Chapter 39
39
ROMAN
M y limo pulls up to Vera’s door amid a watery London morning, and I come out of it at a run.
“Where is she? Where’s Darya?”
“She’s upstairs.” Mak’s man eyes the blood seeping through the bandage on my shoulder. “Sir, perhaps you should be in the hospital—”
“Doc’s already patched me up.” I put my hand out, forcing myself to pause. “Thank you for making it here in time.”
“It was a bit too close for comfort.” The man shakes his head. “I’m sorry about your man Bryce. He did a damned good job holding Fedorov’s men off. Realized what was going on and communicated to us before he went down. If it hadn’t been for the work he and the rest of the team did, we wouldn’t have had a chance. Do you have any news on his condition?”
“Not yet.” I’m already past him, heading for the house, my eyes on the upstairs floor, where I can see a silhouette moving behind the curtains. “They were operating on him when I left the hospital.”
I leave the guard outside and take the stairs two at a time, calling her name as I go. Darya turns as I burst through the door, crossing the floor swiftly so we collide in the center. I wrap my good arm around her, feeling the rapid thud of her heart like a triumph against my own, inhaling the sweet scent of her like a benediction.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against her hair. “I’m so goddamn sorry, Darya.”
She turns her head from side to side under my lips. “You’re alive,” she whispers. “The children are alive. That’s all that matters.” She tilts her head back. “Where are they?”
“A private hospital not far from here. I came to bring you there myself. Ofelia’s leg is broken, but they can’t operate until the swelling goes down a little, so we’ll be staying here in London until that is done. Masha is okay, physically at least. Mickey’s with her.”
“Take me to them.” Darya is already turning toward the stairs. “My bag is packed and waiting by the front door.” She glances back and then frowns, taking in my sling properly. “You’re hurt? Why didn’t anyone tell me that?”
“I’m fine.” I nod at the door. “Got patched up on the plane. Let’s get to the hospital.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Then the hospital is the best place for me. Either way, let’s go.” I usher her down the stairs and into the waiting limo.
“There’s a doctor in with Vera,” Anton tells me in a low voice as I pause at the limo door. “She’s asleep now, but it took a long time to calm her down.”
I nod. Vera has not only lost both of her sons, but she was also forced to shoot Inger, the only member of the family she ever showed any real affection toward. I feel sympathy for her, but no guilt.
Sooner or later, I will have to tell both Vera and Yuri that it was my bullet that took Nikolai’s life.
But for now, their grief is the least of my troubles.
“My mother?”
“At the hospital with Sergei.”
Interesting. I put aside the question of why my mother accompanied that prick to the hospital, for now, at least.
“He’s a tough old bastard.” The guard smiles admiringly. “Took a hell of a beating before he managed to escape his ties. Gave Fedorov as good as he’d gotten, then killed him with his own pistol, despite having several broken bones. If Inger hadn’t turned up and knocked Sergei out from behind, I reckon he’d have taken on the rest of them single-handed.”
“Hmph.” I pull the door closed without answering. I might have made my peace with Alexei, but I’m still on the fence when it comes to his father.
“Is there any word about Abby?” Darya looks up at me worriedly.
“Your friend is remarkably bulletproof.” I pull her close against my side. “Fedorov hit Pillars hard. We lost half a dozen good men. It might have been all of them, if Abby and Gregor hadn’t managed to get the rest of the staff out of there. According to Gregor, Abby took one look at the men coming through the door and started throwing Molotov cocktails.”
Darya gives a choked laugh. “That sounds like Abby. Where is she now?”
“She and Gregor got the staff safely to our dockside warehouse, but they didn’t have their phones with them. Some of our men found them while I was on the plane. Dimitry is on his way to Malaga now with a full crew. They’ll tidy up any loose ends.”
“This is all my fault.” She covers her eyes with one hand. “I should have made sure Abby was kept away from all this.”
“She knows what kind of life she’s in, Darya.” I gently pull her hand away and turn her head so she’s looking at me. “This isn’t your fault, any more than it’s Abby’s first rodeo.” I shake my head. “That girl could find trouble in the middle of a church choir.”
“But she’s okay?” Darya presses.
“She’s fine, though she might not be after Dimitry gets hold of her. His nerves are shot to hell.” I pour a Scotch from the limo bar and surreptitiously swallow two pills with it, closing my eyes briefly at the satisfying burn in my throat as the spirit slips down. I caught a few hours of sleep on the plane after Ofelia had dropped off, Masha curled into a little ball against my chest. The doctor worked around her sleeping form to sew me up. He took one look at my face and knew there was no point arguing.
Mickey spent the entire flight holding Ofelia’s hand, his face pale and set. He slept barely any more than I did.
“What about Inger?” Darya searches my face. “Have you told the children their mother is dead?”
I nod. “I thought it was better they knew immediately. I didn’t tell them all of it, though, just that she died in the attack.”
She nods. “Good.”
I don’t add that I didn’t tell them more because I don’t entirely understand it all yet myself. There’s something I’m not quite seeing, like sensing a figure in a darkened room.
Darya is already pulling the limo door open before we halt outside the hospital. It’s a discreet building set between Harley Street and Marylebone and feels more like a boutique hotel than a hospital. I’ve booked two entire floors and paid for more than just care. Bryce’s bullet wounds won’t be disclosed to the authorities, any more than Sergei’s bruises will. Nor will there be any record of us having stayed here.
We take the elevator to the children’s floor. “Ofelia has had stitches in her face,” I warn Darya. “A wound that happened in the blast.”
She shakes her head, her mouth tight with pain and anger. “I hate that they had to go through this.”
I squeeze her hand. “Me, too.”
We step out. There’s more security up here than for a royal fucking birth. Until every part of this thing is sewn up, nobody is getting anywhere near my family.
I push open the door to Ofelia’s suite. Masha is curled up on the bed next to her sister, Mickey sitting in the chair beside them.
“Oh!” Darya rushes forward, and Masha leaps up from the bed and into her arms, burying her face in Darya’s shoulder. Ofelia opens her eyes, then closes them in relief as Darya leans over, hugging her around Masha’s body. Darya turns her head to kiss Mickey’s cheek, and he settles on Ofelia’s other side. All four of them stay on the bed for a long time, a tangled mess of limbs and love, and while I watch them, my whole world here in one room, all my pain is gone.
It’s sometime later, after the doctors have done with their fussing, that I finally let the children tell Darya the entire story.
The truth is that what I really want is to take her upstairs to the suite I’ve reserved for our sole use and lose myself in her naked body. But I know Darya, and I know there’s no chance in hell she will relax until she knows it all.
Instead I have to content myself with sipping neat Scotch, staring at Darya’s cashmere-clad curves perched on the edge of Ofelia’s bed, and mentally plotting how fast I can get the storytelling done and get down to what I actually need right now.
Which is Darya, naked and moaning under my hands, while I’m sunk so deep inside her that it erases the nightmare we’ve all just lived through.
The fine-knit dress she’s wearing doesn’t help. Demure and elegant it might be, falling to just above her knees and long black boots, but nothing can disguise the length of silk stocking–clad thigh when she crosses her legs or the swell of her delectable breasts that are just asking to be freed.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair and try to focus on the conversation.
When Mickey gets to the part about Poppins , Darya’s hands fly to her mouth. “Oh!”
I have to look away from the sheen of tears in her eyes. Even hearing it a second time still puts an awkward lump in my throat.
She was the first one they thought of. When their lives were in danger, it was Darya the girls remembered.
I touch her hand, and she grips mine tightly.
My family. This is my family.
“Anyway.” Mickey picks up the story again. “Lars told us the only reason Alexei was still with the Orlovs was so he could protect Mer—Roman’s project.” He hastily corrects himself. “Apparently Nikolai and Inger had found out enough to be dangerous. Alexei was worried they’d take what they knew to Fedorov, who had the resources to be a real threat, so instead he undercut them by telling Orlov, who went to Inger and Nikolai himself. Then Alexei—or rather, Lars—spent the next few months sabotaging Orlov’s efforts to hack the project. Alexei’s been, like, a double agent for months now. Lars said Alexei didn’t have enough men to overthrow Orlov and Fedorov. That’s why he started trying to contact us via the trojans.”
“He could have just picked up a phone,” I mutter.
“No.” Darya shakes her head. “He couldn’t. Lance Ryder was watching his every move. Rosa told me that Andersson was using Lance to gain information about you. If Andersson had started reaching out to us, all of Ryder’s suspicions would have been proved correct. He could easily have wound up exposing Alexei, or any of us, to Fedorov or the Orlovs. Lars is my brother’s closest friend. He wouldn’t risk doing anything to hurt him.” She gives me a small smile. “I guess my brother is just as paranoid about safety as you.”
Mickey snorts. Even Ofelia smiles.
“Tell her what was inside the box,” I say to Mickey.
“This.” He shows Darya a photo on his phone.
She gasps, her eyes widening. “The other key to the vault?” She frowns. “But I thought Alexei gave it to you in Miami?”
“Oh, so did I.” I’m well aware of the snark in my voice. I know Petrovsky hid that key to protect his sister. I can even admire the balls it must have taken him to look Orlov right in the eye and lie, especially given what the bastard put him through.
But when I think of what might have happened to my daughters if Petrovsky had misjudged the situation, my blood runs cold.
“It’s the original.” Mickey ignores my aside. “Alexei had a copy made several years ago, with enough flaws to make it useless. He had Lars Andersson hide the original in the same bank where Roman’s was. Alexei had been trying to tell me where to find it all this time. If I’d just worked it out earlier,” he says, scowling, “we would have known he was trying to help us. We could have done the whole plan differently.”
“Alexei was always on our side,” Ofelia says quietly. “I told you he was,” she adds, shooting me a rather hard look.
“Lexi our friend,” Masha adds proudly.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “A friend who ensured I couldn’t open that vault, even if my children’s lives depended on it.” My voice comes out harder than I intend it to, but I also don’t feel inclined to hide my dislike for Alexei’s reckless tactics. “He risked all our lives. Surely someone with his level of tech capability could have found a way to warn us.”
Ofelia shoots me a reproachful look. “Alexei was just trying to protect Darya. And us, Roman. If that man had managed to open the vault, then they wouldn’t have needed us anymore.” She shudders, and the light fades from her eyes. “They were going to kill us,” she says dully. “I know they were.” Her hand goes up to the livid mark on her right cheek, then falls away again. Her eyes slide away from mine.
Darya takes Ofelia’s hand, squeezing it, but even then she doesn’t look up.
If I’m honest, it’s this that makes me want to murder Alexei Petrovsky. I’ve seen Ofelia do this countless times since we rescued her. Avoid my gaze, withdraw into herself, when she talks about what happened in that compound. Whatever she says, whatever assurances she gives me, she suffered in that place in ways she isn’t telling me about. It’s a dangerous storm inside her, one that needs to break before it breaks her.
My hands clench into fists. Ally or not, Alexei Petrovsky is damn lucky he never actually used his knife on my daughter. By the way she shrinks into herself every time she speaks about the experience, the fear of it alone will give her nightmares for the rest of her life.
Not to mention that there’s no doubt in my mind that Alexei is ruthless enough to use his knife, if he thought he had no choice. Even after his sister was nearly killed by Fedorov, and with his father in the hospital, he’s currently fighting a war for his home, torturing Vilnus Orlov to death, or both.
The fact that in his position I would be doing exactly the same thing is a rather uncomfortable fact that I choose not to examine too closely.
I shift restlessly, avoiding Darya’s far too penetrating gaze.
“Anyway,” I take up Mickey’s story, forcing myself to smile at her, “it seems your brother is currently in the process of eliminating the last remnants of the Fedorov/Orlov alliance. I’ve loaned him some of our men to help with the cleanup.”
“That was kind of you.” Darya’s eyes are soft.
I squirm. “It’s good business sense, is what it is. The last thing we need are wild cards from that clan showing up without an invitation. We’ll work with Alexei until I’m damned certain the whole lot are finished. Now.” I lean forward, rubbing my hands together. “Let’s talk about something other than trojans, keys, and bad men with guns. Like where we’re going as soon as we can leave London.”
To my surprise, it’s Ofelia who answers.
“I want to go to Finca de Carrascas,” she says quietly. “I just want to sit in the sun there.”
“Pool!” Masha jumps up and down on the bed, her eyes shining.
“It’s close to the lab,” Mickey adds.
“Can we?” Darya turns to me, smiling. “It’s so much homier than the penthouse. I can’t imagine a better place for Ofelia to recover.” Her eyes soften. “And Papa loves it there.”
Her anger toward Sergei has gone entirely, after nearly losing him. And from what she’s explained to me, I have a better understanding of Sergei’s, and my mother’s, choices. There’ll be time to talk properly. Right now, however, I’m far more worried about getting rid of the shadows in my eldest daughter’s eyes.
“We’ll have to wait a few days.” I smile at Ofelia. “But yes, I think that’s a good idea.” Suddenly, I have an even better one. I put my mouth close to Darya’s ear and whisper something that makes her turn fiery red.
Ofelia rolls her eyes with some semblance of her normal insouciance. “Oh my God. Seriously, you two?”
“Ha. It’s not what you think.” I take a slightly evil satisfaction at the worried look spreading across Darya’s face.
“Roman,” she says hesitantly, “I’m not sure now is the time—”
“I’d say it’s long past time.” I pull her close, pressing my lips to her temple, then turn to face all three of my children. “I just said that I think the finca would be a good place for a wedding. Especially if all the family are going to be there.”
The room is suddenly completely silent. For a horrible moment I think I’ve completely misjudged it.
Christ, Roman. Never make big decisions on the back of jet lag, two bullet holes, and half a bottle of Scotch.
Then all three of my children erupt at once.
“Wedding!” Masha is bouncing up and down on the bed excitedly. “Papa and Darya getting married!”
“Married,” Ofelia breathes, her eyes shining in a way that makes my heart twist.
“Ha,” Mickey says, smirking at us both. “About time.”
Darya gives him a warning look, but it’s too late. Ofelia looks between us, her eyes narrowing. “What’s the rush?” she asks bluntly.
“Yeah, Roman.” Mickey folds his arms and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Why don’t you tell my sisters what the rush is?”
I shoot him my best death stare, but his grin just gets even more smart-assed.
“Actually, shouldn’t you be talking to Darya’s father?” Mickey’s voice starts to break with laughter. “Then again, you might want to make sure he doesn’t have a gun before you have that conversation—”
I make a grab for the little prick, and he leaps off the bed, laughing. We face each other across Ofelia, Mickey clearly prepared to dodge if I make another lunge for him.
“People,” Ofelia says, holding up her hands. “Broken leg here.”
“Be careful,” Darya says, frowning at us both from the end of the bed. She takes a deep breath, fire-engine red as she glances at me. “Um, Ofelia. The thing is...”
“She’s pregnant.” Mickey says it triumphantly, cutting her short. “Darya and Roman are going to have a baby.”
There’s a second moment of stunned silence, during which I wait with more trepidation than I could have imagined for Ofelia’s response.
“You’re going to be married.” Her eyes move between Darya and me, her expression frozen. “And have a baby. We’re going to have a little brother or sister.”
“Yes.” Darya is watching Ofelia worriedly. “But nothing will change, darling, I promise—”
Then, like the Spanish sun after London rain, the full beauty of Ofelia’s smile bursts into life.
“You’ll never leave.” Her voice chokes. For the first time since she left that horrible room in the basement of the compound, tears start to well up in her eyes. “You’re going to stay with us forever.”
Darya’s face crumples, and she pushes me aside, wrapping her arms around my daughter and burying Ofelia’s head into her shoulder. “Of course I won’t ever leave,” she says, her voice muffled in Ofelia’s hair. “I’ll always be here, darling. No matter what. I promise you that.”
I rest my hand on Ofelia’s shoulder briefly, just long enough for her to know I’m there. But then Darya gives me a fierce look, and I take the hint.
I pluck Masha off the bed and nod to Mickey.
Ofelia manages to hold on until we file out of the room.
I hear her first choked sob as the door swings closed. Then, through the narrow door window, I see her slump in Darya’s arms, shuddering with the force of her tears.
I sigh with relief.
The storm has finally broken.