Page 100 of Lethal Alliance

It’s cold, but it’s also necessary.

It’s a measure of the caliber of those at the table that none of the men so much as flinch. They all know what will happen if Orlov gets even the faintest suspicion that there’s any agenda other than his own on the table.

“I know you’re the best at what you do. Stick to the plan, do your job, and in a few hours my girls will be back and you boys will have good Scotch in your hands and much bigger bank accounts for your trouble.”

They nod, but apart from a few small smiles, the atmosphere is quiet and controlled.

Focused.

Exactly as it needs to be.

In the last minutes before we get going, I call Darya. “You made it to London.”

It isn’t a question. I was informed the moment they landed and at every point since.

Doesn’t stop me hating the fucking fact that she isn’t here.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” But her voice is thin, and I know from Bryce that she spent most of the flight to London in the bathroom. I also know she’s not spending a great deal of time in Rosa’s company, but I don’t blame her for that at all. If I had a convenient alternative, I’d have put my mother in an entirely different building.

“You need to be resting.” I stare out the hangar door at the swamp stretching into the distance, glad she is miles away from what’s about to go down and simultaneously wishing she would magically appear.

“I’ll rest when you call to say the girls are safe.” Darya lowers her voice. “Vera’s an interesting character, by the way.”

I snort. “I’m still surprised she didn’t leap at my offer of an all-expenses-paid holiday instead of staying while we take over her house. But if she’s upsetting you, I can certainly make her leave.”

“No, no. This is her home, and you have enough on your plate.” She pauses. “Let’s just say that I now understand why the children aren’t overly keen to spend time with their babushka.”

I grin. “When Mikhail and I were younger, we’d literally shoot one another in the leg to avoid a Sunday dinner with Yuri and Vera. Believe me, if I’d had a convenient alternative to her home in London, I’d have used it. But my team knows that place inside out, and they’re used to guarding the children there. It was the best I could do on short notice. I’ll have you out of there tomorrow, I promise.”

“It’s fine, really.” I hear her moving, then the sound of a door closing. “I love you,” she says quietly. “I wish I could show you how much.”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve had her body beneath me, because I’m suddenly iron-bar hard and gripping the phone tight enough to break it.

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Right now, not a lot.” I can hear the smile in her voice. Darya knows this isn’t really about titillation. It’s about connection, about some primal need to feel her here, with me, as I go to do what has to be done. “That rose silk cami set you like to take off.”

“That really isn’t much.” I close my eyes, picturing her in the Knightsbridge mansion, standing by one of the tall mullioned windows. If I concentrate hard enough, I can feel the silk of her skin beneath my hands, inhale her vanilla scent. “You should put on a robe. You’ll distract my security team.”

“I was wearing a robe. Then you called, and suddenly I felt too hot.” Her voice is seductively playful. She knows the game we’re playing, knows exactly what I need and why I need to hear it.

“Roman!” Dimitry calls my name, and I hold up a finger without turning around.

“I have to go.”

“I know,” she says quietly.

For a moment I hold on to the phone, just listening to her breathe. I remember feeling the soft swell of her belly under my hand, rich with our child.

“God, I love you,” I say roughly. “I need you to take care of yourself and our baby, Darya. Will you promise me you’ll do that?”

“I promise.”

“And when I get home, I’m going to take that body apart, piece by fucking piece.”

The audible hitch in her breath fires every last nerve I possess.

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