Page 123 of Lethal Obsession

“Albéniz’s ‘La Vega.’ It is a solo. You vill be playing at the Patio de los Arrayanes in the Alhambra. So, you vill learn today and perform it in practice for Pietro tomorrow at eleven so he can meet you.”

Albéniz’s “La Vega.” So, just one of the most intricate piano solos ever composed by a Spaniard, then.

Performed in front of Pietro Santiago, no less, renowned director of the Orquesta Ciudad de Granada.

“Play vell.” It isn’t a request. “Pietro is old friend.”

No fucking pressure, Ofelia.

He hangs up before I have a chance to respond.

“Well, that sounded like fun,” Mickey says, grinning.

“I’m performing,” I say blankly. “At the Alhambra. This weekend. A solo.”

He whistles. “Holy shit. For the International Music Festival?”

I look at him in surprise. “You know about that?” Mickey’s never paid more than the most cursory attention to my musical calendar.

He shrugs, turning back to the cubicle. “Sure. I mean, it’s hard to miss. There are posters everywhere.”

“Oh my God.” As the full import of Dittorio’s request sinks in, I begin to shake with nerves. “This is massive, Mickey. And I’ve literally got three days to learn it.”

“You’ll be fine, ’Felia. You always are.” He pauses. “I guess I could come, if you want some moral support?”

“Really?” I’m touched, and a little taken aback, at his offer. “I’d truly appreciate that. To be honest, I could kind of do with a friendly face.”

“Of course.” Mickey gives me a quick over-the-shoulder smile. “There.” He stands up, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “It might not be pretty,” he says, “but it’s functional. Just remember to slide the panel across if Roman and Darya come to visit, to hide all the electronics.”

“Thank you.” I hug him. “I mean it, Mickey. You’ve been a real friend. Doing this, coming to my performance—I owe you one.”

He grins. “I’m going to hold you to that, sibling. You know that thing about dating your friends—”

“Anything except my friends,” I say, shaking a finger at him. “You leave them alone, Mickey Stevanovsky.”

I wait for a rejoinder, but Mickey, for once, doesn’t snap back, just busies himself with his tools.

I send a message to Alexei via the secure line as soon as I’m properly alone.

It rings before I’ve tucked my legs beneath me in my chair.

Heart thudding, I hit the button to answer, and suddenly he’s there.

“Angel.” Impossibly tanned, white shirt open to reveal just enough hard chest to make me bite my lip, and grinning his pirate smile, Alexei leans into the screen. “At last. I was starting to think I’d have to put a gun to your brother’s head.”

It would be funny if I didn’t know that he’s entirely capable of doing it.

“Where are you?”

“Oh, you know.” He tilts his head wryly. “Around.”

“Of course.” I grimace. “Sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

“You’re perfect.” His certainty is disconcerting. “I hacked your security cameras, by the way.”

“You did what?” I stare at him, aghast, trying to recall every embarrassing thing I’ve done since I returned.

The pink vibrator.