Page 114 of Lethal Legacy

When they offer me slight nods, I take my chance and usher them inside. I still haven’t spoken to either Lucia or the man in the wheelchair. They come second today.

I close the terrace door and wait until we’re all seated on the U-shaped sofa. Masha, as ever, is cushioned between her siblings. I face them across the coffee table, hands clasped between my knees. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Lucia’s identity,” I say without preamble. “That was a mistake, and very wrong of me. I never meant for you to feel afraid.”

“Who is she?” Ofelia asks the question with icy brevity. “Your girlfriend?”

Oh, fuck.

Of all the hard questions I was expecting, addressing the exact nature of my relationship with Lucia isn’t one of them. I do a speedy calculation of what the kids might or might not have observed, while simultaneously being extremely aware of Ofelia’s razor-sharp scrutiny.

In the end, I decide to go with as close to honesty as I can get.

“She wasn’t my girlfriend when she came to stay with us.” I meet her eyes steadily. “She was a friend who was in trouble and needed somewhere safe to stay. I like Lucia a lot, and I trust her. I thought you might like her too.”

“I like her,” offers Masha chirpily. “Like Poppins.”

I smile at her. “I’m glad you like her, Masha.”

“Yes,” Ofelia interrupts impatiently, “but Lucia is just a fake name. If she’s such a goodfriendof yours,” she says, putting enough emphasis on the wordfriendto make it clear she hasn’t let that part of the explanation go, “then why do you have to keep her real name a secret?”

Mickey nods emphatically at this. His eyes aren’t quite so X-ray probing as his sister’s, but they hold the same sensitive awareness as his father’s once did. If I could always read a room at a glance, Mikhail was always able to read the emotions at play within it. Mickey seems to have inherited the same ability.

“I’m not going to try to sugarcoat this for you.” I lean forward, holding each of their eyes in turn. “You already know that our family faces... risks that others don’t.”

Perhaps once, I wouldn’t have alluded so directly to the nature of our business. But these kids have had a front-row seat to the brutality. There’s no point in trying to pretend our world is something other than what it is. The fact that not even Masha turns a hair at this comment is proof enough of my point.

“Lucia comes from the same world we do,” I continue quietly. “Her family has suffered similar tragedies to ours. I wanted her to feel safe again, just like I want you three to feel safe.”

There’s an odd relief in actually saying that aloud. And when I do, it feels simple. It feels right.

“She said her father has enemies.”

Herfather?I conceal my surprise at Mickey’s remark. My brief impression of the man in the wheelchair was of someone old enough to be Lucia’s grandfather. But at least this revelation makes Mickey’s comment easy to answer.

“Masha,” I say gently, seeing her squirm restlessly on the sofa, “would you like to play with Mr. Potato again? You can go outside and ask Lucia to help you, if you like.” The fact that she instinctively looks to her siblings for consent, rather than taking my word, is yet another twist of the knife.

I have a lot of fucking ground to make up.

I wait until she’s left before addressing the two very shuttered faces in front of me. “Lucia and her father do have enemies. Very dangerous ones. They are living under different names so those people can’t find them.”

“Then why did you take them in?” Mickey’s question is uncharacteristically harsh. “If they have dangerous people chasing them, doesn’t that mean we’re in danger, too?”

And now we’re at the pointy end.

I meet his eyes steadily. “Do you believe I would ever place you, or your sisters, in danger, Mickey?”

His mouth twists. “No, but—”

“But Papa would have said the same thing.” Ofelia cuts her brother off. Glaring at me, she folds her arms. “You can’t keep us safe, no matter what you say. Nobody can keep anyone safe. And bringingherinto our house just makes our lives even more dangerous than they already are.”

As usual, her barbs are precision designed for maximum damage. Usually I shut them down with equally harsh rebuttal. But that hasn’t worked in the past, and it sure as hell won’t work now.

“I can understand why you believe that, Ofelia. And in some ways, you’re right.” She reels back, her eyes narrowing in surprise. “I can’t guarantee that you will be safe every day of your life. That would be a foolish promise to make, and you are clever enough to know that. But that’s the key here,umnyashka.You’re clever.” I nod at Mickey. “You both are. Look at what you did today. You identified a risk, and you took action by calling me. You didn’t wait passively for someone to notice the danger for you. Instead you looked for it, and despite your affection for Lucia, you acted on your instincts. That’s what intelligent people do, Ofelia. I’ve known men twice your age who wouldn’t have acted that quickly. You’ve both seen danger close up and suffered the results of violence. You’ve both learned from that. But here’s the important part.”

Two sets of eyes, one deep cobalt and grave, the other piercing, dark arctic blue, stare back at me. To my astonishment, Mickey and Ofelia actually seem to be hanging on my every word.

“Knowing that danger exists doesn’t mean we run from it. Identifying risk doesn’t mean we choose a life of seclusion and defense. To do so means we would hide behind high walls for the rest of our lives, never daring to go outside, or”—I crack a smile—“take part in a Holy Week parade.”

Their faces thaw slightly.

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