Page 95 of Lethal Obsession

Seating myself at the piano, I begin to play.

18

Alexei

I’m not sure what to expect when Ofelia begins to play.

What I know—or rather, what I’m beginning to learn—is how deeply hidden her emotions are, how carefully she guards her every word and thought.

Except when she’s naked and gasping under my hands—or when she’s playing.

Those are the only times I’ve truly glimpsed the depths of the silent, wild river within her.

I’ve been with more women than I could ever hope to remember. Many for whom sex is a profession they excel at.

Those encounters pale beside Ofelia’s innate sensuality, a force contained deep inside her, like a subterranean secret.

It’s the same when she plays, I think, as the first chords emerge. Here, too, I glimpse those depths. The way the music gathers within her, like some primordial force, then flows through her into the world.

The first notes are slow and lyrical, and I’m more absorbed in watching Ofelia play them than in the piece itself.

Gradually, the notes become a melody, melancholy and bittersweet, building toward an end I can’t yet see.

Their lilt and flow thrust me back into old memories—and their inherent duality.

Standing at her family finca years ago, just after the kidnapping, staring at Ofelia across the terrace, the longing to touch her so intense I can barely breathe, let alone speak.

Then smiling at her politely like we barely know each other and seeing confusion cloud her eyes.

Watching her play her first recital in London, so breathtakingly beautiful every cell in my body is aching for her.

Then glaring at her in a London club barely hours later, furious at the silent reproach in her glittering eyes and trembling mouth.

Her head goes back, the music swells, and now I’m at Ofelia’s twenty-first, her dress bunched in my hands and her mouth open beneath my own, the dark undercurrent between us so strong I feel like I could drown in it.

Then I’m cutting her dead and walking away, seeing the light slowly fade from her eyes.

As the music deepens around me I can see it all clearly: the years of longing and loneliness caused by my own irrational fears.

But were they irrational? Are they?

And suddenly, just like that, the room disappears, and I’m back in that cell, my body looming over Ofelia’s.

“Spread her legs,” Vilnus orders. The sudden excitement in his voice turns my gut. “Show me if she likes the knife as much as Darya did.”

I schooled myself, long ago, not to react to my sister’s name. And now, of all times, with this child lying beneath me, I can’t afford to lose control.

She only lives if you do this.

I tell myself the same thing every time Vilnus forces me to use my blade on Ofelia.

Playing his game is the only chance I have to get her out of here. And we’re so close now, to the end. But not fucking close enough. And every time is one time too many, every sick game of Orlov’s another trauma she won’t ever be able to forget.

If you refuse, I remind myself, it will only fall to someone else to hurt her.

Someone without my skill and precision.

Someone who wants to hurt her.