Page 178 of Lethal Obsession

“Yes.” It’s not like I have any belongings. I glance at the horde of watchful men leaning against cars behind us. “I take it security won’t be an issue.”

“Don’t know what we’re walking into,” Papa says curtly. He glances at our host. “Hope you understand, Luca.”

“Completely,” he says with smooth urbanity. “And any help you need, Roman, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Appreciate that.” My father’s face softens marginally. “I won’t forget this.”

The other man nods, and Papa shakes his hand again and ushers me into the lead car.

Dimitry rumples my hair with a smile as I slide into the rear seat. “You doing okay, kid?”

“I guess.” I lift a shoulder, unable to return his smile. “Better than Lars.” Just saying his name makes tears spring into my eyes. The thought of his long, lanky body and loose smile being blown into the air haunts me, like an apparition lurking behind my eyes.

If I can’t stop seeing it, I can only imagine the torture Alexei is putting himself through.

“Tell me what happened,” Papa says as soon as we start driving down toward Palermo. “I only got the bare bones from Bellini. What the hell were you and Petrovsky doing here in the first place?”

“I don’t know much, Papa.” I shake my head tiredly. “Alexei needed to see Lars about something to do with business, but he didn’t want to risk betraying our location by having Lars come to us. So we disguised ourselves, wigs and glasses, the whole thing, then took the Bellini chopper to Lars’s yacht so it looked like we were just Italian friends coming to party.”

“Smart.” Dimitry nods approvingly. “Well, it is,” he says, when Papa gives him a dark look. “Lex covered his tracks, Roman, you can’t argue with that.”

“Hmph.” Papa looks like he’s more than willing to give arguing a good try.

“Alexei had to make a sudden trip ashore.” I avoid my father’s eyes. “I, erm—followed him. We were ashore when the yacht blew up. With security,” I add hastily, “so I was never in danger.”

“A sudden trip ashore.” My father’s eyes pin me like a moth to a board. “After taking all those precautions, that seems like a rather rash decision—even for him.”

I resist a leftover desire from my teenage years to roll my eyes.

“His name is Alexei, Papa. Not Petrovsky or him. And none of this is his fault.”

He snorts. “All of this is his fucking fault, Ofelia. Something your boyfriend clearly understands, since he’s got either enough brains, or not enough balls, to face me. And don’t give me that bullshit about security concerns,” he adds furiously. “Between him and Luca Bellini, by now Sicily will be locked down tighter than a Catholic fucking nunnery.”

For a horrible moment my inner teenager is severely tempted to mention that Alexei is in fact my fiancé, not my boyfriend.

But given that I’m not at all sure I still am Alexei’s fiancé, not to mention knowing better than to argue with my father when he’s in this mood, I don’t bother.

I just stare out the window while he and Dimitry talk in low, intense voices, wishing that Darya were here to talk some kind of sense into my father.

Wishing Alexei were here, so I could make sense of any of this.

Papa crashes through the hospital doors with typical presumption, stalking over to the reception desk and demanding to know where his son is.

Equally predictably, the hospital staff quail in equal parts fear and open admiration, before scuttling to do his bidding.

I love my father. But his hot head and furious aggression make me long for Alexei’s lethal, silent precision, the understated presence which achieves the same results without any of the chaos.

Despite my initial passionate relief at hearing Mickey is okay, I nonetheless don’t feel overly inclined to rush to his bedside. Understanding the worry and anger that caused him to say what he did back on the yacht doesn’t lessen the impact his words had on Alexei.

Words that are likely still ringing in his head as his best friend hovers close to death on an operating table.

“I’ll let you and Mickey talk,” I say to Papa. “I want to go and see Benny and Lourdes and find out how Lars is.”

He frowns. “I’m sure your brother will want to see you—”

“You and he will need to talk business anyway.” I attempt a smile to soften my words. “So there’s no point in me being there. And I want to make sure Benny is okay. He and Lars are a couple,” I explain when Papa looks confused.

“A couple?” He gives me a skeptical look. “Lars? Not really one for couple life, is he? In fact,” he says rather pointedly, “isn’t a trip to Miami the code Mickey and his friends use for getting laid as much as possible?”