Page 99 of Mafia Obsession

Somewhere between that night at Winterhall and now, she fortified herself.

And I’m the one drowning.

Chapter 37

Lourdes

The envelope is thicker than the others, cream instead of white,myname printed in a clean, corporate font.

I intercept it from the mail before Ares sees it.

My hands tremble when I slide a finger beneath the seal and tear it open. Nerves pool in my gut from the sheer audacity of what I might just pull off. The VISA debit card gleams with its embossed numbers when I tilt it toward the light. It’s so small but holds the promise of the biggest risk I’m taking.

I keep the card hidden in my lap while I discreetly activate it through my phone, and when the confirmation tone chirps in my ear, something inside my chest unlocks.

On my laptop, I book a one-way ticket to Chicago for tomorrow afternoon, selecting the most ordinary but direct flight I can find. I’ll wait to withdraw cash for small purchases when I get there. I’ll also wait to find a cheap motel after I see Sandrine.

I lean back in the leather chair, sighing and feeling brilliant. I only need to plan one more step to confuse everyone. I rise and take the circular stairs down to the administrative floor and find one of the admins at her desk studying a spreadsheet.

“Hi, Paula. Atlas needs a car from here tomorrow at noon to take him to the airport.”

Fisting her mouse, she books the car without asking questions. We’ve done this before.

“All set.” She nods. “He can pick it up at the south entrance. Do you want me to give you the confirmation code or text him?”

My heart stops…

“Me. Text it to me. He gets so many messages. I’ll forward it to him.”

“Done.”

“Thank you.” I give her the most honest smile I can manage.

Then I head back to my desk and hope none of thisblows up in my face.

The next morning starts with my head in the toilet from vomiting. My nerves are unrelenting, but I push through.

Ares left for the Aurelian while I was in the shower. I move through my routine at the penthouse as though everything is normal.

When I’m getting ready to leave, Pride rolls in several familiar cardboard boxes on a hand truck. A cool sensation floods my veins in relief. My dad’s boxes from the apartment!

“Where do you want these, ma’am?” the guard asks.

I wonder where in this penthouse Ares would want old musty boxes. “In my closet, please.”

I follow him, and when he’s out of the bedroom, I quickly dig through the many notebooks Dad kept. Useless clutter of a paranoid man. I can’t take these with me. They don’t mean anything.

I dig some more and smile, finding the photo album that I would have really hated to leave behind. Smiling, I dust it off and put it in my handbag.

My morning at Zervas & Company doesn’t deviate from my usual routine. Coffee, reports, and a quick joke with Ambrose.

Yet my pulse never settles. When the clock creeps in on eleven-fifty, I smooth my skirt, grab some junk mail to make the errand look legitimate, and step toward the elevators.

My guards stationed near the lobby straighten slightly when I approach.

“I’m just checking on the car for Atlas at the south entrance,” I say, letting my tone carry mild irritation. “He’s running late.”

They exchange a glance, then turn their eyes to Wrath. He hesitates, and my stomach drops. His gaze holds on me a beat too long, seeming to narrow on my coat. He doesn’t see my purse crushed inside it. But it’s freezing outside.