and I had nobody to help me. My friend needs help even more than I did back then. The people after him won’t stop coming.”

“Wait.” She stares at me, understanding dawning in her eyes. “This friend. He wouldn’t happen to be a family member, would he?”

I allow uncertainty to enter my eyes. “I can’t say, Abby. Please.” I inject my voice with all the sincerity I can muster. “It took a lot of courage for him to reach out, and he trusts me. I can’t let him down now just because Papa and I are safe.”

Slowly I see the fear recede from Abby’s eyes. I feel guilty as hell, allowing her to believe it’s my brother I’m helping, and using Papa as my trump card. I’ve never told her in so many words that I left a younger brother behind, but she’s come close to guessing more than once. And she knows I would never run without Papa. Using both of them gives my story credibility.

What she doesn’t know is that, this time, I can’t take Papa with me.

I hate lying to her.

“If you go now, Papa will be asleep. Take this.” I hand her a small bag of Masha’s rocks, all colored in decorative paint. “Tell Anna I asked you to plant them in the garden as a surprise for Masha, then go into the bathroom to wash your hands.” Quickly I explain to her how to find the package. “Here’s what I need you to put in the locker.” I give her my old backpack, and Abby’s eyes narrow worriedly.

“That’s yours, Luce. I’ve seen you with it a thousand times—”

“And it brought me luck. Now I hope it brings my friend luck.” I hold her hand tight. “Please do this for me, Abby. And please don’t tell Dimitry. He’ll jump to the same conclusion you did, that I’m running.”

Her fingers pluck uneasily at the bag. “Are you?”

“My friend needs to be prepared for whatever comes,” I say quietly.

That’s what Darya Petrovsky learned, a long time ago.

Plan. Prepare. Think everything through a thousand times, then think it through again. Even if you don’t end up running, the plan is in place.

I’d like to think there’s a chance I won’t have to run.

But Darya Petrovsky is literally itching to get on the road. She’s replaying Lance Ryder’s words, and images of that Borovsky safe.

She’s remembering the way Roman couldn’t meet her eyes.

She’s thinking of kill orders and dead eyes.

Darya is in my head and my gut, telling me I might already have left it too late.

The airport is only ten minutes by taxi from the Russian Cultural Center, where tonight’s ball is. A ballroom is a perfect opportunity. There’s no better place to disappear than in a crowd.

“Lucia.” Abby still has her hand in mine. “Are you certain this is the only option your... friend ... has?”

Clearly, attempting to mislead her about who is running hasn’t worked.

I just hope she doesn’t say anything to Dimitry.

I think of the life growing inside me.

My little Borovsky.

I think of what it will do to the children, not to mention to Roman himself, if he decides to execute me or hand me over to the Orlovs.

It will kill any chance they have of being a family.

I won’t have that on my conscience.

This is the best thing, for all of us.

“I don’t have a choice, Abby.” I blink back tears. “The children... I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to them.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, hugging me fiercely. “Then promise me you’ll be safe, Luce.”

But I can’t promise that. It isn’t a promise I can keep.

Instead I hug her tightly, trying to silently convey all I can’t say.

Abby strokes my hair. “I know, Luce,” she whispers in my ear. “I know.”