Page 87 of Lethal Alliance

“Thank you for this.” I hold Roman’s hand as the jet roars down the runway for take off. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to agree to take me with you, but I’m glad you did.”

“I’m glad you’re with me.” His fingers tighten around mine, and he shoots me a half smile that makes my stomach turn to mush. “Not that I’ll take a decent breath until I know you’re safely back in the penthouse, mind you. But still.” He raises my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles, sending fire through my veins. “It’s good to know you’ll be with me in Switzerland.”

The jet takes off, and I watch the glittering morning sea fade beneath us as we circle over the rugged mountain coastline and head north. I lean back in the leather seat and sip the ginger tea the stewardess brought. Roman, I note, is strictly on water only, as is the very large security detail traveling with us. I have no idea how he managed to convince Swiss immigration to clear a private force of extremely heavily armed men to land.

Then again, I stopped asking questions like that a long time ago.

Even compared to my own father, who was in his time the most fearedpakhanin Miami, Roman lives in a different world of wealth. It’s a world that exists beyond governments and the rules they make. Beyond even the megacorporations that conspiracy theorists love to talk about.

Roman’s world is the one that truly makes the rules. Men like him just do it from the shadows and let others pretend to be in control.

“I still think we should have spoken to Papa before we left.” I turn away from the window and look at Roman. His face is set and hard, as it always is when my father is mentioned. I understand it, but it hasn’t ceased to make me sad. I’m angry at Papa too, for all the secrets he kept from me, for never trusting me the way he did Alexei. But learning about Ilyan Fedorov, and the horrific way he murdered both Papa’s and Aleksander Borovsky’s wives and children in Paris, has helped me to forgive him. At least to understand where his almost pathological obsession with secrecy stems from.

The knowledge doesn’t seem to have had the same effect on Roman, however. He still tenses at any mention of Papa’s name, and he wouldn’t even consider talking to him about our plans before we left this morning. More concerning, at least to me, is his avoidance of any discussion about his mother. I still don’t know if he intends to contact her when we reach Zurich. I know he wants to stay focused on rescuing the girls. But the fact that we are going to Switzerland with no plans to even meet with Rosa is something I find deeply disturbing.

“There’s nothing to be gained by talking to your father about Ilyan Fedorov.” His voice is tight, his mouth a grim line. “He clearly couldn’t find him all those years ago, or I think we can safely assume the man would already be dead. Telling Sergei we’ve found him now would only pose a security risk to our operation.”

He doesn’t need to explain what he means bysecurity risk.And I can’t really argue with him. Papa has been in touch with Alexei all this time, and despite all that my brother has done, Papa still seems convinced of his innocence. Certain that Alexei remains loyal to him, and to the legacy Papa and Aleksander protected all those years ago.

I know that Roman doesn’t share Papa’s faith, and I don’t blame him.

I’m not at all sure I share it either.

Has Alexei remained loyal to Papa’s legacy? To the Petrovsky fortune?

Yes, I believe he probably has.

But loyal to me? To the principles of honor and integrity I’ve always believed he possessed?

I’m not so sure about that. Not anymore.

Alexei’s actions have made clear how determined he is to maintain control over that vault. He undoubtedly feels he’s earned his inheritance, after all these years bowing to the Orlovs.

I want to believe that the use of that old security code is a sign that my brother is trying to help us. But I’ve had to face a lot of hard facts since that bomb went off.

It’s still difficult to accept, given the pain that Alexei and I endured at the hands of the Orlovs, that my brother could ever be complicit in kidnapping Roman’s children. But there’s no way around the facts. And the facts are that Alexei knew that the children were in danger the night of the ball.

Which means he knew about the bomb—and that he waylaid me as a decoy to draw Roman’s men off the dance floor.

I can’t forgive that, family legacy or not.

That thought process reminds me of something else. “I’ve been meaning to ask you.” I turn to Roman. “In your letter, the one you put in my purse the night of the ball, you mentioned that you believe Alexei is planning to use your project as leverage with the Orlovs.” I don’t mention Mercura by name, not even here, among Roman’s security team, and I speak in a voice low enough to go undetected. I’m more than aware of how confidential the launch is. “Do you still believe that?”

He nods slowly. “Remember when I told you, the day you came up to the lab, that Lars Andersson has been working with your brother?”

“I remember.”

“Well, Andersson has been hacking into my project for months now. That’s what Mickey has been working on—trying to unravel the trojan viruses Andersson is using to break through our security. More importantly, he’s trying to work out what the trojans are for.”

“Wow.” Despite the depressing nature of his answer, I can’t help but be impressed that Mickey’s skills are considered so highly by Roman and his team. I remember how brilliant Lars Andersson was, even as a teenager. The thought that Mickey, who is at least a decade younger than Lars, might be able to match him, is extraordinary. “And has he worked it out?”

“That’s why I’m so concerned about your brother’s motives.” Roman casts me a rather grim sideways look. “From what Mickey can tell, the sole purpose of Andersson’s trojans is to test the resilience of our project. To point out the flaws, so to speak. So far, rather than sabotage us, all he’s actually done is make the entire platform more secure.”

“And you think that means he’s planning to steal it?”

I can see the regret in Roman’s eyes when he nods, the concerned way he’s watching me.

I know why he hasn’t spelled this out for me before.

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