Page 32 of Lethal Obsession

I have a sudden, almost euphoric urge to laugh.

Fuck you, swamp. And fuck John Owens, too.

Let someone else feed the gators for once.

As Miami fades slowly from view, I settle back in my seat and raise my Scotch in silent salute, unsure if I’m toasting a farewell or a new beginning.

5

Ofelia

On the morning of my first official appearance with the Paris Orchestre, I wake in my apartment alone and blissfully hangover-free. I booked Lourdes and Benny into a nearby hotel, knowing I would need peace and quiet for at least twenty-four hours before going on stage. As musicians themselves and friends who know my habits well, they understood completely. They did try to argue when I said the rooms were paid for. I justified it by saying they’re both here at my invitation and that my parents insisted on paying for everyone to stay at the same hotel.

Even so, Benny only swallowed his pride when he saw the enormous Jacuzzi with a view over the city. I know it’s been harder than he lets on, adjusting to a teacher’s salary after living his entire life with a black credit card in his pocket. I’m incredibly proud of him for standing up to his family—and I also know it cost him a lot more than that credit card to do it.

Lourdes might not have the same wealthy background, but my parents adore her, and vice versa, so in true Spanish style, she will accept their hospitality—so long as it’s a family affair.

I never forget how fortunate I am to have been raised to a life where money has never been an issue. I know my life is far from normal. I’ve never had to work three jobs to eat, like Lourdes did when we were in London, nor make the choice between doing a master’s degree and earning a living, like many of my fellow graduates. I’ve never had to pay rent or worry that my card won’t work in the supermarket.

And I also know that if I’d never met Benny and Lourdes, I might have found it hard to feel grateful for any of those things. It’s very difficult to feel privileged when the thing you crave the most is impossible to have. For me, friendships have always been difficult. Apart from a year or so of superficial acquaintances at an elite boarding school in London, where everyone came from the same kind of extreme wealth, or mixing with the children of other Russian business associates of my father, I’d never really had friends before I met Benny and Lourdes. Our friendship has changed my life, given me an anchor of my own beyond the closed bratva circles in which I was raised. I know that I’m extremely lucky to have two close friends who aren’t intimidated by my ever-present security guards or the paparazzi who hunt me down every time some journalist decides to do an article on a member of my family.

But that doesn’t mean it’s always easy to navigate my two worlds. As open as our friendship is, there are some things I can’t ever be completely honest about.

Like the exact nature of my father’s business, for example.

Or exactly what happened when I was kidnapped at sixteen.

Or the fact that despite what I told them, I can’t stop the treacherous, irrational hope that Alexei Petrovsky will somehow turn up tonight.

Pushing that thought away, I do my yoga sequence, then go downstairs to the boulangerie across the road, waving at the security guys as I pass, then coming to stand by them on my way back.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” They say the same thing every day when I bring them a croissant and coffee. And just as I do every day, I ignore it. “Excited about tonight?” Luis asks, taking a bite of the pastry.

“Terrified, more like.” I smile wryly. “I have recurring nightmares about tripping on my way out from the wings and falling into the percussion section. Cymbals and drums go flying, my career over before it ever began.”

“You were exactly the same before your first recital in London.” He smiles reassuringly. “And look how well that turned out.”

I almost choke on my croissant.

Except for afterward, when Alexei tracked Lars and me to Zinaida Melikov’s underground nightclub, then nearly killed us both.

I keep that to myself, since my father’s security team had thought me safely tucked up in bed at the time. Luckily, Zinaida covered for me, so nobody, including my security detail, ever found out I’d managed to gain entry to London’s most notorious burlesque club.

“True.” I return his smile with my best effort at a straight face, hoping he puts any uncertainty in my expression down to nerves.

“So I’m going to practice here for a while,” I say, “then head to the Philharmonie for rehearsal. I’d like to walk there, if that’s okay. I need the outside time.”

“Sure.” Luis smiles easily. “We’ll let the cross shift know. They’re new guys, so go easy on them, okay?”

“Who, me?” I give them an innocent look, and Luis rolls his eyes in a long-suffering way, grinning nonetheless. Luis and Bryce head up our family’s security. They’ve known me and my siblings since we were kids, which unfortunately means they’re hard to get one over on. And believe me, over the years, we’ve all tried.

I head upstairs, still smiling as I curl up on my sofa with my chocolate and croissant. My phone buzzes with a notification from my astrology app. Uranus has moved into your house of passion, romance, and creative expression, it reads. You should expect sudden encounters, unexpected visits, and new avenues of fun and playfulness. Be open to new opportunities.

I read it through three times, then resist the urge to check my free tarot reading app for the hundredth time. Another side effect of my self-imposed limerence is the scary amount of knowledge I have gained about all things witchy. My social media algorithm is a shameful stream of tarot readers with very long fingernails who assure “the collective” on a daily basis that the man who did them wrong is definitely, one hundred percent, coming back.

The only time my father has ever actually questioned my credit card bill was when charges started appearing for online tarot readings. Bizarrely enough, it appears that while Roman Borovsky might not turn a hair at a thousand-pound charge at a day spa, handing a hundred euros to a “fortune teller,” as he put it, is a step too far. I keep my readings confined to Seline these days, and I pay her in cash.

It’s probably a good thing, if I’m honest. My habit was getting out of control, and I was starting to actually believe Tarot Queen Tammy when she said Alexei couldn’t stop thinking about me.