Page 111 of Lethal Legacy

“I do.” There’s no point lying now. “But I would rather not tell you what it is. Not because I don’t trust you.” I look between them as steadily as I can, though my hands are shaking and my heart is thudding. “Because our names are a secret that is dangerous for anyone to know.”

“Does Roman know about this?” Ofelia’s voice is brittle as ice.

“Yes.” I nod at the phone in Mickey’s hand. “You can call him, if you like. I’m very sorry that I’ve made you feel unsafe or worried. But I would never, ever want you to keep secrets from your godfather. Call him,” I say again, this time more emphatically. There’s no point in any more subterfuge. Roman is going to be furious; but then again, this moment was always going to come.

In a way, it’s simply a relief.

“Syn.” We all turn to face Papa. He is sitting stiffly upright in his chair, looking directly at Mickey, whom he has just addressed asson.

He holds out his hand. “Govorit’ pravdu.”Speak the truth.Despite his gravelly voice and slight hesitation, there’s no doubting the command in his words. “Eto pravil’no.”It is the right thing.

My heart lurches. How many times have I heard my father say that? To men, when a difficult job must be done. To my brother and me, on the night we left Miami. Simple words, but ones that carry so many memories they bring tears to my eyes even now. I blink hard, willing myself not to lose composure in front of the children.

Mickey hesitates, staring at my father’s hand. He glances at me, then at his sister. Whatever Mickey sees in her face is enough to make his mind up. Stepping forward, he grips Papa’s hand. “I must call my godfather.” His eyes are dark and grave, his Russian far more formal than any I’ve heard, and he meets my father’s eyes steadily.

Papa nods as seriously as if Mickey was one of hisvor. “Konechno,” he says simply.Of course.

Mickey nods, then releases Papa’s hand. His eyes meet mine briefly, then cut guiltily away. “Mickey.” I start forward, but Papa frowns at me, and I stop. “It’s fine, Mickey,” I say quietly. “It’s the right thing to do, as Papa said.”

“Papa?” Masha pipes up, her lovely blue eyes staring at my father curiously. “Your papa?”

“Yes, darling.” I kneel beside her, gently removing the unfortunate Potato from her fist and placing the gecko in a nearby ceramic garden pot. “This is my papa.”

Masha goes closer to Papa and touches his old, wrinkled hand tentatively, as if doing something very brave, then looks up at him. He smiles at her and turns his hand over so she can inspect his palm. She does so, tracing the old lines on it with fascination, then, without a moment’s hesitation, climbs up his long legs to sit on his lap. “My papa is dead,” she says, staring at him solemnly.

Papa nods gravely. “Mne zhal’,” he says.I’m sorry.

Masha regards him for a moment, then suddenly beams again. “Can we play with Potato?”

My father laughs softly, nodding toward the ceramic pot. Clambering down, Masha runs over and pulls the unfortunate gecko out, then brings it over and climbs back onto Papa’s lap.

I turn to Ofelia. “I’m sorry,” I say softly, under cover of their laughter. “Truly. I didn’t want to keep secrets from you.”

“Whatever.” She shrugs, her face shuttered and cold. “I don’t care.”

Her words cut like a knife, but I have little time to think of anything to say, because Mickey turns back to us, his eyes dark. “Roman is on his way,” he says quietly.

33

ROMAN

“Uncle Roman.” It’s extremely rare for Mickey to call me. Let alone address me as “Uncle.” I frown out the plate glass window of my Hale office, my entire attention on the phone in my hand.

“What is it?” Unease makes me sound harsher than I might have liked. “Mickey?”

“Lucia brought us to the villa where Babushka Vera stayed. You need to come, Uncle Roman. The man here is Russian.”

A thousand questions run through my head, but every one of them is superseded by the fear I can hear behind Mickey’s unusually forceful tone.

“You’re safe, Mickey. I know the man there.” I mentally cross my fingers at the lie, all the while running through the security measures I’ve taken in case I might be mistaken.

No.Even if I don’t know the identity of the man Lucia is caring for, he is cocooned in security I have provided. The children are safe at the villa, that much I can be certain of.

“The security guards at the villa are mine, Mickey. Do nothing. Just wait, and I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Uncle Roman.”

“Yes?” I’m already stepping into the elevator.

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