Page 33 of Mafia Obsession

“Hello. Thank you.” Her hands twist together in front of her jacket.

“Lucia, this is Lourdes,” Ares says, again not clarifying that I’m his new assistant.

“Nice to meet you,” she says with a smile.

“Same.” I notice she’s about the same age as me.

Eden appears a moment later and whispers to Lucia, “Jared is freaking out in the kitchen.”

“Good,” Lucia snaps, smiling. “I’ll work on your dinner order right now.”

“We can wait.” Ares cups the edge of my shoulder, giving it a delicate squeeze. “We’re not in a rush.”

Smiling, Lucia backs away and then waltzes through a door that leads to the kitchen.

“She’s lucky to have you look out for her,” I say, settling next to his warmth.

He glances at me. “Her father passed away. She and her twin sister are my responsibility.”

Responsibility. Obligation. Power.

“My father passed away, too,” I admit and leave it at that. I’ve already shared too much with this man.

“I’m sorry.” Ares stares into my eyes. “What did he do for a living?”

“He was an accountant,” I say carefully.

“In New York?”

“Chicago.” I clear my throat. “That’s where I’m from. I moved here with David.”

“I see.” He raps his fingers on the table. “Who did your father work for?”

“A construction company. A pretty big one. He handled a lot of money for them.”

Narrowing his eyes at me, he says, “And how did he die?”

“Car accident.” I steady my breath, praying he doesn’t ask if I have any siblings.

I really don’t want to lie to Ares, but no one can know about Sandrine.

Instead, he turns to me and rests a hand on my thigh again. “I’m sorry.”

His touch makes my blood move in a different direction. I can’t show him how he affects me.

Moments later, Lucia herself brings our dishes. The savory aroma makes my stomach growl. I feel like I haven’t had a decent meal in at least three years.

Ares takes a bite, chews, and swallows before asking me if I’d like to try his lamb chop.

“Sure. It looks delicious.” I think he’s going to put a portion on my plate, but instead he offers me a bite right from his fork, holding it out until I lean forward and take it into my mouth.

When a trace of mint sauce lingers at the corner of my mouth, he gently wipes it away with a thumb, slow and deliberate.

I stop breathing.

“How does it taste?” he asks.

I take a sip of water to give myself a moment to catch my breath. “Tender but not chewy. Not to be cliché, but it did melt in my mouth.”