Page 163 of Lethal Legacy

Whether he’s Lucia’s brother or not.

I speed the car up. I feel restless and reckless.

There’s a storm coming.

I can fucking feel it.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll get to the bottom of whatever the fuck is going on. But tonight, I need to let off some steam. I definitely need to stay away from Lucia until I’ve got this thing under control.

“Hey.” I give Dimitry a sly grin. “Remember that vodka we used to drink, back in Miami?”

“Graf vodka?” He laughs. “God, I haven’t drunk that for years. And it was the best, too. Why don’t they stock it in Spain?”

“I’ve got a bottle stashed in the penthouse.” I shift gears and go even faster. “Whatever else is going on with this Andersson shit, I got Mercura off the ground today. Fancy a celebratory drink?”

“Seriously?” He raises his eyebrows. “I thought you’d be celebrating a bit . . . err . . . differently.”

So did I.

But ruthless prick though I might be, I’m not entirely sure even my poker face can handle making love to Lucia while I’m contemplating putting a bullet through her brother.

“You in or not?”

Dimitry shrugs. “Abby will be working until the early hours. Hell, yes, I’m in.”

51

LUCIA

“It’s perfect.” Ofelia eyes herself shyly in the mirror. “Thank you, Luce.” Her dress is the cream silk we tried on several days ago. It’s sleeveless with a cowled halter neck and drapes elegantly to the floor, making the most of her height without overemphasizing her slender curves or exposing too much skin.

“I think it’s missing something.” I pull out the velvet bag with my mother’s Fabergé earrings and tip them into her hand. “These should match perfectly.”

Ofelia’s eyes widen, her mouth a perfect O of surprise. “They’re so pretty,” she breathes, fastening them in her ears and turning her head this way and that.

“They belonged to my mother.” I kiss her cheek. “She’d have loved to see you wearing them.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Ofelia fingers the earrings longingly. “Are they horribly expensive?”

“Not at all,” I lie. Those at the ball who recognize the earrings for what they are will respect her for wearing them. Those who don’t will simply think them a tasteful choice for a young girl.

“Ofelia, come—Wow.” Mickey slides to an abrupt stop, staring at his sister in somewhat unflattering amazement. “You look really good.”

“Really good,” she repeats sarcastically. “Gee, thanks.”

“But I’d take it off if I were you.” He looks over his shoulder and kicks the door shut. “The doorman just called. Mama’s downstairs.”

Ofelia stiffens. “Oh, shit.” She gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Luce.”

“That’s fine.” I try not to appear nervous.

Why the fuck didn’t Roman tell me she was coming?

“Why don’t you change out of the dress, and I’ll put it away for you? You can get Masha,” I add to Mickey, already unhooking the cream dress. “She’s coloring in her room.”

“Okay.” He shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Um—I’m not sure if Roman knows Mama is here or not. Somebody should probably call him.”

“Sure.” I force a smile. “I’ll take care of it, Mickey. There’s no need to worry.”

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