Page 15 of Lethal Obsession

And long ago, fate decided it was where I belong.

Not to mention its more vital role: the swamp stops me from wanting more.

Miami is the ugly, impassable quagmire sitting between me and Ofelia Borovsky.

It’s what stops ambition from becoming insanity.

“So.” Dima leaps into the water and takes a rope as I nudge the airboat up to the ramp. “You going to take a flight to Paris or just keep finding assholes to kill? Because much as I don’t like pissing you off, your father isn’t exactly a picnic, and since he mentioned tonight that he was grateful I’d be taking care of things in your absence, I take it he’s under the impression you’ll be flying to France with him in the morning.”

I jam the lever into reverse so hard the airboat judders in the water.

“And the idea of fucking with Roman Borovsky,” Dima continues as I shut the boat down, “is just as unappealing.” He shoots me a dry glance as he tugs the boat onto the ramp. “In the phone call you made me take for you, Roman made it clear he’s expecting the whole family to be in Paris for this party. And you’re family, dirtbag. Whether you like it or not.”

He walks away without waiting for an answer, his back presenting an extremely attractive target for the knife in my belt. Except that throwing it would deprive me of the pleasure of knocking Dima on his ass, which I definitely intend to do at the next opportunity.

Unfortunately, he’s also right.

I am Roman’s family.

Roman is married to my sister. And Ofelia is his daughter.

Which makes her my niece by marriage, if not by blood.

In families like Roman’s and mine, that kind of technicality is irrelevant. Honor runs deeper than blood in our world.

Ofelia Borovsky is as family as it fucking gets.

And even if she wasn’t, she’d still be off-limits.

Ofelia is the original sin. The apple I can’t pick.

In her life, I’m not a gator in the swamp. I’m the fucking serpent that came into the garden of Eden and almost destroyed her completely.

The only way to make sure I don’t somehow finish the job is to stay as far away from her as possible.

Which means making my excuses for yet another family event, no matter how much it pisses off Roman and Darya. Given that I’ve managed to miss the christening of all four of their young sons, not to mention any number of Christmases and birthdays, it shouldn’t come as any surprise. Darya’s and my communication has gone from phone calls to sporadic texts. Roman and I communicate about Mercura and very little else. Even Mickey, with whom I was once quite close, largely communicates with me via Lars these days, since they often work together.

Dima reverses the trailer down the ramp, and I drive the airboat up onto it with the ease of long practice. He’s got the headlights down, not that it matters. I put this ramp in at my own expense years ago. It’s miles away from any main roads and not on any official map. I idle the boat down, wondering how best to manage my refusal to Roman and Darya’s invitation.

Or rather, wondering how I’m going to break the news to Papa that I’m not flying to France with him when he leaves.

My father is the only family member I still speak to with any regularity. Despite being closer to a hundred than ninety now, he’s still as sharp as ever. Even though he lives in Spain with his wife, Rosa, he comes back to Miami at least once a year for an extended stay. I dread these visits almost as much as I long for them.

My father is the one person who sees straight through me. And I know he doesn’t like what he sees.

If he knew what happened between Ofelia and me, he’d like me even less.

Dima’s low whistle has me crouching in the boat and reaching for my gun before I’m conscious of doing either. I glance warily around for the source of his warning, then straighten up when I see Renata Cardeñas standing at the top of the ramp.

“Hola, carnalita.” I grin at her as I jump down from the boat and bang the side to give Dima the all clear. I walk up the ramp and wrap her diminutive form in a big hug. “What brings you to my swamp?”

Renata and I have been friends since we were teenagers. Her mother, like mine, died when she was young. Her brothers head up the Cardeñas cartel’s Miami branch. The cartel used to work for the Orlovs.

Now they work for me.

But back when I was a skinny kid, they treated me with the same contempt Vilnus Orlov did, laughing when Dima was ordered to cut me open on a daily basis for their collective amusement.

Renata, however, hated both her brothers and the Orlovs even more than I did, which made us allies. One of the only people who knew about the secret passages in and out of my family compound, she’d sneak in after dark and sew my wounds closed while we drank tequila straight from the bottle. Renata was my first, and only, real female friend. We kissed once when I was sixteen, but we were laughing too much to make it stick.