Page 97 of Mafia Obsession

“You told Alexander you’d never get married.” She folds her arms.

“I never thought a woman like Lourdes would tempt me to change my mind.” My answer doesn’t seem to satisfy her. “I will need a wife when I announce that other syndicates are now under my control, and I stand as the head of the Greek Mafia in North America.”

“Then it will be done.” Daria turns to leave, but stops.

I see her reflection and look up. “Yes?”

“That Nathan Craig account you let her keep,” Daria mentions the account I forgot about. “Shall I confiscate it?”

“No. She has no use for that money now. It was her escape from Sinclair.”

“What if she wants to escape you?” Daria asks, a lilt to her voice.

“She won’t,” I say quickly, not caring if that makes me sound naïve. “And if she tries to run, I’ll know before she gets far.” I let the thought settle, already aware of the variables I’m choosing to ignore. “I’ll be the man she wants.”

If it kills me, I’ll figure out how to be that man.

“What about the threat from the Bratva?” Daria prods me to take a moment and think about what the hell I’m doing.

I lower my gaze to her. “With my name, no one will ever hurt her. And?—”

“Ares, you know very well, mafia wives are prime targets.”

“Not anymore. Not after the consolidation. Heads of families will be too strong.”

“And you’re sure about that money?”

“When she’s settled into her reality, I’ll give her options for it. The allowance I plan for her will make that money irrelevant.”

“Do you have a number in mind?” she asks.

“I was thinking a million a month.” I half twist to see how the figure lands. “I’ll teach her how to spend it.”

Daria’s expression registers surprise, but not at the amount of Lourdes’s allowance. “Ares, was that a smile?”

“Hmmm. It might be.” In my line of work, there are few occasions to smile. “Don’t get used to seeing it. The only personI’ll smile for is my wife.”

Daria spins and leaves. I follow her movement as she passes Lourdes’s desk, and I’m surprised to see my future wife sitting at it.

She looks dressed impeccably in a severe black dress, her hair smoothly tucked into one of her work buns. Outside the breakroom, Wrath, Pride, Envy, and Greed stand against the wall like it’s a fucking perp lineup.

I wonder how in the world she convinced them to bring her here. Not to see me. But to work. Something dangerously close to admiration curls through me.

I open my office door and address the guards first. “Wait downstairs. All of you.”

They hesitate and look at her.Her.

“I thought I needed them,” she says, going through a useless stack of mail that piled up while we were gone.

I round the desk and bend down to whisper in her ear, “When you are with me, I’m your guard.”

She lifts her head to me, our lips brushing. “Because you travel with seven guards.”

“Good point.” I straighten and fix my tie. Then I frown, seeing the guards are still standing there.

I clear my throat, and Lourdes tosses a handful of envelopes on the desk.

In a pleasant voice she might use to ask a waitress for an extra napkin, she says, “Please wait downstairs, guys.”