Page 202 of Lethal Obsession

“The week before the—before it happened,” I say, struggling even now to use the word bomb, “when we were sailing down the coast of Italy, I knew something was wrong. He was working late at night, when he thought I was asleep. I could tell that whatever he was doing was upsetting him, but he wouldn’t talk about it. I woke up one night and saw him out on the deck. He was gripping the railing with his head down, breathing like he was going to pass out. I was about to go out to him, but then he turned and saw me.

“You should have seen him, Darya. It was just like when we were back in that cell, with the Orlovs. The mask came down right away, just like he used to do when Vilnus came into the room.” I shudder. “I knew immediately that he didn’t want me to see him like that. But now . . . I just wish I’d gone out onto that deck,” I say miserably. “I knew we needed to talk. I thought there’d be another time, a better one. But then Mickey found out we were engaged and said some terrible things. Alexei overheard them and left.”

I tell her about what Mickey said and about following Alexei ashore.

“Even then, I had faith we would work it out. But the moment I saw the yacht—” I break off, shaking my head. “I saw his face,” I say bleakly. “It was even worse than anything I saw when we were back in that cell. Then, I think he still had hope. But when he saw that explosion . . . it was like a part of him was blown to pieces as well. And when I look at Lars on that bed, I can’t shake the feeling that part of Alexei is lying there, too. And if we lose—if Lars doesn’t make it,” I say, unable to stop the tears in my eyes from spilling over, “I’m not sure that part of Alexei will ever come back, no matter how much he loved me before this.”

“I understand.” Darya strokes the hair back from my face. “If it helps, in the immediate aftermath of the bomb the Orlovs used to disguise your kidnapping, Roman was exactly the same.” She nods at my surprise. “He thought I’d betrayed him, of course, that I’d known about the explosion beforehand. He told me to leave and to never come back. In fact, his actual words to me were: ‘Run, Darya Petrovsky. Run fast. Because if any harm has come to my children, I swear I’ll hunt you down and fucking kill you myself.’” She shivers. “Even now, I remember every word.”

I’m shocked out of my own misery. I’ve only ever seen my father mad with love for Darya. I can’t imagine him even thinking such words, let alone actually saying them to her.

She laughs quietly at my surprise. “It seems odd now to remember it. But at the time, I couldn’t imagine that he would ever forgive me, let alone love me again. And yet, look at us now—seven children in total and an extended family so large I actually long for solitude sometimes.” She squeezes my hand again. “Don’t lose hope, Ofelia. Alexei has survived before. We have to believe he’ll find a way to do it again—even if Lars doesn’t make it through this.”

Lourdes comes out onto the terrace not long after Darya has left it. “Ofelia,” she says quietly. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course.” I pour her a glass of wine from the open bottle on the table. “Alexei joked that I’m turning into a lush.” I eye the fast-emptying bottle ruefully. “He might be right.”

“Ha.” Lourdes doesn’t laugh, and she doesn’t meet my eyes.

“What is it?” I tense. “Is it Lars? Or Benny?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” She bites her lip. “Pero, Ofelia—necesito volver. To Granada.” I need to return. If her agitation wasn’t completely obvious, her sudden switch to Spanish makes it clear how upset she is.

“Oh.” I’m slightly taken aback. “Of course,” I say a moment later. “I forgot that your parents don’t know about any of this, do they?”

“No.” She meets my eyes. “I do not wish them to know. They love you. And they would not understand this. Any of it.” Her eyes drop away again. “They do not know about Mickey and me. I think it is better if it stays like this.”

Oh, God. Poor Mickey.

“Have you—does Mickey know that you’re planning to leave?”

“It is not the time for talking to Mickey now.” I don’t miss the defensiveness in her voice.

“Maybe not.” I search for the right words. “But you do plan to talk to him, don’t you? Eventually?”

“Perhaps, later.” But her resigned expression, the slight lift of her shoulders, tell me she’s already made up her mind.

“When you say you’re leaving, Lourdes,” I say slowly, “do you just mean Sicily, or do you mean Mickey too?” I probably sound blunt. But after all that has happened, I don’t have a lot of room left for tact.

She looks uncomfortably down into her lap and doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

“Lourdes,” I say tentatively. “I know this has all been a lot, and that I never really knew you two as a couple. But from what Benny has told me, and from the little I did see, it’s clear to me that you and Mickey love each other very much. Are you sure this is what you want?”

She nods unhappily, but doesn’t look at me.

“Can I ask why?”

She stares out at the sea, her eyes searching the horizon the way mine often do, as if at any moment Lars’s yacht will appear and all of this will fade away like a bad dream. “When I first met Mickey,” she says in a small voice, her Spanish accent very pronounced, “you introduced him to me as your geek brother. Do you remember?”

I wince a little at the memory. “Yes, I do.”

“Mickey always said he was a programmer.” She shrugs. “I didn’t ask questions. Why would I? I knew your family had money,” she says. “Like Benny’s. I knew about the bodyguards, the cameras, how protective your father was. I thought it was because of the money. I thought your father was—what is the English word . . . an oligarch. A businessman. I did not so much understand the . . .” She waves her hand to indicate our surroundings. “All of it,” she finishes, her gesture encompassing the world she has found herself living in. “Not even after Paris.” Her face darkens. “I didn’t know that Mickey drugged us that night—or anything about what happened with Alexei.”

Oh, hell.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m sure Mickey is too—”

“Maybe.” She cuts me off. “But he’s never said so. He never even told me what he did, or about what happened to Alexei in Paris. And neither did you, Ofelia.” Her accent is getting extremely thick, as it always does when she’s angry or upset. “Benny let it slip just last night, after he drank too much. I didn’t even know that Alexei was on the run when you went to meet him on his yacht. If I had . . .” She shakes her head, her lips pursed. “I might not have agreed to cover for you.”