Page 189 of Lethal Obsession

Which doesn’t bode well, I think resignedly as he kisses my cheeks.

“Please.” Papa gestures to the heaped dishes of pasta and salad on the table. “Eat, darling.” He pours me a glass of wine.

I sit down and push at the food, wondering how soon I can pour another glass without looking too obvious. Fortunately, when Papa turns away, Mickey lifts the bottle with his mangled, bandaged hand and tops it up to the brim, giving me the ghost of a wink.

I shoot him a fervent glance of thanks and take a large mouthful. Frankly, right now I could easily use a fucking straw.

That alcohol problem is really getting worse. I hear Alexei’s playful tone chiding me, closely followed by loneliness crashing into me so painfully that I take another mouthful of wine.

“Now that we’re all here,” Mak says, “I’ll fill you in.”

That’s my cue.

Standing up, wondering if it would be rude to take the bottle with me, I force a smile. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“No.” Mak’s calm voice stops me. “And don’t bother looking at me like that, Roman,” he says, without so much as meeting my father’s glare. “Ofelia has a right to know what her fiancé is walking into.”

Oh, fuck.

My father’s expression becomes positively thunderous. “What did you just say?” His voice is lethally quiet.

“Don’t, Roman.” To my surprise, it’s Mickey who speaks up. He faces Papa’s death stare with one of his own. “Whatever you’re planning to say,” Mickey says coldly, “I’ve already said—and more besides. And as Lars pointed out to me extremely clearly, right before we got blown to hell, I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was talking about—and neither do you.”

He turns to me. “You should put that ring back on,” he says quietly. “And wear it with pride. You both deserve happiness. More than anyone else I know.”

He turns back to Papa, who is staring at him in utter shock. “We’ve all got a lot to discuss,” Mickey says calmly. “But this is the one thing none of us needs to remark on at all, unless it’s to offer your daughter congratulations. Let me be the first to do that, by the way.”

He kisses my cheek gently. “Congratulations, Ofelia,” he says gravely. “I wish I’d done that right away.”

I nod, unable to speak, and wipe away the tears on my cheek as I take the ring out of the pendant around my neck and slide it onto my finger. The soft glow of the sapphire and the ring’s weight are as comforting as my brother’s presence, a reminder that Alexei and I are real.

Or at least, I think sadly, we were.

I don’t know what we are now.

My father looks between Mickey and me, then, clearly deciding that capitulation is the wiser course, raises his glass. “Congratulations,” he says stiffly.

Dimitry smiles at me as he repeats the toast. Mak, looking typically amused by the entire thing, raises his glass and echoes it.

It’s hardly the resounding celebration I might have once hoped for. But under the circumstances, it’s a whole lot better than I might have expected.

Thank you, I mouth to Mickey as they all turn away again.

He nods his head unsmilingly, the haunted look still behind his eyes. Whatever Lars said to him and whatever happened after that have changed my brother, I realize. More than everything else he’s been through before now.

“As we speak,” Mak begins, “Alexei is heading to Cuba. From there, he’ll go by boat to Miami.”

Cuba.

Stunned, I can only stare at him across the table.

Without even telling me.

“He didn’t want me to share this information,” Mak goes on. “In fact, he was rather strong in his insistence that I do not. However, since I happen to be personally acquainted with the people Alexei is about to confront, I am exerting my right to disregard his wishes. Put simply, gentlemen—and lady,” he adds, raising his glass to me with a slight smile—“my honest opinion is that without the help of everyone at this table, Alexei may possibly have come up against an enemy he can’t defeat.”

“Respectfully,” Papa says stiffly, “that sounds like an Alexei problem. Dimitry and I left Miami behind a long time ago. And Alexei has made that swamp, as I believe he calls it, quite his own.”

“For fuck’s sake, Roman,” Mickey cuts in, glaring at him. “Just listen.”