Chapter 14
14
ROMAN
I ride the MTT to the lab. Luis is taking Mickey and will meet us there. There’s no chance I’m leaving him out of this after our discussion yesterday.
But I need the freedom of the road to digest the past twenty-four hours. To make space for the planning that is coming.
I also know there’s no chance in hell I can trust myself to hold a civilized conversation after what Darya has just told me.
What the fuck did he do to her?
I kick the engine into gear with savage force, roaring onto the highway at enough speed to make an oncoming car swerve in alarm.
The scars on Darya’s back, carefully inked over, were already evidence enough that she’d suffered. Somehow, though, probably because the alternative was too dark to consider, I’d let myself believe they were a one-off incident, a warning of some kind.
The realization that Vilnus Orlov treated Darya as his own personal plaything, that he laid his hands on her body and threatened her in the most primal way a man can a woman, hardens the fury inside me to a lethal edge.
The thought of him doing the same, or even worse, to Ofelia, makes me want to wield that lethal edge with murderous insanity.
I’m going to tear that bastard to pieces with my bare hands.
Men like me take care of business. We keep our women safe. Even the thought of Darya being anywhere near the attack on the Orlovs makes me feel sick and ashamed.
And yet... she’s already in it. She’s already been not just near the situation, but further inside it than anyone else I know. She’s absolutely right about having knowledge that can help. And oddly, I want her input. I even want her to know about Mercura and what is at stake. I want to tell her how Mickey has, in barely a matter of weeks, become an integral part of my operation. Tell her that I can see him rising to take it over one day.
I roar out of the city and onto the mountain curves, leaning into every one, pushing my body and the bike to their limits.
After the devastation of the past days I can’t bear the thought of doing anything that will endanger the fragile connection between Darya and me. Despite the power of our connection, the bliss of losing myself inside her again, there’s still some odd tension I can’t quite put my finger on. There’s something self-contained in the way she holds herself, as if her attention is focused inward on something I can’t quite see. It frightens me, makes me wary. I pushed her away more savagely than most women would ever come back from. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve lost part of her forever, if my words that night at the ball did more damage than she’s prepared to admit.
I push the bike just a bit harder, wind whipping at my body. I know I’m racing from the thought of Ofelia and Masha in the hands of Vilnus Orlov. I know I’m racing from even more than that.
I haven’t had time to process the DNA bombshell. Not really.
There’ll be time to do that later, when the girls are safe.
That is true enough. It’s certainly rational. But I’m honest enough to know it’s also bullshit.
The fact that Ofelia is my daughter terrifies me. It shatters my being in a way I can’t allow to happen, not when I need to focus. It raises a thousand feelings of guilt and shame that I can’t face, not now, not when so much rides on my ability to remain strong.
Even if I manage to get her back safely, I can’t help but wonder if Ofelia will even want to speak to me, let alone build any kind of relationship with me. God knows I’ve let her down in every way a father can. Worse, I have no idea if I am even capable of becoming the father she needs. The one she deserves.
Fuck. If the MTT goes any faster, it will fly off the edge of the mountain.
That doesn’t stop me from trying.
I arrive at the lab to intense activity and Mickey frowning at me over his screen.
“Darya should be here.”
“Next time.” I force a smile. “She’s exhausted. She needs to rest.” He subsides, but the look in his eyes tells me it’s a temporary reprieve. The days of Mickey taking orders without question are definitely gone.
“Pavel has set the call up in the secure room.” Dimitry nods at a door leading off the main floor. “Five minutes.”
I make a coffee and head in, closing the door behind me. I don’t want any witnesses to this call. Not yet.
The line lights up right on time, and I answer immediately.
“You rang?” Mak’s upper-crust British drawl might be responding to an invitation to lawn bowls. Fucker always sounds like he’s just stepped out of Buckingham Palace.
“I need that favor.” I launch in without preamble. “Vilnus Orlov has kidnapped my daughters. He’s holding them in a compound in Miami, the same one that used to belong to the Petrovskys.”
“Ah.” In the brief pause that follows, I can hear wind roaring and a strangled yowl that sounds like Chewbacca from Star Wars.
“Jesus, Mak. Where the fuck are you?”
“Somewhere I’m not supposed to be,” he says cheerfully. “Atop a sand dune, using a camel to shelter from a wind storm. Been a little occupied, or I’d have gotten back to you earlier. On the upside, I can safely assure you there’s nobody in earshot.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It’s been a riot. But the cocktail choices are limited, and I do like a good martini. Tomorrow too late for me to get to you?”
“Yesterday was too late. But I’ll take what I can get.”
“Done.” Mak pauses, but doesn’t hang up. “If you’ll allow me to give you some unwanted advice?”
I grunt assent.
“Hold off on throwing anything at that compound until we’ve had a chance to talk. I’ve learned a thing or two about Orlov over the years. Wouldn’t like to see your girls caught up in anything more unpleasant than they already are.”
“Be here tomorrow, and I won’t have to.”
“I’ll see you then.” He ends the call. I sit in silence for a few moments, aware that I’ve just taken a step into very murky territory. Mak might talk about owing me a favor, but the truth is that after this I will be in his debt. Deploying his mercenaries to fight North African coups is one thing. Using them to launch an attack in downtown Miami is quite another. Closely as he might work with the CIA and MI6, my favor will put Mak on the radar of domestic authorities, something I know he’s diligent about avoiding.
Then again, I have handed Mak a slice of Mercura, and that is no inconsiderable gift.
Beyond all that, I’ll pawn my own soul and count it a bargain if it means I get my girls back.
My phone lights up with a message from Dimitry: Get out here as soon as you finish that call.
He’s right outside the door when I open it. “You’re not going to fucking guess who I just spoke to.”
I brace myself. “Who?”
“Nikolai.” He nods slowly, wry-mouthed at my expression. “He wouldn’t pass on a message, said he wants to talk to you.”
My fists clench involuntarily. “And did he say where this conversation might take place? Because as far as I’m aware, the little mudak hasn’t been seen since the night of the explosion. Which I assume means he’s still carrying Inger’s fucking handbag. Which in turn means that he’s working with the goddamn Orlovs.”
My hands are shaking by the time I’ve finished speaking. Nikolai is the one part of this I haven’t given a second’s thought to. Family or not, Nikolai is already a dead man.
The only question is when and how he dies.
Dimitry shakes his head. “Apparently he’s at Pillars. Abby found him, bound and gagged and dumped in the alleyway outside. She said he’s pretty banged up.”
I snort. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t help them.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Dimitry looks as pissed off as I feel.
“Take two cars and some good men to Pillars and pick the bastard up. He can recover from his injuries in that warehouse we used to get shipments in. Unless he’s got something useful to say, I’ll get to him when I’m good and fucking ready.”
“Copy that.” He turns away then halts, turning slowly back. “Um. Abby,” he says, color stealing up his neck. “She wants to know—”
“Darya’s fine. She’s at home, resting. She doesn’t have a phone yet.”
And I’m not sure I want her having visitors yet, at least not ones who actively helped her escape.
“Sure.” Reading the warning in my eyes, Dimitry beats a hasty retreat. I get the feeling he’s having a less than peaceful time of it on the domestic front, not that I give a fuck.
Abby’s fortunate she has Dimitry protecting her. I might not have been quite so forgiving otherwise, no matter how many times he assures me that she was “only trying to help.” Abby, in my opinion, is altogether too smart for her own good. She also seems to be strangely unconcerned about criminals, be they Russian or Colombian. Most civilians, in my experience, either run at the first sight of our business or have an unhealthy fascination with it that is equally dangerous. Abby doesn’t appear to fall into either category, which is unusual at best and suspicious at worst. But she’s also Dimitry’s woman—and therefore his problem.
“Pavel.” I come back into the main operations room, and the tech kids cast me nervous glances, all except Pavel, who is white-faced and hunched over his screen. “Where are we with the camera feed in the compound?”
“Mickey.” Pavel keeps scrolling as he points three seats down, to where an equally intent Mickey is staring at another screen.
“Okay, then. Mickey.” I keep a lid on my frustration with no small effort. “You want to tell me where you’re at?” I know Pavel is going as hard as he can, and I know he cares about finding the girls as much as I do. Unfortunately, I also know this entire mess is my fault. Pavel and the entire team have been pulled off Mercura right when the project needs them most. To their credit, not one of them has complained. Or at least not to me.
Then again, complaining would not be a safe decision right now, something they all undoubtedly know well enough.
“See for yourself.” Mickey moves slightly aside so I can look over his shoulder.
“Holy shit!” I stare at the crystal clear color feed, my spirits lifting marginally. “You’re in?”
“It looks like it, doesn’t it.” He doesn’t sound remotely triumphant. “It’s a proper live feed, according to all the data. There’s only one problem: there’s no sign at all of the girls.” He flicks through the feeds, all of which show various angles throughout the compound. The rooms are vast and opulent enough to host the haughtiest of Europe’s royal families.
Christ, no wonder Darya knew how to handle the matrons at the ball. Despite my loathing of Sergei Petrovsky, it’s hard not to be impressed. The compound is as lavish as any imperial Russian palace and decorated with superb taste.
But no matter how many bedroom suites Mickey zooms in on, there isn’t a single trace of the girls. And while there is a clear and present security detail, it’s only about half of what I’d have in Orlov’s place if I were expecting an attack.
I can’t help but think of Darya’s warning: “He will already have removed the girls from the compound, or he’ll have hidden them someplace you don’t know about.”
“What about the basement?” I lean in, scrutinizing the screens. “There’s an entire underground chamber, where the vault is. Is there a feed showing that part of the compound?”
Mickey glances sideways at me, then hits another key. My gut lurches as the ornate wall of my father’s vault comes into view. He zooms in, showing the intricate iron entwined over the door.
I notice a cleverly designed hatch that I immediately recognize as the hiding place for the bio sensor pad, amid a deceptive tangle of design that makes my fingers itch to explore. As devastating as our current predicament is, I can’t help but admire the genius structural plan and artistry on the vast door. There’s no way the Orlovs could blow that vault open, not without collapsing the entire underground structure. And not even the most sophisticated safe cracker would be able to untangle the mass of false leads my father has built into the door. The vault might contain a fortune, but the door itself is a work of art to rival anything behind it.
I clear my throat, uncomfortably aware that I’ve been silent for long enough to be remarkable. “Show me the rest of the feed.”
Mickey tilts his head. “Not a lot to see.” He flicks through the cameras, showing one bare room after another. The doors hang open. The basement rooms appear to have been unused for years. “This feed was bloody tough to get into,” he adds. “They’ve wired it outside the main system, and it took ages to hack. They’re clearly not keen on anyone seeing what’s down there.”
I frown, staring at the screen. “But no sign of the girls?”
Mickey shakes his head in frustration. “No,” he says shortly. “Unless there are rooms hidden from view.” He glances at me. “Is this all there is of the underground bunker?”
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know, Mickey. I was just a kid when my father took me there, and it was years ago. I don’t know what’s down there these days.”
I already know what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth: “Darya would know.”
Yes, Darya would know.
But bringing her here means bringing her into Mercura, into the entirety of my operation. My men won’t like it.
Tough.
The truth is that this is long overdue.
I look around to find most of the team casting me surreptitious glances. “Pavel,” I snap.
“Boss?” His head spins around so fast it almost comes off his shoulders.
“I’m going to bring Darya here later today. Set up a private room. I don’t want her in the middle of the operations center.”
“Boss.” He nods. “Um—are you going to tell her about—”
“That’s not really any of your business, Pavel, now is it?” I glare at him until he gulps and shakes his head.
My curt tone is unfair. Pavel’s question is entirely valid. So close to the hard launch, security around Mercura has never been tighter, and Pavel is responsible for maintaining the high levels of secrecy.
But the truth is, I don’t like the answer any more than he does.
I need Darya’s input around the compound and the Orlovs. To do that I need her to see what I am seeing, so she can explain it to me, and that means bringing her here.
The problem is that even if I want her input, I don’t want her anywhere near business. I want her home, and safe. Even the thought of placing her in danger, after all we’ve lost, makes me feel physically sick.
“Well, I think that the sooner she’s here, the better.” Mickey speaks without looking at either of us. “She’s the only one who’s actually been inside this place.” He gives me a sideways look. “Unless I count Sergei, but it doesn’t seem like you’re keen on involving him. And like you said, you were too young to remember.”
I nod wordlessly, trying not to think of that long-ago night, of my father rolling me in a blanket and thrusting me in the back of the car when Mama was asleep.
“We’ve got something to do, you and I,” he whispered in my ear. “A job only you can do, Roman.” That is about all I recall of that night, apart from the odd, rubbery feel of the stuff Papa used to take an impression of my fingertips. But even that memory is enough to throw me back there, to the clapboard house where my parents raised me.
Why were we living there , I wonder, while Sergei Petrovsky was living in a goddamn palace?
Why did my father care so much about guarding Sergei’s treasures?
Even to the point where it meant losing his wife—and endangering me?
I swallow hard on the bitterness of old hurt. It has no place in the midst of this crisis. I won’t allow old wounds to interfere with whatever help Sergei may be able to offer. When it comes to the compound, to getting my girls back, I’ll kiss the old bastard’s ring and genuflect a thousand times if it will help.
Even if all I want to do is thrust a knife through Sergei Petrovsky’s lying, cowardly heart.
What pisses me off the most is that part of me had begun to actually like the prick. Had even, if I’m honest, found a certain peace in his company, an almost familial comfort.
Well, that’s fucking gone.
Sergei Petrovsky is a source of information now, nothing more. And once I have that information?
I can’t kill him. It would upset Darya, and I won’t ever do anything that might hurt her again. But if that bastard thought he was closely guarded before, he’d better get used to cavity searches and bars on the window now. He’ll live out his days with my men watching his every goddamn bowel movement, and my children nowhere near him.