Page 107 of Lethal Legacy

“Hey.” Ofelia points to a bearded man onscreen. “We know him.”

“That’s Pavel!” Mickey’s eyes light up. “He was a good friend of Papa’s. He gave me my first laptop. He’s like, the absolute best at coding. Hey, Ofelia, do you remember when he made all the lights in our house go on and off?” The two go off into fits of laughter. It’s the most wonderful sound I’ve heard in a long time, and I make minor adjustments to Masha’s costume as the older two tell their younger sister the story, talking over each other in their eagerness. “Pavel’ssocool.” Mickey’s eyes shine. “He used to teach me loads. It’s been ages since he’s come over,” he adds wistfully.

“Well, maybe we could ask Roman if Pavel can come here for lunch one day,” I suggest.

“That would actually be awesome.” He gives me a smile that is by far the most enthusiastic I’ve seen from him.

“If Roman agrees,” mutters Ofelia, her eyes sliding to mine then away. It’s going to take more than promises to melt the protective barrier of ice around her heart when it comes to Roman.

“Well, let’s see if you can get through the procession first. If you’re stuck this afternoon, we can call him. Otherwise, we’ll talk to Roman about it after the procession. How’s that?” Mickey nods emphatically, Ofelia with rather less conviction. Masha is still busy admiring her cactus outfit in the mirror.

“Okay.” I sit back and admire my handiwork. “Let’s go and try this masterpiece out.”

I’m sitting in the vast auditorium adjacent to the Russian Orthodox Church, surrounded by a chaos of parents, costumes, and children, when my phone buzzes.

It’s from Papa’s nurse, Carlos, who I’ve come to like a lot.

Juan is anxious today. Is a visit possible? I think it would calm him.

I tense, staring at the screen. My first thought is that he’s been upset by the horrible pap photographer who accosted me outside the restaurant, but I dismiss that almost instantly. Papa’s villa is set back from the road, concealed behind high walls and abundant foliage. Anybody trying to get a picture would only manage a blurred shot at best. Besides, after our fateful discussion about the Orlovs, Roman has posted a formidable security detail at the villa. I won’t pretend I’m not grateful for his caution, even if he didn’t discuss it with me first.

I mentally run a checklist of what might be upsetting my father.Is his anxiety over the contact in Argentina?

Part of me wants to text Papa immediately. I know he will never message me himself, no matter what has happened. He doesn’t trust phones, even the burner phones I get him. There’s no point asking him what’s wrong.

I tap the phone against my leg, trying to think. I’m not sure whether I should tell Roman or keep it to myself. Papa is surrounded by security. And regardless of what Roman now knows, bringing him face-to-face with Papa is an absolute no-go zone. There’s no way the two of them won’t instantly know what the other is. Part of me knows that the meeting is probably inevitable, especially now that Roman knows who is hunting us. But I’d rather avoid it as long as possible, not least because I shudder to even imagine Papa’s reaction once he realizes exactly who has hired me.

There’s also a good chance I’m simply panicking over nothing.

The dress rehearsal is in full swing. There’s no way I can leave, especially given that the villa is almost an hour by car from here. I won’t have any free time this afternoon or evening, since the procession is tomorrow.

There’s also no way I’m going to rest easy until I know what’s bothering Papa.

Damn it.

I make a snap decision and text Carlos.

Will call in on the way home in an hour. Children with me. Would rather they don’tmeet Juan. Is there anyone who can watch them for a short time?

Carlos answers immediately.No problem.

I try to put my worries out of mind for the rest of the rehearsal. Ofelia and I stand beside Masha’s float and mimic her teacher to help her remember the movements for her cactus dance. Mickey has his head down for the entire thing, his face fixed in fierce concentration as he manipulates three screens at once.

“Mickey is incredibly talented,” his teacher says when I compliment her on the production. “He knows more about the technical staging than our so-called experts.” She gives me an approving smile. “You’re clearly doing good things. I’ve never seen the children so happy.”

“Oh, no,” I say hastily. “This is all Ofelia’s doing. She’s the one who got her siblings involved and made sure they came to rehearsals.”

The teacher raises her eyebrows. “Actually, it’s Ofelia I was talking about. Look.” She nods at Ofelia, who is currently adjusting Masha’s costume. “She’s actually laughing. I don’t think I’ve seen that girl smile once since she came here. Until you showed up.” She gives me a kind smile. “You’re clearly doing a great job. Keep it up.”

Her comments leave me with an odd lump in my throat. Being told that the children look happy makes warmth steal through my body like a drug, lulling me further into the dangerous state of comfort and safety I continually remind myself isn’t permanent. But even my stern self-talk melts away when all three come rushing over at the rehearsal’s conclusion, eyes shining.

“I done all my dance,” Masha says importantly, taking one of my hands and skipping a step.

“She got all the movements right.” Ofelia is smiling, hanging on to Masha’s other hand.

I squeeze Masha’s hand but aim my comments at Ofelia. “You did brilliantly to teach her all that. She was watching you all the way through.”

She colors with pleasure. “The costume you made is perfect,” she says, giving me a rather shy glance.

---