Page 35 of Lethal Obsession

The home stretch, Ofelia.

It’s an impression rather than a conscious thought, but I feel the tension building in my body, until finally Dittorio lifts his baton. He catches my eye and holds the baton high for a seemingly endless moment, my hands paused above the keys.

Then he nods unsmilingly, and my hands drop down. Together we take the final triumphant march beneath the arches of my imagined city, the music soaring to the roof above, filling my body with exquisite sensation.

I release my breath, closing my eyes as the last note fades into the far reaches of the auditorium.

Then I inhale and open them again.

The audience erupts into applause. It takes a moment to remember they are applauding me. Color rushes into my face, and I stand and turn, bowing with my hand on my heart to acknowledge them before gesturing to Dittorio, who graciously returns the gesture, passing the applause back to me.

I bow to the orchestra, who stand to accept their due. Then, to my surprise, the audience continues applauding. I look to Dittorio, unsure what to do, and he gives me a wry smile that almost looks like approval. Rather embarrassed, I take a step forward, and the applause swells.

For the first time, I look down into the first row, at my family.

My heart stops.

It seems Mickey never made it.

In his place, clad in an impeccably cut tux that fits his hard body dangerously well, is Alexei Petrovsky.

He’s staring straight at me—and it almost looks like he’s smiling.

6

Alexei

I’m fighting the urge to run.

It’s what I should do. What I would normally do.

A swamp creature doesn’t belong in places like these, among chattering crowds in evening wear gushing over how exquisite Ofelia’s playing was.

Exquisite is the wrong fucking word anyway.

Not that I have a right one. How do you describe the feeling of your soul leaving your body to soar high up into the multilayered ceiling?

One’s body, darling, I think dryly. The people here tonight would definitely refer to their soul in the objective third.

And I’m certain they were all focused on the music Ofelia was playing, rather than on Ofelia herself. I doubt they found themselves fascinated by the almost fierce crease of concentration between her eyes during the tumultuous beginning, or the hint of vulnerability as she leaned in during the second movement, like she’d gone somewhere else entirely.

I’m sure their eyes didn’t linger on the curve of her spine, or the taut, supple length of thigh beneath the black dress.

Nor should yours, asshole.

“Where’s Mickey?” Masha asks as the applause dies down. “Papa’s going to kill him.”

“With Lars. Their plane was delayed in Helsinki,” I lie.

“Oh, well.” Masha bumps her head against my arm and turns her impish face up to mine. “I’m glad you’re here instead.”

I bump her back gently. “Me too, myshka.”

“Lex.” Dimitry, Roman’s closest friend, grips my hand with a warm smile. We’ve worked together quite a bit over the years, although less since Dimitry and Abby have based themselves permanently in Spain.

I return his smile. “Looks like you have a child-free night for once.”

“Thank Christ.” Despite his wry eye roll, Dimitry has the relaxed, smiling demeanor of a man extremely content with his lot in life. “Believe me, with three boys, not to mention Roman and Darya’s four, our place is a madhouse.”