Page 166 of Lethal Legacy

I know all too well how rare they are. Collector’s items, in fact, that sell for millions of dollars. Notoriously the hardest safes in the world to crack. A fact of which I am painfully aware, having watched my mother be tortured to death in Vilnus Orlov’s efforts to crack our Borovsky vault.

What possible reason could Roman have to own one?

I think back to the conversation we had during that wonderful, long-ago dinner at the castle. “I like going to auctions,” he said, “buying up treasures other people miss.”

Maybe the safe is just another one of those treasures?

I swallow, my throat dry. It seems like too much of a coincidence to simply be a chance purchase. And why hide it away in a secure room? If he bought the safe as a collector’s item, why not display it?

No matter how I try to suppress my unease, it just won’t go away.

My phone rings, startling the hell out of me. I’m almost desperately relieved to see Abby’s name on the screen.

“Hey, chica,” she greets me. I can hear a lot of noise in the background, and she sounds a bit rushed. “I can’t talk for long, I need to get back to Pillars. Just wanted to let you know that I’m at the post office. That package you warned me about is in my box. What do you want me to do with it?”

The passports.

For Chrissake. Can today get any more stressful?

I almost feel sick even thinking about the package from Argentina. Somehow I managed to conveniently forget about asking Papa to order the new identities.Well, not forget, I think.Just ignore.

But I can hardly leave them with Abby.

I glance back at the slightly ajar door. Suddenly that secure room feels like the basement in a horror film, as if something evil has been released. All I want to do is get the hell out of here.

“You’re heading back to Pillars now?” I ask.

“Yep. The boss is home today, apparently, so loads to do.”

Of course he is.My mind is swirling crazily. Nikolai probably sat next to Inger on the fucking plane. Masha’s casual reference to Nikolai and Inger recently being on Yuri’s old yacht together is yet another thing I haven’t had a chance to talk to Roman about. There just hasn’t seemed to be the right moment. And besides, I’m not sure whether it’s important or if it will just cause trouble.

How would I even know what’s important? Like Roman and I ever talk about anything, other than what lingerie set I’m wearing.

I feel overwhelmed by the threads of my different lives, caught in a confusing tangle of past and present. I’m angry, and I’m scared.

Which is probably a symptom of pregnancy.

Oh, FUCK.

“Earth to Luce,” Abby says impatiently. “Sorry, girlfriend, but I’m kinda on the clock here.”

“Can you slip out about four?” It’s two now. Going by what the kids have told me about previous visits, I’m almost certain Inger will want to take the kids out and show them off. I need to see Papa, but more importantly, I need to be out of this building. Away from everything to do with Roman and that damned safe.

“Yep.” Abby’s panting, clearly striding out to get to work.

“I’ll meet you by the marina and pick the package up, okay?”

“Yep. Done.” She hangs up.

I pass the kitchen and find myself staring blankly at the empty vodka bottle on the table. For the first time, I notice the label on it, and my tension level goes through the roof.

Graf vodka.

My father used to drink that brand—back in Miami.

He’s complained more than once that it isn’t sold here in Spain.

Roman always drinks Scotch.

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