23. Lourdes
Lourdes
With Ares taking a shower, I quickly change into a loose linen dress and pile my hair on top of my head. I need to get the hell out of this bedroom.
Not sure where to go, I take the steps back to the main floor. It’s not open. There are narrow hallways in every direction, like a spoke wheel. With the sun shining in so many directions, my black heart wanders down the only dark hallway.
At the end of a quiet corridor, a multi-panel door is unlocked, so I go inside. With a large desk facing the sea, the room is flooded with sunlight from tall windows along the back wall. I glance out to see luxury yachts and a multitude of sailboats in the distance bobbing in the sea.
The rest of the house feels curated, staged for beauty, but this room feels different.
It’s not overly decorative but looks used. This feels like a small sanctuary that belongs to Ares rather than one designed to impress guests.
A set of whitewashed shelves with books sits on one side. Framed photographs in black and silver completely cover the opposite wall. They aren’t arranged for aesthetics, it’s chaos. It’s like a game for a stranger to figure out the Zervas family line.
A woman with Ares’s round gray-violet eyes appears in some of these. But she’s with a different man in most. I find Ares in other photos, younger but already severe.
I spot a photo of him and a man with the same tawny skin and dark hair in other photos, standing side-by-side. The other man is the same height. Same shoulders. Same severe jaw. But the other man is smiling widely with an arm slung around Ares’s shoulders.
Not surprisingly, he doesn’t look too happy about it. That gives me a small chuckle.
“You found my study.” Ares’s voice makes me jump even though he sounds calm.
He’s standing just inside the doorway. Hair wet and slicked back, he’s now dressed in a cream-color shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms. He changed into black linen shorts and leather sandals.
“Who is this other man?” I ask, pointing.
“That’s Alexander. My older brother,” he replies casually.
The word older settles heavily, and I take note of Alexander’s posture. The warmth in his eyes that Ares finds impossible to fake.
“You don’t smile like him,” I remark and look up at him.
A faint shift in his lips suggests he appreciates my observation. “He did enough grinning for both of us. And fighting.”
“Where is Alexander?” I ask. “Does he live in another city?”
Ares goes still, looking almost confused by my question. “The Irish Mob murdered him.”
The words hit me like a slap. I stare agog. “What?”
Ares’s gaze wanders to the image that transfixed me. “We were at war with them for years.”
My hand clutches my throat. “I’m so sorry.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. I glance back at the photograph, too. Alexander looks so alive.
“I should have realized,” I admit, feeling foolish. “When you said he was older. In families like yours, the oldest son is usually...” I trail off.
“In charge,” Ares finishes.
I nod to signal I understand. To show him it doesn’t scare me.
“Yes. Alexander was the head of our house.” A shadow passes over his face. “I was his second-in-command.”
“What happened?”
“He insisted we continue the war. He believed strength was the only language our enemies understood.” Ares touches the photograph now, stroking the image of a sibling he lost. “He recklessly escalated the tensions between our families with his order to kill the leader’s heir.
It led to a dreadful retaliation. My beloved Alexander did not survive. ”
My stomach twists. But the sharp simplicity of his words doesn’t dull the outcome.
I look from the photograph to Ares. The loss must have been years ago, but standing here, it suddenly feels more recent.
“Are you still at war with them?” I ask, swallowing roughly. “The Irish?”
It’s unimaginable that this kind of violence still exists in the shadows.
“I ended that war. And married my sister to them.”
“To the people who killed your brother?” I cry out.
He cocks his head, smiling at my passionate outburst. “There was a regime change. One I orchestrated. The new mobsters were savages, too. But with my recognition and offer of peace through marriage, not one ounce of Greek blood has been shed since.”
I study his profile. “The God of War chose peace.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “Even I knew it was time. Time to stop looking over our shoulders and rebuild wealth.”
I hear in his voice that he’s not exactly cold. He’s contained and guarded. Even if it looks like stifled rage.
“Can I see more rooms?” I ask, ambling toward him.
“Of course,” he says, taking my hand.
The rest of the day passes, and by the time the sky has deepened into indigo, I’ve seen nearly every room, the grounds, the pool area, and Alexander’s collection of antique cars.
Ares’s phone rings again and again. He takes call after call, and stress lines in his face grow deeper.
After he finishes one, I touch his arm. “Are these calls about David?”
“No.” His eyes hold me in place. “My men in New York are dealing with him. Hunting him. Texting me updates. Those calls were from local businessmen who had heard of my arrival. They want me to address a marine issue.”
“What… What issue?” I ask to show I’m interested.
Pointing to the sea, he says, “Increased boat traffic past the drop-off from my beachhead may have cracked the volcanic shelf. There’s been a noticeable impact on local marine life.”
“Sounds like an ecological issue.” I face him. “And you care about the environment?”
“This environment, yes.” Holding my hand, Ares steers me to another veranda off the kitchen.
Flaming torches below roar with light across the gardens. A warm breeze lifts the ends of my hair. The smell of salt and oil from the torches reaches my senses.
Elani approaches with dinner. Her sudden arrival makes me nearly jump out of my skin.
“You’re safe here, Lourdes,” Ares assures me.
“I’m still processing what happened yesterday. Last night.” I shake my head, confused about what day it is.
“When we get back to New York, I’ll find someone you can talk to.” He brushes a hand across my cheek. “A therapist.”
Sandrine rocking in a chair, waiting for me, flashes in my mind. I have to pull myself together and be strong. For her.
“I’ll work through it.” With a tight smile plastered on my face, I look down at the plates of steaming fresh lobster tails with a side of roasted vegetables. “Smells delicious,” I say, sitting at the table.
We eat in near silence until Ares gets another call. He answers with a grumble and speaks English this time.
“Yes, Marco. I’ll pay for the environmental report and the repairs based on the committee’s recommendations.” Then he hangs up.
I expect him to go back to his dinner, but he catches my lids drifting closed.
“You’re tired. I can tell by your eyes. Your voice. It’s all the fresh air,” Ares informs me. “You’re used to pollution and dirty vents. The Aegean salty air is like morphine if you’re not accustomed to it.”
“I was wondering what it was.” I allow a yawn, now that he’s figured out I’m tired. “I slept fine on the plane.”
“There’s a huge time difference, too,” he adds, standing up. “You need sleep. Let’s get you to bed.”
I’m beyond guessing what I need.
But I’ll take the bed and wonder if he’ll let me actually…sleep.