Page 27 of Lethal Alliance

“I’ve never told anyone my real name, Mickey.”

“What about Papa? Or Deda Yuri? Didn’t you have to tell them when he adopted you?”

“We’re bratva. We do things our own way, Mickey, you know that. I told Yuri there was no record of my birth anywhere, and that I didn’t want to know where I came from. He respected my decision. Pulled strings, got the adoption pushed through without the regular papers. Cut through bureaucracy.” I shrug. “Rules have never meant much to people like your Deda Yuri and me.”

“What about Papa? I thought you were like brothers. Why wouldn’t you tell him the truth?”

My hands tighten again. I flex my fingers, trying to work out how to answer him. “Firstly, because he never asked.”

He snorts. “That’s not an answer.”

“Well, it kind of is, actually.” I cut my eyes to him briefly and see the skepticism on his face. “Look. Your father and I were teenagers when we met. Not much older than you are now. We didn’t sit around discussing our feelings, Mickey. Our conversations tended to revolve around work, partying, and women, more or less in that order.” I shrug. “Your father wasn’t one to push for answers, particularly on private matters. He always respected my right to keep my past to myself, just like your Deda Yuri did.”

“But didn’t youwantto tell him? Weren’t you curious about your past? About the vault and the Naryshkin treasure?”

“Woah.” I hold up a hand to halt his flow of questions. “That’s a whole lot of questions. Let me take them one at a time. No, I didn’t want to tell your father who I was. I didn’t want to tell anyone. I’d been on the streets since I was ten. I’d buried my past a long time ago, learned to become someone else. Those years weren’t easy. I guess it was simpler to look ahead, rather than behind.

“As to being curious... well, that’s different. I knew some things about my past, though next to nothing about the Naryshkin treasure. There’s a hell of a lot that I still don’t know. For a long time I didn’twantto know. Lately—since the Ryder stuff came out—I’m more curious, yes. But I’m wary, too.” I can feel his eyes searching my face as I talk, taking in every nuance in my expression. I meet his eyes in the growing dark. “My past was a dangerous place, Mickey. The fact that the Orlovs have your sisters now should be proof enough of just how dangerous.”

“Then why didn’t you kill them?” The bluntness of his question momentarily silences me. “You’re not exactly a peacemaker, Roman. From what I’ve seen and heard, you’ve never hesitated to put a bullet through anyone who gets in your way. So why are the Orlovs still alive? If they killed your parents, don’t you want them dead? Surely you’ve had the resources for years now to get rid of them, if you wanted to?”

I’m squirming in my seat. Not a metaphor. I’m twisting around like a fucking pretzel, and to be honest, I’ve never wanted out of a conversation more.

Christ, this kid.He knows how to ask the hard questions, the little prick.

“You’re worse than a goddamn therapist, you know that?” I shoot him a slightly resentful look.

Mickey almost smiles. “I’ve been sent to enough of them over the years. I know the drill.” His smile fades. “Is it because you want whatever is in that vault your father built? Is it true that it’s full of Fabergé eggs and other Russian imperial treasures?”

I close my eyes briefly. For a moment I’m back in Switzerland, my heart thudding with fear and trepidation, waiting for the safety deposit box to open. Hoping against hope that what I find there will lead me to my mother.

Instead I find myself staring at a glittering jeweled egg.

Priceless, definitely. Useful, certainly.

But utterly fucking meaningless in any way that truly mattered to me, then or now.

“It’s not about the fucking treasure.” Even I hear the bitter note in my voice. “That vault has cost more lives than I care to count. I don’t give a fuck what’s inside it; I never did.”

That was Sergei Petrovsky’s obsession, not mine.But I’m not saying any of that to Mickey.

I clear my throat. “It’s complicated. I have a lot of unanswered questions, about both of my parents. I guess I’d like those questions answered before I start taking out the only people who might know something.”

“Then why haven’t you spoken to Deda Juan—Sergei?” he quickly corrects himself. “Darya’s father. Wouldn’t he have some of those answers?”

“Maybe.” I keep my eyes carefully on the road ahead.

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand you.”

I snort. “If I had a dollar for every time a woman has said that to me.”

“Yeah, well.” My humor clearly missed the mark. “Most people would leave no stone unturned to find out their own story. Especially when that story results in children being kidnapped.”

That hits me like a gut punch. “I’ll get your sisters back, Mickey. I fucking swear it.” I hate how inadequate that promise sounds.

“You’d better.” I don’t miss the lethal note in his voice. Again, I’m reminded that he’s not a kid. Not after this. “Don’t you mean you’ll get yourdaughterback?” He folds his arms and raises his eyebrows at me. “And my little sister. Who just happens to be the daughter of your worst enemy.”

“They’re both my daughters, Mickey, just like you’re my son. You’ll always have your real father, but today, and for all the days to come, we’re a family. I don’t care whose DNA is whose.”

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