Page 36 of Mafia Obsession

I stare at the date and nod to myself.

I can leave right after that.

Chapter 12

Ares

Itune out the local politician’s screams while Wrath educates him on the cost of stalking me here at the Aurelian, asking for a campaign contribution disguised as a veiled bribe to prevent my historical zoning permit from being kicked into another ‘review.’

Video footage from the cameras around my Wall Street office shows Lourdes arrived a few minutes before eight a.m. She looks well-rested and well-dressed. She drank tea from a street vendor in a plain paper cup and ate a sad-looking muffin.

Seeing that, I immediately sent a message to the Facilities Director to rip out one of the closets near my office and build a private kitchen equipped with a stainless-steel refrigerator, microwave, a high-end coffee maker, and a tea kettle.

I also instructed Facilities to stock the refrigerator daily with fresh fruit, yogurt, sandwiches, and pastries from one of the better bakeries.

Ordinarily, I’d tell an employee to leave their desk and take a proper lunch.

Lourdes can eat wherever she pleases.

My phone rings, and my jaw tightens, seeing it’s Daria. “Do you have more details on David Sinclair?”

“He’s been patronizing a whorehouse in Queens regularly.” Her tone is flat. “That was easy to track because he uses a credit card.”

“Pig.” Apparently, I’m the one who shows emotion in this relationship with Daria now. “Track his medical records if he’s been diagnosed with anything…venereal.”

“Too late,” she scoffs. “If you already?—”

“I’ve not touched his wife,” I grumble.Not yet.“Did you find out about that tattoo on his neck?”

“No. I’ll keep digging.”

“And one other thing, Daria,” I say.

“Throw all the things at me, Ares. You pay per diem.”

“I want you to look into Lourdes a littledeeper. She’s from Chicago and her father was an accountant for a construction company there. She told me it was alargecompany.”

Daria scoffs, “The biggest construction company in Chicago is Mid-West Iron.”

“Volkov,” I mutter.

“Do you think there’s a connection there, too?” she asks.

“Give me a complete work-up on Lourdes. I need her maiden name.”

“De la Vega,” Daria deadpans.

“You already checked?”

“It’s listed on an Illinois marriage license. As soon as you said she was from Chicago, not finding any New York State records made sense, so I dug there for her. I found her birth certificate, too. She’s twenty-five.”

Her age only gives me a small pause, considering I’m forty-two.

“De la Vega,” I question. “Cartel?”

“No,” she says with no explanation why. “Her father is listed as Thomas De la Vega.”

“She said he died in a car accident.”