40. Ofelia #2
“Even then, I had faith we would work it out. But the moment I saw the yacht—” I break off, shaking my head.
“I saw his face,” I say bleakly. “It was even worse than anything I saw when we were back in that cell. Then, I think he still had hope. But when he saw that explosion . . . it was like a part of him was blown to pieces as well. And when I look at Lars on that bed, I can’t shake the feeling that part of Alexei is lying there, too.
And if we lose—if Lars doesn’t make it,” I say, unable to stop the tears in my eyes from spilling over, “I’m not sure that part of Alexei will ever come back, no matter how much he loved me before this. ”
“I understand.” Darya strokes the hair back from my face.
“If it helps, in the immediate aftermath of the bomb the Orlovs used to disguise your kidnapping, Roman was exactly the same.” She nods at my surprise.
“He thought I’d betrayed him, of course, that I’d known about the explosion beforehand.
He told me to leave and to never come back.
In fact, his actual words to me were: ‘Run, Darya Petrovsky. Run fast. Because if any harm has come to my children, I swear I’ll hunt you down and fucking kill you myself.
’” She shivers. “Even now, I remember every word.”
I’m shocked out of my own misery. I’ve only ever seen my father mad with love for Darya. I can’t imagine him even thinking such words, let alone actually saying them to her.
She laughs quietly at my surprise. “It seems odd now to remember it. But at the time, I couldn’t imagine that he would ever forgive me, let alone love me again.
And yet, look at us now—seven children in total and an extended family so large I actually long for solitude sometimes.
” She squeezes my hand again. “Don’t lose hope, Ofelia.
Alexei has survived before. We have to believe he’ll find a way to do it again—even if Lars doesn’t make it through this. ”
Lourdes comes out onto the terrace not long after Darya has left it. “Ofelia,” she says quietly. “Can I talk to you?”
“Of course.” I pour her a glass of wine from the open bottle on the table. “Alexei joked that I’m turning into a lush.” I eye the fast-emptying bottle ruefully. “He might be right.”
“Ha.” Lourdes doesn’t laugh, and she doesn’t meet my eyes.
“What is it?” I tense. “Is it Lars? Or Benny?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” She bites her lip. “Pero, Ofelia—necesito volver. To Granada.” I need to return. If her agitation wasn’t completely obvious, her sudden switch to Spanish makes it clear how upset she is.
“Oh.” I’m slightly taken aback. “Of course,” I say a moment later. “I forgot that your parents don’t know about any of this, do they?”
“No.” She meets my eyes. “I do not wish them to know. They love you. And they would not understand this. Any of it.” Her eyes drop away again. “They do not know about Mickey and me. I think it is better if it stays like this.”
Oh, God. Poor Mickey.
“Have you—does Mickey know that you’re planning to leave?”
“It is not the time for talking to Mickey now.” I don’t miss the defensiveness in her voice.
“Maybe not.” I search for the right words. “But you do plan to talk to him, don’t you? Eventually?”
“Perhaps, later.” But her resigned expression, the slight lift of her shoulders, tell me she’s already made up her mind.
“When you say you’re leaving, Lourdes,” I say slowly, “do you just mean Sicily, or do you mean Mickey too?” I probably sound blunt. But after all that has happened, I don’t have a lot of room left for tact.
She looks uncomfortably down into her lap and doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.
“Lourdes,” I say tentatively. “I know this has all been a lot, and that I never really knew you two as a couple. But from what Benny has told me, and from the little I did see, it’s clear to me that you and Mickey love each other very much. Are you sure this is what you want?”
She nods unhappily, but doesn’t look at me.
“Can I ask why?”
She stares out at the sea, her eyes searching the horizon the way mine often do, as if at any moment Lars’s yacht will appear and all of this will fade away like a bad dream.
“When I first met Mickey,” she says in a small voice, her Spanish accent very pronounced, “you introduced him to me as your geek brother. Do you remember?”
I wince a little at the memory. “Yes, I do.”
“Mickey always said he was a programmer.” She shrugs.
“I didn’t ask questions. Why would I? I knew your family had money,” she says.
“Like Benny’s. I knew about the bodyguards, the cameras, how protective your father was.
I thought it was because of the money. I thought your father was—what is the English word .
. . an oligarch. A businessman. I did not so much understand the .
. .” She waves her hand to indicate our surroundings.
“All of it,” she finishes, her gesture encompassing the world she has found herself living in.
“Not even after Paris.” Her face darkens.
“I didn’t know that Mickey drugged us that night—or anything about what happened with Alexei. ”
Oh, hell.
“I’m sorry about that. I’m sure Mickey is too—”
“Maybe.” She cuts me off. “But he’s never said so.
He never even told me what he did, or about what happened to Alexei in Paris.
And neither did you, Ofelia.” Her accent is getting extremely thick, as it always does when she’s angry or upset.
“Benny let it slip just last night, after he drank too much. I didn’t even know that Alexei was on the run when you went to meet him on his yacht.
If I had . . .” She shakes her head, her lips pursed.
“I might not have agreed to cover for you.”
“I’m sorry—” I begin.
“You already said that.” Lourdes’s face is no longer soft.
“I’m devastated about what has happened to Lars.
And I don’t want to leave Benny. But at least Benny actually knew what Alexei is.
What Lars, and all your family, are involved in.
The . . . bratva.” She says the word with visible distaste, as if it’s something dirty in her mouth.
“I’d never even heard the word before he said it.
But last night, I sat up googling for most of the night. ”
Oh, fuck.
“Suddenly it all made sense,” she says. “Why Mickey never wanted me to meet his friends, except for Lars. Why he always leaves the room when his phone rings. Why he trains in martial arts like his life depends on it, and doesn’t have social media, and is always paranoid about security.”
She meets my eyes, not trying to hide the anger in her own.
“Why you always seem to be hiding something,” she says.
“I thought you and Benny were my best friends, Ofelia. I thought Mickey was the love of my life. And now Lars is lying in a hospital bed with half his head missing, and none of you were even going to tell me what kind of danger I was in.”
When she says it like that, there’s not much I can think of to defend myself, even if I wanted to. “You have every right to be mad, Lourdes. But you are our best friend—”
“Gilipolleces,” she says bluntly, using the Spanish word for bullshit. “Best friends don’t lie to each other for years. And if your brother really did love me the way he claimed to, he wouldn’t have lied to me either.”
“He would have told you eventually.” Even I realize how pathetic I sound. “He was just trying to keep you safe—”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes gleaming angrily, “like you were, Ofelia, right? Do you know what your brother told me when he left here?”
More lies, I’m guessing.
“He told me he had a tech project overseas that couldn’t wait and that he might be out of touch for a while.”
I flinch. Oh, Mickey.
“But last night, when Benny got drunk, I suddenly discovered that my so-called boyfriend has jumped a flight to Miami, where he, along with your fiancé, your father, and God knows who else, are probably planning to blow up half the city as payback for the bomb on the yacht.” She shakes her head.
“He didn’t trust me. You didn’t trust me.
None of you did, not even Benny. And now, I’m sorry, but I don’t trust you, either. ”
We stare at each other across the table.
I drop my eyes first. The truth is that I’m just too shattered to try to argue with her. I don’t know what I’d say even if I could. In her place, I’d feel exactly the same.
But Mickey is my brother, so I at least have to try.
“I understand that you can’t forgive me. But none of this is Benny’s fault. He needs you, Lourdes. And maybe you could, at least, let Mickey try to explain when he comes back? I know he will be horrified to know how hurt you are—”
“He should have thought of that before he lied his way into a relationship with me.” Her eyes burn straight through me. “You all should.”
I guess that’s fair enough. “Would you like me to organize a flight for you?”
“I already booked one.” She glares at me. “I’m leaving this afternoon.”
“At least let Jack take you to the airport. We don’t know who is watching.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She tosses her head. “Fine,” she says eventually, her voice tight. “But only because I don’t want to risk anything happening that might keep me here.” She stands up. “Goodbye, Ofelia,” she says stiffly.
I go to hug her, but she pulls away.
I nod resignedly. “I understand,” I say, trying to smile as she turns away.
But Mickey won’t.