Page 73 of Lethal Legacy

At first, I thought the deliberate shield over his identity was just an attempt to distance himself from the raids that broke up the Malaga bratva several years ago, and which local newspapers still love speculating about. But now I’m beginning to wonder if there might not be more to the story, and to Roman, than the sparse information available online.

I don’t want to care about that story. I don’t have room in my life for more bratva secrets than those I already live with. Roman’s life seemed like a familiar fortress. I justified walking into it by telling myself that there was no better place to hide than the last place the Orlovs would think to look.

But now that I’m here, living in his home, my body thrilling to his touch, my heart being melted by the children in his care, I can feel the carefully constructed boundaries of my life falling away. I can feel myself starting to care about the children far more than is wise.

Most of all, I can feel myself reaching for a home that can never be mine. A home that is probably just as dangerous as the one I fled, and seemingly full of just as many secrets.

With every minute he spent in the kitchen yesterday, I felt myself becoming part of that delicate web. Wanting to build a bridge between Roman’s gruff exterior and the children who so clearly are longing for his love. Even more dangerously, I can feel myself wanting tobethat bridge. To be the one who makes Ofelia feel safe again. Who cuddles Masha when she can’t sleep and makes her know, without ever having to question it, that she is deeply loved. I want to see Mickey’s caution fall away and his confidence grow so he can become the man I sense inside him.

The children all need Roman to be a father to them if they are going to truly grow into themselves. And for some reason, he won’t allow himself to take that role in their lives.

I should be worrying about where I’m going to find new fake passports. How I plan to hide the money I have now.

Not how to make three children feel loved and safe, or how to open the heart of a man who clearly has no desire for any such thing.

Even if he can take my body apart with devastating skill.

I need to put some distance between myself and Roman’s home. I need to get some perspective.

I shiver despite the heat of the Spanish afternoon, picking up my pace as I near the café.

Thank God for Abby. She always makes me laugh.

I’m almost at the door when I hear my name.

“Hey, Lucia.” I spin around, my heart racing. Even after six years, I still panic when a stranger calls my name.

A tall blond man with a gleaming smile and designer clothes is walking toward me, hand outstretched. I ignore it.

“I don’t know you.”

“Sure you do.” He’s English, with the posh kind of accent that suggests private schools and a lot of money. “I’m Lance Ryder, a friend of Abby’s.”

“Abby’s never mentioned you.” I keep walking toward the café.

“I just wanted to talk for a minute.”

I speed up, ignoring him.

“I saw Abby in Pillars nightclub recently. Interesting company your friend keeps.”

“Go away.” I’m nearly at the café door.

“Do you know who runs Pillars,Lucia?” His faint emphasis on my name sends a cold trickle of fear down my spine. And I don’t like where his questions are heading. Suddenly I recall Abby’s warning about the pap photographer who’s been stalking her for a quote.

“Look.” I turn around, intending to tell him to go to hell and leave my friend alone.

Instead I find myself facing an enormous camera.

Idiot, Darya.

I hold my hands up in front of my face, too late to prevent him clicking a quick rapid-fire of pictures. I spin around and run the last few steps into the café, my heart racing.

I hide by the door for a moment, peering out onto the street, but Lance Ryder seems to have disappeared as fast as he turned up. I press against the wall, waiting for my pounding pulse to calm down. By the curious looks of the customers who saw me come in, I look as flustered as I feel.

I don’t want Abby to see me like this. It will only lead to more questions I can’t answer. Not without endangering her, and that’s one thing I won’t ever do.

I wipe my face with a shaking hand and take a deep breath.I’m so tired of being afraid.

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