Page 89 of Lethal Legacy

And I am not a man who deals in emotion.

Emotions are a murky undercurrent. They drag a man under. Emotions disguise the truth and cause confusion. This moment is evidence of that. My silence is all the proof I’ve ever needed that emotions are the most dangerous enemy a man can face. I’ve avoided them since the day my mother left. I shut them down completely the day my father died.

And right now, I feel like I’m drowning in them.

I want to kill Lucia.

I want to love her so hard she won’t ever think about running again as long as she lives.

And most of all, I want to fucking murder the bastards who did this to her.

“I’ve said enough,” she mumbles, and I can tell the last of her shield is finally about to break. “Please. Will you tell the children goodbye for me? I—I’ll go now.” She stumbles past me, toward the elevator doors.

It’s only when they open that I finally find my voice.

“Wait.”

26

LUCIA

“Wait.”

One word. Said in a rasping, gravelly tone so unlike Roman’s normal speech that for a moment, I don’t recognize it.

Is it his killing voice?Will I turn to find his gun pointed at my head?

I saw the killer in him as I spoke. Saw the white knuckles on his glass and the glittering fury in his eyes. I’ve seen men kill before. I know the expression they wear before they pull out a gun and spray somebody’s brains over the wall.

I’m not sure what particular strain of insanity made me believe this moment could ever end any other way.

But it’s too late to run from it now. I played my cards and lost. I knew I’d lost the moment he asked about my tattoo. Maybe I knew before I ever walked into the penthouse today.

Maybe I’ve known from the day Roman walked into the café.

And maybe part of me is just tired of running.

Perhaps, without consciously knowing it, I was ready to surrender. To accept that there was never any chance of winning the game I’ve been playing from the day I escaped Miami.

An old man, sick and close to the end of his life, and a girl born to pretty dresses and finishing schools?

Papa and I never really had a chance.

And now, whatever mad dream I’ve held on to is at an end. I just wish I’d had a chance to tell Papa goodbye. To tell the children this isn’t their fault, and that they shouldn’t be afraid. I close my eyes briefly, seeing Ofelia’s brittle mask in my mind, the fear she tries so hard to disguise, and say a mental prayer of apology.

I hate that you have this life too. I’d have done anything, given everything, to protect you from that.

But it’s too late for prayers now.

I turn around.

Roman’s eyes still glitter with the killing rage. He’s barely moved since I began talking. Now he puts the glass down on the table with deliberate care. It’s chilling to watch, like a leopard silently moving a branch aside in the moment before it takes down prey.

“You signed a contract, Miss Lopez.” His voice is low, silken, and dangerous. “I assume you read it through before doing so?”

He still hasn’t moved. The elevator doors are open right in front of me. I’m fairly sure I can make it into them before he pulls a gun.

“I wouldn’t try it, if I were you.” His lips curl, but the ice in his eyes is nothing like the sardonic humor I’m accustomed to seeing. “Even if you made it out of this room, which, believe me, is very unlikely, you wouldn’t get as far as the lobby before you were caught. Unlike the Orlovs, when something is mine, I ensure it stays that way.”

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