Page 149 of Lethal Alliance

“I’m glad you told him.”

“Yeah, well.” Abby purses her lips. “The thing is, Dimitry thinks he’s fucking invincible.” She gives me a sideways look. “I know you guys are Russian, bratva hard-asses and all that. But you don’t know what the Colombians are like, Darya. Believe me when I say they’re every bit as dangerous as the Russians. And they never forget a betrayal.”

“Wait.” I look directly at her. “Do you mean you think they’re still after you? I thought you said you made a deal?”

“I made a deal with the previous head of the cartel.” She runs a hand over her face. “He’s dead now. His son has taken over. It was the son my boyfriend actually cheated, hiding a stack of cocaine and lying about it. I told the father where to find some of it, but not all.” She shrugs. “I don’t know where the rest of it is. But the son never believed that. And even if he did, he has never forgiven the fact that my boyfriend embarrassed him. Those men who came into Pillars with Miguel, way back at the start of all this... they’re part of that same cartel. I’m pretty sure one of them recognized me. Which means it’s only a matter of time before someone comes looking for me. That’s why I had to tell Dimitry. I was worried that he’d put a bullet through the wrong person and end up in the middle of my mess. I still am worried about that.”

I nod, processing what she’s said. “So you’re not worried about being in danger because of Dimitry’s world,” I say tentatively. “You’re worried about drawing him into yours?”

“God, I don’t even know anymore.” Abby takes a large mouthful of wine. “His world, my world—they’re both just a shit show.”

“So that’s why you’re going home? To give yourself a bit of breathing space?”

She takes another mouthful, and a long time to answer. “I haven’t been home since the day I ran off,” she says eventually. “I sent my parents a postcard from Thailand a week after I landed there. All it said was,Never coming back.” She shoots me a rueful look. “I know, right? Super mature. After that, I never contacted them again. At first, I was just being stubborn. Then things got messy. Later, I was in prison, and there was no way I was dragging them into that fuckup. My super-conservative, sweet country parents from small-town Australia? No way in hell was I bringing them into any of this. And then, afterward, it just seemed too late. Too complicated. I guess I just thought they were better off without me.”

“Forsix years?” I try and fail not to let my shock show. “Abby, there’s no parent in the world who wants to lose their child for six years. I promise you that.”

“I know.” She glances at me. “Since I’ve seen you guys, the way you all are together... it’s made me realize how precious family is. And Dimitry, he’s never even had a family. I know I have to go home.” She meets my eyes. “I’m just not sure I can bring Dimitry home with me,” she says quietly. “I’m not sure how those two worlds meet, or even if I want them to. I can’t imagine Dimitry there, amid cattle feed and branding, any more than I can imagine my mother knowing that her daughter used to deal cocaine. I also don’t know if I can just go home to that world, go back to being the daughter they lost. But Dimitry is going to be busy for a while now, leading this task force to return all the stuff from the vault, so I guess there’s never been a better time for me to find out. So—home I go. And I guess I’ll find out if Abby Connelly can become Abigail Chalmers again.”

“Wait.” I stare at her in astonishment. “You mean you’ve been using a fake name all this time?”

She rolls her eyes. “I mean, it’s not quite Lucia fucking Lopez, but yes. I have. That’s why I never registered for residency here. My fake isn’t quite the same standard as yours, unfortunately.”

“Oh, sweet lord.” I sit back in my chair, shaking my head, and then I start to laugh.

Once I start, I can’t stop.

My laughter spirals, and after a minute, Abby snorts out her wine, which makes me laugh even more. Then we’re both doubled over, howling with laughter until we’re both weak.

“Oh, Abs.” I straighten up, wiping my eyes. “We are the most ridiculous pair ever.”

“And you’re also my best friend in this entire world.” She grips my hand, hilarity fading to seriousness. “I mean it, Darya. You’re literally the only person who knows who I truly am. I don’t ever want to lose that, no matter what decisions I make.”

“You won’t.” I stand up and walk around the table, pulling her into a hug. We stay like that for a long time. “I don’t care where you go or what you do, Abs,” I whisper in her ear. “Just promise me you won’t disappear.”

She kisses my cheek. “I promise.” Then she steps back and holds my face. “And I’m not going anywhere until after I see Roman put that ring on your finger. I threw Molotov cocktails at Russianvor. I’m pretty sure I’ve earned my bridesmaid’s dress.”

46

DARYA

Roman comes home not long after Abby and I have gone to our respective bedrooms. I’m coming out of the shower when he walks in the room. He stops still when he sees me, his eyes darkening. I reach for my robe and his hand shoots out, grasping my wrist.

“Don’t.”

I feel the familiar curl of lust spiral up from the base of my spine. “Isn’t there some kind of rule against this?” I try not to shiver as he traces one finger down my neck, between my breasts. “We’re getting married on Sunday.”

Roman’s lips curl into the sensual half smile that always has me aching for his mouth on my body. “I think it’s a little late to concern ourselves with propriety, don’t you,milaia?” His hand pauses on my swelling belly. “The real miracle is that your father isn’t herding me to the altar with a shotgun.”

“Speaking of shotguns.” I cover his hand with my own, my eyes searching his face. “Yuri?”

He doesn’t avoid my eyes, nor does he step away from me. “Dead.”

I nod. “Are you—Was it difficult?”

“Difficult? No.” Roman pulls me against him, his hands roaming over the curve of my ass. “It was justice. And now it’s done.” The hard length of him throbs against me through his jeans, eliciting an instant slick of moisture from my body.

“I want to fuck you.” His voice is low with need, and I moan, pushing myself against him. “But before I do, there’s something I need to ask you.” He puts a hand under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “The children are Stevanovskys. They always will be, and I want them to be proud of that. But when I marry you, I want to do it under my own name. I want our child to know who he is and where he comes from.” His eyes search mine. “So what do you say, Darya Petrovsky? Are you happy to be a Borovsky? I know it means you will have a different name than the children—”

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