Page 143 of Lethal Alliance

“You’ll have to fight Mickey for Lars, Abs,” I say, grinning at her. “He’s been fangirling over Andersson since he was a kid. Probably got a poster on his wall somewhere—ouch.” I wince as Mickey lands a hefty blow to my ribs. “Well, should we go and meet your hero?”

He shakes his head. “If you call him that while I’m around, I swear to God, Roman...” He leaves the threat unfinished.

“You’ll what?” I tease him. “Beat me with your mainframe?”

“Please don’t try to use technical terms,” Mickey says in a pained voice. “I’m embarrassedforyou.” We keep up the banter as we head downstairs, where I find Lars rather surprisingly, given his recent arrival, already stripped to his waist and on a sun lounger next to Ofelia. He’s sporting lurid pink shorts, a ridiculously ripped torso, and an extremely impressive tan for a Scandinavian computer geek. Alexei stands on Ofelia’s other side, clad as ever entirely in black. Apart from their identical blond, blue-eyed coloring, I can’t imagine two more different men. In direct contrast to Alexei’s perpetually grim-faced demeanor, Lars is all easy smiles and openness. To my surprise, Ofelia is actually laughing at something Lars has said, her cheeks slightly pink beneath the broad brim of her hat.

Seeing the two of them, Alexei as silent and deadly as any of the darkest killers I’ve encountered, and Lars like some kind of Norse god, on either side of my eldest daughter fills me with a dread I’m nowhere near ready to deal with.

“Andersson.” I put my hand out, and Lars leaps up from the lounger with athletic ease and a broad smile to take it.

“Good to put a face to the legend,” he says, shaking my hand enthusiastically. Then his eyes light on Darya, and his whole face splits into an even wider smile. Dropping my hand with an ADHD-speed attention shift, he turns to her. “Dars!” He wraps her in a massive hug, almost lifting her off the ground. “It’s good to see you, girl!”

“You’re enormous,” she says, laughing. “When did you get so big? Put me down, you idiot.” Their familiarity is obvious. If anyone else touched Darya like that, he’d likely lose an eye, but Lars is difficult to take offense to. He has a loose-limbed, casual affection that seems to put everyone instantly at ease.

Even me, and that’s rare.

“Your brother kept telling me we’d have a war on our hands,” he’s saying to her now, “so I thought I better get in shape in case someone took a swing at me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Alexei says. He’s almost smiling. If it wasn’t obvious before how close he and Lars are, it certainly is now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the fucker smile, let alone crack a joke.

Aware that Mickey is hanging back, I step aside and draw him forward. “I think you already know my son, Mickey.”

Lars’s eyes widen, and he drops Darya with the same sudden attention shift he dropped my hand.

“Mickey!” He leaps forward, wrapping Mickey in an even bigger bear hug than he did Darya. Mickey’s look of utter shock is so comical I have to bite my lips together to stop myself laughing.

This guy is literally impossible not to like.

“You, my friend, are an absolute rock star.” Lars stands back, his hands still gripping Mickey’s shoulders, and pins him with what I imagine he thinks is a very serious look. “We will do big things together, Mickey Stevanovsky. Very big things.”

Mickey’s eyes are shining like he’s just been told he’s flying to the fucking moon. “I have so many questions,” he begins. “You know that first trojan? What did you—”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I step in between them. “Before you two start geeking out, I’ve got a few things I need to talk to Lars and your uncle Alexei about.” I tilt my head toward the house. “Got a minute?”

I’ll say this for Lars: the ADHD shift works both ways. He shifts to serious mode in a New York second, pulling on a shirt and heading for the house with Alexei. I’m halfway to the door when I glance back to find Mickey staring longingly after us.

“Hey,” I say nonchalantly. “What are you doing, waiting for an invitation?”

His eyes widen in shock. Then, gathering himself with remarkable alacrity, he straightens up, squares his shoulders, and strides off across the tiles, for all the world as if he never doubted I’d ask him to join us.

I glance across the pool, to where Sergei is sitting beside Rosa, a pitcher of something that looks suspiciously like a vodka cocktail on the table between them. I raise an eyebrow in silent question. He gives me a small smile and the faintest shake of his head. It’s a subtle gesture, but one I find poignant nonetheless.

There’s no hint of regret in the slight movement, no suggestion that he should join us in my study.

Sergei has lived long enough to see what most men dream of: his son take over his business. Now he is free to sit by the pool, laughing as he tosses the ball to Masha in the water, making her giggle.

All men should be so lucky.

I turn back toward the house, Mickey’s back ahead of me. He’s almost as tall as I am now and rapidly filling out. He’s already been forced to take a life to protect his family.

Sergei might have passed the torch to his son and me. But soon enough, sooner than I like to think about, it will be me handing my torch on to Mickey.

I glance over at Darya, her hand resting protectively on the soft swell of her belly.

It fills me with a quiet sense of comfort to know that whatever the future holds, our child will have the protection and love of a brother like Mickey.

I closethe door of the study behind us, and the noise of the day disappears. I’ve had it renovated recently and made entirely secure. The study here is far more comfortable than the one in my office, or even my penthouse. Darya and I are planning to make the finca our chief residence, rather than the penthouse in Malaga. It’s where we’re at our happiest.

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