Page 219 of Lethal Obsession

“You’re an idiot, Petrovsky.” Renata shakes her head. “Wait,” she says suddenly, staring at the screen that shows the landing dock. She sits forward, gripping my arm hard enough to hurt. “They’re here.”

44

Alexei

“The Guapa?” Silas Thorne glances warily at the upper deck as he steps off the tender, looking slightly green after the short voyage. “Who else is onboard?”

“Friends,” Roman says carelessly. “Don’t worry,” he says, seeing Thorne’s face. “The Guapa was in for maintenance when I took over Alexei Petrovsky’s compound, so it’s mine now.” He smirks at Silas. “Even better, Petrovsky had already paid the bill for the work.”

They all laugh, including Hunter and Thorne.

Laugh away, motherfuckers. I hear Lars’s voice in my head. You’re just a few short steps away from hell.

“Let’s go upstairs, shall we?” Roman ushers the men toward the stairs. “Ladies,” he adds, turning to Kristi and her barely upright mother, “Teresa will show you to a suite where you can freshen up.”

I grin as one of Ofelia’s dragons steps forward.

“Can I offer you a drink first?” she says, indicating the bar behind her.

Mrs. Hunter’s eyes focus for the first time since she left the ballroom, eyeing the bottles greedily. “Can you make a martini?”

Julia, the other dragon, says, “Of course. Why don’t I make a whole shaker and bring it to your suite?” She turns to Kristi. “And for you?”

“Krug,” Kristi says haughtily. “A bottle. On ice.”

Oh, you’re going to pay for that one, Kristi. I smirk at the look on Julia’s face as she turns away to make the drinks. The dragons do not like being given orders, even from me.

When Roman told me that Ofelia’s old security duo had requested to be part of the team who came out from Spain, I hesitated. It’s still hard for me to forgive them for what happened in Granada.

But I also understand the need for payback.

Bullshit. I hear Lars’s voice again. Having them here keeps you connected to Ofelia, just like having Roman and Mickey here does.

I smile inwardly. Glad you’re still talking, asshole.

Only because you finally started listening, motherfucker.

Roman has our guests upstairs and is facilitating introductions.

“Roman tells us you’re the man who’s going to ensure the deaths in our family are avenged.” Rico Lucchese shakes Hunter’s hand like he honestly doesn’t know Marty Jr. was the man responsible for those deaths. He’s doing a great impression of being a very young man who’s never seen a gun, let alone held one.

“Oh, I’m going to do my best,” Hunter says eagerly, pumping Rico’s hand. “Your family members were honored friends of mine.”

Renata almost spits out her drink. “Check out Hunter’s face,” she sputters. “He looks so relieved he might actually piss his own pants. Is he honestly dumb enough to believe the Luccheses don’t know he was working with the Novikovs?”

I shake my head. “I stopped asking myself how dumb Hunter is a long time ago. It’s like asking how long a piece of string is.”

“So,” Roman says, as the steward pours a round of Graf and hands everyone a shot glass. “Let’s drink to old friends and making new ones.” He raises his vodka and swallows it, the rest of the gathering following suit.

Right on cue, there’s another explosion on shore, the flames lighting the sky before the sound hits us in a muffled boom.

“Christ.” Thorne goes to the railing, his face pale. “What the hell is going on over there?”

“Well,” Roman says, regarding the shoreline with detached interest, “I can’t say for sure. But judging by the events of this evening, I’d say that it seems like Miami has a considerable vermin problem.” Accepting a whiskey from the steward, he smiles lazily when Thorne turns around. “I understand you gentlemen may need some assistance dealing with that problem.”

“We do,” Hunter begins eagerly.

“Maybe.” Thorne shoots him a quelling glance. “I have some questions first.”