Page 34 of Lethal Alliance

“Baba always says that the best place for money is somewhere people can’t see it,” Mickey says. He meets my eyes and actually smiles. “Papa used to say, if that was true, then he didn’t see why she couldn’t invest in some air freshener, since it’s invisible.”

I give an involuntary snort of laughter at that, then, given the topic we’re discussing, try belatedly to turn it into a cough. I’m relieved to see that Darya is smiling too.

“I know that smell,” she says to Mickey. “Papa used to take us to visit some old Russian friends of his, and their house always stunk of cabbage, too. It’s the soup they make.”

“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “Papa also used to say that he couldn’t see why anyone in Miami would want to cookfucking soup, since the air is already the same consistency.” That makes us all laugh, despite the fact that I should probably pull him up on language.

“I remember him saying that.” It feels good to talk about Mikhail. I realize, with surprise, that I rarely do. I should. His children need to remember who he was.

That thought sobers me up immediately.

“Regardless of those tests, Mikhail was still a father to your sisters.” I meet Mickey’s eyes in the mirror. “Like I told you, Mickey, DNA doesn’t mean shit. Family is family, and you were all Mikhail’s children. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I think Papa might have known about Masha, though. Or suspected, at least.” His laughter has disappeared. “That summer was awful. Inger was away nearly all the time, and Deda and Baba Melnyk are really strict, so Ofelia and I weren’t allowed out much. We pretty much hung around in our rooms, on our laptops. I was more interested in gaming, but Ofelia used to search for articles about Inger all the time. She hid the screen so I couldn’t see, but I saw enough to know that it wasn’t work that was keeping Inger busy. The online tabloids were full of pictures of her at parties and on yachts.” His face is tense and pale again. “Ofelia and I didn’t talk about it much. But there were enough photos of Inger with other men to make it pretty obvious what she was doing.”

“Your father didn’t want you to go to Miami. He only sent you there to keep you safe.” I owe it to Mikhail to ensure his children know the truth. “Your Deda Yuri had just gone to jail, and there was a war between the Russian families. Your father and I knew we were facing a bloodbath. We both wanted you far away from it.”

“Yeah.” Mickey gives me a humorless smile. “Ofelia and I saw that online, too.”

That shuts me down pretty fast. I, more than anyone, should know how much children see. But the truth is, I was too caught up in the war, in founding Hale and Mercura, to care about what Mikhail’s children were doing.

“I’m sorry, Mickey,” I say quietly. “Your father and I should have done a better job of caring for you.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs, but I don’t need to see Darya’s frown to know how insincere his denial is. I grip the steering wheel and, for the thousandth time recently, vow to do better.

Much better.

“Anyway,” Mickey goes on, “Papa came to Miami a few times that summer, but he and Inger fought all the time. She wanted him to bring Deda Yuri’s yacht to Miami for us to stay on, but he said it wasn’t safe. In the end Uncle Nicky sailed it over anyway, which was actually pretty cool at first. Inger was away on a modeling contract. Ofelia and I liked the yacht way better than Deda and Baba’s house, and Uncle Nicky took us out, did stuff with us. But then Inger came back to stay on the yacht, and they more or less forgot about us. We saw very little of either of them for the rest of the summer. Ofelia said that the only reason Uncle Nicky came in the first place was because he had a crush on Inger.”

Darya’s eyebrows nearly shoot through the roof. “Are you serious?”

I cover her hand briefly with my own in silent warning, and she gathers herself quickly. “I mean, wow. That must have been tough for you guys.”

“No shit,” Mickey says flatly. “It was gross. Anyway, it didn’t end well. They had a huge fight one night on the yacht. Ofelia and I were both there. Uncle Nicky accused Inger of sleeping with someone else—apart from him, that is—and then she burst into tears, saying she was in love with Papa and wished she’d never left him. Uncle Nicky screamed at her for hours. The next day he was gone, and Inger took us to stay with Babushka Vera in the London house. She and Papa got back together soon after that.”

How the fuck did I know none of this?I’m having difficulty hiding my shock, and from the sideways glances Darya’s giving me, she’s equally horrified.

“I’m pretty sure it was Vilnus Orlov that Inger and Uncle Nicky were arguing about.” Mickey seems oblivious to our shock, which makes it even worse.

No wonder the kids disliked me so much. They thought I knew all of this and just didn’t care.

“What makes you so sure?” Darya asks.

“After I found out that Vilnus is Masha’s father, I did the math, then went back and trawled all the online pictures from that summer. Vilnus and Inger were at all the same parties, and she’s pictured with him at least a dozen times. One of those photos was taken on my birthday.” He smiles without any humor at all. “Uncle Nicky took us out, because Inger said she was working. Later, he saw that photo of them together, which was what caused their argument.”

“Oh, Mickey.” Darya reaches for his hand and Mickey lets her take it, but only for a moment. Then he folds his arms and forces a smile.

“We’d been back in London for a month or so when Inger told us she was going to have a baby. I was so happy that Papa and Inger were back together that I never thought about it. I think Ofelia might have, though. I think that’s why she asked me to do the DNA testing in the first place. Maybe she overheard Papa say something. I don’t know if Papa had heard rumors about Inger and Orlov, or what, but he and Inger fought all the time back then. He left for the last time just after Masha was born.”

That hits me like a gut punch, and from the look on Darya’s face, it’s hitting her, too. “Does Ofelia... know? About the test results?”

“No.” Mickey’s voice is raspy with tiredness. He shakes his head, then yawns widely. “Not yet. I didn’t want to upset her before I spoke to you.”

Thank Christ for that.I almost slump with relief.

Mickey yawns again, rubbing his eyes. It’s almost morning, and he’s been running on empty for hours. Darya is staring out of the window, her face hidden. We’re all exhausted, and the next time I glance in the mirror, Mickey has dozed off.

The silence that falls across the car isn’t an easy one. The gulf between Darya and me is far greater than the disconnection of a few days apart. The electric intimacy that has always formed an unconscious, tangible bond between us was shattered by the blast, by the words I said after it, by the days when we both thought we’d lost one another. The caveman in me wants to reinstate that intimacy immediately, lose myself in Darya’s body and make it my own again.

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