Page 119 of Lethal Legacy

“I’m going to attend the parade with you tomorrow.”

I gulp. “You are?”

“Yep.” He nods, his smile widening at my surprise. “Masha is quite insistent that I should see the cactus dance. And I’d like to bring Pavel, one of my computer geeks, to watch Mickey work. He was the one who bought Mickey his first computer.”

I don’t miss the faint gleam behind his eyes, nor the long finger tapping against his arm. Roman has reasons for attending tomorrow beyond watching the children perform, I’m sure of it. But after today’s emotional roller coaster, I don’t feel overly inclined to ask too many questions.

And I’ve still got Papa to face.

“So.” He pushes off the sink. Glancing around to ensure we’re alone, he kisses me once, hard, on the mouth, leaving me breathless. “Until the morning, then.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”

Papa and I are sitting either side of the chess board, a bottle of wine between us. I know he’s not supposed to drink it undiluted. On the other hand, there’s no chance I can get through this discussion without a drink, and I figure he can use one, too.

Papa gives me a rather old-fashioned look. “You told me—nothing.”

I color, staring at my wine.

“You—knew. Roman—bratva.” It isn’t a question.

“Da.”I answer in Russian. “I knew.”

“Hmph.” Papa snorts and takes a long swallow of his wine. “Vodka,” he mutters under his breath, casting me a sideways look that I pointedly ignore. He knows better than to ask me directly. Watered-down wine I might tolerate, but there’s not a chance I’m letting him near a vodka bottle. Hard spirits are completely off the doctor’s checklist of approved substances. “Why lies?” He eyes me over his glass.

I take my time answering.

Because I knew you’d never agree.

Because I couldn’t face running.

Because I thought there was a good chance you might kill Roman before he ever said a word.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” I say eventually.

“Ha!” His derisive snort is not unlike Roman’s indignation a few days earlier. He shakes his head impatiently. “Dangerous,” he mutters.

“I know.” There isn’t much I can say to that. “But you said it yourself, Papa. The Orlovs know we’re here now. We couldn’t run even if we wanted to. This way we are safe. At least for a while.”

“Roman—knows.” Papa is frowning at the table, and I can tell his mind is racing in a thousand directions. “Orlovs.”

Which explains why Roman was twitchy as a bug on crack in the kitchen.Probably also explains why he’s bringing a tech geek to the parade tomorrow, along with, undoubtedly, a small army of security.

I take a deep breath.

I’m exhausted.

This day feels endless. This week, even. The tension is like a wire getting cranked tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. What chaos might then ensue is a terrifying prospect.

“Did you tell him about Alexei?” I ask.

“Nyet.”He passes a hand over his face. He’s getting tired, his voice rasping, his words slurring slightly.

I cover his hand with my own. “You should rest, Papa. It’s good that Roman knows the truth. At least that way he can protect the children.”

“Da.”Papa’s face softens, his eyes meeting mine. “Good to see you with—children, Dayushka.”

“Ha.” I try for laughter, but the emotion in Papa’s eyes stifle it in my throat. He grips my hand wordlessly. I feel in his touch all he can’t say, the regret that it should be somebody else’s children calling himDedainstead of his own grandchildren. That this life has deprived me, as he sees it, of a family of my own.

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