Chapter 43
43
ROMAN
T wo days before the wedding, Lars Andersson arrives.
“Jesus.” Abby whistles aloud, staring in open amazement from the terrace as she watches him climb out of the car below. “He’s a fucking Viking.”
I’m no connoisseur of the male form, but even I can see what she means. Lars is about as far from the typical tech geek as it’s possible to get.
“Hey,” Dimitry says in mock protest, pulling her against him. “Leave the poor man alone. No way is he equipped to handle the likes of you.”
“Oh, and you are?” Abby rolls her eyes and elbows him, but she’s smiling. I see Darya watching them covertly from a distance, her eyes glowing. If I’m honest, I’m as glad as she is to see Abby and Dimitry slowly getting back to their normal banter. Oddly, given my rather difficult history with Abby, I find myself liking her a lot more these days, especially after the loyalty and bravery she showed that night at Pillars. Gregor told me privately that if it wasn’t for her, they’d likely all be dead. She might, I suspect, have a far more colorful past than even Darya is aware of, but she’s one tough cookie under pressure.
“You’ll have to fight Mickey for Lars, Abs,” I say, grinning at her. “He’s been fangirling over Andersson since he was a kid. Probably got a poster on his wall somewhere—ouch.” I wince as Mickey lands a hefty blow to my ribs. “Well, should we go and meet your hero?”
He shakes his head. “If you call him that while I’m around, I swear to God, Roman...” He leaves the threat unfinished.
“You’ll what?” I tease him. “Beat me with your mainframe?”
“Please don’t try to use technical terms,” Mickey says in a pained voice. “I’m embarrassed for you.” We keep up the banter as we head downstairs, where I find Lars rather surprisingly, given his recent arrival, already stripped to his waist and on a sun lounger next to Ofelia. He’s sporting lurid pink shorts, a ridiculously ripped torso, and an extremely impressive tan for a Scandinavian computer geek. Alexei stands on Ofelia’s other side, clad as ever entirely in black. Apart from their identical blond, blue-eyed coloring, I can’t imagine two more different men. In direct contrast to Alexei’s perpetually grim-faced demeanor, Lars is all easy smiles and openness. To my surprise, Ofelia is actually laughing at something Lars has said, her cheeks slightly pink beneath the broad brim of her hat.
Seeing the two of them, Alexei as silent and deadly as any of the darkest killers I’ve encountered, and Lars like some kind of Norse god, on either side of my eldest daughter fills me with a dread I’m nowhere near ready to deal with.
“Andersson.” I put my hand out, and Lars leaps up from the lounger with athletic ease and a broad smile to take it.
“Good to put a face to the legend,” he says, shaking my hand enthusiastically. Then his eyes light on Darya, and his whole face splits into an even wider smile. Dropping my hand with an ADHD-speed attention shift, he turns to her. “Dars!” He wraps her in a massive hug, almost lifting her off the ground. “It’s good to see you, girl!”
“You’re enormous,” she says, laughing. “When did you get so big? Put me down, you idiot.” Their familiarity is obvious. If anyone else touched Darya like that, he’d likely lose an eye, but Lars is difficult to take offense to. He has a loose-limbed, casual affection that seems to put everyone instantly at ease.
Even me, and that’s rare.
“Your brother kept telling me we’d have a war on our hands,” he’s saying to her now, “so I thought I better get in shape in case someone took a swing at me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Alexei says. He’s almost smiling. If it wasn’t obvious before how close he and Lars are, it certainly is now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the fucker smile, let alone crack a joke.
Aware that Mickey is hanging back, I step aside and draw him forward. “I think you already know my son, Mickey.”
Lars’s eyes widen, and he drops Darya with the same sudden attention shift he dropped my hand.
“Mickey!” He leaps forward, wrapping Mickey in an even bigger bear hug than he did Darya. Mickey’s look of utter shock is so comical I have to bite my lips together to stop myself laughing.
This guy is literally impossible not to like.
“You, my friend, are an absolute rock star.” Lars stands back, his hands still gripping Mickey’s shoulders, and pins him with what I imagine he thinks is a very serious look. “We will do big things together, Mickey Stevanovsky. Very big things.”
Mickey’s eyes are shining like he’s just been told he’s flying to the fucking moon. “I have so many questions,” he begins. “You know that first trojan? What did you—”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” I step in between them. “Before you two start geeking out, I’ve got a few things I need to talk to Lars and your uncle Alexei about.” I tilt my head toward the house. “Got a minute?”
I’ll say this for Lars: the ADHD shift works both ways. He shifts to serious mode in a New York second, pulling on a shirt and heading for the house with Alexei. I’m halfway to the door when I glance back to find Mickey staring longingly after us.
“Hey,” I say nonchalantly. “What are you doing, waiting for an invitation?”
His eyes widen in shock. Then, gathering himself with remarkable alacrity, he straightens up, squares his shoulders, and strides off across the tiles, for all the world as if he never doubted I’d ask him to join us.
I glance across the pool, to where Sergei is sitting beside Rosa, a pitcher of something that looks suspiciously like a vodka cocktail on the table between them. I raise an eyebrow in silent question. He gives me a small smile and the faintest shake of his head. It’s a subtle gesture, but one I find poignant nonetheless.
There’s no hint of regret in the slight movement, no suggestion that he should join us in my study.
Sergei has lived long enough to see what most men dream of: his son take over his business. Now he is free to sit by the pool, laughing as he tosses the ball to Masha in the water, making her giggle.
All men should be so lucky.
I turn back toward the house, Mickey’s back ahead of me. He’s almost as tall as I am now and rapidly filling out. He’s already been forced to take a life to protect his family.
Sergei might have passed the torch to his son and me. But soon enough, sooner than I like to think about, it will be me handing my torch on to Mickey.
I glance over at Darya, her hand resting protectively on the soft swell of her belly.
It fills me with a quiet sense of comfort to know that whatever the future holds, our child will have the protection and love of a brother like Mickey.
I close the door of the study behind us, and the noise of the day disappears. I’ve had it renovated recently and made entirely secure. The study here is far more comfortable than the one in my office, or even my penthouse. Darya and I are planning to make the finca our chief residence, rather than the penthouse in Malaga. It’s where we’re at our happiest.
I nod at Mickey, and he pours the obligatory glasses of vodka. I raise my glass. “To family,” I say, in Russian.
The other men meet my eyes. “To family.”
I drink, watching Mickey out of the corner of my eye. He does a good job of not wincing as he swallows the vodka. I do a good job of not laughing at him.
I wait until we’re all seated on the leather armchairs around a low coffee table before sliding an envelope across to Alexei.
“I wanted to offer you a piece of Mercura,” I say without preamble. “From what Mickey tells me, you not only strengthened the entire platform, but also made sure Fedorov got nowhere near it. Mercura is secure and thriving, thanks to you both.” I tap the envelope. “This gives you a seat at the table and a decent cut of the profits. I know what it’s like pulling an organization out of a war. Your cut of Mercura should help.”
Alexei and Lars exchange a look, then Alexei takes the envelope. “Thank you,” he says quietly, putting his hand out. “You won’t regret this.”
“I know that.” I grip his hand briefly, then settle back in my armchair. “You’ve already met Mak. You’ll meet some of the other board members at the wedding.” I crack a smile. “Those are the ones I’d call friends, or at least good acquaintances. Others I prefer to keep as far away from my family as humanly possible. I’ll send you a brief on them all regardless. We don’t engage in board meetings on a regular basis, for reasons I’m sure you both understand.”
Lars smiles at that. “You mean like giving intelligence services across six continents a serious hard-on?”
I grin. “Something like that, yes.”
I turn to Alexei. “I understand that you discussed the opening of the vault with Darya and Sergei and came to agreement?”
He nods.
“Good. I propose that we set up a small team, drawn from both of our organizations, to oversee the return of the pieces inside the vault. A sort of task force, if you will.”
“That’s a good idea.” Alexei’s eyes narrow. “I don’t want that fucker Lance Ryder on it, though. He can consult, but I want him on a very short leash.”
“Agreed,” I say readily. “Frankly, the further that prick stays away from us all, the happier I’ll be.”
“After what went down with Orlov,” he says, “I’m still operating on very limited numbers. While we set up the next phase of business, I’m going to need my brigadiers close. Have you got anyone you’d trust to oversee this task force?”
I clip the end off a cigar and offer them both one, which they both accept and Mickey wisely declines. “I’d like to give it to Dimitry, with your agreement. He’s been my right hand for years now, and I trust him as a brother. It’s time he was given a piece of the business to run. This would be a good place to start.”
“I’m happy with that.” Alexei leans forward so I can light his cigar. “Dimitry seems like a good man.” The brief flare of the flame highlights the brutal scars on his face. There seems barely an inch of skin untouched.
Not for the first time, I silently thank all the gods that my daughters made it out of that sadistic fucker Orlov’s grasp.
“I assume you two have projects of your own in the works?” I glance between Lars and Alexei.
“Yep.” Lars gives me that big smile. “Actually, I was going to ask if I can borrow your man here over next summer.” He nods at Mickey, who does a masterful job of not turning excited somersaults. “We’ll be launching a platform of our own by then. It would be good exposure for him.” His grin widens. “Not to mention a hell of a lot of fun.”
I don’t need to look at Mickey to know just how much he wants this. I scratch my head and pretend to ponder the question for far longer than is necessary, given that my answer is a complete no-brainer.
No harm in making the kid squirm.
“I can spare Mickey from Mercura for a summer,” I say casually. “Up to him how he chooses to spend his time, though.”
Lars turns to him with raised eyebrows. “What do you think, kid? Want to come and see how real men work?”
Alexei snorts.
Mickey swallows hard in an effort to maintain his composure. “Yes,” he manages. “I—yes. That would be—Thank you, Mr. Andersson.” He puts his hand out, and Lars shakes it, grinning.
“This is gonna be fun. Speaking of which, I’ve got something I wanted to show you.” He’s already halfway to the door when he remembers that we’re still sitting. “If you’re finished here, that is,” he says. I wave them out, unable to hide my smile. This is, without competition, the best day of Mickey’s life to date.
Alexei waits until the door has closed behind them before speaking again. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.” Something in his voice sets my nerves tingling. His face is dark and shuttered again, any trace of his former humor gone. “I made sure Vilnus Orlov took a long time to die. I wanted to be sure I’d extricated anything that might be of use from him before I sent him to hell.”
The thought of Orlov writhing in agony is one of the most satisfying I’ve had in a very long time. And by the cold, deadly tone of Alexei’s voice, it was a job he took extremely seriously. The flat darkness in his lone eye almost makes me shiver, and I’m a man who has seen a lot of death.
“Before I gave him the final cut of the knife, Orlov let something interesting slip.” He hands me a piece of paper. “Vilnus Orlov wasn’t the only child who was given refuge in Ilyan Fedorov’s home.”
I absorb the name on the paper, trying not to let my shock show.
“I thought you should know.”
I nod slowly, not quite trusting myself to speak. To my relief, Alexei doesn’t ask questions. He stands and touches my shoulder briefly. “We’ll talk soon, brother.”
He closes the door behind him, and I’m left staring at the details on the paper, slowly piecing things together in my mind.