Page 141 of Mafia Obsession

Move Lourdes. Do something.

When I do nothing, disappointment passes through his expression, and then, he turns away and reaches for his jacket.

“I’ll be home late,” he says with the same drawl he does most nights. Work doesn’t stop. War doesn’t stop. Nothing stops.

He slides into his jacket, smooth and composed once more, the man the world sees snapping back into place like armor.

I stand there, watching him, feeling the distance settle between us again despite everything that’s been said. All he’s done for me.

God, what is wrong with me?

He moves toward the door, and my heart drops. That he’s just going to leave me here again.

Don’t go. Stay home with me. I… I need you.

The words form in my mind like an echo. I jog to the living room and watch him near the front door, his new guards already lined up and ready to follow him.

“Ares, don’t you dare leave this penthouse,” I call out before I can talk myself out of it.

He stops and turns back to me. His gaze drags over me slowly, deliberately, like he’s seeing me again for the first time.Like that night at Winterhall.

“Stay home tonight. With me,” I say.

“Why, little storm? Use your words.”

“We haven’t made love since the night of our wedding.” I look down and realize I’m still holding the belt. Fisting it, I add, “I miss you. That way.”

“All right.” He unbuttons his coat and stalks toward me, his eyes trailing down my body. “Give me that belt. Get in our bedroom and take off your dress.”

Chapter 57

Ares

Irun the last two weeks over in my mind as I adjust the cuff of my shirt, the cold metal of the watch against my wrist grounding me. Marriage is easy when spouses understand each other’s needs. I need power and control for the new direction I’m pulling my syndicate into.

My wife respects that power. And understands the balance in our relationship. All I’ve given her and what I’ve asked for in return. Which is very little. Yet, having her in my bed every night, giving herself to me, is something I never knew I needed.

I was bred to not need anything or anyone.

In a security meeting with Daria, I say, “Add more guards for Sandrine. Dr. Masters reported they will soon begin the transition of revealing her true identity. There could be outbursts.”

She adjusts her glasses. “There are three men outside the facility at all times, Ares.”

“Increase it to four,” I order.

“Ares… What is your concern?” She puts her glasses down on the table. “People never mattered to you like this. No, you don’t send innocents to the gallows. You don’t traffic women. But you sacrifice people who don’t matter to you without hesitation. Do you…love Mrs. Zervas?”

I laugh, but it’s humorless. Love is not in my DNA. It’s never been. “Sheismy wife, and she will have everything she needs, but no,” I say. “Not like that. Not the way you mean.”

Then, beneath my ribs is a familiar rhythm that’s only associated with my wife. It’s joined forces with the tight throat, the sweaty palms, and a jolt when I see her. The way she moans my name in bed, and I feel like the man she loves.

But love is not for me. Emotions are luxuries for men who can’t govern power. It’s a weakness I can’t afford. Especially not now.

Despite every effort to remain detached, I'm aware of one unsettling truth: Lourdes has claimed a piece of me. The feelingsI have for her are getting stronger, but I don’t want them.

That is when a marriage gets messy.

Still, I cannot unhear the savage certainty in which Kirill stated that Sandrine belonged to him. Does he still love her? A missing woman after five years? Why?