Page 209 of Lethal Obsession

“I never asked for help.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth.

His dry look is the only acknowledgment of what we both know was a stupid remark. “If you wish to disappear,” he goes on as if I hadn’t spoken, “I can’t stop you.”

He pauses. “I will, however, say this: if you disappear without Ofelia, you will break her heart. That, maybe, I could forgive—in time. But if you disappear with her,” he says, fixing me with an extremely steely eye, “you will condemn her to the same fate your sister faced: a life where the only constants are danger and fear. And that, Alexei, I won’t ever forgive.”

Every word feels like a dentist drill hitting a nerve at high speed.

“I don’t doubt that you love each other.” The strangled way he says the words might make me smile, under other circumstances. “But you and I both know what this life asks, Alexei. It’s hard enough to navigate it surrounded by family and close friends. But if you leave Miami the wrong way, you’ll be asking Ofelia to face our world without even those safety nets. Maybe you could make that work for a month, a year, maybe even a few years. But you can’t ask her to run forever.” His mouth twists in a humorless smile. “Something I know very well, given that when I met Darya, she’d been running for over six years.”

His eyes turn hard. “Your sister will never say this to you, because it isn’t in her nature to cast blame or cause anyone else suffering. But the fact is that when she and I first met, her situation was utterly desperate.”

I frown. I’ve never inquired about the origins of Darya and Roman’s relationship. By the time we reconnected, they were very much a couple, already expecting their first child.

“I won’t go into details,” Roman says curtly, “other than to say that had Darya not come to live with me back then, I do not believe she and your father would have lasted another day on the streets before the Orlovs found them.”

Despite the warm night, and the years that have passed between then and now, a cold shiver runs down my spine. I’m not sure what is harder—hearing the truth or the fact that my sister tried to protect me from it.

“I understand.” I keep my emotions locked coldly behind the mask I perfected years ago. “But there’s no need for this, Roman. It’s clear what you’d prefer—”

“Christ, you’re an idiot.” He gives a harsh laugh. “What I prefer, Alexei, is for my daughter to be happy. And happiness, for Ofelia, whether I like it or not, means you. But it also means playing piano on a concert stage. Hugging her siblings. Talking to Darya when she needs advice. It means a wedding,” he says gruffly, his voice rasping suddenly, “where her father walks her down the aisle.”

Inhaling sharply, he turns away from me.

Deeply unsettled by his uncharacteristic display of emotion, I stay silent.

“What I’m trying to say,” he goes on eventually, “is that we both know the decisions you make now will dictate more than just your fate.” He walks to where the boat is waiting. “So for Chrissakes, Alexei, fucking think them through. And if you’ll take a piece of advice from a Borovsky who married a Petrovsky,” he says dryly, stepping into the boat, “you might like to actually include Ofelia in those decisions.” He puts his finger on the starter motor, then pauses. “Call my daughter,” he says quietly. “Tell her how you feel and what you’re planning.

“Because if there’s one thing you and I both know about this world of ours,” he says, his face uncharacteristically somber, “it’s that tomorrow is never guaranteed.”

42

Ofelia

My phone rings at dawn. I hit the button on the second ring.

“Hello?” In the pause that follows, I know instinctively who it is. “Alexei?” I sit up in bed, clutching the phone. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“Not at all.” His voice rasps with exhaustion, but there’s no trace of the detached coldness I dread. “I’m sorry to call so early.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m happy you called.”

We sound like strangers.

“I just called because—” Alexei abruptly stops talking.

I can hear him breathing on the end of the line. I grip the phone so hard it hurts and stay silent, praying he’ll find a way to say whatever he needs to.

Please don’t let it be goodbye.

“Because a lot is going to change after tonight.” I can’t read the tension in his tone. It isn’t excitement, not quite. More like resolve.

“Change is good,” I say cautiously.

“Your father and I have been talking.”

Not so good.

“Oh?” I rub my temples with my thumb and forefinger.