51. Lourdes
Lourdes
Daria and two Quinlan Empire guards named Blade and Jett escort Ares and me out of the Aurelian via a secure elevator to the underground garage, and then we are whisked in their armored SUV uptown to Ares’s building on Fifth Avenue.
Daria runs a security check, looking at all the cameras and heat sensors before we get out of the car.
“Secure,” she announces. “Good luck.”
Ares nods a goodbye to his Intel Chief and moves us up to his penthouse in a tight formation while Griffin’s guards remain outside the main door to the penthouse.
When we’re alone in the living room, Ares says, “We’re safe. If we weren’t, I would have a helicopter pick up your sister from the roof of her facility, and we would be on my jet back to Santorini.”
“You’d run away?”
“I don’t run,” he growls. “I reposition. All my guards are dead. I’m not a blind hero. I’m in charge of this family. Everyone under my wings is my responsibility. That means I don’t risk my safety. If I do, all of you die.”
Ares marches to a cabinet at the opening of the guards’ wing and from it takes out a few humongous handguns and one shotgun.
“What are those for?” I ask.
“For me to protect you, of course.”
“Me, not you? You just said—”
“Getting to you gets to me.” His words give me chills, but he kisses me on the forehead. “Go to sleep. I need to know you’re in our bed. Safe.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll sleep out here.” He removes his jacket.
Ares looks too wound up for me to challenge him, and I’m ready to drop. Nodding, I step back and walk to the bedroom alone. Something I’ve done every night for a week because I was upset with him. Seeing what we’re really facing, I feel selfish for throwing a tantrum over a few notebooks.
Looking back, it all makes sense now. Dad didn’t want Sandrine to be with Kirill. But how did my sister fall down all those stairs? Was she pushed? By Dad? By Kirill? Was there a scuffle, and did she get in the way? Is there a confession in those journals?
It’s chilling to understand the real reason why my sister was put in the facility under a false name. The only person alive who knows what happened is…Kirill Volkov.
I gave Ares a chance to hand us over to him. He looked at me like I had ten heads. But I’m not stupid. If Kirill loved Sandrine, he wouldn’t hurt her. He must know I knew nothing of the relationship, or he wouldn’t have sent a video for proof.
Head spinning, I go through my routine for bed, feeling numb. Exhausted, I get under the covers but don’t stay on my side. I stretch across the bed to smell Ares’s pillow. Woodsy and spicy, like his cologne. I feel so empty without him.
He made it clear to me in Santorini that he has no place for love in his life. He warned me, and my heart didn’t listen. I fell for him anyway.
I stare at the ceiling, feeling terrible for wasting this past week pouting and being a brat.
No more pouting.
I push out of the bed and go back into the living room. Ares rests on a chair, his head back. His shotgun and the other handguns lie on the table next to him. He is the most beautiful man, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone.
All that time working for him, feeling his eyes on me, I was watching him, too. But I was ashamed not only because I was married, but because of who my husband was and how he treated me.
I didn’t feel like I was good enough. Why would he want me?
Yet he did. All this time.
I lift the nightgown over my head and crawl into his lap…