Page 4 of Lethal Obsession

Mickey might not ask the hard questions, but he’s still a son of the bratva, and beneath his courteous, tech geek exterior, I know my brother is every bit the killer my father is. By the grim way Alexei returns Mickey’s greeting, he knows it, too.

Great.

Off to our usual flying, dysfunctional start, then.

Unless you face him, it won’t get any better.

I put my glass on a side table and step out of the shadows, a smile on my face.

“Ofelia!” Lars bounds upstairs to me with his arms open wide. “Darling, you look divine. Happy birthday.” He kisses me soundly on both cheeks, blue eyes warm and open, then steps back, still holding my arms. Blond hair flops across a face perpetually tanned by the Arctic sun of his native Sweden. Despite having made his first millions before turning twenty, Lars is entirely unaffected, and affectionate as a Doberman puppy.

He’s also Alexei’s oldest and closest friend.

“Thank you for coming.” I return his embrace without looking at the man standing several steps behind him. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it.” My rebuke is just as pointed as Mickey’s, even if I keep my eyes squarely on Lars as I deliver it.

“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world, beautiful.” Lars’s easy smile remains in place, but the twist at the edge of his mouth and faint narrowing of his eyes tell a different story.

I’d bet every one of the lavish presents stacked on an inside table that Lars is the sole reason Alexei made it here tonight.

“My gift doesn’t fit on the table.” He waves his phone at me. “I’ve sent you a digital booking form for a week on my new yacht, anywhere in the world that you choose. Fully catered, for you and all your friends. Just say the word and I’ll have it sailed to a port of your choosing and fly you all there.”

“Lars!” I hug him again. “That is so kind of you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.” He busses my cheek as his arms wrap firmly around my waist, and for a moment I close my eyes and stay there, head on his shoulder, relishing his easy, comforting embrace.

It’s always like this with Lars.

Simple. Affectionate. Uncomplicated.

Then I open my eyes, and my heart stops.

Alexei is staring directly at me.

For a brief, unguarded moment, the savagery in his lone eye makes my heart stop and a primal thrill race through my body.

Then Lars steps back to accept a drink from Mickey, effectively blocking Alexei from view. By the time he moves away, Alexei’s face is once more the blank, hard facade he always shows the world.

“Happy birthday.” His voice is flat and cold, and he speaks from three stairs down, making no move to approach me.

“Thank you.” I’m surprised my voice works at all. For that matter, I’m astonished the entire night hasn’t suddenly come to an abrupt halt.

I find it hard to imagine nobody notices the tension crackling between us. But somehow the clink of glasses and murmur of conversation continue unabated, the party moving on as if my whole world didn’t just get knocked off its axis.

Benny’s sudden switch from Pirates of the Caribbean to the ominous opening chords to Beethoven’s Fifth is the only acknowledgment that fate has come knocking, and fortunately, it has the effect of making me smile.

Alexei nods dryly at the string quartet. “Friends of yours, I take it?”

“They are, yes.” I seize on the conversation opening like it’s a life buoy. “Benny, the cellist, studied with me in London. And Lourdes, over there”—I nod at my friend, who is staring at Lars, Mickey, and Alexei in open fascination—“studied classical guitar, but her family is from Granada, so she plans to stay here now and focus on flamenco instead.”

I realize, too late, that I’m babbling.

Alexei’s mouth quirks. “I wasn’t aware we needed to submit a biography with our RSVP.” He takes a step closer, and I inhale sharply. “I’m not sure what mine would say.”

Even from two steps below me, his eyes are level with my own. He takes another step, filling my senses with the dusky, dangerous scent that still haunts both my dreams and my nightmares.

“Kidnapper?” He says the word like a silken caress. “Murderer?”

He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my head to look up at him. I swallow on the sudden thickness in my throat as he takes the final step and puts one scarred hand on the arbor beside me, towering over me so he blocks the rest of the party from view.