Page 8 of Lethal Obsession

By the time Lourdes’s brother Carlos begins a soft beat on the wooden box drum, the crowd is silent, held by the musical spell.

The palmas begin, and Masha steps onto the stage.

Her face is set and remote, her eyes dark and wide in her face. She stamps the opening flourish of her dance and tilts her head up, staring arrogantly into the audience as if she owns it, and suddenly, she’s no longer just my little sister, nor even a child.

All this time, I thought she was spared the memories I carry from that cell.

But as her steel-capped feet move like lightning on the wooden boards, I see where Masha has been keeping the pain and fear of that experience all these years. Even with my limited knowledge of flamenco, I can tell that Masha moves with a precision and depth far beyond her years. I suddenly understand why her dance teacher has been so passionate about giving her extra lessons.

She dances like I play.

More than a decade might divide us, but it’s clear that the heartbreak and violence of our early years fuels her creativity, just as it does mine. Dance is the same refuge for Masha that piano is for me—the only place we can access the deepest part of ourselves and communicate what words never can.

She dances on, her small body whirling and stamping, every movement reminding me of things I’d thought long forgotten.

Masha clinging to me as a tiny child, sobbing, the night we got the phone call telling us Mikhail was dead. Screaming my name, her little hands clutching the air for me as our mother tried to strap her into the car and drive away with her.

Curled into my side years later, when our mother betrayed us for the last time, in that cold, dank Miami cell, waiting for the violent death we both thought was inevitable.

All this time, I’ve thought those memories were mine alone, that somehow I managed to spare Masha the worst of them. But now, watching her dance, I realize that those memories live inside her just as they do me. They’re a part of us both.

A part of us all, I mentally correct myself as Mickey’s hand slips into my own. The three of us survived those years together. Masha’s dance tonight isn’t just a performance for a crowd.

It’s her way of showing us both what she has never been able to say.

She spins with a flourish at the edge of the stage, her focused expression breaking into a sudden smile at something I can’t see.

My heart stops as I follow her eyes.

Alexei is standing in the shadows beside the stage, his expression for once entirely unguarded, his lone eye so full of pain and regret it makes my heart twist.

Masha makes a final, triumphant stamp, her arm in the air, and the audience erupts into ecstatic applause. She thanks the musicians, takes her own bow, and then almost immediately runs to where Alexei is standing.

“Lexi!” she cries. “Did you see me?”

I don’t hear his reply, only see him lift her from the ground and turn her in the air, propping her up on his shoulder as if she were still a little girl to face the crowd, so she can accept their cheers. Her hand rests easily on his shoulder, and she clings to him like he’s the rock in a storm, her eyes shining as the crowd applauds her.

I almost envy my little sister.

I wish I could run to Alexei and throw myself into his arms. That he’d sweep me from the ground, hold me securely against him—and never, ever let me go.

Mickey’s grim voice interrupts my thoughts. “The only time I ever see that bastard smile is when Masha’s around,” he says, the edge to his voice unmistakable. “Talk about Stockholm syndrome.”

“Alexei didn’t kidnap us.” I sound sharper than I would like. “He was the Orlovs’ captive just as we were. And if it wasn’t for him, Masha and I would both be dead. Alexei saved us. That’s what Masha will always remember about him.”

“Not just Masha.” Mickey turns to me, his eyes rather more penetrating than I might like. “Be careful, Ofelia,” he says quietly. “I love Lex like a brother—but he’s fucked-up.” He gives me a slightly twisted smile. “Even more than us.” He kisses my cheek, then walks to the stage.

“Masha!” He holds out his arms. “You were incredible.”

She taps Alexei imperiously on the shoulder, and he lowers her carefully to the ground, smiling as she races over to embrace her brother.

Then Alexei sees me watching him, and his smile fades as if it never was.

He slips into the crowd and is gone.

It’s almost midnight, but the party is showing no signs of winding down. If Alexei weren’t here, I’d have gone clubbing with Lourdes and Benny by now and left my parents to it.

But Alexei is here.