Page 13 of Mafia Obsession

By the time I reach my bathroom ninety excruciating minutes later, I’m a sweaty, heart-pounding mess.

In the shower, I turn the spray to cold, but that doesn’t stop my cock from aching with need. Ideal with itin the shower. And at the moment of climax, her eyes and her lips appear to me, and I imagine coming down her throat as she watches me fall apart.

While I dress and knot my tie, my valet checks in and asks what I want for breakfast. My stomach is a churning sea, but some days food is just sustenance.

An hour later, I step into my Wall Street office, and before I do anything else, I call Daria Franklin, my chief intelligence officer.

She answers on the first ring. “This is rare. A call from you rather than written orders.”

I calculate that she’s right. I can’t turn back now. This ache to figure out what the hell I witnessed last night will infect everything I touch today.

Lourdes is another man’s wife. An inconvenience solved with either a big fat check or a bullet. But that tattoo on her husband’s neck and his authority in a Bratva club give me pause. Making that woman mine won’t be easy, but easy is less appealing.

“I need a profile,” I say coldly.

“Details?”

I picture Daria with her short silver hair, dark glasses low on her nose, fingers already moving across a keyboard.

“Winterhall, Volkov’s club. Last night around eleven. A blonde.”

“This is a first. You never indulge with women at Winterhall and then care about who she is the next day,” Daria says.

“This one, I do.” With my words, an inferno of emotion rushes through my system and steals my breath.

Lourdes is a fireball I haven’t been able to douse. A face I can’t unsee. She can wreck me and destabilize me. But it makes me want her more. I won’t rest until I have her in my bed.

“Got a name?” Daria says.

I steady myself to say it out loud. “Lourdes Sinclair. Married to David Sinclair. He was there, too.”

“Husband?” Her voice pitches up.

“For now,” I growl. “You have thirty minutes.”

The line clicks without a goodbye. Her lack of warmth amuses me. It mirrors my own. But right now, I feel blue fire under my veins.

Unable to think of anything else until I have this intel, I move to my office windows overlooking Wall Street. The new U.N. campus is near completion, which will end my business dealings with Quinlan Empire. Except, my sister Ava is married to the head of the Irish Mob, Griffin Quinlan. A marriageIarranged to end the war with the Irish.

The silence stretches too long, and I think the deadline has passed. Furious, I turn around, ready to storm into Daria’s office, but she’s standing in the doorframe, holding a laptop.

“Ares.” The ex-CIA agent in her mid-fifties greets me using my first name because she has the clout to do so.

Even if it irritates me. “Well?”

“I got something.” Daria struts past me into my office wearing a black pantsuit that looks as expensive as mine.

I pay her well. She’s worth every penny.

She drops into a seat at my meeting table without an invitation and opens the laptop. I stand behind her, watching the screen.

“I had to grab Winterhall’s feeds before the nine-a.m. purge to get visuals to make sure the identities were even valid.” She routes through three layers before it stabilizes.

Talking to Lourdes last night didn’t feel like it would turn into an intel reach I would grind my company’s workday to a halt to pursue.

Yet here I am.

“I have you outside Yuri’s office.” She nods to the video showing me sitting on the balcony overlooking the pit, clearly annoyed. “How did the meeting go?”