Page 103 of Mafia Obsession

“Thank you so much, El.” I choke up again. “And…you’re still good if I stay with you until I get a job?”

“Absolutely,” she says. “I have a guest cottage waiting for you. Oh damn, I have a call I need to take on the other line.”

“Go, I’ll call you tomorrow with another update.”

“Sounds good.” Elodie hangs up to take her call.

Even with all these pieces falling into place, running out on Ares has my stomach too queasy for food.

This isn’t going to be an easy, quick, or inexpensive process, but I’m committed to seeing it through for my sister.

I lie down and stare at the stained ceiling.

Escape accomplished.

Day One complete.

After a few minutes of my head on the pillow, sleep claims me.

Chapter 40

Ares

Ican’t fucking sleep. Haven’t slept. The fatigue feels tight beneath my skin, threatening to snap if anyone so much as breathes wrong in my presence.

My security control room is dark except for the wash of monitors. Camera feeds, traffic cams, airport manifests, satellite overlays make up every digital eye I turned upside down to find one woman since she boarded a commercial flight she thought I couldn’t track.

Daria stands at my right, nerves humming off her, like she should have suspected Lourdes would run and put more controls in place.

We’ve been here since yesterday, when I watched in horrifying clarity on the largest screen, Lourdes stepping through O’Hare Airport with her chin lifted. Her eyes were pinched behind the shades as she occasionally glanced nervously around, looking for signs that she’d been caught.

I’d sent Wrath to Chicago alone on my jet late yesterday, instructing him to keep his distance, to shadow her without being seen, but to intervene if even the wrong set of eyes became a threat.

“Status of her phone?” I asked Daria yesterday.

“Turned off.”

“When?”

“I can’t give you an exact time.”

“Activity?” I knew exactly where she was, but I wanted to know if she had called anyone during this very tense time for her. Who could she have confided in and not me?

“No calls out.” Daria’s fingers stilled on the screen.

“What?” I asked when she went silent.

“There was one incoming call,” she said. “Unknown number. She didn’t answer it. No voicemail. It called her twice.”

“Trace it,” I barked, even though I knew she probably had.

“I tried.” The stress in her voice turned her around. “It’s masked, Ares. It was routed through a Chicago exchange.”

“Bratva.”

“Perhaps she contacted them. I suspect she’ll go to a storage facility,” Daria said. “Somewhere her father stashed documents.”

I had agreed because it made sense. She must have been going to Chicago to find out what her father had on the Bratva.