Page 49 of Lethal Alliance

When I emerge from the bedroom, Maria is gone, but she’s left a fresh pot of ginger tea on the kitchen counter, beside a plate with some plain crackers. Perfect for my shaken stomach. I take grateful mouthfuls of both, hoping her gesture constitutes the first thawing of relations.

The new phone Roman left beside the bed for me lights up with his number.I punch the answer button immediately. He launches in without waiting for me to speak. “Have you spoken to your father?”

“Yes. I told him we’d come to see him this afternoon.”

“We’re going to see him now. Luis will take you; I’ll meet you there.” He pauses. “Darya, if you don’t mind—will you wait in the car until I arrive?”

It’s my heart, rather than my stomach, that clenches now, despite the courtesy of his tone.

He still doesn’t trust me.

It hurts. Even if I understand why. “You have my word that I won’t speak to my father until you are with me.”

My efforts to keep resentment out of my tone mustn’t be too effective, because Roman actually laughs. It’s a choked sound that never really makes it to full laughter, but I hear the intent nonetheless. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Darya. It’s him I have a problem with.”

I frown. “My father would never endanger me, Roman.”

“Your father has been endangering you for years.” His answer is sharp and immediate.

It’s also painfully undeniable.

“I need to know you’re safe, Darya. Okay? I can’t lose—I need you safe.”

I nod slowly into the receiver. I understand what he means. I might not like it, but I understand. After thinking Roman was lost to me over these past days, it makes me nervous when he is not in touching distance. If he feels even half of what I do, then I guess I know why he wants me safe. I look at Maria’s pot of tea, remembering her wary face, and think that it’s going to be a while before the status quo is restored.

“I promise I will stay in the car.” This time I give my word quietly, injecting the promise with as much reassurance as I can. “I’ll wait outside the villa until you arrive, Roman.”

“Thank you.” His response takes a beat longer than normal, and the words have a rough edge that betrays the emotion behind them.

He hangs up.

I sip my tea in silence until Luis knocks on the door and it’s time to go.

“Thank you for waiting.”They’re Roman’s first words upon opening the car door for me. He presses my hand gently, giving emphasis to all he isn’t saying.

“I understand.” I smile, hoping to take some of the shadow from his eyes but knowing the same darkness clouds my own.

There’ll be no light, for any of us, until this is over.

“I know your father has things he wants to say.” Roman holds both of my hands in his own as we stand just beyond the wall of the villa. “But there are questions I need him to answer as soon as possible in order to find the girls. I’m not sure how much of his story I’ll be able to hear before I interrupt.”

“That’s fine.” I return his grip with my own fingers, wanting to reassure him of my support. “I’ll let you take the lead, ask what you need to. The only thing that matters is getting the girls back.” He nods, but his face remains grim and unsmiling. I want to ask a thousand questions of my own, but I can’t force Roman to bring me into his confidence. It’s going to take time.

Time we don’t have.

The security detail at the villa isn’t the subtle presence it was before the bomb. Now armed men stand at every window, eyes scanning the surroundings with incessant scrutiny.

Roman isn’t leaving anything to chance.

Papa is sitting on the terrace with his back to us. Smoke curls up from the cigarette he usually tries to hide from me, and the ashtray at his side is evidence that this is far from being his first today. He doesn’t turn when Roman opens the door.

“Please, sit.” He speaks in Russian with his back still to us, gesturing at two chairs arrayed in front of him. A coffee table bearing a Russian samovar of tea and three glasses rests on the small coffee table between him and our chairs. He clearly saw me arrive and knows I sat out front in the car until Roman got here.

Roman pulls a chair out for me, then takes his own. He unbuttons his suit jacket and slings one leg over the other, his hands resting on the wicker sides with every appearance of relaxation. The truth is that he’s coiled tight as a leopard, every muscle taut. His eyes are black and unreadable, mouth a grim slash as he eyes my father.

“I need to know the layout of the underground chamber in Miami.” He doesn’t bother greeting Papa. His words are an order rather than a request, delivered in a tone no less dangerous for being calm and detached.

“I asked one of your guards to sketch the layout for me,” Papa says. He seems entirely unsurprised by Roman’s abrupt opening. He nods at a piece of paper on the table. “The dimensions are in exact proportion, exactly as it was built. Unless Orlov tore up part of the compound, he cannot have made any meaningful changes.” His Russian is clipped and direct, his speech unusually clear. Piercing blue eyes meet Roman’s without wavering. There’s a fierce light behind them, a savagery my father has always kept carefully hidden from me, even during the years Orlov held us both. “What else do you need?”

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