Page 50 of Mafia Obsession

“I know everything about you, Quinlan,”I admit with a grin. “Let me be the bearer of bad news. It’s all your family talks about behind your back. Fuck the woman already.”

That’s an exaggeration. I’m not around the Quinlans enough to know what they talk about all the time. I’d heard Rhys’s brother Trace Quinlan, the Empire’s enforcer, mention the nosy neighbor to Shane.

“Because, unlike this man you want iced,” Quinlan snaps back at me, “I have honor, and I respect a woman’s boundaries.”

“When a woman is worth it, you’ll do anything, trust me,” I say, low and fierce. “Now, can you help me with my problem?”

“Got a name? And did you run his credit card from your club’s bar bill?”

“It’s a fake identity,” I lie to throw Quinlan off and keep up the ruse that Sinclair is just some scumbag customer. “The card was real enough for me to get paid for my liquor, but that was it. I smell Bratva. Their fingerprints aren’t subtle.”

Quinlan visibly bristles at the mention of the Bratva, which I threw in there to force the seriousness of my problem.

“It could also be Albanian rogues,” I add wryly to stir a reaction from him.

He stands up so fast that the chair tips back behind him. “The Albanians are under Raina and her father’s control. RainaQuinlan.”

“Do not mistake Valdrin Sokolov’s quiet compliance for peace,lad,” I name-drop the new head of the Albanian brotherhood to remind the Quinlans I’ve not been asleep at the wheel.

“That’s exactly what it is,” he defends, sitting back down.

I back off, recognizing that their allegiance to Sokolov through Connor Quinlan’s marriage is just as valid as mine is to Griffin through his marriage to my sister.

I’ve focused on rebuilding the strength of my house with government contracts that are a hotbed of corruption through money laundering. While the Quinlans helped finance the U.N. project, only Shane, their cyber mastermind, has kept up with me. The rest of those Irish hooligans have engaged in old-school neighborhood shakedown warfare to keep their territory in line.

“Where am I doing this?” Quinlan asks, controlling his outburst.

“The back room of my club works for getting rid of problems.” I stand up to signal we’re almost over. “I’ll watch him, send him women to keep him company, and to make sure he comes back often. Gives you time to clear your schedule.”

And time for me to make sure the Bratva connection is severed and no one can take Lourdes.

“I’ll need to bring my trackers.” Quinlan throws me a curveball.

“I’d rather this stay between you and me, Quinlan.” I stand up. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“We’re family, Ares.” He stands as well, bringing himself eye level with me. “Families do each other favors. And don’t keep secrets.”

I grind my molars again. “I’d rather write a check.”

“Am I just dragging him into your back room and shooting him in the head?”

“You can have a little more fun than that.” I want to see Sinclair suffer.

“I don’t do this for fucking fun,” he barks.

I wonder what has him so wound up. No, I don’t care.

“Congratulations. You’re the first assassin with a conscience.” I twirl my prized pen from a presidential signing I bought at an auction. “Just eliminate the prick cleanly.”

“That happens to be my specialty.” Rhys Quinlan leaves in a stomp of Irish temper.

The door to my office shuts, and I wait a beat before activating the shades covering my windowed walls to reopen, giving me a view of the rest of the floor.

I watch Lourdes, replaying the decision I’ve just made with a clarity that feels like I’ve crossed into another realm.

When she thinks I don’t notice, she looks lost in her thoughts, planning something. She’ll stir a cup of tea until the string has completely wrapped around the spoon stem. Or she studies her phone longer than usual before slipping it into her bag.

She performs her proposal reviews and accompanies me tomeetings where she holds her head high. But she assesses everyone in the room with more scrutiny.